He felt good about today and was especially happy for the people who surrounded him. A promise is a promise, and Otis DeWitt had come through, inviting everyone Ingram had asked, down to the last private, first class.
For convenience, Ingram had brought them on board last night and threw a special dinner. After that, he gave them bunks. The ship’s regular crew, officers and men, did not gripe when they were asked to give up their bunks. The weather was balmy enough so they could sleep outside on the 01 level. But Ingram kept the galley open and stocked with sandwiches and Kool-Aid for anyone who couldn’t sleep. Predictably, the Marines went back again and again.
Later that night, the usual epithets drifted through Ingram’s porthole: “Hey, jarhead, you can piss off the fantail or you can use the head right through that hatch, take your pick”; or “Outta my way, squid”; or “Stupid birdman.” They all loved it.
The boat crunched into another trough, with Birmingham swinging his tiller to avoid the worst of it. Water flew over the bow and misted over the starboard side. Three Marines were seasick and were heaving over the side. First Lieutenant Peoples, who had turned a dark shade of green, held valiantly onto what had been a fine breakfast.
Jerry Landa and Tubby White were making stilted conversation about the boat’s extended fuel capacity when another wave slapped the bow, throwing up a wall of water. Most of it flew overhead, but a handful hit Radcliff squarely in the face.
Radcliff muttered, “I knew there was a reason I didn’t join the Navy.”
Berne and Hammer hooted.
Ingram threw over a clean towel.
Radcliff blotted his shirt and muttered. “Obviously your revenge for you sitting in my jump seat.”
Landa said dryly, “Only trying to help. Word’s out that you haven’t taken a shower in three weeks.”
Radcliff gave a wry smile. “See you on the next MATS flight, Captain.”
Landa asked, “You mean you’d stick me in the cargo hold?”
“If there’s room.”
Landa and Radcliff traded grins as the whaleboat drew to within five hundred yards of the Missouri. Birmingham wove through traffic as though he were on the Pasadena Freeway. He dodged through a line of destroyers that, like sleeping greyhounds, laid to behind the Missouri’s starboard side, brown stack gas lazily drifting up into the morning. One by one, they offloaded VIPs on small boats to head for the Missouri’s quarterdeck, situated forward on the starboard side.
Birmingham’s destination was the port-side quarterdeck, where lesser guests were boarding. Again they fought the slop and wakes thrown up by craft ranging from 26-foot motor whaleboats to giant 51-foot personnel boats to LCVPs and tank-carrying LCMs. By Ingram’s count there were at least fifty circling, waiting to disembark their passengers.
Birmingham called to Ingram, “We’re in luck, Captain.” He pointed to a sailor wagging semaphore flags near the quarterdeck. “That’s us: Dog five-two-five.”
Ingram said, “Sounds good to me.” He turned to Peoples. “You ready to head in, Leroy?”
“Uhhhhghhh,” said Peoples.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Take her in, Birmingham. And then find a spot under that boat boom up forward. With any luck they’ll let you up to see some of the action.”
“Yes, sir.” Birmingham gave a four-bell signal for full speed.
The Missouri grew more and more massive as they drew close. This is a big ship, and she is beautiful, thought Ingram. To someone used to living on a little destroyer, the battleship’s 52,000 tons seemed like 500,000.
Birmingham rang three bells, and Rathbone backed the whaleboat, perfectly stopping it at the landing. Landa was first out, followed by Ingram, then Tubby White, and then the rest.
The OOD, a full commander, stood at attention with a gleaming brass telescope tucked under his left arm, throwing salutes like a Marine gunny on a parade ground. The instant Landa stepped on board, the Missouri’s messenger of the watch rang four bells and the PA system echoed with, “DESRON seven-seven arriving.”
Ingram was next up, with the messenger announcing, “Maxwell arriving.”
The rest of Ingram’s party followed close behind, and within thirty seconds the messenger was announcing new arrivals.
Twenty young sailors stood before them. One of them, a young blond gunner’s mate, second class, wore a nametag that said his name was Hopkins. He walked up to Ingram. “Are you the Maxwell party, sir?”
