Go for Broke

by Len Levinson

  “Well,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, “I’ve got to have somebody to take Sergeant Cameron’s place. The next ranking man is Sergeant Snider, but you don’t know anything about being a platoon sergeant, do you, Sergeant Snider?”

  Sergeant Snider was a squat man with a blubbery mouth and a short growth of thick black beard. “I don’t know anything about anything,” he said. “And on top of that, I’m wounded.” He held up his right hand, showing his bloody handkerchief wrapped around his wrist. “I ain’t good for nothing.”

  Except for making white lightning, Lieutenant Breckenridge thought. He looked around at the others, and his eyes fell on Corporal Froelich. “You’re the next ranking man after Sergeant Snider,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Think you can handle the job of acting platoon sergeant?”

  Corporal Froelich had an egg-shaped body and a scraggly mustache. “The only thing I know about is communications.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge nodded in appreciation of Corporal Froelich’s honesty. Now he was down to pfcs., and he didn’t think he had much to choose from. Frankie La Barbara couldn’t take orders, so he certainly shouldn’t be giving them. Shilansky wasn’t very bright. Craig Delane had no leadership ability whatever. Jimmy O’Rourke was an utter fool. The Reverend Billie Jones was a religious screwball who liked to kill Japs.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge was perplexed. He wished he had Butsko around, but he didn’t. Which of these guys would make a good acting platoon sergeant? he wondered. It was a tough choice, but he narrowed them down to Frankie La Barbara and Jimmy O’Rourke. He didn’t like the idea of either one. Frankie was uncooperative in every way all the time, and O’Rourke was obviously half crazy. The former movie stuntman thought he was Clark Gable.

  Neither one of them is any good, Lieutenant Breckenridge decided. Maybe I should get along without a platoon sergeant. But he knew he couldn’t do that and still have a smooth-running, efficient team. He also knew that sometimes the man who was the biggest fuck-up turned out to be the best soldier when the shit hit the fan. The big question was, could Frankie La Barbara or Jimmy O’Rourke rise to the occasion?

  He thought it over and decided Jimmy O’Rourke couldn’t rise to any occasion that required clear objective thinking, because he was too subjective, too narcissistic; O’Rourke lived in a weird Hollywood dreamworld and was striking poses all the time. That left Frankie La Barbara, the former mob knee-cracker from New York City.

  “Well,” said Lieutenant Breckenridge, “Private First Class Frankie La Barbara is the new acting platoon sergeant until further notice.”

  Everybody looked stunned, but nobody was more surprised than Frankie La Barbara himself.

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “I want to talk with you alone, La Barbara. Let’s go into those woods over there and figure out what we’re going to do.”

  Frankie frowned. “I don’t want to be no fucking platoon sergeant.”

  “Let’s go into those woods over there and talk about it.”

  “I got nothing to talk about,” Frankie said. “Fuck you.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge groaned. Already Frankie was giving him trouble. “I just gave you an order, La Barbara.”

  “Shove your orders up your ass.”

  “I’m going to tell you one more time to go into those woods over there, and if you refuse again, I’ll just have to go over there and kick your worthless ass.”

  “You and who else?”

  “Get into those woods over there.”

  “Fuck you where you breathe.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge now realized he’d made a mistake. Frankie La Barbara could never be a platoon sergeant. But Lieutenant Breckenridge couldn’t let Frankie make him back down.

  “I just changed my mind,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Pfc. La Barbara is a fuck-up and could never make a platoon sergeant.”

  Frankie grinned. “I toldja.”

  “But I’m going to kick your fucking ass anyway.”

  “You are?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge got to his feet. He knew he’d have to kick the shit out of Frankie La Barbara, otherwise Frankie wouldn’t respect him and would argue every time Lieutenant Breckenridge gave an order. That defiance would spread among the other men, and the unit would lose its cohesiveness. They’d never make it back to safety if everybody did what he wanted to do.

  Frankie looked up at Lieutenant Breckenridge. “You’re not serious, are you, Lieutenant?”

