Edge of Valor (60 page)

Chapter Forty-Eight

4 December 1945

Shakhtyorsk Air Base, Sakhalin Oblast, USSR

I
ngram reached inside the bag Bucky had dropped and pulled out the message. It was scrawled on the back of an engine maintenance list:

Todd,

State worried with the Soviet radio jamming and no sitreps from you. In light of this, Atsugi relays from State to scrub mission and come home. Get Leroy in the air ASAP. Four destroyers en route to help. ETA tomorrow 0600.

We're in contact with Tubby, who stands ready to pick you up. Just wave or flash a light from the beach and he'll send in his putt-putt. Avoid the pier to the north. Lots of activity there. Troops milling around, many being loaded on a barge.

Better yet, try your walkie-talkie with Tubby. You might raise him if you climb to a high place—maybe the control tower.

Getting low on gas and have to scram. B-24s too. Good luck.
Bucky

As if on cue, the two C-54s blasted down the runway, wagging their wing-tips. Radcliff's plane was the closest, and he slid open his cockpit window and waved. Ingram waved back. The two B-24s circled lazily at the other end of the runway. Soon they all formed up, climbed, and turned to the south, the drone of their engines fading into the distance.

Ingram jerked his attention back. He should have thought of it sooner. “Gunny!”

“Sir!”

“Major Radcliff thinks we can raise the
Maxwell
on the walkie-talkie.”

“We've tried.”

“He says go to the top of the control tower.”

“Ummm. Might work. Still a little beyond our range, though.”

“What do we have to lose?”

“I'm with you, Commander.”

“Okay. Let's pull back and stake our perimeter around the control tower. Then send someone up and give it a shot.”

“Yes, sir.” Boland picked up his walkie-talkie and started bawling instructions. The Marines emerged from the bushes in twos, formed up, and crept along the edge of the runway toward the base headquarters buildings. Soon they were below the wrecked control tower.

To Ingram, it seemed too quiet. No birds, nothing. Just the Marines gathered about, gray skies, low mountains in the distance, and the burned-out hulk of the M-16 near the far end of the runway. He caught Boland's eye.

The sergeant shrugged then called softly, “Villari, you and Amaya go topside and try to raise the
Maxwell
. . . er, what's her call-sign, sir?”

“Crackerjack,” said Ingram.

“Got it, Villari?”

“Crackerjack. Got it, Gunny.” With his M-1 in one hand and the five-and-a-half-pound walkie-talkie in the other, Villari made a careful ascent up creaky steps with Amaya close behind. Seconds after they disappeared inside, the bushes rustled across the field as if whisked by a strong wind and NKVD soldiers poured onto the runway. In a matter of seconds there were twenty, thirty, then a hundred, at least. They wore long overcoats and fur caps, and most were armed with PPSh submachine guns.

Quickly the Marines ran their bolts to chamber rounds in their rifles.

Ingram called, “Sergeant, have them stand down.”

“Sheeyat,” muttered Boland. His .45 was out, and he'd likewise run the action with a loud clack.

“Sergeant Boland. There are well over a hundred Russians around us. No use all of us getting killed. Our time will come. Have your men stand down. Now.”

“Bastards,” muttered Boland. He slowly holstered his .45 and then said, “All right, ladies. Form up. Two ranks. Dress right. Now!”

They looked at him in disbelief.

“I said now, damn it!”

The Marines formed two ranks as ordered. Boland called them to attention and right shoulder arms. Standing before his squad, he did an about face, saluted Ingram, and barked, “All present and accounted for, sir.” He winked, both knowing two were still up in the control tower.

A group of Soviet soldiers gathered beneath the tower and yelled up. Villari didn't respond. One of the soldiers fired a burst into the tower's floorboards. Still no response.

Ingram said bitterly, “Get him down, Gunny. If he's still alive.”

“Let's hope so.” Boland cupped his hands and yelled up, “Game's up, Villari. Get on down here.”

Nothing. The soldier aimed his weapon again.

“Villari, damn it,” yelled Boland.

“All right, all right, Gunny.” A shadow flicked across the gaping floorboards, and Villari clumped down the stairs. As soon as he gained the ground, three Soviet soldiers grabbed his rifle and walkie-talkie and shoved him roughly toward the command bunker. Villari winked and gave a barely visible thumbs-up as he passed.

Amaya is still up there. And maybe still alive
. And Villari had just indicated that he'd made contact with the
Maxwell. Brave men. The Russians were going to chop them to pieces. And maybe that burst got Amaya
. He just didn't know. Villari hadn't let on.

“Knock it off.” Villari must not have liked the way he was being pushed. He turned and shoved the Russian behind him.

The soldier backhanded Villari, who drove a fist into the soldier's face. Blood spurted from the Russian's nose and he fell to his knees howling in pain. The other Russians fell upon Villari and began beating and kicking him. Soon the Marine was doubled up. But they kept kicking. The other Marines broke ranks and charged into the Soviets. With a heathen growl, Boland charged into the mess.

Ingram ran after Boland and jumped on the back of an enormous Russian who was about to whack Boland on the head with the stock of his PPSh. The man growled and tried to peel Ingram off with the swipe of a powerful arm. But Ingram wasn't finished. He hung on and bit down hard on the man's ear. The Russian screamed. He pulled out a pistol, a 7.62-mm Nagant, and began blindly firing over his shoulder. Ingram ducked, pushing the pistol away each time it blasted, bullets screaming past his nose and ear. He knew he couldn't hang on much longer. Someone else wrapped his arms around Ingram's waist and tugged mightily. Another pounded his back and kidneys. Ingram kicked backward at him.

