Somewhere in the Stars

by Frank Polizzi

“Got it, Nate,” Nick responded.

  “Paul and Al, ready the gun for rapid fire.”

  They followed the sound of the pounding guns in the distance and, when they were in the right position, they crossed the field of fire at the rear of the battlefield. What started out as a reconnaissance mission turned into a terrifying exchange of firepower. They could see that the M4s were taking a lot of hits. Shells were exploding all over the place but their tank had the advantage of not being pinned down at the forward position. This would be their opportunity for a swift decisive action, while waiting for the tank destroyer reinforcements.

  “Nick, we’re going to run the other way, only we’ll be firing instead of looking, right behind the M10s. Paul and Al, are you listening?”

  “We hear you,” they said.

  “We have to be extremely careful before we shoot. Don’t want to knock out one of our own. We’ve seen enough casualties from friendly fire. Nick, move at full speed, then stop dead every time when you see a gap wide enough between the M4s. Paul and Al make each shot count.”

  With incredible precision Nathan’s crew made the last run, pacing the tank, and kept rapidly firing rounds at turrets, a weak spot for the German tanks. They set aflame three of the Panzer IV tanks, encouraging the Sherman M4s to move forward aggressively with the oncoming tank destroyers suddenly filling in from behind with Captain Monroe in the lead and Nathan’s crew rejoining the company. More Panzer IVs replaced the ones out of commission, so it was a critical time for naval gun support, which Captain Monroe called in over the radio. Within a short while, a pair of P-51s were overhead spotting for the cruisers, Philadelphia and Savannah, which drove 6-inch shells into the armor of the German tanks, eventually forcing them to retreat all the way back to Eboli. At the end of the day, Captain Monroe commended Nathan’s crew for their courage and initiative. “Gentlemen, I only heard of one other tank crew having so many enemy tank kills in one battle. Total of Five Panzers destroyed in my field report. Outstanding!”

  It took ten days for Operation Avalanche to be successful in driving the Nazis past Naples, not the two days that General Clark expected. Nick’s squadron was being held back in reserve, rather than continuing north in the mountains towards the Gustav Line. During this time neither Nick and his buddies nor anyone else, not even the brass, could ever have predicted the ferocity of the fighting north in the Battle for Rome. It was one German defensive line after another, reminiscent of trench warfare during World War I. The Allies battled every day for slivers of wet, lice-infested, treacherous terrain, changing sides so many times that it was difficult to know who and where the combatants were in hills of fog and gun smoke, the bilious smell of decaying bodies everywhere. The casualty roster expanded every day on both sides within the death trap of Cassino.

  There were vivid accounts in the newspapers and no shortage of rumors among Nick’s tank squadron. While waiting for new orders, Nathan and the crew busied themselves maintaining their tank and writing letters. Nick grasped that they had been lucky to be held back, but what would happen next to them was anybody’s guess. At the beginning of the New Year, they knew something was up when they got notice of a new, amphibious exercise.

  “Not another goddamned, amphibious assault!” Nick blurted out.

  “Sure as hell looks that way,” Nathan said, as the four of them, without another word, retreated to their tent to lose themselves in letters from home, old and new.

  The Battle of Anzio, Operation Shingle, began on January 22, 1944. Nick’s tank destroyer squadron was attached to the 1st U.S. Armored Division, commanded by Major General Harmon. Their squadron was held in reserve, so the tension magnified for Nathan’s crew. Nick tried not to dwell on bad things, but he saw it in his comrades’ faces and felt it himself as they waited in their tank—the imminent risks stark, right before their eyes, while the amphibious landing of the U.S. and British infantry took place on the beaches at 0200.

  Right before the first landing, a barrage of 5-inch rockets from the Landing Craft Tanks called LCTs eradicated the land mines hidden in the sand, the explosions reverberating in Nick’s ears. By the third wave of infantrymen, the Germans sprayed the beaches with machine gun bullets causing some casualties, the first light bringing a Messerschmitt formation that blew up many supply-laden trucks. Nick saw fires fanning all over the beach and later heard the dreadful drone of Focke-Wulf fighter-bombers that swooped down and blew up an LCI nearby. By midnight of D-day, Operation Shingle was a complete success, an unexpected surprise for Field Marshall Kesselring and a welcome relief to Nick and his buddies.