“That’s right.”
“Everybody here?”
“All set.”
“Then please follow me.”
Although things were pretty basic on the battleship’s main deck, Ingram was glad Hopkins knew his way around. Time and again he eased his party through a group of sailors like a linebacker, shouting, “Gangway.”
As they walked, the bell rang on the PA system announcer called, “Commander, Third Fleet, arriving.”
Halsey had stepped on board.
Everyone on the main deck paused momentarily, as if expecting him to walk around a corner.
“The big hitters are in town,” said Ingram, dodging a giant deck-mounted ventilator.
“I’m waiting for Harry Truman,” said Landa.
Again, the bell gonged on the PA system. “Supreme commander of the Allied Powers arriving.”
MacArthur had just stepped on board. Ingram had been with him in the Philippines and Corregidor. In those days, which seemed an eternity ago, he had seen the general just once; now he would see him again, both having traveled a long and hazardous route through the Pacific.
The party climbed a ladder to the 01 deck and drew up near the port side of the massive number two gun turret. Pointing to another ladder, Hopkins said, “Up there is where you’ll be, gentlemen, atop this turret. You’ll have a perfect view of the deck below. Captain Murray made sure you have front-row places to stand. Your numbers are taped on the deck.”
Landa whistled. “Numbers?”
“Yes, sir. You’ll find someone up there with spot assignments. He’ll have your number assignment,” said Hopkins.
“What’ll they think of next?”
“Between you and me, Captain, best thing they can think of is sending us home,” said Hopkins.
“Now you’re talking,” said Peoples. He smiled, the color returning to his face.
Radcliff said, “Easy, Leroy. Now that you’re an aircraft commander they won’t let you rest until you’ve flown the last buck private out of the war zone.”
“Life isn’t fair,” said Peoples.
Hopkins said, “Please excuse me, gentlemen. If I don’t get back soon the watch commander will cancel my leave for the next ten years.”
“Go, son, go,” said Ingram.
Hopkins backed up, saluted, and then walked off past a group of officers. Ingram recognized General Sutherland in the pack. He was speaking with a civilian. Sutherland looked up, caught Ingram’s eye, and beckoned him over.
Ingram said to Tubby White, “Get everybody up there, Tubby, and check them in. We’ll be up in a minute.”
“Got it,” said White.
With a nod toward Sutherland, Ingram said to Landa, “You want to come? I may need you to keep me out of trouble.”
Landa said, “You sure you want me? As you know, I’m an expert at pissing off senior officers.”
“Please remember that General Sutherland walks in the highest circles and will be most happy to assist you in your climb to the top.”
Landa laughed at that one.
They walked over and Ingram said, “Excuse me, General, good to see you again.” He introduced Landa.
“Good Morning, Commander,” said Sutherland, offering his hand. “And good morning to you, Captain Landa.” They all shook hands.
Now that he was closer, Ingram was surprised to see that the man Sutherland had been speaking with was Colin Blinde.
Blinde didn’t miss a beat. “Haven’t seen you since Yontan, Todd. How you doing?”
“Sleepin
g better.”
“That’s something,” said Blinde. He raised an eyebrow at Landa.
He’s trying to decide which end to kiss. “Please say hello to Captain Landa, my squadron commander.”
“The one they call ‘Boom Boom’?” Blinde thrust out his hand.
Landa gave Blinde a fish grip and a cheesy smile. “So this is Mr. Aqua Velva,” he muttered to Ingram with an exaggerated sniff.
“Shhhh.” Ingram stifled a grin.
Sutherland said, “We begin . . .” he checked his watch, “in six minutes. And I have to join the general.” He turned to Ingram. “I wanted to make you aware of something, Commander.”
“Yes, sir?” said Ingram.
Sutherland asked, “Did you know that the Soviet Union will be signing the surrender agreement along with the other Allied countries?”
Ingram said, “To be truthful, General, I hadn’t thought about it but, okay, that makes sense.”
“And that Lieutenant-General Kuzma Nikolayevich Derevyanko will be signing the surrender agreement for the Soviet Union?” Sutherland said.
“Yes, sir.”
