Chapter 4
During the drive to our training camp in Peterborough, Johnny and I talked after we’d calmed down. We were both rattled from our dressing down from Sgt. Murphy, but we found solace in the fact that he seemed to hate each of us equally.
I found out that Johnny’s upbringing had been similar to mine. His parents had emigrated from Italy around the same time mine had come over. He was the second oldest of six kids. He’d mentioned before about inheriting his father’s lighter. He told me that his father had died about two years ago in an accident at the welding shop he worked in. There’d been an explosion and he’d never recovered. The explosion had been the fault of his apprentice, and the really sad thing about that was that the apprentice was Johnny’s older brother. His brother had lost two fingers in the accident, but that was nothing compared to the painful guilt he knew he’d carry for the rest of his life.
After his father’s funeral, his older brother went back to work, hell-bent on becoming the best welder he could be, bandaged hand and all. Not only did he want to assuage his guilt over being responsible for his father’s death, but to also provide for his mother and younger siblings. Even missing two fingers, he did as he had set out to do. His work was exemplary, and he’d quickly risen in the ranks of the company’s team of welders.
Things had been tough for Johnny’s mom. Those were hard times for everyone, and without her husband, she wondered if she would lose her house, or even worse, have her kids taken away from her. A few months after her husband’s death, she took in a boarder to help make ends meet: an older guy named Vince, who soon ended up sharing her bed. I could tell from Johnny’s tone of voice that he wasn’t too enamored with Vince, but he seemed strangely content when he told me there had been an argument between his mother and Vince about two months ago and she had thrown him out for good.
Although his older brother worked like a dog to provide for the family, it wasn’t enough. Johnny had been working packing groceries at a market after he finished high school, but his hours had been cut as thing got tougher all around. He figured the best thing he could do was to sign up for the army, to give his mom one less mouth to feed.
We both looked up as the bus slowed and turned into our training camp, our new home for who knew how long. We shuffled off the bus, stretching our legs from the cramped seats, suitable for the little kids it normally transported, not too comfortable for grown men.
“C’mon you assholes, let’s go, let’s go,” Cpl. Riddick said as he waved us off the bus. Murphy stood stock still beside him and watched as we filed off the bus, man after man. Johnny and I were near the end of the line, and as we hurried past him, his flinty gaze reinforced our notion that he’d be keeping his eye on us.
There was a row of barracks-type buildings in the area where we’d stopped. Riddick directed us to the one that would be ours. Johnny and I followed the other guys inside and grabbed a set of bunks together, me on the bottom and him taking the top.
“LISTEN UP!” Murphy’s booming voice drew our attention. “Stow away all your crap in your lockers and report to mess hall for chow in fifteen minutes. You’ll have exactly thirty minutes to eat and then you’ll report to the stores building where the quartermaster will give you your gear. If you’re not in the mess hall in fifteen minutes, you’re up shit’s creek. So c’mon girls, hurry up and stow that shit away. And I mean away; I don’t want to walk through here and see one fucking shoelace lying around. Got it?”
“YES SIR.” We were learning fast. The other guys had seen the way Murphy had treated us, and I’m sure they weren’t anxious to get in on any of that action. They hurriedly stored their stuff away, as did Johnny and I.
The group of us rushed over to the mess hall; nobody wanting to be late and face Murphy’s wrath, or miss out on the meal as well. We weren’t used to the daily schedule yet and nobody knew when our next chance to eat would be. The food wasn’t half bad; beef stew, a big chunk of bread and enough cold fresh milk to choke a horse. Everybody wolfed it down; it had been a long time since we’d all left our own homes earlier that day. I’m sure they were all thinking about their families as much as I was; meal times were when most families gathered together.
Cpl. Riddick led us over to the stores building. There were a few seasoned recruits helping the big burly guy who I assumed ran the place. The bin rats measured us briskly and came back with stacks of our gear, everything you’d need right down to your underwear and socks. We moved into the next room where there were four guys with scissors and hair clippers taking on one customer at a time.
Johnny and I waited our turn and watched the others; I was happy to see they weren’t giving everybody a skull-testing brush cut.
“Errol Flynn better watch out,” Johnny said as the barber whipped the hair-strewn cape off his lap. “Johnny Russo is coming for all those Hollywood cuties.”
