Edge of Valor (57 page)

“Five hundred feet,” called Lassiter.

Peoples pulled back on the yoke and eased in some throttle. “Runway three-four?” he asked.

Berne said, “Affirmative, three-four. And according to this we should be on top right now.”

“Going to 250 feet,” said Peoples, leaning forward, peering at black cotton.

Suddenly, wisps of gray shot past and they saw the ground. “Hey!” said Lassiter. “There. Ten o'clock.”

Indeed, Berne had planted them on their downwind approach to the airport. Over their left shoulders they spotted the runway. Slick with moisture, it glistened in the dimming light.

Peoples called over his shoulder, “Son of a gun, Jon. Fine job. Damned fine job.”

Berne fairly beamed. “All part of the service, Leroy. You'll get my bill.”

“Except, where the hell's the lights? There's no lights at all,” said Hammer.

“Yeah, no beacon,” said Lassiter. “How's that for diplomacy?”

Ingram caught something at the edge of his vision. He looked aft and spotted a long, narrow shape off the coast. The Soviet cruiser. The
Admiral Volshkov
. Barely visible, she was anchored about a thousand yards offshore.

Peoples saw it, too. “There's your German cruiser.”

“Strange,” said Ingram.

“What?” asked Peoples.

“She's not showing lights either. Anchor lights are required. Especially in peacetime. Even our ships in Japan show lights now. What the hell's going on? No beacon, no lights. Nothing.” He swept a hand toward the horizon. “And I don't see the
Maxwell
.”

“Would she have her lights on?”

“Don't see any reason why she wouldn't. Tubby White knows the drill.”

“You still want to go in?” asked Peoples.

Ingram thought it over. “We've come this far. Might as well.”

“I smell a skunk.” Peoples turned the C-54 onto the base leg.

“Do we have a choice?”

“Don't think so. But I'm glad we have them jarheads,” said Peoples. He eased yoke and rudder and put the C-54 on final approach.

“I'll say. They'll be the first ones out,” said Ingram.

“Okay, final checks, if you please, Mr. Lassiter.”

“Jon, what about the Commies?” asked Lassiter. “Anything yet?”

“Nothing,” said Berne. “Hold on. Sending a sitrep. Whoops! Now what? A long one coming in. Whoa. Priority. For Mr. Ingram's eyes only. Amazing.” Berne bent over his code key and tapped with his left hand while writing the message on a blank pad with his right.

“What's amazing, Jon?” demanded Peoples.

“It's . . . top priority . . . top secret, and . . .” Berne twirled his pencil trying to keep up. “. . . Never seen anything like it. Damn thing's in plain English.”

“Get it down, Jon,” said Peoples.

“Doin' my best.”

Peoples eased off some power and called, “Full flaps.”

“Coming down,” said Lassiter.

Peoples barked, “Landing lights. You got landing lights?”

“Sorry.” Lassiter threw a switch and the haze before them became opaque. But now they could make out the numerals 34 painted at the runway's threshold.

They were five hundred feet from the runway when Berne said, “Got it.” Then, “Jeez.” He keyed his acknowledgment as the plane flashed over the threshold.

Peoples chopped throttles and the C-54 began to flare.

Berne reached over and handed the message to Ingram. “Best you look at it now, Commander.”

“In a minute.” Ingram snatched it away and jammed it in his pocket just as the C-54 touched.

“Holy shit! Damned thing is still there,” said Peoples.

A glance toward the runway's end told the story. The wrecked M-16 halftrack was still in the middle of the runway, about three quarters of the way down.

The C-54 bounced and then held. “Flaps up
now
, Mr. Lassiter.”

“Got it,” said Lassiter, yanking the lever up.

With some lift gone, the plane settled on its mains; then the nose came down. Peoples began a delicate dance on the brake pedals, knowing the C-54 could easily go into a skid on the slick surface; maybe even a ground loop.

“Come on,” he urged. The dark gray hulk of the M-16 grew larger in the windshield. “Git your butt down.”

One hundred yards to go: the C-54 was still moving, its nose dipping as Peoples stood on the brakes.

“
Yeaggh
!” Peoples yelled. “Cut the damned power. Everything off. All master switches!” He yanked back the mixture and throttles.

Lassiter flipped off magnetos. Hammer frantically flipped off fuel switches and everything else he could find.

“Brace yourselves!” yelled Peoples.

The C-54 drew to a halt ten feet from the half-track—so close they couldn't see it below the nose.

“Shit!” said Hammer.

Lassiter whacked Peoples on the back. “Great job, Skipper.”

Peoples said, “Aw right, aw right. We need power. Hammer, reengage master switches and start number two immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Hammer flipped switches. Soon he and Lassiter were spinning the port inboard engine. Immediately, it burst back into life. The cabin lights and instrument panel blossomed as the generator came back online.

“Welcome to Karafuto, lads,” said Hammer.

“Sakhalin, you jerk,” said Berne. “We mustn't insult our comrades.”

Peoples opened the cockpit window and stuck his head out. “Brrrr. It's cold out there.”

“See anybody?” asked Ingram.

“No, sir.” He slid the window shut.

Ingram's left hand was shaking. So was his right. He flexed his fingers, making them work. Then he unbuckled, leaned forward, and said, “Good landing, Leroy.”