A command car roared up and ground to a stop. Someone fired a submachine-gun burst in the air. The fighting subsided. One by one the Marines were hauled to their feet and pushed into a group. Ingram let go of the monster's ear and fell to the ground. Teeth bared, the man turned and raised an enormous boot to stomp him. But he stopped at a shout from the command car.

“
Prekratite seychazhe
!” (Stop this at once!)

Ingram was roughly hauled up and shoved beside Sergeant Boland, both men wheezing and out of breath. Boland had the beginnings of a magnificent black eye.

Two men stepped from the command car. First out was Captain Third Rank Eduard Dezhnev. He was followed by a thin, balding man wearing a dark gray overcoat and garrison cap. He had close-set eyes, a full beard, and a big black
mole on his left cheek. His shoulder boards were gold with three stars: a captain first rank.

Six Soviet soldiers walked up and began throwing the Marines' weapons onto a pile. One soldier held up a hand and stopped another from throwing the bazooka on the stack. With a broad smile, he ran his hand over the bazooka's barrel and then hoisted it on his shoulder and walked away.

“Lend-lease!” shouted one of the Marines.

“
Da. Spasibo
” (Yes, thank you), the man shouted back

Dezhnev walked over to Ingram, “What the hell, Todd. Can't you take no for an answer?”

Ingram's lower jaw throbbed and his swollen lips made it hard to speak. He wiped blood from his mouth. “We had a deal, remember? Your Foreign Office approved this trip.”

Dezhnev offered a handkerchief. “The terms were changed and we never received an answer from your State Department.”

Hands braced on his knees, Ingram was still panting. “That's bullshit! And where are the Japanese POWs? We are supposed to take them home.”

“Ahhhhh, that's one of the problems. Our Foreign Office has decided to keep those men. They are aggressors and have illegally occupied Soviet territory. We cannot release them until penalties are assessed and reparations made.”

“What? Reparations? What sort of malarkey is that?”

The other officer stepped up. Dezhnev said, “May I introduce Captain First Rank Gennady Kulibin, overall commander of this operation and commanding officer of the
Admiral Volshkov
.”

The man saluted stiffly and said, “
Kak vy poshevayete
?” (How do you do?)

Ingram stood to attention.

Dezhnev hissed under his breath, “It's customary for officers of peaceful nations to exchange courtesies, such as saluting.”

Ingram said, “Please tell this man, Ed, that U.S. naval personnel don't salute unless they are covered. And if I'm not mistaken, that's my garrison cap on the ground over there that your animals are walking on.”

Dezhnev shouted at one of his men. A Russian soldier stooped, picked up Ingram's garrison cap, brushed it off, and walked over and handed it to Dezhnev. It was passed to Ingram. “Okay?”

Ingram put on his cap and adjusted it. “Next, I don't show courtesy to people who break promises. And you've done that in a most unfriendly fashion. You didn't show a beacon as you promised, making our landing difficult and dangerous. And now you tell us you're not releasing the prisoners to us as originally agreed.”

“But I just told you—”

“I demand to see Major Fujimoto.”

Dezhnev looked down. “I'm sorry, he's dead. Shot while trying to escape.”

“Bullshit! When did that happen?”

“While we were all in Beverly Hills enjoying champagne at Captain Landa's wedding.”

Ingram felt his blood run cold. “Shot while trying to escape?” He waved his arms. “Escape to where in this godforsaken country?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Don't push it, Todd.”

Ingram's fists doubled and he threw a glance at Boland. Then he nodded toward Kulibin and said, “Tell this son of a bitch that excuse doesn't work with us. Tell him to keep his animals away from my men or there
will
be reparations. And not the ones you're thinking of.”

Kulibin's eyes narrowed.

“He speaks English, I see,” said Ingram. “I'm glad he understands me.” He stepped up to Kulibin. “Captain, I'm telling you to return our equipment, including our arms, now.”

“Nyet,”
said Kulibin, stepping closer until they were almost nose-to-nose.

Ingram said, “Captain Kulibin, our governments had an agreement for me to come here in peace and return with the Japanese garrison. You've reneged on that promise and—”

Dezhnev shouted, “Todd, stop. You don't know what you're doing.”

“And if you don't return me and my men, with our equipment, to my ship, then this becomes a major international incident. You saw just two B-24s.” He pointed up to the tower. “My lookout was able to contact the
Maxwell
and tell them what was going on. Four American destroyers are on their way: ETA oh six hundred tomorrow morning. So make sure you have an early breakfast because it'll be your last. They're going to obliterate you and your damned Nazi ship out there. And if that's not enough, Commander White will have called in B-24s, B-17s, and B-29s to make sure nothing is left.” He looked at Kulibin. “Your days of kissing commissars' asses are over unless you do what I say.”

Kulibin rocked back and forth and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

Dezhnev said, “He's really pissed off, Todd. You went too far.”

Inwardly, Ingram felt he had too. He'd been taking too many Jerry Landa lessons and it had gone to his head.

He was ready to apologize when Kulibin stepped back. “
Da, da
.” He shrugged and turned to walk away. “Do
svedaniia”
(Goodbye). He waved his hands in the air and said something to Dezhnev. Then he walked to his command car and leaned against the fender. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and laid one on his lower lip. An officer stepped over and lit it for him.

Dezhnev said, “I don't believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“He just gave in. Tell your men they can have their arms and their equipment back.”

Ingram yelled over, “And turn off the damned radio jamming too.”

Dezhnev hissed, “Todd, damn it. Quit while you're ahead.”

Kulibin called over, “
Da, da
. Hokay.”

“And the bazooka. Right now.”

“Da, da.”

This has been too easy
. “All right.” Ingram yelled to Boland, “Gunny!”

“Sir!” snapped Boland.

“They're returning our weapons and gear. Have your men grab their stuff and fall in across the runway right there.”