  Nathan’s crew was part of a unit attached to Combat Command B of the 1st U.S. Armored Division, when Nick drove onto the beach towards the end of January with the rest of the division following. Even though all the tanks were assembled on the beachhead, General Lucas still had not ordered a breakout from the Anzio beaches to drive a wedge through the German defenses blocking the way to Rome.

  “Nick, I got a call over the radio from Captain Monroe.” Nick straightened his headset. “The infantry is bogged down near Campoleone, taking on a lot of casualties. They’re still waiting for armor support. Get ready to move out of this bitchhead.”

  “Gotcha, Nate!”

  Their unit of tank destroyers moved at maximum speed in a column followed by medium tanks and half-tracks on the road north to Cisterna. The ground began to shake, as the machines spit up globs of earth with their treads whipping around the wheels, the smell of diesel exhaust in the air. The unforgiving terrain slowed down the tanks and, when Nathan’s crew got closer, they could see what amounted to a killing field for the British infantrymen who had been desperately waiting for relief. Without a warning, German anti-tank guns, camouflaged on Vallelata Ridge, began to destroy tank after tank, as if in a fairground shooting gallery. In all this chaos, four tank destroyers got mired in an irrigation ditch, one of which was theirs.

  “Great! We’re all FUBAR now, Nick,” Nathan screamed.

  “We need a dang wrecker to drag us out,” Nick yelled back. When it got dark, tracers were flying over their heads, followed by a deafening cocktail of rapid firing MG 42 machine guns, the never-ending rounds of mortars and 88mm guns. Through the din Nick could hear wounded men crying out from the battlefield, the acrid odor of cordite from British weapons so strong he could taste the bitterness. He thought that they might have to abandon the tank, climb out of the ditch and make a desperate run for it, until he heard his cousin call out: “Here comes Captain America!” The wrecker dragged each tank destroyer out. Nick’s crewmates were relieved to get out of there, but Nick divined that they were running out of luck. When they got back to their encampment, Captain Monroe briefed Nathan who returned to his crew, opening the flap of their tent and stepping in.

  “Fellas, more bad news. I’m sick to my stomach. We lost six times as many tanks trying to repel the German bombardment, after saving four tank destroyers. We’re not breaking through to Rome anytime soon. No matter what General Clark wants, no matter how hard ole bulldog Churchill pushes.”

  One evening before mail call, the four GIs sat on the sand in front of their tent, longing for letters from home, Paul and Al puffing on cigarettes. Nick observed Nathan finishing replicas of five Panzers destroyed during the Salerno battle. They were done in fine detail, paint strokes, added to the others on the turret.

  A postal clerk who handed out packages said he would return soon with the letters for their company. While they milled around by a burnt olive tree, Nathan opened up a package from his father and squeezed out a newspaper from the manila envelope. After glancing at the paper, he held it up for his crew to see.

  “Guys, look at this.” Nathan stretched out the front page.

  SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE

  / WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1944 ~

  DAILY 5 CENTS.

  The Associated Press report told about the destruction of the medieval, Benedictine Abbey of Monte Cassino, perched high on a rocky hill just 75 mile
s south from Rome. Two hundred and fifty bombers, including a hundred Flying Fortresses, had bombed the monastery, knocking the blue and white tower into the courtyard, the abbey roof collapsing into its core and by nightfall, only the surrounding, massive walls at the base still stood, pockmarked with king-size holes, leaving all the buildings inside a mass of rubble.

  “It used to be such a beauty.” Nathan said, shaking his head. “What a shame!” He described to his friends what it once looked like, having studied the art and architecture of this renowned treasure. Nathan explained that there was a lower fortress wall with a massive stone façade on top. The abbey stood palatial, punctuated with myriad cell windows. When the sunlight shifted, the stone would change hues. The blue dome of the basilica rose in the rear. The frescoes and mosaics inside were exquisite.

  “Nick, did you think they’d blow up the abbey?” Nathan asked.

  “Nah, it’s such an historic place. Where St. Benedict started his order in 529. Not even the krauts would touch it.”

  “It’s just a building with a bunch of monks running around the place,” Paul said. “You ask me, those Nazis were hiding up there, just watching our every move, calling in all those artillery shells on our guys.”

