Edge of Valor

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  Ingram ran up to Harper and crouched beside him. “They’re shooting at us!”

  “No shit.”

  “Well, come on.” Ingram leapt over the side of the half-track and got into the pointer’s seat of the quad .50. Harper followed five seconds later. “How do you work this thing,” Ingram yelled.

  “Should be a foot treadle on your side. See it?” shouted Harper.

  Ingram looked down. “Yeah.” He mashed it with his foot. A long burst roared out.

  Bullets from the Russians began clanging against the half-track’s armor-plated sides and the armor “flaps” on the sides of the gun mount.

  “Okay,” yelled Harper. “I’ll train right to left. You hose ’em down. Give it just one-to-two-second bursts. Should scare the living crap out of them.”

  Harper cranked the mount to the right. Ingram peered through his sight, found his hand wheel, and dropped the gun barrels right on the skirmish line, now two hundred yards distant.

  “Now!” yelled Harper.

  Ingram hit the treadle. The mount roared. Dust and concrete filled the air. Bodies dropped. An arm spun away from a cloud of red mist. Harper trained a bit left. “Again!” he shouted.

  Ingram fired at the Russians, now in full retreat and running frantically. Two or three dropped. The rest kept running.

  Harper trained a little more left. “Give it to the bastards.”

  “That’s enough,” said Ingram.

  “What?” demanded Harper.

  “Let’s save ammo, Sergeant. Now get over to that other half-track. See if you can start it and then follow me.”

  It dawned on Harper what they had done: they were now in possession of one, possibly two, M-16 half-tracks. “Not a bad way to even the odds, Commander.”

  “Not bad at all, Sergeant. Now get over there and see what you can do.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harper leapt over the side and ran for the other half-track. He soon waved back. “Nine innings for this one, Commander. Electronics are all toasted.”

  “Okay, let’s go. But grab some ammo off that mount, if you can.”

  “Yo!” Harper passed ammo cans to four of his Marines. In sixty seconds they were running back to Ingram’s half-track and clambering on board.

  Harper stayed behind to splash a five-gallon can of gasoline in the cockpit. Then he jumped out with grenade in hand and shouted, “Fire in the hole!” He pulled the pin, tossed a grenade in the damaged half-track, and ran for the other.

  The explosion set off the fuel tank, and they all felt the heat of the blast. “Just to make sure the Commies don’t get it running again,” Harper said.

  “Good riddance,” said Ingram.

  Harper pointed to one of his men, a redheaded corporal. “Ely, think you can drive this thing?”

  The corporal grinned, “Have more hours in one of these than an M-4.”

  “Then get this damn thing started and follow that airplane.” He pointed to the steering wheel.

  “You bet, Ugly.” The corporal jumped in the driver’s seat, hit the starter, and got the half-track going. He clanked it into gear and took off after the C-54. They soon caught up with the plane and passed it on the left side, waving to Radcliff as they went by.

  Within two hundred yards of the tower Ingram noticed an irregular line of pillboxes and machine-gun nests well camouflaged with netting and brush. Further back were three artillery pieces, about 75 mm, he guessed. A few helmets bobbed up to look at him, but for the most part the defenders remained hidden behind sand berms and brush.

  The half-track pulled up to the tower, a rickety three-story wooden building with all the windows shot out; Harper and his men jumped to the ground. “Fan out,” he ordered. “Uh, Commander, I’d recommend you stay here until we sort things out.”

  They quickly formed a perimeter, with the C-54 taxiing into the middle. Ingram jumped from the half-track and walked over to the pilot’s window.

  Radcliff slid open his cockpit window and stuck out his head. “What’s going on?”

  Ingram gave a shrug and mouthed, “Wait one.”

  The starboard hatch opened, the aluminum ladder dropped, and Hammer was down in an instant. Quickly, he ran under his starboard engines. He drew out a flashlight and shined it into the opened cowl flaps of number four, the outboard starboard engine.

  Ingram walked over, finding it quieter on this side with both engines shut down. “What do you think?”