“Almost crapped my pants,” Peoples said. His left hand was shaking, too. He saw Ingram flexing his fingers and grinned. “They say any landing you walk away from is a good landing,” he said. “Trouble is, we haven't walked away yet.”

“I'll go with that,” said Ingram. “Time to get going. I want to get the Marines on the ground ASAP.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Peoples.

Ingram walked aft and found the Marines on their feet, checking their gear, ready to disembark. He looked about the cabin but couldn't find Colin Blinde.

Squeezing past two Marines, Boland said, “If you're looking for that civilian, he's already gone. Pulled a ladder and scrambled out the hatch the minute we stopped.”

Indeed, the hatch was open. Cold wind ripped at them from the near-darkness.

“He say anything?”

“No, just skedaddled.”

“Okay.” Ingram said, “Get your men on the ground, Gunny. They have parkas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Tell them this was not a nice welcome and to be ready for anything. Set up a perimeter around us. And that means live ammo.”

Boland stared at Ingram for two seconds. “Who are the bad guys?”

Good question
. “Anyone who threatens us. Outside, right under the nose, you'll find a burned-out M-16 half-track that we took out on our last visit here. The Russians promised peaceful terms this time, but they haven't moved the half-track. No lights, no welcome, no nothing. It's a boondoggle. So don't trust anyone right now. Check passwords carefully.”

“Will do, Commander.”

Ingram spun, looking forward. Berne and Peoples were right there. “We need to turn this airplane around and get ready for an immediate departure. How do we—”

Berne grabbed him and hissed, “First, you have to read the damned message, Commander.”

Chapter Forty-Six

3 December 1945

Shakhtyorsk Air Base, Sakhalin Oblast, USSR

B
erne stepped close. “Now, Todd. It's really important.”

Boland tugged at Ingram's elbow. “We're going out now, Commander.”

He passed over a walkie-talkie. “Find me with this.”

“Thanks, Gunny. On your way.” Ingram turned to Berne. “Think you can raise the
Maxwell
?”

“If you don't read the damned message, I'm gonna raise the dead.”

Ingram flushed. “Forgot all about it.” He dug the flimsy from his pocket. Berne had written the message in pencil on a blank pad as the C-54 bucked and bounced its way on the downwind and final legs. Some of the words were smudged, but all in all Berne had done a creditable job.

INGRAM–EYES ONLY–INGRAM–EYES ONLY

TOP SECRET

FM: ONI-11NAVDIST

TO: INGRAM, ALTON C, CDR, USN

DTG: 03111746Z NOV 45

CC: SECSTATE

COMONI

COMFIVEFLT

COM 11

COMDESRON 77

COM DD525

SUBJ: BLINDE, COLIN

       
1. HODGES, WALTER, CDR, USN, MURDERED.

       
2. BELIEVE HODGES MISTAKEN FOR YOU AND ASSASSINATED VIA RICIN INJECTION: EXOTIC POISON.

       
3. ASSASSIN WAS FOREIGN NATIONAL, CAUGHT AND KILLED, LBSY.

       
4. COLIN BLINDE WAS HIS CONTROL. RPT: COLIN BLINDE WAS THE ASSASSIN'S CONTROL.

       
5. APPREHEND BLINDE. RETURN HIM CONUS ASAP WITH PHOTOS.

       
6. IF (5) NOT PRACTICAL, YOU ARE AUTHORIZED TO TERMINATE.

       
TOLIVER

BT

INGRAM–EYES ONLY–INGRAM–EYES ONLY

“Holy smoke.” Ingram caught Berne's eye. “Can you authenticate this?”

Berne grabbed the message. “Do my best, Commander.”

Ingram called after him, “And see if you can raise the
Maxwell
.”

“Will do, Commander.”

Ingram turned and shouted out the hatch, “Sergeant Boland.”

Boland's voice echoed up, “Sir?”

“I'm coming down.” Ingram started down the ladder. Bitter cold ripped into him, and he realized he didn't have a jacket as he reached the ground.
Stupid
. Boland must have thought so too because he said, “Freeze your ass off, Commander.”

“Look, that civilian who jumped. His name is Colin Blinde.”

“Sir.”

“I just got a message from ONI. This bastard is a spy, a traitor, and a turncoat. He is to be apprehended. Put the word out to your men. If they see him, grab the son of a bitch. Don't worry about being polite.”

Boland's face darkened. “Got it. Do you want to send out a search party?”

“My guess is that he's gone over to the Russians, so I don't think we have a chance of nabbing him right now. Plus, I think we're going to need everybody here, Gunny. At least for the rest of the night. Agree?”

“I do, Commander.”

“Okay, set the perimeter. I'm going back inside to find a jacket and send a couple of messages. Also, we have a ship coming in.”

“What ship is that, sir?”

“Tin can. The
Maxwell
.”

“The
Maxwell
, huh? Destroyer? Tubby White?”

Ingram stopped two rungs up the ladder. “You know Tubby White?”

Boland gave a shallow grin. “Tubby White the PT-boater? Right?”

“That's him.”

Just then, two Marines wearing winter whites merged from opposite directions and spoke with Boland in low tones. Boland muttered, “. . . passenger . . . Colin Blinde,” along with other instructions. They nodded and disappeared back
into the darkness. Boland said, “Perimeter's secure, Commander. Hundred yards each direction. As far as we can tell, nobody's out there. No sign of Colin Blinde.”