Sutherland’s eyes bored in. “As a signatory, General Derevyanko was allowed to bring five guests as part of his official party.”
Ingram kept silent. He had an idea of what was coming.
Blinde said, “Yes, we get Captain Third Rank Eduard Dezhnev as a member of General Derevyanko’s entourage. They boarded about twenty minutes ago. Now they’re wandering around the ship.”
Ingram seethed. The man who only days ago had tried to kill him, and who had tried to kill both him and Helen three years ago, was now on board this ship and corrupting this magnificent moment in history. Jaw muscles twitching, he gave Blinde a hard stare.
Blinde said, “Don’t look at me; it wasn’t my idea to let him aboard.”
“Oh? Who approved the Commie list?”
“Well, I—”
“Colin, I’ve got some Marines here who would love to stuff Dezhnev into a garbage can and drop it off the fantail. That son of a bitch tried to kill us. You too, if you didn’t notice.”
Blinde shook his head. “I know, I know. But here, today, it’s diplomatic immunity and all that. Also, you should know they’ve got him rigged with a camera—a German Zeiss—and he’s snapping pictures of everything from gun barrels to radar antennae to toilet seats.”
“How sweet,” said Landa. “Maybe we should send him up to the flag cabin and have him photograph our classified files.”
“He is being watched,” said Blinde. “Actually, they made me responsible for his safety today.”
“Who is ‘they’?” demanded Ingram.
“Well, that’s part of—”
“Gentlemen,” interrupted Sutherland.
Ingram took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Thanks for letting me know, General. I promise I won’t try to kill him. At least not this morning.”
Sutherland said, “That’s the spirit, Commander. We can’t afford an international incident at this stage. But you should also know that his station is on top of the gun turret where I understand you will be.”
Landa said, “Now this gets interesting. Maybe we can help him over the side, like on the New York subway.” It was a twenty-foot drop to the veranda deck.
Sutherland gave a polite cough as more admirals were gonged on board. “I must join our party. But I wanted you to be aware of this and to ask that you be discreet.”
Blinde said, “That means nothing physical, Todd.”
Ingram said, “Shut up, Colin.”
“What?” Blinde took a step back.
Landa looked away to cover a snicker.
Sutherland seemed unfazed. “I know you’ll conduct yourself accordingly. Now, please excuse me, gentlemen.”
Blinde shrugged and nodded to the rungs running up the side of the great gun turret. “See you up there.”
“Topside,” corrected Landa.
“Yes, topside,” said Blinde. He began climbing.
“Okay,” Ingram nodded to the ladder, “your turn, Boom, Boom.”
“Very funny. You go ahead. I have to hit the head. Be right there.”
“Good luck finding one in this mess.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
2 September 1945
USS Missouri (BB 63), Tokyo Bay, Japan
Ingram mounted the ladder and made his way through the noisy crowd that seemed to take up every square foot atop the gun turret. Tubby White beckoned from the starboard side, and Ingram walked over to join the rest of his group. They stood loosely, joking, gawking, and pointing things out. He was particularly glad to see the Marines standing alongside a proud GySgt. Ulysses Gaylord Harper. A few had cameras and were making full use of them.
Ingram shook Harper’s hand, “This is your day, Ugly, you and your boys. Thanks for it all.”
Harper’s chest puffed a bit. “You too, Commander.”
White walked over. “Your spot is there, Skipper.” He pointed to numbers fixed on the deck in tape. “You’re number sixteen, the commodore is fifteen, and I’m fourteen.”
Ingram took his spot and looked about. “Amazing.” Situated behind a row of chairs, space number sixteen offered a fine view of the veranda deck below and the single stand-up microphone where the speaker would conduct the ceremony. Outboard of the veranda deck was a temporary platform jammed with photographers and their camera equipment. Row upon row of officers, most of them admirals and generals, lined the after part of the veranda deck and the area directly below Ingram on the inboard side. A lonely table covered with a green baize table cloth stood in the middle of the deck, a single chair on either side. On the table were two open folios, each easily twenty by twenty inches. A pen and inkwell stood sentinel beside each.
