Edge of Valor (11 page)

“Great. Do I get to sleep with a carbine?”

“Naw, naw, we have guards out the ying-yang. Plus, I wouldn't trust a Navy guy with a carbine. You'd just shoot yourself in the foot.”

“I appreciate your confidence, Otis.”

“The pleasure's all mine. Now, instead of hookers, how about dinner tonight?”

Ingram glanced at Neidemeier. The major looked on in wonder. With a wink Ingram called down, “Don't think so, Otis. I already have a dinner date with General and Mrs. MacArthur.”

DeWitt walked quickly toward the last Mercury. With a wave over his head he called, “Not to worry. I'll break it for you. Be ready at nineteen hundred. And wear something decent for a change.”

“So you two do know each other,” said Neidemeier dryly.

“We go a ways back.”

“Maybe you can ask him to—”

Neidemeier's request was lost as the Filipino crowd pushed in with a mighty roar, the MPs barely holding them back. DeWitt sprinted for the Mercury, opened the door, and jumped inside just before the crowd began throwing rocks at the staff cars. The first Mercury in the line rounded a corner and sped away
from the crowd as rocks caromed off its top and sides. Ingram spotted the silhouette of one of the Japanese looking stoically forward. Some Filipinos shook their fists; others spit.

The MPs jumped back into the Studebaker. The sergeant pounded the cab top and yelled, “Roll 'em, Freddie.” With a clank and a grind of its gears, the truck heaved into position as the first Army vehicle behind the Mercurys. Soon they were racing through the crowds and out of the airport. They turned onto Dewey Boulevard and headed north for downtown Manila.

The exuberance of arriving in Manila disappeared quickly. The men's chatter stilled as the truck drove deeper into the city.

Radcliff waved at the wreckage. “The Japs fought to the last man. The dogfaces had to go in and flush 'em out, house to house.”

Manila had been declared secure just a month ago, on 5 July. Even then, many Japanese soldiers had taken to the jungles north of the city to continue the fight. Some of the buildings still smoked; wreckage was strewn everywhere; dust hung heavily; and a putrid odor enveloped the city. At times Ingram had to cover his nose with a handkerchief. He'd smelled that odor before. Clearly, the Filipinos had not recovered all of the bodies from the buildings the Japanese had wrecked in their withdrawal. People staggered about, coated with a grayish morbid powder, their faces covered with rags to keep out the dust and the stench.

Ingram had lost his appetite by the time the Studebaker pulled up before the Rosario Apartments. The staff cars were parked in a neat row, and Ingram gave a thought to going inside, grabbing one of the Japanese, and wringing his neck. But that passed as he jumped down, grabbed his bag, and walked into the lobby.

Neidemeier followed him in. “We're bunking two to a room. The aircrews are all together, so you're with me. Hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all, Clive. Why don't you sign us up? I could use a shower.”

“Right away, Commander.”

The apartment had two bedrooms with a connecting bath and shower. Ingram hadn't had a decent shower in months; the hot water didn't work but the cold was lukewarm. It felt wonderful, and he lingered for fifteen minutes, scrubbing every pore. He stepped out, skin tingling, as Neidemeier called, “Houseboy has your uniform. It'll be pressed and cleaned within a half hour.”

“I hope he knows military pleats. Otis DeWitt is a stickler.”

“Don't I know it.”

Twenty minutes later Ingram went down to the cocktail lounge to find DeWitt already there, pacing. He looked Ingram up and down and said, “Your shoes need shining . . . badly.”

“Mrs. MacArthur said she wouldn't mind. Now, if you'll excuse me . . .”

“And where are your campaign ribbons?”

“Back on my ship. Nobody told me I was being presented to the inspector general of the Army.”

“Two Navy Crosses and six battle stars would have impressed even General MacArthur, let alone Mrs. MacArthur.”

“Sorry. As I said, I didn't know.”

“Come on, I have a table waiting in the dining room. But first I want you to see something.” He led Ingram down a long hallway. They drew up to a set of double doors with four guards, each with a Thompson submachine gun slung over his shoulder. With a wink to Ingram, DeWitt said to one of the guards, a sergeant, “Everything okay?”

“Quiet as a two-man funeral, sir.”

“Just need to check.” DeWitt nodded to the door. The sergeant reached down and opened it a crack. DeWitt stuck in his head and then nodded to Ingram.

Ingram looked in and saw three long tables connected in a u. There were six guards inside watching over the Japanese, most of whom were now sitting back, smoking and chatting amiably. He whistled to himself. The table was set with silver and china. Three large silver platters held turkey carcasses. Serving dishes with remnants of mashed potatoes, peas, creamed spinach, turkey stuffing, and cranberry sauce were scattered about.

Ingram spotted Fujimoto sitting six feet away. Once again they locked eyes. This time, Fujimoto glanced toward the turkey carcass and then looked back to Ingram with a nod. Ingram backed away and slowly closed the door.

DeWitt had been watching. “What do you think? Thanksgiving with all the trimmings in August. Can you believe it?”

“Amazing. You'd think we'd be feeding them maggots.”

