Book X

by Robert P McAuley

  Rocko raised his eyebrows and asked, “Can a military man be a congressman at the same time?”

  “Evidently he can. I mean he even goes around giving pep talks in Italian ammunition factories and aircraft plants. He speaks the language so the government is happy to have one of their own people stationed right here in Italy. Do you know that right after the Battle of Caporetto when the Italian government was thinking about going neutral, he went and helped talk them out of it? When he finished they were clapping and crying at the same time. They love him!”

  Rocko said as he shook his head, “Well, I still have to talk with his men so I better talk with him first. Is he on the base at this moment?”

  “You’re going to have to ask Sergeant Quint because I can’t keep track of the man.”

  Rocko stood and saluted and the Colonel stood and returned it.

  “Colonel,” Rocko asked, “What’s the captain’s name?”

  “Captain LaGuardia. Good luck and if I can help, just call.”

  “LaGuardia? Nice Italian name,” quipped Rocko as he left the office.

  In the main room, Sergeant Quint looked up as Rocko closed the door behind him.

  “Sergeant, can you tell me if Captain LaGuardia is in his office?”

  Quint looked at a roster sheet on a clipboard and answered, “Yes sir. The captain is on base, but I couldn’t tell you if he was in his office. He looked at his watch and went on, “He may be at the chow hall. He seems to make sure the food is just right for his men.”

  “Thank you. Now could you direct me to his office?”

  “Timms,” said Quint to one of the troopers typing away, “Escort the Captain to Captain LaGuardia’s office.”

  They left and headed across a grass landing strip.

  “Not that you asked, Captain,” said Timms, “but Captain LaGuardia is a swell guy. His troops get the best.”

  “Are they good pilots?”

  “Yes sir! They’ll do anything for the captain. Sometimes after lights-out you can hear them practicing their night flying.”

  After a short walk, Timms stopped and pointed at a wooden one-story building with a large sign staked into the grass in front of it. The sign had printed in large letters, ‘Fiorello’s Foggiani.’

  Rocko stopped and thought, Captain LaGuardia? I wonder if Fiorello is his first name like the old mayor of New York City?” Can’t be. Too much of a coincidence.”

  Just then the door opened and a short, corpulent man stepped out. The bright sunlight bounced off of his captain’s bars. When Rocko saw his thick head of black hair he knew who the man was: The ‘Little Flower’ from New York City, soon to be Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia.

  “Hey, Captain,” the short man called out, “Get over here out of the hot sun.”

  Rocko followed the man’s instructions and in a moment stood in front of him under the roof’s overhang.

  “Captain LaGuardia,” the man said without saluting as he introduced himself. “And you are?”

  “Captain Rocko Perna, just in from stateside.”

  “According to your insignia, you’re not a pilot.”

  “Nope. I’m here to check up on morale but from what I hear this is the one place I could have skipped.”

  LaGuardia smiled, “Guess so.” He squinted at Rocko and said, “You from New York?”

  “You can tell?” grinned Rocko.

  Grinning back, LaGuardia answered, “Yeah. They say it’s something about the way we talk.” Both men laughed and he went on, “Hey, it’s good to have another street-wise guy to talk too.” He took out a pocket watch, “Quattro e mezza, cura per alcuni anti-pasta?” (“Four-thirty, care for some anti-pasta?”)

  Rocko smiled and answered him in Italian, "Sempre pronto per anti-pasta, Fiorello

  (“Always ready for anti-pasta, Fiorello.”)

  “Ah ha!” Fiorello said as he hugged Rocko, “Another gumbah!”

  He took Rocko’s suitcase and placed it in his office then they walked to the chow hall chatting away in Italian. Once inside, Rocko was struck with the same odors that he grew up with from his mother’s cooking. LaGuardia stood with his hands on his hips as he watched Rocko’s reaction.

  “When I first got here, Rocko, they served salami sandwiches. I changed that real fast. If my boys are going to fly and fight, they’re going to do it with a belly full of good old Italian food.” He led the way to a long serving line and picked up a tin tray and cup. The young man behind the counter said, “Good afternoon, Captain. Hope you enjoy the meal.”