Below, on the forward part of the main deck, sideboys in dress whites were mustered in ranks around an accommodation ladder on the starboard side waiting for the Japanese. Officers in working khakis, the uniform of the day, stood at the end of the ranks waiting to escort the Japanese to the veranda deck. Sailors in undress whites were jammed into every available corner; not a square foot of horizontal space remained. Sailors lined the main and 01 decks, the decks above, the main bridge, the flag bridge, lookout stations, gun tubs, and antennae platforms; they crouched atop the main battery director and 5-inch gun mounts. Two men had found a space inside the 16-inch gun turret’s massive rangefinder. Some, like big-city flagpole sitters, had slid out onto the Big Mo’s yardarms, eighty feet above the main deck.
A group of Japanese photographers and newsmen, unlike their jocular counterparts, stood stiff and silent on the outboard platform, staring straight ahead.
Ingram spotted Jerry Landa speaking with Otis DeWitt on the veranda deck just below. Interesting to see those two conversing. The last he’d heard, DeWitt and Landa regarded each other as social misfits. What sort of small talk could they be making? Then Toliver walked up and shook hands with them. Landa pointed to Ingram standing atop the gun turret. They waved up to him. As Ingram lifted a hand to wave back, General Sutherland walked up and joined them. Then, to Ingram’s amazement, Admiral Halsey walked out of a hatch and joined the group. Landa seemed to be doing the talking. Sutherland rubbed his chin. Toliver began talking, waving his arms as DeWitt stood patiently. Soon Admiral Halsey brightened at something. With a grin, he raised a finger and began talking. The other three nodded; something had obviously been decided.
A microphone blared, “Testing, testing.”
Halsey flicked his wrist, checking his watch. Clearly there were things to do. He clapped Landa and Sutherland on the shoulders and stepped back into the hatch with Sutherland, DeWitt, and Toliver close behind.
Landa climbed the ladder and took his place with a grin. “Found the head.”
“Oh, yeah? Looks like you were telling farting jokes to some high brass,” said Ingram.
Landa gave a thin smile.
Tubby White said sotto v
oce, “Don’t look now.”
Ingram turned to see Eduard Dezhnev limp up with another Soviet and take spots behind Radcliff and Peoples.
Leroy Peoples said, “Mercy me. I thought we’d seen the last of this critter.”
Dezhnev was dressed in a Soviet naval infantry uniform featuring a Sam Browne belt and polished boots. His companion, another captain third rank, was similarly dressed. Draped around Dezhnev’s neck were an elaborate Zeiss camera, its hard leather case, and an exposure meter. He looked like a tourist photographing the Golden Gate Bridge. Incongruously, just beneath the camera and exposure meter glinted Dezhnev’s rogue belt buckle from Alcatraz, light glistening off the golden edges.
“Too bad he’s not in the front row,” said Jon Berne, who stood beside Peoples. “We could pitch him over the side. But you can’t win ’em all.” Berne raised his movie camera and began slowly panning from left to right.
Dezhnev caught Ingram’s eye and, with a slight smile, tipped two fingers to the brim of his hat. Then he raised his camera and began rapidly clicking. One or two of the shots included Ingram and Landa.
Aqua Velva wafted down the line as Colin Blinde walked up and took the space to Dezhnev’s left. He flashed Ingram and Landa a broad smile and shook Dezhnev’s hand.
“Wheooow!” Landa held his nose. “Smells like a Shanghai whorehouse.”
Berne and Peoples held their noses and began coughing loudly. Then Berne spun around, apparently responding to something Dezhnev had said. The two spoke for a moment; Berne smiled, then Dezhnev. Peoples turned and started speaking to Dezhnev and his companion. They all shook hands, Blinde smiling along with them.
Ingram began to grind his teeth.
Radcliff muttered, “Well, if it isn’t Benedict Blinde.”
Berne handed his movie camera to Dezhnev, who examined it with great interest. He held it up, looked through the eyepiece, and began panning as if he were really shooting. In exchange, Dezhnev absently lifted the camera strap over his head and gave his Zeiss to Berne.
Edge of Valor Page 23