  “On your feet, fuck-up.”

  “Not me,” Frankie La Barbara said, “because even if I win, I lose. If I kick your ass, I’ll get court-martialed afterwards.”

  “No you won’t. This is between you and me. Nobody else has to know. And besides, you couldn’t kick my ass even if you had ten more fuck-ups just like yourself with you.”

  The right corner of Frankie’s mouth turned up. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The bigger they come, the harder they fall,” Frankie said, pushing his hands against the ground, getting to his feet.

  The others pulled back to the edge of the clearing, to give Frankie La Barbara and Lieutenant Breckenridge some fighting room. Frankie unbuckled his cartridge belt and let it fall to the ground. Lieutenant Breckenridge rested his Thompson submachine gun against a tree. He raised his fists in the air.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “No rules.”

  “No rules?” asked Frankie.

  “That’s right. Anything goes.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  “Suit yourself,” Frankie said.

  Frankie knew everybody was watching him, so he danced a bit on the balls of his feet to impress the other guys. He punched the air, threw his shoulders around, bobbed and weaved. Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at Frankie through narrowed eyes, measuring him. He knew he was bigger and stronger than Frankie, but he also knew that Frankie was tough and mean, a skilled fighter. Frankie wouldn’t have survived two years in the South Pacific if he weren’t a skilled fighter.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge advanced sideways, holding his right fist near his jaw and his left fist in front of his left shoulder. He knew he had to vanquish Frankie, otherwise he’d look like a fool. The men would never respect him again. He’d lose all credibility.

  Frankie settled down and waited for Lieutenant Breckenridge to come within punching range. He hated officers and was happy for the opportunity to beat up on Lieutenant Breckenridge. He knew that Lieutenant Breckenridge was bigger and stronger, but he was the dirtier fighter. He’d even up the odds and clean up the jungle with Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  “C’mon,” he said to Lieutenant Breckenridge. “C’mon.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge’s arms were longer than Frankie’s, and he now was within punching distance, but Frankie wasn’t. Frankie realized he’d have to counter off Lieutenant Breckenridge’s punches, bobbing and weaving so that he could get inside and do damage.

  Frankie moved his head from side to side as he danced on his toes, holding his fists underneath his chin so he could protect his head. Lieutenant Breckenridge shot a jab to Frankie’s face, and Frankie wiped it away with his left hand. Lieutenant Breckenridge threw another jab, and Frankie ducked underneath it, then danced two steps to the side and launched his own jab, connecting with Lieutenant Breckenridge’s cheek, snapping his head back.

  “How’d that feel?” Frankie asked, dancing from side to side.

  “My grandmother hit me harder than that,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge jabbed Frankie’s head again, and Frankie blocked the blow with both his hands, but Lieutenant Breckenridge followed with a right hook to Frankie’s left kidney. Frankie couldn’t get out of the way in time. The blow landed, and Lieutenant Breckenridge’s fist sank into the soft meat that covered the sensitive organ. Frankie’s face became a mask of pain, but he danced to the side
and threw an overhand right at Lieutenant Breckenridge’s head. Lieutenant Breckenridge ducked and Frankie’s fist flew over Lieutenant Breckenridge’s head. Lieutenant Breckenridge advanced and threw another hook to the same spot as before, connecting again with the soft meat. Frankie grunted, grabbed Lieutenant Breckenridge’s head, and pulled it down, kneeing Lieutenant Breckenridge in the face.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge was dazed for a moment, and Frankie saw his big chance. He lashed out with his foot to kick Lieutenant Breckenridge in the head, but Lieutenant Breckenridge wasn’t that dazed, and twisted to the side, avoiding the blow.

  Frankie danced backward, annoyed that his kick had done no damage. Lieutenant Breckenridge’s mind cleared quickly, and now he was mad. He jabbed at Frankie’s head, and Frankie blocked the punch with both his hands, then shot back a jab of his own, which hit Lieutenant Breckenridge on the nose, breaking the flesh inside. Blood trickled out of Lieutenant Breckenridge’s nose, and Frankie was elated, because he thought he was winning.