  “I’m sure we will, trooper.”

  They sat and ate an anti-pasta of olives, provolone cheese, lettuce and Italian salami covered with olive oil and two chunks of Italian bread each. LaGuardia took a flask out of his back pocket and poured wine into their tin cups.

  “Not regulation, Rocko, but rank has its privileges. The men get milk or ginger ale.”

  They finished their salad and talked about the climate of the area, the morale of the troops and the war. The trooper from behind the counter came to the table and said, “Sirs, the main course is ready and the troops should be here in five minutes. Care to try our veal cutlets and macaroni?”

  “Veal cutlets and macaroni?” said a happily surprised Rocko.

  “Better than salami sandwiches, right?” LaGuardia said with a grin as he stood and picked up his tin tray, “Follow me, Rocko, you’re going to love it. The recipe is an old family one.”

  “Say no more,” answered Rocko as he followed him with his own tin tray. Both men got their meal as the door of the large chow hall opened and the troopers got on line. Everyone that passed their table greeted their captain reverently.

  Finished, LaGuardia sat back and stretched. “My quarters for cappuccino?”

  “Sure, but I need to find out about sleeping quarters.”

  “No problem, tonight you take a room at the end of my barrack. There are at least three empty rooms available and in the morning I’ll talk to Sergeant Alloi.” He looked at Rocko and asked, “Rocko, how long will you be with us?”

  “Just a few days, Fiorello.”

  “Okay, let’s go. I want to hear all about New York City. I miss her.”

  They left and on the way to his quarters they approached the hangars.

  “Care to see my babies?” LaGuardia asked.

  “Absolutely!

  They entered a large canvas hangar and three large bombers sat there in the cool tent. The Caproni bomber sat nose high with its nose wheel in the air its tail resting on the grass. LaGuardia explained, “When she’s loaded with fuel and bombs plus her crew, her nose is on the ground.”

  It was a four-seater with space for two pilots, a machine gunner in the open nose and another machine gunner behind the pilots. The large bi-plane had three engines, two on either side of the fuselage on the wings and another rear-facing pusher-type engine behind the rear-gunner. It had a top speed of 85 miles-per-hour and Rocko could see that LaGuardia was proud of them as he caressed the smooth wooden nose.

  “Do you fly her?” asked Rocko.

  “Yes. Every chance I get. However, I’m away from the base so many times for this or that. Washington keeps me busy with requests to smooth any troubles that come up with the Italians.”

  “Are there many?”

  “Rocko, it’s like family. They want and we want and both are stubborn babies. So I go to the top and we talk it out over a nice meal and it’s good for a week or two, then I’m back smooth-talking them again.”

  “Where did you learn to fly?”

  “A friend of mine, a Sicilian immigrant named Giuseppe Bellanca, ran a small flying school at Mineola, Long Island. The trainer aircraft was a light Bleriot monoplane with a three-cylinder engine. It was a single-seater, so the student was alone in the aircraft. I seemed to take to it naturally and here I am.” He looked at Rocko and said, “Hey! Maybe tomorrow I’ll take you up for a spin? What do you think?”

  “Sure, that’ll be great!”

  �
��Okay, let’s get some cappuccino.” They left the hangar and ended up in LaGuardia’s room sipping the strong drink and smoking the cigars Rocko had provided.

  It was close to ten p.m. and both men had forgotten about the military as they chatted away about New York City and the places they frequented. Rocko made sure to only mention places that he knew were around in LaGuardia’s time. Finally, LaGuardia asked, “How do you go about finding out how the men’s morale is? I mean, is there a list of questions or something?”

  “I just have a few questions and I’m sure that you could answer them for me and I’ll have all the information I need.”

  LaGuardia said, “Shoot!”

  “Well, don’t take this personally, but if the Palazzo del Quirinale, in Rome, was bombed, which of your men would you think had a hand in it?”