  “You’re my cousin, but there are some things you don’t get.”

  “Get outta here. We’re here to blow things up, to destroy the enemy.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be a killer squadron like General Patton says?” Al asked.

  “Yeah, I got his ‘Blood and Guts’ speech—your blood, his guts. But I’m not talking about the danged war,” Nick responded. “What about all those irreplaceable frescos and rare leather books? In the oldest monastery! So how did we know bombing the monastery was going to help the troops in the long run? Does anybody have the answer?”

  “See, there you go, cuginu. Acting like a wise guy with all your trick questions. We’re all stuck in this merda. We’ll be lucky if any of us get out alive.” Paul flung his cigarette and walked away with Al following.

  “All I did was admire a goyim shrine and a war breaks out between you Christians.”

  “I love Paul like a brother, but you don’t know what it was like going to grammar school with him. Anytime my teachers praised me in class, he used to giggle and not satisfied, tease me after school. It used to get on my nerves. The only time we got along was doing something physical, like riding our bikes to the Golden Gate Bridge or playing baseball.”

  “It’s tough when you start to outgrow some of the people you love. But Paul is still a mensch and that’s something everyone can appreciate. He’s just blowing off steam. Give him a hug when he cools off.”

  Nick grinned, thinking how Nathan could piss him off just because he might be smarter.

  “What’s with the smiley mug?”

  “Nenti!”

  An hour later there was another mail call and Nathan’s crew picked up their letters. Nick separated himself from the group, going behind the tank to read his.

  Papà wrote:

  Caru Nicolo,

  It has been a long while, figghiu miu, since we last heard from you. You say, all the time, everything is okay pop. Don’t worry you say but tell that to Momma. Allura. I read many things about Italy in newspapers, many deaths, much suffering. I am not a holy man but I pray for one thing. That you will sit with me by our fig tree in the backyard, pick the fruit when it’s sweet and eat together. I tell Mamma that little, old Italian women in black dresses cook la cena for GIs like you when you are not fighting Germans. Basta! Writing in l’inglese gives me a mal di testa.

  Con amuri, vostru patri.

  Over the next few months the fighting continued to be brutal on the ground throughout the Cassino area. It wasn’t until May 18th that a Polish unit toppled the Nazi flag at the monastery and placed the 12th Podolski Lancers Regiment pennant on a branch, signaling the start of the break through over the Gustav Line.

  On May 23rd at zero hour, 0545, over a thousand mortars, artillery pieces and tanks pounded the town of Cisterna di Latina. The tracers from countless machine guns lit up the enemy targets. Overhead Nick spotted a shrieking squadron of fighters and light bombers flying over Cisterna adding to the devastation. The blasting noise was so incredible, it was as if Vesuvius had erupted once again just like it had two months earlier. Nick recollected from a newspaper article how the volcano had bellowed and heaved black smoke, orange-red fire, lava and cinders, smothering and crushing every living thing in its path. He reckoned it was all the past Allied bombardments. At this very moment, Nick felt he was imploding as he confronted everything right in front of him, palpable for unseen miles, burnt into his memory to be brewed in nightmares to come.

  Their medium tanks and tank destroyers had become invisible to the enemy, either hidden inside farmhouses, sunk in maneuverable gullies, covered with mounds of a straw or camouflaged in vineyards. The tanks rushed out after the barrage, searching for targets to protect the infantrymen, who had to break through the German defenses of barbed wire, minefields and the constant shelling from enemy machine guns, mortars and artillery, then hand to hand combat, using everything they had, rifles, bayonets and grenades.

  With his binoculars, Captain Monroe spotted German Panther tanks that were causing a lot of damage on the right flank of the battlefield. He ordered Nathan’s crew to lead a group of tank destroyers, fanning out through a wooded area northeast of the town. Nathan instructed Nick to stop periodically, so Paul could climb a tree and locate the exact position of the lethal Panthers. On the third try, the object of their mission was in their sights. Nathan had Nick speed to a clearing that put them to the side of the Panthers that had been firing nonstop from their position. He also radioed to the other crew commanders to find their own strategic spots. Moving away from the trees, their tank destroyer blasted several hits at the thinner side armor of the first Panther, which burst into flames. When the other Panther turned its turreted cannon on them, Nick reversed at full speed into the woods, as the German gunner fired and hit the trees instead. Minutes later, Nick zipped out of the woods, traversing the direction of that same tank. Paul and Al got off a volley of shots on Nathan’s command, taking out the second Panther in the same weak spot. The other scout tank destroyers had already joined Captain Monroe’s company, charging forward and continuing the destruction of the invincible Panthers in the battlefield.

