Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

Nick threw a punch at Ackers that Nathan blocked. Paul put his face right up to the sergeant, but Al squeezed his body between the two of them. “Get out of here, sergeant,” Paul yelled over Al’s shoulder, “before you become the first casualty of this squadron.” Ackers laughed at Paul and strutted away.

“Nathan, why the hell did you block my punch, after what he said about us?”

“That’s what he wanted. If you strike someone in charge during war, you’d be court-martialed. Do you actually believe anyone would take our word over his, without any other witnesses?”

“How did you figure all of this out?” Paul asked.

“A wise old Jew warned me and I listened.”

The camp cycle had been completed but no one seemed to know what was going to happen next. There were naval battles going on in the Pacific and an Allied military campaign raging in North Africa against Field Marshall General Rommel. As the men killed time, they moved about as if the war were on hold. The silence and the secretiveness of things unnerved them. Nick and his friends had seen the newsreels in the camp movie house that showed the fire, destruction and human carnage taking place all over Europe, horrified by the Blitzkrieg against Britain.

One evening the Colonel entered their barracks with Captain Monroe. “At ease, gentlemen. Before you know it, we’ll be shipping out from the port of Galveston. The troop ships will be heading in many directions, and you won’t know for sure where we’re actually going until we are on the open sea. Remember, the Central Command Headquarters can change orders, so don’t speculate too much. Just stick together and we’ll get through this. You’re well trained now and you’re fighting for your country. In the meantime, we will be participating in joint maneuvers with engineer, artillery and infantry units. Any questions?” Everyone remained silent.

The Lieutenant Colonel left the barracks to continue his rounds, allowing Captain Monroe to linger awhile. While the other GIs chatted away, the captain asked Nathan’s crew to step outside. The young men fidgeted while they waited for the crisp-tailored captain to speak. “You can light up if you want, gentlemen. I just have something private that needs to be aired out.”

“It’s not about Sergeant Ackers, is it, sir?” Nick asked.

“Don’t worry about him, Private Spataro. I just want to say that we’ll be heading to places that might provide a less than comfortable zone for you fellows as compared to the other recruits. I happen to think your tank crew is one of the best I have ever seen and would not want to lose you. But in all fairness to the whole squadron, I have to be sure of your commitment.” All four were intent on his every word. “It might be wise to pick another corridor of warfare, if anyone of you feels he may not be able to discharge his duties to the fullest.” He stared at them. “I mean unwavering.”

Paul responded: “Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ll do whatever I’m told. I’ll be shooting at the uniforms of the Axis countries and that includes Italy, sir.”

“Ditto for me, sir,” Al blurted out.

“What about you two?”

“Captain, I have a few cousins in Venice whom I’ve never met, but I’m thinking about all the families trapped by the Nazis. I’m ready to go to Italy.”

“And you, Nick?” The captain put his hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“To be honest, I’m not sure, sir.” The captain moved his hand down.

“That’s not an acceptable answer, Private Spataro.”

“Can you give me a little time, sir?”

“You don’t have a lot of it. Talk it over with your buddies, if you like, but get back to me real quick. I’ve got to catch up with the colonel now.” The captain jogged several yards, stopped and spun around as if he forgot something. “I’m meeting up with some old friends at the Officer’s Club later, if anyone needs to talk with me.” He stared at Nick.

Nick waved off his crew and went off to the wooded area to think things out. He lit up a cigarette and watched the big circles of smoke dissipate into the cool night air. The important pivotal scenes in his life popped into his head while the blinking stars faded in the black sky. Things had a way of working out badly, as if he were disgraziatu . He had warned Paul that he had issues about killing Italians but didn’t want to desert this crew of best friends. It would be a piece of cake to argue that he would be killing Fascists and helping the resistance restore the republic. But he began doubting his motives and maybe there was too much fear in him, using this Italian obstacle as an excuse. Then again, what young man wanted to die before ever having a life?

It was twenty-three hundred hours, but Nick couldn’t think any more—it was too painful. Maybe the only real happiness he ever had was at those big holiday celebrations that were shared by the family clan. What had all his Italian ancestors learned from all the wars and humiliations that traversed the Italian peninsula and the islands of Sicily and Sardinia—to survive, there was just the family. Only the Romans held real power but that civilization was ancient history now. Mussolini thought he had recreated that empire—what a cruel joke to play on the Italian people. Nick picked himself up and inched over to the Officer’s Club. He could hear the loud conversation, groups of men singing along with the piano player and the ever-clinking glasses. He couldn’t make up his mind, even as Captain Monroe stepped outside. And anyway, how many stones did he have in his head to think that tankers would be going anywhere else but the European front, not the islands of the Pacific.

He asked point blank: “Private Spataro, do you have a problem killing Italian combatants?”

“No, sir!”

“Glad to have you on board.” The captain shook his hand and returned to the club.

The lights were out in his barracks and everyone was asleep. Nick quietly packed his gear and rested it next to his crew’s bags. He had lied to the captain but his bond to the trio was unbreakable and as pazzu as it sounded, fighting Italians would prove his loyalty to America like nothing else, the vehicle to spring Papà from the internment camp. Nick was learning that everything was complicated in life, whether it was his girlfriend, family or the damn war. He would just have to live with the pain of it all, so he slunk into bed without a word to his friends, the night shadows revealing themselves like so many floaters in his eyes, until his nerves wore him down into a shallow sleep.

The next weekend Nick thought it was odd that there was still no news about shipping out, so it became a case of ‘Hurry Up and Wait,’ leaving him anxious about everything. Papà and he were living in Army camps, one in Montana, the other Texas, about as far from North Beach as they ever wanted, not even a view of the sea, both of them adrift in a sailboat with no idea where the winds would take them.

After months of maneuvers, an outbreak of measles and a change in orders, their squadron finally shipped out in a convoy from the port of New Orleans. They made the crossing towards North Africa at the end of April 1943. During the voyage, the troops slept in hammocks on the tank deck below, suspended from steel bars in tiers of three and when they weren’t cleaning equipment, they ate or killed time, playing hours of poker and gin rummy for big stakes and little. Nick wondered how many excuses the GIs could come up with to gamble the night away. Two weeks later, under a crescent moon, the American troopships approached the French Moroccan coast, while the Royal Naval frigates from Gibraltar scared off an attack by a wolf pack of U-boats. Nathan’s crew couldn’t sleep, so they went up on the main deck for some fresh air, as their LST, a Landing Ship, Tank, steamed closer to the port of Casablanca, liberated by British and American forces during Operation Torch.