Enzo

Into the void came Sergeant First Class Vincenzo Caruso, Italian Army, "Enzo" for short (in fact, if you called him Vincenzo you would be admonished, if you called him Vinny you would be killed). Enzo was a senior infantry sergeant and became (and still is) one of my best friends. Tactically, he was the most proficient of us in the field. He served for years in the Italian Army’s elite Alpini Brigade. He succeeded me as the NCO In Charge (NCOIC) about halfway through the tour. An Italian NCO running an American unit. I was pulled for other duties in the IAC and was glad to give up the job to Enzo. I took it back over again once he left, though. His tour of duty was only seven months. This was a typical tour for all of our coalition allies, except the Ukrainians, who stayed not quite a year. He was very fastidious in his appearance (one time I was showing off my muscles and he said, “yes, but I look better”). He strung a clothes line across the nearest window to his bed and hung pairs of SUNGLASSES. He had several and would choose which pair to wear depending on his attire. The main Italian Army base was in Nasiriyah, down south. Enzo would go down there occasionally and bring back REAL Italian food: blocks of Parmesan cheese, pasta, olives, etc. My favorite was little juice boxes with plastic straws, but with wine. I've blogged about this before. On the box in English and Italian it said, “Army White Wine Ration”. Enzo wrote off anyone north of the Alps as “barbarians”, and he meant it. Add anyone in the Balkans to that list, including Slovenians. One night, he made us “white pasta”, no meat or tomato sauce. It had butter and garlic. Magnificent. Enzo is from northern Italy, Trieste. Most Italians Americans trace their ancestry from the south and Sicily. So we’re all used to that style of cuisine. As we strolled into the kitchen in ones and twos to get our meal, everyone would ask where the meatballs and tomato sauce were. After the sixth or seventh person asked, Enzo blurted out, “I don’t cook Italian American shit!” He meant it. So we all straightened out. But it was good. At least some garlic bread would have been nice, though….
Enzo couldn’t get used to the cold room or my snoring, I felt bad for him. But that was minor compared to the fact that poor Enzo couldn’t get a good night sleep in safety. One night, Major Borowski brought over a really good bottle of Polish vodka that he had just received from home. We went up to Colonel Edwards' room and it was just the three of us. After bragging about how he was going to drink us Americans under the table, he was drunk after about 3 or 4 shots. By the time we finished the bottle, Col E and I were feeling good, but were still coherent. Major Borowski was ready to have sex with anything handy, including inanimate objects. So I went down to my room and went to sleep. About an hour later, I heard Enzo yelling, “Borowski, get out of my bed!” Borowski was attempting to get into bed with Enzo. We turned on the light and led Borowski out into the living room where he passed out on the sofa. Enzo looked at me said, “fucking Mongol!”. On another night, I heard the sound of dripping water. It was winter time, so I thought it was rain dripping off the gutters outside my window. Then, out of the dark, I heard Enzo: “Kratman, you are pissing on my head!” I turned on the light and Kenny, blind drunk and with his pants down at this ankles, was peeing on Enzo. He thought he was in the bathroom. Enzo also had to ride herd on two fellow Italians who outranked him, a Major Arrighi and a Lt. Colonel Mattiocco. Major Arrighi was not in the IAC but came by frequently. He was a good guy and very big and muscular for an Italian. But sadly, he fit the stereotype (which Enzo did not in spades). Every time an intelligence report came out about a possible attack inside the Green Zone, he would panic and tell Enzo that they must go to more secure lodgings at the airport! Mattiocco was a competent officer, but had a major superiority complex. Officers in the Italian Army are treated like nobility and he was miffed that we didn’t have formal ball in his honor after he arrived. Seriously. And he carried a grudge about it until Colonel Edwards threatened to report him to his superiors and have him sent home. Then he wised up. Also, he was a Roman. Nothing’s changed. Enzo warned us. To a Roman, anyone from outside of Rome is a barbarian, so that included Enzo. But he was a meticulous staff officer and didn’t mind going out on missions, unlike Arrighi. Enzo had his own little coffee pot that brewed one cup of coffee using the old percolation method. His coffee was great, if you could get a taste. He gave it to me when he left. Enzo had no formal schooling in English, but was fluent. A natural. He would frequently get in arguments with his girl friend on the phone at work. Shouting matches. By the end of the conversation, all was lovey-dovey even though five minutes prior he was calling her a “vicious cunt”. Amazing. This happened at least once a week. Enzo is now an officer in the Italian Army and is stationed at NATO headquarters in Brussels. A great guy and one of the finest soldiers I've ever met.