  Hammer whipped off his cap and said, “If I was a bettin’ man I’d say there’s a chance with this one. Simply because we lost oil pressure, which means an oil leak. Can’t tell, though, until I get the cowl off both of these and have a look-see.”

  “Uh, Hammer, what if you get just one running? Can we still get out of here?”

  “Pretty sure we can take off on three engines.”

  “How about only two engines?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m hoping we can at least fix number four. That way we won’t have too much torque from the port side.”

  Ingram pointed off to the right. “Is that a revetment over there?”

  “Looked like it from the cockpit, but there’s a lot of junk in there. Could be stuff from burned-out aircraft.”

  Berne walked up, a perplexed look on his face.

  “What is it, Jon?”

  He held up a notepad and flipped pages. “This from Okinawa, sir.” He read aloud, “‘Remain steadfast. Trying to send another C-54 but requires permission from USSR consulate. Under no circumstances are you to fire on USSR troops. Remember primary goal is to secure Boring.’ It’s signed ‘Neidemeier for Flannigan.’”

  “Flannigan? Who’s Flannigan?”

  “Ask him,” said Berne. He nodded to Blinde, who was climbing down the ladder.

  Ingram waited for Blinde to walk up and then demanded, “Who is this Flannigan guy?”

  “My boss in Washington, D.C.” Blinde stared at him. “He’s not going to be happy about what happened back there. We’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

  Ingram stood close. “Mr. Blinde, I don’t have the time or the inclination for games. Those sons of bitches killed one of mine and wounded another. They shot at us on final approach, which could have resulted in a crash, probably fatal to us all. And they have seriously damaged this aircraft.”

  “You don’t understand. Someone was supposed to—”

  “Supposed to what?”

  “Meet us. Welcome us. Someone from the Red Army.”

  “Fine, Mr. Blinde. Just fine.” Ingram waved around him. “Take a look at what’s happened here. Instead of meeting us as you promised, your Russian friends fired on us, which could have killed us all, including your dead little ass. As a result, I’d say those people are not our friends. And since this whole snafu is my responsibility, I’m going to take every precaution, which includes killing more Communists if that’s what’s required. So, not that it matters, I ask again: Who is this Flannigan guy?”

  “OSS.”

  Ingram whipped off his hat. “What the hell is a Washington, D.C., bureaucrat doing screwing around with a firefight eight thousand miles away?”

  “The war is over, Commander Ingram. That’s when the bureaucrats are supposed to take over,” said Blinde.

  “Well, look around you, Mr. Blinde. I’d say the war isn’t over. In fact, peace hasn’t even been declared. So in the meantime, I’ll take my orders from General MacArthur, the supreme commander out here. Not from some Washington bureaucrat.”

  “What I meant was—”

  “Now I want you back on that aircraft and tending to Captain Fujimoto. Is that clear?” Ingram stood close. “And don’t get any ideas about having Captain Berne send messages. I decide what goes out and what doesn’t.”

  Berne moved up. So did Harper and Hammer. Blinde looked at them and then said, “As you wish.” He walked back and boarded the C-54.

  Ingram turned to Berne. “Jon, send a message back to Okinawa
that I intend to carry out my mission while protecting my people and my equipment to the best of my ability. If that means killing Communists, then that’s what I’ll do. Send a copy of that to MacArthur’s headquarters and CinCPac in Guam.”

  “Todd?” Radcliff stood in the doorway. “What gives?”

  Ingram yelled up. “Head for that revetment, Bucky. The Marines will clear it out for you. Then Hammer can get to work.”

  “Roger.” Radcliff disappeared inside.

  Ingram motioned to Harper.

  “Sir?”

  “Gunny, send four of your men over to that revetment and have them clear out the junk as best they can. For the time being, this aircraft is our only ticket home, so I’d like to set up a perimeter to protect it while Hammer tries to fix one or both engines.”

  “What about the Japs, sir?”

  “Speak of the devil.” Ingram waved toward the tower.

  Four Japanese soldiers emerged from a low berm. Walking in front were two officers with holstered pistols, one of them wearing a sword. Behind were two soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders.