  Emboldened by the sight of blood, Frankie jabbed again, but Lieutenant Breckenridge moved his head to the side, slipping the punch. Frankie threw a right hook, but Lieutenant Breckenridge leaned backward and watched Frankie’s hand fly past harmlessly. Frankie threw a left hook to Lieutenant Breckenridge’s kidney, but Lieutenant Breckenridge caught the blow on his elbow.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge took a step back and jabbed Frankie on the nose; a second later blood leaked out. Lieutenant Breckenridge jabbed again, mashing Frankie’s lips against his teeth. Then Lieutenant Breckenridge threw an overhand right to follow up, but Frankie was already on the move, ducking and charging at the same time, hammering Lieutenant Breckenridge’s right kidney with his left fist, hooking up to Lieutenant Breckenridge’s head with his right fist, and then pummeling Lieutenant Breckenridge’s stomach with a flurry of blows.

  The punches hurt, but Lieutenant Breckenridge was tough. He hopped backward, and Frankie kept charging. Lieutenant Breckenridge timed him coming in and threw a hard uppercut that struck Frankie underneath his jaw.

  Frankie went flying backward, and Lieutenant Breckenridge lunged after him. Frankie kicked his left foot toward Lieutenant Breckenridge’s stomach, and Lieutenant Breckenridge reached out, grabbing Frankie’s ankle in both of his mighty hands. Frankie’s kick was stopped in midair, and Frankie lost his balance. He fell backward, and Lieutenant Breckenridge pulled hard, yanking Frankie off from the ground.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge spun to the side and swung Frankie through the air. He pivoted again and swung Frankie around. Continuing to pirouette, he whizzed Frankie through the air again and again. Frankie held out his arms, hoping to grab on to something solid, but nothing was there.

  Frankie became dizzy. He knew he was in deep trouble. Lieutenant Breckenridge stepped to the side, took aim, and slammed Frankie’s head against a thick jungle tree.

  The collision was incredible. It was a miracle that Frankie’s head didn’t split wide open. Frankie was knocked out cold, and Lieutenant Breckenridge let him fall to the ground, where he lay in a clump at the base of the tree.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “That’s one down,” he said. “Who’s next?”

  Nobody said a word.

  “C’mon,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “One of you guys must think you can whip me.”

  Nobody made a move.

  “This is your big chance,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Kick my ass if you think you can do it.”

  Frankie La Barbara moaned at the base of the tree. The other soldiers crouched in the darkness, intimidated by Lieutenant Breckenridge, who spit blood onto the ground.

  “Okay,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “From now on I’m not taking any more baloney from you guys. From now on there’ll be no more back talk. When I say go, I want you to go, and when I say shit, I want you to say how much, what color, and where. Is that clear?”

  Nobody answered.

  “I said is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Craig Delane.

  “Uh-huh—you bet,” said Private Victor Yabalonka.

  “Yowza,” said Morris Shilansky.

  All the others indicated that everything was clear to them. Next to the tree, Frankie shook his head and pushed himself up from the ground. Lieutenant Breckenridge turned and walked to him. Frankie rolled around and sat heavily on the ground, resting his back against the tree, his mouth wide open, breathing hard. Lieutenant Breckenridge raised his foot and touched the toe of his combat boot to Frankie’s nose.

  “If I get any more trouble from you, I’ll kick your god-damned head into horseshit,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Do you get my drift?”

  Frankie didn’t say anything. Blood dribbled out of his nose, and his mouth hung wide open as he looked up at Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  “I just asked you a question,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  “Fuck you,” Frankie replied.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge drew his combat boot back eight inches and then snapped it forward, connecting with Frankie’s mouth, and Frankie La Barbara saw stars. The back of his head smacked against the tree and he saw more stars.