  “Oh, so this is like a test that would point to one of my men?” He shook his head, “Believe me, there’s not a man in my outfit that would even think of bombing the Palazzo del Quirinale.”

  “Not even one?”

  “Nope, not even one. Not from this base. Besides, why would anyone try to bomb that place? Most of the time the government is in the country-side or by the shore.”

  Rocko was in a corner. He knew the bomber was from this base but how can he find out without blowing his cover?”

  “Any more questions, Rocko?”

  Rocko said, “Il mio amico, possiamo continuare in Italiano?” (“My friend, can we continue in Italian?”)

  LaGuardia shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Certo, il mio amico.” (“Sure, my friend.”)

  Rocko continued in Italian knowing that, should they be overheard, most if not all of the American airmen didn’t know Italian.

  He mentally crossed his fingers as he told a half-truth to LaGuardia. “What I tell you now is true and I need your help with it. I’ve been sent here from Washington on a special mission. We have excellent information that one o’clock in the morning, the day after tomorrow, a bomber from this base is going to bomb the Palazzo del Quirinale. It will drop one bomb on it and because of that and the jitters that the government has since the Battle of Caporetta, the Italian government will sign a separate peace treaty with Germany and her allies. This will free up all of the troops facing her and relocate them to the French front where they recently went on strike.”

  LaGuardia sat back staring at Rocko. Finally, he responded, “You say you have information that the bomber will be from my group?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry but I don’t believe it.”

  “But . . . “

  “Rocko, I know my men and they would never do such a thing.”

  “Okay,” said Rocko when he knew he had to get the man’s trust, “Let’s say it does happen and you didn’t help me to prevent it, when you run for Mayor of New York City, the newspapers will roast you. They’ll say in print, “The Little Flower that allowed the Germans to win the war wants to run New York City. What are his plans for our city?”

  LaGuardia sat and stared at him. “Little Flower? That’s a family nickname for me. How did you know that and what makes you think I’m going to run for mayor?”

  Rocko shrugged his shoulders and added, “Let me also say that when you run for mayor, you’re going to propose an airport in Queens.”

  LaGuardia’s eyes were wide with shock. “How-how do you know of these things? What department of the Army are you with?”

  “Fiorello, I can’t say anything more. But I need your help in stopping that bomber from bombing the government building. Will you do that with me?”

  “My friend, the answer is yes! And the solution is simple: It’s 150 miles from Foggia to Rome, where the government building is, and as the Caproni bomber flies at 85 miles-per-hour, all we have to do is listen for a Caproni bomber’s engines being started at around eleven o’clock and we have our traitor.”

  Rocko couldn’t see anything wrong with that so he shrugged and said, “Sounds good to me, Fiorello.” The two men shook hands.

  “Now, my friend,” said LaGuardia, “We both must get some sleep because I intend to take you to Rome tomorrow for cappuccino, but first allow me to show you to your quarters. Follow me.”

  He took Rocko to a room at the other end of the barrack. “I’ll have my orderly wake you at six tomorrow morning and we’ll meet in my room by six-thirty. Okay?

  “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  “LaGuardia slapped his back, “Good night, my friend. If I get no sleep it will be because I’ve stayed up dreaming of life as the Mayor of New York City.”

  Once he was alone, Rocko locked the door and took out his hairbrush communicator and typed in:

  HI BILL. I’M SET UP TO INTERCEPT THE BOMBER. I WAS SHOCKED TO FIND OUT THAT THE AIR WING COMMANDER IS NONE OTHER THAN FIORELLO LAGUARDIA, FUTURE MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY! I WONDER WHAT OTHER SURPRISES WILL POP UP. REGARDS, ROCKO.

  He put the communicator away and after a shower went to bed surprised at how exhausted he was.

  A tapping on his door woke Rocko. “Sir,” a voice said from the other side of the door, “Captain LaGuardia requests that you join him in his room for breakfast in thirty minutes.’

  “Ahh, tell the captain that I’ll be there.” He jumped out of the soft cot, shaved and put on a clean uniform. At precisely six-thirty he knocked on LaGuardia’s door.