  The officer with the sword walked up to Ingram. “Commander Ingram?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I am Major Kotoku Fujimoto, Imperial Japanese Marines. Is my brother aboard that airplane?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  22 August 1945

  Toro Airfield, Karafuto Prefecture, Japan

  Kotoku Fujimoto resembled his brother, but he was shorter and stockier. A black patch covered his left eye, and his left arm was in a sling. A Fu Manchu mustache made him look older than what Ingram guessed would be twenty-three or twenty-four. But he wore his khakis well and carried his sword with authority.

  Major Fujimoto clasped a hand behind his back. “Commander, we do not have much time before the Russians counterattack.”

  “Counterattack? Who attacked whom?”

  “Well, to their way of thinking, you attacked them. So they counterattack. In any case, they have done this before. We’ve been through it with them for the past two days.” He waved to the burned-out junk in the revetments. “I anticipate they will attack at dusk. It’s their nature.”

  Ingram sputtered, “Your English is excellent.”

  “A family custom. Our father insisted. Although Katsumi, my oldest brother, was a bit off his game in that department.”

  Ingram knew this. “Oh?”

  “He didn’t like anything to do with English or Americans.”

  Ingram felt a hot flash of anger. “Did you go to Notre Dame also?”

  “No, Etajima. I decided to become a marine when they threw all that engineering nonsense at me.”

  It had been the same at the U.S. Naval Academy. Midshipmen who preferred not to suffer math and physics courses could take the Marine “option” if they wished. “Things never change,” muttered Ingram. “Yes. Your brother is aboard.”

  “May I see him?”

  “Of course. But he’s been wounded. Courtesy of our Communist friends.”

  “Is he—”

  “He’ll be fine, but he’s lost some blood. A shoulder wound. Do you have a doctor?”

  “We have a fairly decent field hospital here and a doctor. Let’s get him off the plane and over there.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,” said Ingram.

  “What?” Major Fujimoto stood rigid.

  There was a roar from the C-54 as Radcliff taxied into the revetment and spun the aircraft around. The port-side props were still spinning as Hammer and a couple of Marines pushed a small platform under the outboard starboard engine. He scrambled up and began unbolting the cowl. Radcliff cut number one and two engines and it became quiet.

  “What is your damage?” asked Fujimoto.

  Ingram shrugged. “Could be an oil line. We’re not sure yet. The inboard engine is the one that worries me.”

  Fujimoto whipped off his cap and wiped his forehead. “Have your flight mechanic speak with my sergeant here. We may be able to give you materials.”

  “Thank you.”

  “About my brother, can I . . .”

  “Major, please go aboard now. Spend time with your brother. And please send up your medical officer. Believe me, I’d give a thought to leaving him here with you, but we need him to help us clear the mines in Tokyo Bay.”

  “You need to get in there so soon?”

  “We need to get in there to secure the capital and, more important, to secure our prisoners of war. There are many in the area, I’m told.” Ingram didn’t want to tell him about the surrender ceremony planned for Tokyo Bay.

  Fujimoto nodded. “I see.”

  Ingram decided to add, “And to secure your people from fighting among themselves. We hear there are a number of hotheads there who want nothing more than to lead palace revolts and suicide charges.”

  “So I have heard.” Fujimoto studied Ingram for a moment. Then he turned to his officer and gave instructions in Japanese. The officer, a lieutenant, bowed and walked quickly back toward the brush—and disappeared.

  Ingram blurted, “Amazing.”

  “You like our camouflage, Commander?”

  “Where did he go? I can’t see a thing.”

  “Believe it or not, I have five tanks, thirteen artillery pieces, twenty-five machine-gun nests, and ten pillboxes around here. All in all, I have about one thousand men hidden.”

  Ingram nodded slowly. These were brave men. But a handful of tanks and guns and a thousand men weren’t nearly enough to withstand the onslaught of the Soviet hordes.

  “Communications?”

  “Not bad. We have some wireless. But all that aside, you should be out of here by sunset.”