“I’m sure old Errol is shaking in his boots,” said the barber, a sarcastic grin on his face. “Now get your ass out of that chair.”
Then it was time to be looked over by the docs. The pecker checkers had us strip down, piss into bottles, stick out our tongues and say “Aahhhh,” then sent us on our way.
We hauled our stuff back to our barracks, stowed it away and changed into our fatigues. Cpl. Riddick had told all of us to be outside on the parade grounds in half an hour. There was a lot of chatter going on, the guys introducing themselves and getting to know each other. They seemed to be a pretty decent lot, all of them about the same age as Johnny and me. They were an interesting mix; a hodgepodge of some city boys, some from small towns and some from farms. We all eyed each other up, knowing that sometime we might have to rely on each other to save our lives. It was a scary thought; most of these guys, like me, had never fired a gun in their lives.
“ALL RECRUITS REPORT TO THE PARADE SQUARE IMMEDIATELY,” a voice over a loudspeaker outside interrupted our chatter.
We piled outside and joined the milling throng in the square. More buses had arrived, our numbers swelling. We spotted Murphy and Riddick standing together and made our way towards them, just as other groups of recruits were migrating to their squad leaders. A door opened on one of the little shacks facing the square and a lieutenant held the door as a captain stepped forth, surveyed the milling crowd and stepped onto a little podium with a microphone on it.
“TEN HUTT!” the lieutenant barked loudly after joining the C.O. on the rickety stand. Sgt. Murphy and Cpl. Riddick snapped to attention, and the rest of us misfits followed suit, doing the best that we could.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the captain said as he flipped the switch on the microphone and leaned towards it. He was tall, probably a couple of inches over six foot. I guessed he was in his mid-thirties. He looked smart, and confident. He reminded me of a teacher I’d had in school, a teacher that always took the extra time to help, to make you feel that you were important, more than just a name on their attendance sheet or in their mark book.
“Men, I’m—” he started to speak, but a wailing shrill assaulted our ears as the sound system went haywire, feedback screeching from the speakers perched around the square. He halted in mid-sentence as the lieutenant stepped forward and made some adjustments to the mike. He nodded and the captain spoke again, this time keeping a little more distance between himself and the sensitive microphone.
“I’m Captain Crocker, and this is Lieutenant Shapton. As you all know, we are officially at war with Germany. As part of the Allied forces, we are preparing for the fight that is likely to take place in Europe. You men have come here to be part of that force. And for that, you have my respect and gratitude.” He spoke calmly, forcefully; a man you could trust.
“You come from various backgrounds; rich, poor, and of every race, color and creed that go into making this great country of ours. You’ve come from our cities, from our towns and villages, and from our farms. But you have come for one thing; to fight for the freedom that every civilized human being deserves.” He paused, le
tting his words sink in. The men watched, stone-faced and entranced. “You will be trained by the best officers in this army. We will help to make you the best fighting force on God’s green earth. When it is our turn to fight, we will be ready, we will be strong, we will be tenacious, and we will not be defeated.” Some spontaneous cheers went up from the men, his words having stirred their pride.
“Remember men, what we prepare for today will be needed tomorrow. Trust me, that fight will come, and we will be part of it. Your country needs you; your families and loved ones need you, and I need you. We will fight together, and we will be victorious!”
Another cheer went up as the captain nodded, his piercing eyes moving from one squad to the next. With a small wave, he left the stage and returned to his office, Lt. Shapton following in his wake.
“You heard the captain, let’s get to work,” Murphy bellowed. The other drill sergeants were speaking to their charges as well, each squad following their leader like baby chicks following their mother.
Out on the parade grounds, under the direction of Sgt. Murphy and Cpl. Riddick, our motley crew soon learned to march and stand at attention. Murphy hollered and blustered, and it was apparent to all that he kept a close eye on both me and Johnny, as if he was waiting in blissful anticipation for one of us to screw up. The other guys had been witness to his scathing wrath earlier that morning, and whether it had been his subtle intention or not to set us up as examples, it had the rest of the crew meeting muster quick enough.
They drilled us for two hours straight before sending us on a five-mile run. After the efforts we’d already put in on the parade grounds, the run was far from easy. Most of us ended up back in our barracks gasping and thankful for the break we’d been given.
