Valleys of Death Read Free Page B

good, and it was nice to see him happy. He was the best man I have ever known.

    My dad and I in June 1950, before I departed for Ft. Devens, Massachusetts. Author’s collection.
    The phone on my desk woke me from my daydream. My quiet evening was over.
    â€œYour company will get about one hundred men in very late tonight from Fort Dix,” the night officer said. “They are recruits. Right out of basic. Early in the morning we’ll also be getting some troops transferred in from other outfits on post. Make sure they have a place to sleep tonight and have a hot meal for breakfast.”
    I hung up and called in the supply sergeant and told him to get in and be prepared to issue bed linens and blankets. Next, I called the mess sergeant and told him to come in. Finally, I requested that he have additional rations brought to the mess hall as early as possible. I called the company duty officer who was on standby and told him I thought he’d better get in.
    The next few hours, I shepherded the new recruits from the buses to the mess hall, to the supply room, and then to the barracks. I didn’t get a chance to sit down for a second. The next morning, when the company commander showed up to formation, we had 180 men standing in the company street.

CHAPTER TWO
    FORMING THE BATTALION
    I entered the company headquarters and reported to Captain Filmore McAbee.
    He and First Sergeant Brien sat behind a table. They were interviewing the corporals and sergeants and giving us our assignments. The platoon leaders and platoon sergeants sat in chairs nearby.
    â€œThis is the corporal who was on duty last night, he did a great job,” the first sergeant said.
    McAbee, a well-built man who most likely was an athlete, was a World War II veteran. He looked up from my file and his stoic facial expression never changed.
    â€œWhat experience do you have? What can you do?”
    I had been a much better soldier than student. My academic career was cut short in one brief second in my eighth-grade shop class. I was cutting up in the back of the classroom when the teacher tossed a wooden mallet at me and some friends, trying to quiet us down. The mallet hit me in the chest and fell to the floor. I stood there stunned. I didn’t think. I just acted. And it cost me. I picked it up and tossed it back at the teacher. The mallet glanced off his shoulder and cracked the corner of the blackboard.
    The next day, in the principal’s office, it was decided that I was neither studious nor disciplined enough for high school. So I was shipped off to vocational school. World War II was raging and I got a job at a factory that produced safety glass used in bombers. Since it was defense work, we were permitted to leave school at noon to work. I made good money but knew that I didn’t have a future, in school or on the factory floor.
    When I wasn’t working, there was always the possibility of getting into trouble. Walking in the old neighborhood with my brother Tommy while on leave, we passed a building that used to be the Italian-American Club. Seeing the old club brought back memories of how I’d conned some money from Louie, some wannabe wiseguy who wanted us to steal some hubcaps for him.
    We were hanging out down the street when he came out and called me over. He pointed to his car across the street and told me he needed two hubcaps. I went back and told my friends, who wanted to go see a movie. There was a lot of bullshit talk. The truth was nobody was very up to stealing hubcaps, but with the money we could all see a movie.
    I thought it over and grabbed a friend.
    â€œLet’s look at the other side of his car.”
    I thought there were two hubcaps on his car and figured we could take them off and sell them to him.
    â€œGoddamn, Bill, he will kill us when he finds out,” my friend said.
    â€œYeah, but we’ll all be at the movies by the time he finds out.”
    I popped the hubcaps off and took