Chapter 3
The ride from Oshawa took about an hour in the old bus. It dropped us at the Toronto Exhibition grounds; a sprawling parcel of land near the lakeshore. The army had fashioned a makeshift base out of the site, surrounding it with fencing and erecting a number of tents for various operational needs.
I shuffled along with the others, following the signs directing the new recruits flooding in. A corporal standing near one of the gates checked my paperwork and pointed to one tent with a growing line-up outside, everybody in line carrying some form of battered suitcase, just like mine. I made my way over and took my place at the end of the line as it inched slowly forward.
“Hey buddy, got a smoke I can bum off you?” The fellow two spots ahead turned and asked. He pointed to the young man standing between us. “This guy doesn’t smoke.”
“Uh, sure,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out my pack.
“Thanks, pal. You’re a lifesaver,” he said as he let the guy between us go by. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit up, sparking it up with a Zippo lighter he whipped out of his pocket. Zippos had been around for about ten years now, but this was only the second one I’d ever seen in my life. I was impressed, wondering where he’d got it; it had always been just matches for me.
“Nice lighter,” I said as I pulled out a smoke for myself.
“Thanks,” he replied as he held the lighter up as I lit my cigarette from it.
“Where’d you get it?”
“My dad had it for a few years before he died. My mom gave it to me.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice, so I figured this hadn’t happened very long ago.
“Oh, I uh…..I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, that’s okay.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette and stuck his hand out towards me. “I’m Johnny, Johnny Russo.”
“Alex Nuzurka.” I looked at him as we shook hands. He was about my build, slim and just under six feet tall. He was a pretty good-looking guy, sharp features and wavy dark hair. I was impressed by the way he’d spoken to me, confident and straightforward. He was one of those people that others seemed to like immediately, the type that have natural charisma without being overbearing or conceited.
“Nuzurka?” he said, his eyebrows drawn up quizzically as a wry smile played at the corners of his mouth. “With a fucked-up name like that, you’ve gotta be Ukrainian, right?”
“Yeah. What about you, Italian?”
“Yep, the seventh son of the seventh son of some poor bastard who was a slave in the Roman Empire.” His smile was infectious, and I felt myself smiling along with him.
“Hey you two, let’s see your paperwork.” We’d been inching forward with the line and one of the corporals motioned to us. They’d set up some desks made from sheets of plywood atop sawhorses; good enough for what they needed. “C’mon guys, I haven’t got all day.” He had a smile on his face as he reached forward, waiting patiently as we reached into our pockets. Johnny and I passed our papers to the guy who looked them over and then consulted the rafts of stapled sheets in front of him.
“Let’s see: Nuzurka, Alexander, and Russo, Gianni. Huh, it looks like you guys are in the same squad. Let’s just see which one,” he said as he pencilled in a couple of check marks on his lists and then drew his finger downwards. “13th Field Regiment, 81st Battery….” He paused for a second as his finger came to a stop. “Hmmm, it looks like you’re both assigned to Squad #5.” The smile he’d had on his face quickly disappeared as he wrote our assigned unit on our paperwork and handed it back to us.
“Is….is there something wrong with that?” I asked.
“Oh no, nothing really.” He turned and looked out to the parade grounds behind the tent. There were poles stuck into the ground with signs with various numbers on them. We followed his eyes and spotted the #5 he was looking at. There were already a number of recruits in civilian clothes milling around, but we could see him looking at the two people in uniform standing a short distance away talking to each other. “You two seem like pretty straight-up guys. Just mind yourselves.” He turned back to us and pointed over his shoulder to the two men. “Your training officers are going to be those two: Sgt. S.B. Murphy and his corporal, Rat-face Riddick.”
“S.B.?” I asked.
“Yeah, Shit-Britches Murphy, that’s his nickname. Rumor has it that when he started out he wanted to be a paratrooper. The first time he had to jump, word is he shit himself as soon as he left the plane. Wrapped his parachute around himself when he got onto the ground and never jumped again.”
“You’re kidding me?” Johnny said.
“That’s what I heard. I wasn’t there, but I do know he’s one tough motherfucker, so make sure you toe the line. Riddick’s his little sidekick, and he’d stab his own mother in the back if it would make him look good in front of Murphy.”
Johnny and I looked at the two men. Riddick was tall and skinny, and it was apparent by his rat-like features where his nickname had come from. Murphy removed his cap and ran his hand through the light-brown stubble of his brush-cut as he looked around. He was short and squat and had a face like a frying pan. He looked tough, like a bulldog.
“Alright you two, move along, I’ve got other recruits to deal with. Good luck to you both.” The corporal swept his arm, moving us along as he turned to the next men in line. We heard his voice behind us as we stepped out onto the parade grounds. “Okay buddy, where’s your papers? I haven’t got all day.”
“Jesus, that didn’t sound too promising,” I said as we walked over to join our squad.
“Ah, he’s probably just exaggerating. It’s probably all rumors and he’s just pulling our leg,” Johnny replied.