“Holy shit, I’ve never run that far since Murphy caught me with his mother,” a guy named Sam said, all of us sitting on our bunks and drawing in deep draughts of air. This brought a chorus of laughs from everyone. Sam was one of the city boys, from Toronto, and it wasn’t long until you could tell he had a bit of the smartass in his genetic makeup. Bill and Sid were from Toronto as well, and although they hadn’t known each other, they talked with Sam about places they all knew.
“You better keep that kind of talk quiet, Sam, or the sergeant will put you on his shit list with these two,” George said, nodding towards Johnny and I. George was from a small town like mine, and seemed sensible enough.
“Yeah, he sure as shit has you two lined up in his sights,” Sam replied, looking at us. “I hope he’ll keep himself busy enough making you two his whipping boys to bother with any of us.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Johnny said.
“I know, we were all there,” Sam said as I looked around at the various faces watching, listening. There were a number of nods, and you could see from the looks in their eyes that they understood our innocence in the whole matter, but were still glad they weren’t in our shoes. “Where are you guys from?”
I told them where I was from, and then Johnny took his turn. We ended up going around the whole group of guys, feeling a sense of camaraderie building as we each spoke. Harry and Chester were from the country, and had hardly seen anything bigger than a one-room schoolhouse. Sam and Bill joked with them about being hicks, but I could tell it was good-natured banter, there was nothing spiteful or malicious in the ribbing they gave them. After one comment by Sam about farm boys and their friendships with young animals, Harry was quick to give it back to him.
“Well, some of those sheep are better than that time I came to Toronto and met up with your sister.”
There was a brief moment of tension around the group as Harry flung this insult Sam’s way, but Sam roared with laughter and gave the country boy a playful shove on the shoulder. Yes, they were a good group; Johnny and I could have ended up with a lot worse.
Basic training continued for our squad, Murphy and Riddick riding us hard as the days went by. Murphy always seemed to find some lame excuse to find fault with Johnny or me. Whether it was an unbuttoned button or our boots not shined to perfection, I lost track of the extra pushups or laps on the track that Johnny and I had to do. Murphy would just stand there, hands folded across his chest as he watched us suffer, a smug grin on his face.
“RUSSO, NUZURKA!” Murphy’s booming voice echoed through the barracks one morning after breakfast. “C’mon, you two, fill your canteens and let’s go.”
Johnny and I looked at each other, wondering what the hell this was all about. We hurriedly filled our canteens from the washroom sink and joined the sergeant who was waiting outside.
“This way,” he said as he started walking away from us. We followed him over to the maintenance building where he threw open a side door into a storage area. “Get in there and grab a couple of shovels and some work gloves,” he said before striding away. We each grabbed a shovel and a pair of gloves and then followed after him. He walked about a quarter mile past the parade grounds until he reached a spot near the edge of the bush. He finally turned and faced us.
“I want you guys to dig a trench from here to there.” He pointed to two trees about thirty feet apart. “I want it about three feet deep by eight feet wide.”
“Uh, Sir, can I ask what this is for?” I was praying that for some spiteful reason he wasn’t going to just make us dig a hole and fill it back in.
“The obstacle course runs right through here. The captain thought this would just make it a little more challenging.”
“Will some of the others be coming to help with this, Sir?” Johnny asked. I looked at the area Murphy wanted dug up. With just the two of us, this was going to take forever.
“Does it look like anybody else is coming?”
“Uh…..no, Sir.”
“That’s right; just the two of you. I think this is a job even two dipshits like you guys can handle on your own without screwing up.” He turned to go.
“Sir.” I said, stopping Murphy in his tracks.
“What is it, Uke?”
“Why us, Sir?”
“What do you mean, ‘why us’?” That scowl of annoyance was back. I felt like slapping it right off his frying-pan face.
“Respectfully speaking, Sir, why do you always make us do these crappy jobs?”
He looked over his shoulder, I assumed to make sure no one was walking up on us unannounced. “I’ll tell you why. It’s people like the two of you that are making this country weak.” He swept his hand in the direction of both of us. “The fuckin’ Dagos have joined forces with the enemy. They’re just a bunch of goddamned idiots being led by a crazy fanatic. And you, your goddamned country just lays down and raises her skirt like a whore to anybody who walks over your borders. And then you come crying to the rest of us to save your sorry asses. ‘Oh boo-hoo, look what the big bad Mr. Hitler is doing to us; please help’.”