  “Depends on how repairs go.”

  “They had better get the engine repaired soon; otherwise the Soviets will shell it to bits.”

  “They have artillery?”

  “All around us. Plus the ships anchored out there. They have been quite open about it and expect us to surrender, especially since Toyahara fell yesterday.” “Where’s that?”

  About two hundred kilometers east of here. It is the capital of Karafuto. Our commander there sent out a general surrender order last night. But I have not yet decided.”

  “Why not?”

  “Those people, the Mongols, are animals—monsters from the central steppes of Asia. No wonder the Germans tried to wipe them out. They are violent, lawless, and uneducated. Did you hear what they did to Mukden?”

  Ingram shook his head.

  “Raped every woman and child and then killed them all. They did the same in Harbin.”

  “Ever hear of Nanking, or Peking, or Singapore, or Manila?” Ingram retorted.

  Fujimoto flushed. “Touché. Yes. That is true. But I am not going to let them do that to us. May I ask a favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “Please don’t tell my brother about the impending attack.”

  Ingram raised his eyebrows.

  “I don’t want him upset if he is wounded.”

  “All right,” said Ingram. “But he’s a grown man and a full navy captain.”

  “Yes.” Fujimoto checked his watch. “Coming up on fifteen hundred. That gives you about five hours. If you remain after that, you will be fighting on the side of the Japanese. Isn’t that a twist?” He laughed. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go and see—”

  “Major Fujimoto, do you have a Swiss Red Cross representative with you? A man by the name of Walter Boring?”

  “Are you here to take him?”

  “That’s my mission.”

  Fujimoto rubbed his chin. “He came to us in terrible shape.”

  “What happened?”

  “Since he arrived he has been in a sort of trance—nearly catatonic. Doctor Osuga can tell you more.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He is not a military man. He was in Mukden when the Soviets attacked. They have been nipping at his heels ever since, and he has been
passed from command to command. A plane brought him here, but it was shelled just as it landed. That must have driven him around the bend because he can barely communicate now. He’s in my command bunker if you wish to see him.”

  Just then, a uniformed man with red-trimmed badges and medical bag walked up and bowed. The lieutenant followed close behind.

  Fujimoto said, “This is Doctor Osuga. And Lieutenant Nakayama is my executive officer.”

  Osuga and Nakayama bowed. In clear English Osuga said, “Hello, Commander.”

  Ingram said, “How do you do, Doctor.” He nodded to the C-54. “Let’s get you up there.”

  “Thank you.”

  With two Marines watching closely they walked to the ladder and Ingram called, “Bucky!”

  “Yo!” Radcliff poked his head out the hatch. Berne stood behind him.

  “Can I send these two up? This is Major Kotoku Fujimoto, the garrison commander and the brother of Captain Shiroku Fujimoto, our guest for the past couple of days. With him is Doctor Osuga, who will try to patch up Captain Fujimoto.”

  Radcliff beckoned, “Send ’em up.”

  As the Japanese mounted the ladder, Ingram asked, “Anything from Okinawa?”

  “Not a peep,” said Berne.

  The realization sunk in that there would be no rescue plane today. Ingram’s heart skipped a beat. Finally, he managed, “The State Department must still be wrestling with the Soviet Foreign Office for permission to fly in another C-54. I think we’re on our own, Bucky.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Jon, send a message to Okinawa that we expect a Soviet counterattack at dusk. You can add that we’re currently garrisoned with the Japanese, who are cooperating.”

  Looking over Radcliff’s shoulder, Berne said, “Okay, Todd.”

  “And let me know when they roger the message.”

  “Yes, sir.” Berne disappeared.

  Fujimoto and Osuga reached the top of the ladder. Radcliff stood aside to let them pass.

  Ingram asked, “How’s Hammer doing?”

  Radcliff tilted a hand from side to side. “We may be okay with number four. Looks like an oil line was shot out. He’s replacing it now. Number three looks really dicey, though. Took a shell right in the starter motor. So for sure we won’t be able to get a ground start. Maybe windmill it if we get off the ground.”