  LaGuardia opened the door. Like Rocko, he was dressed already and pointed to a chair, “Come in and eat, my friend. I’m sure you like anisette cookies.”

  “Wow! One of my favorites.”

  LaGuardia patted his stomach and said, “Problem is I can’t just eat one and it goes straight to my waist. Every other week I have to get myself a new Sam Brown belt.” They both laughed as LaGuardia poured cappuccino.

  Rocko lifted his cup and said, “Cent’anni!”

  LaGuardia answered with “One hundred years to you too, my friend.” They both sipped the drink and ate the cookies.”

  “Have you ever been up?” asked LaGuardia taking another cookie from the dish.

  “No,” answered Rocko as he once again mentally crossed his fingers.

  “You’ll love it! We preflight her first then I file a flight plan, then we warm her up and takeoff. Two hours later we land at a field near the Arch of Constantine right next to the Coliseum. From there we walk to Mario Caputo’s Cappuccino Café.” He kissed his fingertips and blew it up to the sky as he said, “Mario makes the best cappuccino in all of Italy.”

  “You mean we fly all the way to Rome for a cup of cappuccino?”

  LaGuardia shrugged and said, “Why not? First of all I need to get some flying hours in, secondly, as I said, Mario makes the best cappuccino in Italy!”

  “That makes sense to me,” said a grinning Rocko as he reached for another cookie.

  At seven-thirty, an orderly entered and for the next half hour LaGuardia read reports and signed papers. Finally finished, he said, “Come on, Rocko, let’s get out here before I have to do that commander stuff again. It’s time for some fun.”

  He looked at Rocko as he grabbed a long flying suit from a clothes tree, “Hey, we have to get you some flying clothes. First we go to flight operations and then we’ll go over to the base quartermaster and get you fitted.”

  It was eight o’clock when they stepped out into the bright sunlight and walked along the perimeter of the grass runway towards the Flight Operations Hangar. Once inside, both men walked up to a long wooden counter with six men behind it, all typing away. One snapped to attention when he spotted the captains.

  ”Attention!” he shouted and the other five abruptly stood at attention.

  LaGuardia smiled and said, “As you were men.”

  They went back to their typing as the man closest to the middle of the counter asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, trooper, I’d like to file a flight plan for a ten o’clock departure from here to Rome. The aircraft is a Caproni Ca. I’m piloting and Captain Perna is my co-pilot and I hope to keep her at a
steady speed of seventy-miles per hour.”

  The young soldier nodded, “Will do, sir. Weather is clear all the way across the country. Will you be taking any gunners?”

  “No,” answered LaGuardia as he shook his head, “It’s just a familiarization flight for the captain.”

  The trooper nodded again as he handed the notes to one of the men and as the man started to type it up, turned to LaGuardia and said, “Clear to go, sir. ETA in Rome is 1220 hours.”

  “Thank you, trooper. I’ll check back in when we return.”

  He turned to Rocko and said, “Now, let’s go over to the quartermaster and get you fitted out.”

  The quartermaster’s tent was just a five-minute walk and after they had entered the cool interior they stood before an empty counter in the large canvas hangar. LaGuardia called out, “Sergeant Gelardi, are you here?”

  He turned and winked at Rocko, “Gelardi likes to sleep in the back and he’ll tell you that he was taking inventory.”

  The shuffling sound of a person in slippers was heard before Sergeant Gelardi came from behind a canvas curtain. It was obvious that he had been sleeping as his hair was pointing in every way imaginable. He saw the commander and suddenly stood taller as he shouted, “Attention!”

  “At ease,” said LaGuardia, “I just need Captain Perna fitted for a flight, sergeant.”

  “Yes sir, I was just taking inventory. Now, let’s get some measurements,” he came around with a tape measure and took Rocko’s measurements. “Be right out, Captain Perna.” He shuffled back behind the curtain as LaGuardia whispered, “Hope he can resist taking a nap until after he has you outfitted.”