He paused for a second while Johnny and I just stared at him, dumbstruck by his ignorance. Like Johnny’d said, we’d been called names all our lives, but we thought that would be behind us once we were in the army. I guess we thought wrong. The sergeant spoke again, his voice getting louder. “As far as I’m concerned, both of you should just go back to where the fuck you came from. If you can’t take care of your own land, what makes you think you can take care of this one?”
Johnny and I exchanged a wary glance, knowing it was better not to say anything at all rather than pour gasoline on a roaring fire.
“So when I give you a job to do, I expect you to fucking do it.” He looked intently at each of us, a menacing look in his eyes. “Is that clear?”
“Yes Sir!” we snapped out.
“Good, then get to work.” He turned on his heel and strode away. We simply stood and stared after him until he was out of earshot, our heads spinning.
“I am so sick of that shit!” Johnny said, spearing his shovel viciously into the ground.
We set to work, knowing there was nothing we could do about it. The ground was hard and the work gruelling. Thank goodness
the weather was cool or it would have been brutal. As it was, within an hour we were soaked through with sweat. We had been rationing our water, but by noon, we finished the last drops.
“What the hell happened to you guys?” Chester said as we trudged into the mess hall and joined the guys for some chow. We were filthy, but famished. We gorged ourselves and each downed two tall glasses of milk, the cool white nectar tasting like heaven.
“Come on, you two,” Murphy said as he walked up to our table. “Finish up and get back to work. I’ll be out later to check on you.”
“Asshole,” Johnny whispered under his breath as the sergeant walked away.
We finished our lunch, refilled our canteens and dragged our sorry asses back out to the field, anxious to be done. The sergeant showed up at around 16:00. We gratefully took a break and leaned on our shovels as he surveyed our work. We’d worked from one end towards the other, going the full width of the trench as we worked our way along. I figured we had about another hour left until we were done. I pulled off my gloves and looked at my hands. They were blistered, the skin bleeding and cracked in a couple of spots. My arms, shoulders, my whole body ached from the hours of exertion.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna do it,” Murphy said with an emphatic shake of his head.
“What?” Johnny responded, his mouth hanging open.
“Now that I see it, it’s not gonna work. Most of the guys will be able to jump right over that. Make it another two feet wider.”
“You’re kidding.” I said.
“Do I look like I’m kidding, Private?” he asked, jabbing a stubby finger into my chest. “Now get back to work. You two dipshits can eat when you’re done.”
With a shake of our heads, Johnny and I resigned ourselves to our fate. We pulled our gloves back on and jumped back into the trench, our shovels spearing into the ground angrily.
We had both dealt with ignorant people our whole lives. It was amazing how fast things would change once your name was mentioned. We looked and sounded just like everybody else, but once your name rang through the air, you’d think somebody had just thrown dog shit on the birthday cake. I remember when I was a little kid how I’d cried when the other kids picked on me, called me names, threw stones at me. It hardened you, no doubt about that. I hated it, hated feeling that way, wondering if even people who treated me nicely were just burying those feelings inside themselves for appearances’ sake. My mother always said that things would get better; the world was going to change. I think she was only kidding herself; there’d always be people like Murphy.
It was dark and cold when we finally finished about 9:00pm. We trudged back to the barracks, covered from head to toe in dirt. The guys had saved us some food. I only ate about half of the chicken stew before collapsing onto my bunk fully clothed, filthy and totally exhausted. I was asleep within seconds, thoughts of driving my shovel through Murphy’s fat neck flashing before my eyes.
We were issued rifles. There’s nothing like holding a loaded weapon to make a man feel like he’s pretty tough. Just knowing the power you carried in your hand caused a certain swagger. Most of us couldn’t shoot worth a damn though. This is where the farm boys made their presence felt. Harry and Chester excelled on the rifle range, especially Chester. I swear he could shoot the balls off a rat at 100 yards. I wasn’t the only one who noticed his talent on the range. Within days he had been issued a sniper’s rifle with a high-powered scope. Everyone was jealous, but we all knew he deserved it. I made the decision right there and then that if I ever ended up in a foxhole and was facing the enemy, I wanted Chester right next to me.