  Frankie’s surliness was making Lieutenant Breckenridge mad. He felt like kicking Frankie to death, and that became a greater temptation with every passing moment. Frankie was a rotten, stinking troublemaker who never did anything you told him and always talked back.

  “I hate you,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “I ought to fucking kill you.”

  “Go ahead,” Frankie said. “I dare you.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge felt a terrible pressure building up inside his head. He realized he should never have started fighting with Frankie, because now there’d be no end to it.

  Frankie laughed, blood oozing from his split lip. “Go ahead,” he said, taunting Lieutenant Breckenridge. “You don’t have the guts to kill me, you big fucking lump.”

  The pressure grew hotter inside Lieutenant Breckenridge’s head. His hands trembled and his heart pounded like a tom-tom. He hated Frankie with every fiber in his body. Frankie represented to him every vile antisocial, antihuman element in the world. Frankie was an ex-criminal, a bully, a liar, and a completely sleazy son of a bitch. He had no honor and no loyalty, and couldn’t be trusted at all.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Frankie asked. “What’re you afraid of?”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge knew he’d be in hot water if he killed Frankie. Somebody would rat on him sooner or later, and he’d be court-martialed. It would be ugly and disgraceful. They might drum him out of the Army, and that wouldn’t be such a bad idea; but they also might put him before a firing squad.

  Frankie spit onto the ground. “I always knew you didn’t have any guts,” he said. “I always figured you had piss in your blood.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge clenched his teeth. “I’m going to kick your fucking head in,” he said.

  “Suck my dick,” Frankie replied.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge drew back his foot and kicked Frankie in the face with all his strength. Frankie couldn’t get out of the way and received the blow on his nose, which was already bent out of shape, having been broken before. Now it was broken again. Frankie’s lights went out and he sagged sideways to the ground.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked down at Frankie. He felt a hand on his arm and turned around. It was Pfc. Gotbaum, the little roly-poly medic.

  “Easy, now, sir,” said Gotbaum. “Maybe you’d better sit down for a spell.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his men and saw their eyes glowing at him in the darkness. He realized he’d gone a little too far. He should never have got into a fight with Frankie. He’d have to do something about his temper.

  Pfc. Gotbaum knelt beside Frankie to check him out. Lieutenant Breckenridge wished he had a cigarette, but he didn’t. He needed something to settle him down and thought of asking Pfc. Gotbaum for a pill.

  “Have a drin
k,” said Sergeant Snider.

  Something struck Lieutenant Breckenridge in the gut, and he clutched it to him like a football. It was Sergeant Snider’s canteen. Lieutenant Breckenridge unscrewed the lid, touched the lips to his mouth, and tilted his head back.

  He expected water, but it was Sergeant Sniders’ special white lightning, the same brew he concocted for Colonel Hutchins out of potato peels, coconut rinds, and anything else he could get his hands on. The white lightning burned all the way down Lieutenant Breckenridge’s throat, warming his stomach and enlivening his mind. Lieutenant Breckenridge clicked his teeth and tossed the canteen back to Sergeant Snider.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Sergeant Snider nodded. Lieutenant Breckenridge sniffed the air. He looked up at the sky and could see no moon and no stars. There was no way he could get a fix on where he was. The only thing to do was move out quietly and try to break through the Japanese lines, but he didn’t even know where the Japanese lines were. He had only a vague idea of where the American lines were. Turning around, he looked at Pfc. Gotbaum, who was examining Frankie La Barbara.

  “How is he?” asked Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  “Out cold.”

  “Good. The rest of you guys saddle up. We’re moving out.”

  “What about Frankie?” Pfc. Gotbaum asked.

  “We’re going to leave him here,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied, “unless some damn fool wants to carry him.”

  “But, sir,” said Gotbaum, “we can’t just leave him here!”

  “Why not?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Sure we can leave him here,” Lieutenant Breckenridge declared. “He’s nothing but a pain in the ass, always arguing whenever I give an order, constantly insubordinate. He’s a detriment to all of us. We’re better off without him.”