  Nathan’s crew were so close to the enemy, he could hear the German Field Marshall screaming at his officers: “Idioten! Zerstoren der Amerikaner Panzer! Sie verichten!” Suddenly, all the big German guns, from tanks to artillery to rocket launchers, barraged their tank and the other charging tank destroyers. Captain Monroe radioed his tank crew commanders to pull back immediately into the woods and regroup with the main attack force.

  “Nick, get the hell out of here! Stand on it!”

  Nick maneuvered the tank, heading for the cover of the woods. Unexpectedly, a Tiger I tank drove through the front façade of a barn and fired several blasts from its big 88mm gun, one shot hitting their front end, the other traveling through two sides of its armor. Their tank destroyer spun around but Nick managed to sputter its way into the tree grove before smacking into a large tree.

  Nick cried out in pain from his smashed right leg that looked like hanging meat in a North Beach macelleria. He inched his way out of the driver’s hatch, groaning all the time and crawled over to the edge of the smoking turret, while flames burst from the engine in the rear. Nick yelled down: “Nathan! Paul! Al!” No one responded. “For Christ’s sake, somebody say something.” This time he heard a moan and Nathan’s voice: “My head’s bleeding. I can’t see too well.” Nick stretched his neck over the turret opening and saw Nathan starting to black out.

  “Nate, stay awake. Nathan!” Nick screamed with such force it caused Nathan to crack his eyes open and recover his senses.

  “Paul and Al are on the floor,” Nathan cried out. “I’m still a little dizzy. I’ll try to lift them up. Get a grip
as soon as you see shoulders.” Nick winced in pain as he leaned into the turret and grabbed the back of Paul’s shirt, dragging him over the top as Nathan heaved him up. They repeated the same routine with Al. Nathan climbed out, while Nick pulled Paul to the edge of the tank. Nathan jumped off and fell to the ground. He slowly pushed himself up and opened his arms, as Nick slid Paul down followed by Al. Nathan hopped onto the tank and got Nick off, then leaned him against one of the wheels. He carried Paul on his shoulders and placed him behind a tree and did the same for Al. Nathan made his way back to Nick who put his arm around Nathan. He limped along with his friend’s help and was placed next to his cousin. The wide berth of the tree protected the four of them, when within minutes the tank blew, billowing up clouds of black smoke.

  “Paul, wake up. Cuginu! Please, it’s me, Nick. Madonna!” He loosened Paul’s fatigues and saw a red soaked t-shirt. As the tears welled up in his eyes, he crossed himself and hugged his cousin.

  “Nick, Paul’s gone,” Nathan said, as he put his hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “What about Al?”

  “Al’s dead too.” Nick looked at Al’s body lying on the ground. He saw his brain exposed from the left side, as Nathan stared at Nick who vomited. Nathan went over to Al, turning his head to the other side, a profile they could recognize, and moving his eyelid down.

  “Poor guy didn’t know what hit him,” Nathan mumbled.

  Nick turned towards his cousin and the glint of Paul’s gold cross caught his attention, as the chain drooped from his cousin’s neck. He gently pulled it over Paul’s head, kissed the cross and dropped it into his shirt pocket. Nathan closed Paul’s eyes and moved him closer to Al. Nick sat impassively near his dead comrades after Nathan passed out. Hours later, the medics found what remained of Nathan’s crew after their hazardous search.

  Their crew was separated at the rear lines, two for the field hospital, the other two for a temporary morgue. The next morning Nick woke as the painkiller wore off, while Nathan lay in a coma, his head still swathed in Carlisle dressing with pink stains over his right temple, his body surrounded with tentacles of life-support. He slept on Nick’s left side, while another tanker from their company lay on the other side with burns on half his face. From a distance he could see a row of wooden coffins that were bound for the Sicily-Rome American Cemetery in Nettuno and recalled his last impression of their stiff faces. He took out Paul’s cross and wrapped it around his right hand, squeezing the gold cross in his palm.