“General MacArthur, with the full concurrence of the State Department, has decided to take another approach. He wants to treat the Japanese courteously. Show them good intentions. Be decent to them.”

“Well, that's nice, Otis. Tell that to the guys on the Bataan Death March. Or the ones we left behind on Corregidor.”

They rounded a corner and stepped into a small dining room that was about half full. “That will be dealt with,” said Dewitt. “There will be war crimes trials. Even now they have their eyes on Yamashita and Tojo.”

“Not enough, Otis. These bastards deserve every bit of—” He stopped short as a waiter approached. DeWitt announced himself, and they followed the waiter
to a table in the corner. Once seated, DeWitt smoothed his mustache and asked, “First of all, tell me about Helen. Is she as beautiful as ever?”

Ingram allowed a grin. “Even more so. At least judging by the photos she sends. Our son, Jerry, is a pistol, crawling around, getting into pots and pans. A real terror, she says.”

“She still a nurse?”

“Yes, they have her at the Fort MacArthur Infirmary in San Pedro. You know, where the big guns roar?”

DeWitt's face darkened. “Damn things are useless.” He waved in the direction of Corregidor. “Just like the ones on the Rock. Man, oh, man, did we learn a lesson.”

Ingram tried to force away the memory. He'd been on Corregidor with DeWitt, had seen the bitter lesson firsthand. Corregidor's big World War I–style “disappearing” 12-inch guns were useless against aerial attack and Japanese artillery sighted in from Bataan.

“And you live there?” DeWitt asked.

“Huh?”

“San Pedro?”

“We rent a little house near San Pedro High School, about five minutes from work. And she's a captain now, so show some respect.”

DeWitt chortled.

“I'll see her in a couple of weeks. I'm taking leave, you see. Jerry Landa is getting married and I'm his best man. His fiancée is Laura West.”

“The singer?”

“Yeah, he lucked out.”

“What's with you Navy guys? Marrying above your level. Must be all that gold braid shit you wear on your sleeves.”

They sat in silence for a moment until Ingram asked, “What's up, Otis? I know I'm having dinner with you for a reason.”

“Ummm.”

“You've got too much on your plate with all these Japs to sit on your butt and talk over old times with me. So spit it out.”

DeWitt took a deep breath. “Well, I could say it has to do with your question about how we're dealing with the Japs.”

“Something about showing respect is the point you were trying to make.”

DeWitt nodded and then asked, “Tell me, Todd, who's going to run the government if you grind them under your boot?”

“Who cares?”

“About eighty million Japanese do. If you leave the emperor intact, you have the machinery for a strong civil government.”

“What about the military?”

“They're all washed up. We have these delegates here to help put together an interim government, get back our prisoners ASAP, set up a ceremony for the surrender in Tokyo Bay, and get the Japanese army and navy to lay down their arms everywhere.” He paused. “Everywhere, that is, except . . .” He looked at Ingram, a glint in his eye.

Ingram knew that look. “Except where?”

“The Rooskies.”

“What about them?”

“They haven't stopped fighting in Manchuria. In fact, they're enveloping Japan's Kwangtung Army right now. We figure the Rooskies have the Japs outnumbered three to one, and yet the Japs are holding strong in some areas.” DeWitt shook his head. “It's only a matter of time, though. A lot of their people were parceled out to fight the Pacific war. Now their army is made up mostly of conscripts and inexperienced garrison troops.”

“Too bad for the Japs.”

“Yes, except we've learned that Joseph Stalin . . . excuse me, Generalissimo Stalin, has designs exceeding the treaties we all agreed to.”

Ingram felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He tried to change the subject. “Where's our menus?” He looked around.

“That's all taken care of.”

“What?”

“Turkey. We're all having turkey. Happy Thanksgiving.” DeWitt patted Ingram's forearm.

As if on cue, two waiters laid a spread before them of Jell-O salad, ginger ale, and bread and butter.

“No wine?” Ingram complained.

“Same as the Japs,” DeWitt said. “We need everybody on their toes. A meeting tonight, another tomorrow morning, then we send them on their way back to the land of the rising sun.”

“Wonderful.” Ingram started on his salad. Delicious. Then he said, “What designs?”

“Huh?”

“You said the generalissimo has designs.”

“Oh, that.” DeWitt stared at Ingram for a moment.

“Come on, Otis; damn it.”

“Okay, okay. It turns out Stalin wants to take back all of Karafuto—or Sakhalin Island, as the Rooskies call it. Plus,” he waved his fork, “he wants the northern half of Hokkaido.”

Located just south of Karafuto, Hokkaido was the northernmost of the four main Japanese home islands. “Jesus.”

“That's right. Stalin wants his pound of flesh. Word we have from the State Department is that Stalin and Truman are circling each other like a pair of tall
dogs, growling and snorting. Tell the truth, we don't know what's going to happen. It changes day by day. But right now the Rooskies are driving south on Karafuto and are pretty close to wrapping things up. That's when they plan to jump the La Pérouse Strait and take Hokkaido.”