Edge of Valor (66 page)

Tubby White wasted no time. He ordered all the
Maxwell
's topside lights doused and backed the destroyer away with a two-thirds bell. Once clear of the
dock, he changed to a full bell. The ship gained sternway into darkness and the protection of the night.

Ingram walked onto the bridge, finding Tubby bent over a radar repeater. It rendered a beautiful picture of a ship safely away from shore and out to sea. Tubby ordered left full rudder and a two-thirds counterclockwise twist. Once the ship lost sternway, he shifted the rudder until they were headed fair into the Sea of Japan. With that, he rang up turns for seventeen knots on a standard bell and steadied on course two-five-five.

Russians raced onto the pier and began shooting at where the destroyer had disappeared. Captain Third Rank Eduard Dezhnev stood among them, firing bursts of his PPSh submachine gun into the air.

An out-of-breath Matvie Borzakov rushed up to him. “You damned fool. Look what you've done.”

“I? What have I done?”

Borzakov waved toward where the
Admiral Volshkov
had been. “Our ship is gone, along with her captain and crew and a valuable asset. One would think you were working for the Americans.” He peered at Dezhnev. “What happened to your arm?”

Rifle shots burst all around as men fired sporadically after the ship. It was difficult to hear. “What?”

“Your arm,” Borzakov screeched. “What happened?”

“I have news for you, Matvie.”

Someone found a machine gun and began spraying bullets into the night.

“What?”

“You are right. I am working for them.”

Borzakov said, “Is this a stupid joke?”

Dezhnev added, “No joke. As for what happened to me, I found Oleg's pistol.”

“What are you saying?”

“Here it is.” Dezhnev pulled out the PPK and shot Borzakov in the chest. Twice. The man fell to the ground, reached toward him, and then was still.

A minute later, three T-34s rumbled up to the pier. The tanks fired wildly into the night at the invisible destroyer. Although the gunners couldn't see, one round actually zipped between the
Maxwell
's stacks and hit the ocean beyond, raising a tall water column and dousing the quarterdeck. The other thirty-five or so rounds the three tanks fired missed by at least five hundred yards.

The shooting petered out, and soldiers aimlessly wandered up and down the pier; who or how many, Dezhnev didn't know. It was too dark to make a count. Dezhnev stumbled against some oil drums and peered into the blackness. He could barely see his hand before his face. For certain, nobody would be able to describe his role here tonight. But just to be sure, he moved farther from Borzakov's body, then threw the PPK into the water.

He looked out to sea, realizing the utter foolishness of his actions.
America. Freedom
. An independent, creative, and robust way of life sailed away with that ship. All he ever wanted—all any decent man ever wanted. He could have gone with them. The door was wide open. And yet, he had turned aside. A short time ago he would have jumped at the chance. But for some reason he didn't understand he had remained behind in this hell.

Sergeant Boland had easily captured the 105's gun crew and had left them bound and blindfolded. None of them knew of Dezhnev's role tonight. He might just get away with it. That thought was of some comfort as the tanks secured their engines. Trucks rattled up, troops disembarked, men shouted. More tanks rumbled up. Getting organized. Soon, flashlights popped up on the beach, their beams waving in the air and on the ground, picking out a path. Cautiously, men began walking out on the pier.

They'll be here, soon. Better to be found on the ground than on my feet
.

He let himself fall against a stack of crates. As he lay there waiting to be discovered, he thought about Fujimoto. They really were two of a kind, he realized, just as Fujimoto had said. Fujimoto was as passionate about Japan, as flawed as it was with its bushido code, as Dezhnev was about Russia, the Rodina. Yet, the major had instinctively grasped what was needed in this situation. A stupid gunshot wound to carry Dezhnev through all this.

The
Maxwell
's foghorn ripped at the night in a long, mournful blast; its echo rolled over what had been the coastal plain of Karafuto and was now Sakhalin.

Ingram
. Dezhnev grinned. Either Ingram was giving him a Bronx cheer or he was saying goodbye. Deep down, he knew it was the latter.

Do svedaniia
. Goodbye for now, old friend.

About the Author

John J. Gobbell
is a former Navy lieutenant who saw duty as a destroyer weapons officer. His ship served in the South China Sea, granting him membership in the exclusive “Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club.” His thirty-plus-year career in executive recruiting included clients in the military and commercial aerospace sectors, giving him added insight into character development for his novels.
Edge of Valor
is the fifth of five stand-alone novels in the Todd Ingram series. Two more are planned. Altogether, he has written seven historical thrillers involving the U.S. Navy–Pacific Theater—and is currently at work on his eighth. He and his wife, Janine, live in Newport Beach, California. His website is
www.JohnJGobbell.com
and he can be reached at
[email protected]
.

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