We fell in with the others milling around. I took a look at them. They all looked very much like me and Johnny; about the same age and seeming to come from similar backgrounds. Nobody looked like they were from some rich family; those guys never seemed to sign up.
“Hi Sarge, looks like we’re in your squad.” Johnny’s voice next to me made me turn around. Sgt. Murphy had turned to walk in the direction of the assignment tent when Johnny spoke to him. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at Johnny, fire burning in his eyes.
“What did you call me?” he said under his breath as he stepped closer, his broad chest mere inches in front of Johnny.
“Uh…..Sarge?” Johnny said meekly.
“What’s a dumb fuck like you doing calling me Sarge? Do I look like your best buddy? Do I look like some queer that wants to be your corn-holing pal?”
“Uh…..no.”
“Then why did you think you could call me Sarge?”
“I….uh…..I was just trying to be friendly.”
“I don’t want any more friends, do I corporal?” Murphy said, speaking loud enough so that all those in the vicinity could hear, including Cpl. Riddick.
“No Sir,” Riddick chimed in. “You don’t want any more friends.”
“That’s right, I’ve got all the friends I need. I wouldn’t want to be friends with a piece of dog shit like you anyway.” He looked past Johnny at the rest of us watching. “You fuck-ups haven’t earned the right to call me Sarge.” He said this loudly, his intense eyes surveying all of us as he slowly looked from one man to the next. “You will refer to me as Sergeant or Sir. You got it?”
“Yes Sir,” numerous voices echoed the same response.
“So what’s your name, piss-flap?” Sgt. Murphy returned his attention to Johnny.
“Uh….Russo, Sir. Johnny Russo.”
“Russo? Looks like we got us one of those Eye-ties here, Cpl. Riddick.”
“Yes Sir,” the corporal said.
“Is that right, Russo, you a Wop? You a fuckin’ spaghetti-eater?”
Johnny looked frozen, the intimidating sergeant right in his face. I stepped forward and spoke, trying to deflect his attention. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Sir. He just wanted to make sure we were in the right place.”
/> “AND WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Murphy roared as he stepped over and took the same imposing position with me, his flushed face inches from mine.
“Alex Nuzurka, Sir,” I said, standing stiffly with my arms at me sides.
“New what?”
“Nuzurka, Sir.”
“Nuzurka. What the fuck kind of name is that? Must be some kind of Pollack, right, Cpl. Riddick?”
“Yes Sir,” Riddick replied.
“It’s Ukrainian, Sir,” I corrected.
“Are you sure, Nuuuuzurka?” he said sarcastically, drawing out the pronunciation of my name. “Maybe your mother got raped by some big-dicked cossack in her cabbage patch. Maybe you’re some kind of fuckin’ Polish-Ukrainian cross. What would that make him, Corporal?”
“A Puke, Sir.”
“Puke, that’s right. That seems just about right for you,” he said as he looked me up and down, steam all but coming out of his ears.
“Sir, I was the one who……” I heard Johnny speak up.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Murphy’s booming voice cut Johnny off in mid-sentence. He looked from one to the other of us, his face beet-red with anger. “Listen, you two little cunts; you talk when I tell you to talk. You march when I tell you to march, and you won’t even shit until I tell you to shit. Now, I don’t ever want to hear either fucking one of you call me Sarge again. You assholes got that?”
“Yes Sir.”
“We’ve got a long haul ahead of us, and I sure as hell don’t need two shit-stains like you fuckin’ up the works.” He paced back and forth between the two of us, looking like he was trying to decide which one he was gonna punch first. “If you two pieces of snot listen and learn to do as you’re told, you might end up not getting shot. But if you fuck with me, you two are gonna be the ones walking around with sore assholes, because I will fuck you over real good, both of you.” He pointed his finger at Johnny and then at me. “Do you fuckin’ turds understand me?”
“YES SIR,” we chorused. Just then a bus pulled over near our little group; hissing to a stop before the driver popped open the door.
“Alright, get on the goddamned bus, and I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you for the whole trip.”
“Yes Sir.” Johnny and I grabbed our suitcases and got in line with the others, both of us dazed at what had just happened. Once inside, we worked our way towards the back of the bus, as far away from Sgt. Murphy as possible.
“Jesus Christ,” Johnny said as he slid onto the bench seat next to me. “That guy is fucking nuts. Guys with names like ours have been getting that kind of shit forever; I thought the army was going to be different.”
“Maybe that corporal who signed us in wasn’t exaggerating about the sergeant after all.”
“Yeah brother, looks like you’re right about that.”
The bus lurched forward, the misfiring engine coughing and hissing as we left the fairgrounds. It was some minutes before my racing heart slowed. I saw from Johnny’s trembling hand that he was as shaken as I was from our first encounter with Sgt. Murphy. I think the trepidation we felt wasn’t based on what had just happened, but from knowing that this first encounter wasn’t likely to be our last.