I was worse than most. I couldn’t figure out why. I’d hold that carbine as tight against my shoulder as I could, squint down those sights and slowly squeeze the trigger, just like they taught me. Unfortunately, the results were not as I hoped. After a number of comments in which the broad side of a barn door was repeatedly mentioned, Chester tried to give me some personal lessons. He told me to relax and not hold the gun so tight, try and treat it like a pretty girl, snuggle up close to it and let it become one with me. This only seemed to get me more excited, my racing heart causing the bullet to miss the target by a wider margin.
“Hey Uke!” Sgt. Murphy called out one day as we were on the rifle range. He was standing with Cpl. Riddick a short distance away and motioning for me to come over. Looking past him, I saw Capt. Crocker and Lt. Shapton approaching, the lieutenant with some gear in hand. I jogged over, arriving just before the officers. I did my best to snap to attention, my hand raised in salute.
“Private Nuzurka reporting, Sir.”
“At ease, private,” the captain said. “Private, Sgt. Murphy here tells me you aren’t too handy with a rifle. Is that right, Son?”
I looked at Murphy, who stood there with this self-satisfied look on his face, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. I wondered if my lack of shooting ability was about to get me drummed out of the whole program. “Well, I uh…..I try to do my best, Sir.”
“Relax, Son,” Capt. Crocker said, easing my anxiety with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I was looking at your recruitment questionnaire and you seem to have an interest in radios.” He looked at me questioningly.
“Yes, Sir. My older brother had a Ham radio that he let me tinker around with.”
“That’s good. Think you might want to take a crack at handling some of this gear?” The lieutenant passed me the small pack he’d been carrying. I hadn’t noticed until now the little antennas sticking out of the top. There were a couple of walkie-talkies in canvas pouches on the sides, and inside was the radio unit, with a small handheld mike clipped to it. I felt a surge of excitement go through me as I looked at the dials and meters of the radio.
“Yes Sir. I’d appreciate that, Sir.”
“Well gentlemen,” Capt. Crocker said as he turned to the other three. “It looks like we’ve got us a signaler.” He stepped forward and I was surprised to see him stretch out his hand towards me. I looked up at the taller man’s face, his comforting gaze meeting my own. Dumbfounded, I instinctively slipped my hand into his, his grip firm and reassuring. The handshake was brief but convincing, one pump down, one pump up, and then back to the middle. Still gripping my hand in his, he reached forward with his other hand and gently gripped my shoulder. He spoke softly, his words meant for my ears only. “When we get into this war, that radio might be the difference between life and death. We may need your services badly someday, Private. I hope I can count on you, Son.”
“Yes Sir,” I replied emphatically, a rush of pride going through me at the responsibility I’d just been given.
“That’s great,” he said, giving me a little nod as he released my hand and gave me a final pat on the shoulder.
“Sgt. Murphy, have Pte. Nuzurka report to Lt. Shapton at 15:00 today for some training on this equipment.”
“Yes Sir!” Murphy snapped out his answer with a smart salute as the captain and lieutenant departed. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to me. “Get that radio strapped to your back and get used to it. You’re going to be carrying that around a lot from now on.”
“Thanks, Sgt. Murphy,” I said, slipping the straps of the pack onto my shoulders.
“Don’t thank me, Uke; it wasn’t my idea. I wouldn’t trust an important job like that to a fuck-up like you. It’s bad enough you can’t hit your mother’s fat ass with that gun of yours; just make sure you don’t screw this up. If you do, you might get us all killed one day.”
“Yes Sir,” I said, feeling myself flushing with embarrassment and anger. I hastily picked up my gun and jogged back to the rifle range. The thought of Sgt. Murphy getting killed one day didn’t seem like such a bad idea. I got back to my spot and assumed the prone position, picturing Murphy’s ugly mug on the target ahead of me as I leaned my cheek against the smooth wooden butt and lined up the sights.
“Easy, Alex.” Chester spoke to me from his position beside me. “Breathe easy, concentrate on the target, feel
that pretty girl in your hands, now gently squeeze her tight.”
With visions of Murphy’s beet-red face exploding into scarlet mush, I pulled the trigger.
BLAM!
“Uh yeah, looks like we’ve still got some work to do,” Chester said as we watched a hillock a good two yards beside the target churn up a puff of dirt. Signaler or sniper? It looks like the officers had made the right decision.