THE LAST LIEUTENANT: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 1)

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  Flames and concussions and reverberations racked Manila Bay for another ninety seconds. Afterwards, a few fires broke out, but without combustible material on the island's surface, they quickly flicked out.

  "Come on." Ingram helped lift Beardsley off the deck onto a thwart.

  "What happened?" the pilot asked.

  "Ammo bunker, most likely. Hard to tell which one. Could be Way." Ingram referred to Battery Way with four, twelve-inch M-1890 mortars.

  "People died," said Mordkin, matter-of-factly.

  "A lot, I think," said Dewitt.

  They sat for a moment, consumed in their own horror, still feeling the heat from the magazine's explosion.

  After a while Beardsley said, "How 'bout the guy I fingered?"

  Ingram said, "We got the bastard. He's sitting up forward. And he killed another guy, it turns out. This time--"

  "That's yet another charge against you, Lieutenant," said DeWitt walking up.

  "What?" said Ingram

  "Assaulting an enlisted man."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  3 May, 1942

  Baker Cellblock, Fort Hughes Stockade

  Caballo Island, Manila Bay, Philippines

  Major Otis DeWitt walked in waking Ingram from a troubled sleep. Trudging behind DeWitt was Captain Carl Mordkin. He was followed by a nervous looking Navy jaygee, the one who turned Ingram over to the Marines the other night.

  Ingram’s skin prickled when next he saw Cryptographer Second Class Walter Radtke trudge in, immediately followed by the two Marines.

  The thin, mustachioed major stepped to his cell and signaled to Mordkin, "Okay, Mr. Ingram let's hear what you have to say."

  Ingram rose off the wooden bunk, his cheek throbbing with pain. He patted it and was satisfied that at least it wasn't bleeding. A Marine corpsman had pulled the stitches two days ago, but the thing still hurt.

  Trying to ignore the thumping and swelling he did his best to concentrate on the lieutenant jaygee. He hadn't seen the man since last Wednesday, the night of Dwight's murder. Undernourished like everyone else, the man's hollow eyes darted nervously around the cellblock. And when a shell landed he seemed to shrink into himself as the ceiling shed plaster chips and dust. Like everyone else he was scared.

  Except Radtke. With an aloof air, the cryptographer leaned against the wall with folded arms, one foot crossed over the other. He carried a small duffle and casually swung it. Last time Ingram had seen the man his hair was matted and deranged; he had worn ragged trousers, boots and a grease-spotted jacket. Now, his hair stood in a crew cut and he wore clean dungarees and black shoes, as if standing for inspection. How the hell did he manage all this?

  Nearby, the two Marines looked cool enough, with their Thompson submachine guns slung over their shoulders. And they carried their usual array of pistols, grenades, and bayonets. These Marine's boots had seen their share of Bataan's muddy foxholes, Ingram was sure. Worn, sweat-soaked fatigues gave a ripe odor Ingram somehow associated with formaldehyde. The corporal's eyes shifted endlessly around the room, while the sergeant watched Radtke's every move.

  Mordkin stepped over to the Navy jaygee to offer his hand. "Carl Mordkin. Welcome."

  The jaygee shook. "Jim Hadley," he muttered.

  DeWitt stepped up to the cell and said, "Alright Ingram. Let's go over your accusation that Lieutenant Epperson was shot by this man."

  Radtke, Ingram noticed, had pulled himself to a semblance of parade rest. Even the bastard's hat brim is squared to the regulation two inches above the nose, he thought as he rolled his eyes.

  DeWitt said, "Lieutenant. I'm talking to you. The Japs are poised to invade any minute. I have no time. What do you have to say?"

  "That's the man who killed Dwight and the guard," said Ingram.

  "Um, huh." DeWitt turned to Hadley, who somehow had wedged himself in a far corner. "You there, Lieutenant. What's your name, again?"

  "Hadley, Sir."

  "Aren't you the one who preferred charges against Ingram?"

  Hadley stood straighter. "Yes, Sir."

  "Why?" DeWitt said.

  "Well, Sir..."

  "Haven't you been listening? I don't have all day, Lieutenant. Nor do the Japanese," snapped DeWitt. "Come out here where I can see you."

  Hadley stepped to the room's center and swallowed several times. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling with the look of a submariner who knows the next depth charge will be the one that crushes the hull.

  DeWitt said, "What was the first thing that made you think something was wrong?"

  Artillery rumbled overhead. Hadley's eyes swept the ceiling. "The sentry was not at his post."

  "Who was that?" said DeWitt.

  "Private Malone, Sir. He was supposed to be on guard outside the file room door."

  "And," prompted DeWitt.

  "Portman, my radioman," said Hadley, "saw him go inside for reasons unknown. Mr. Ingram showed up a few moments later and also went inside. To me it looked like Mr. Ingram entered a secure area without permission."

  "Wasn't Portman supposed to be here?" said DeWitt, looking at the stockade doorway.

  "Well...there was a..."

  "Please hurry."

  "Broken jaw. He's in a lot of pain and barely conscious."

  "How'd that happen?" asked DeWitt with some irritation.

  "Skinner, a third class went sort of berserk last night. Three two-forties hit almost on top of each other and he bolted. Portman tried to stop him and got clobbered."

  "Alright, go on."

  A shell rumbled overhead making the ceiling jiggle. Hadley's Adam's apple bounced. "Well, Sir, I..."

  "Lieutenant Hadley," said DeWitt, "if you don't hurry along, you'll be testifying before a Jap tribunal."

  "Yes, Sir.

  "Did anyone come out of the file room?" asked DeWitt.

  "No, Sir. But then I remember we took a hit that really rattled our teeth. Maybe a two-forty. Damn thing must have landed at the tunnel entrance. A bunch of dirt and trash blew through."

  "So someone could have come out of the room,” said DeWitt.

  Hadley scratched his head. "Maybe, but not likely, Sir."

  "You don't think this man, Radtke, was in the room?" said DeWitt.

  "Hard to tell, Sir. But he wasn't there when I went in. So where was he?" answered Hadley.

  "I see," said DeWitt. He turned to the cell. "Tell me Mr. Ingram. Was Radtke in the file room when you went in?"

  Ingram felt like the walls were closing in. "No."

  "And you say he is a spy?"

  "Must be. Why would he want to kill Dwight?"

  "Lieutenant Ingram." DeWitt clasped his hands behind his back. "You're charged with the murders of Lieutenant Epperson and Private Malone. And the way it looks, I wouldn't give your defense counsel a plugged nickel for his chance of winning his case. Even so, we owe it to this command to hear your allegation that Radtke is the murderer. And," DeWitt's eyes narrowed, "a spy?"

  Ingram nodded slowly.

  DeWitt said loudly, "You'll have to do better than that, Lieutenant. We must know if there is anything to this. Radtke's scheduled for evacuation tonight."

  "How?" Hot anger welled up in Ingram’s throat.

  "The Wolffish has been ordered back in."

  "She's already stuffed full of people." Ingram snorted.

  "I know." With his boot, DeWitt toed the pavement for a moment. "Apparently your Navy boys...think there's not enough time for another pig-boat to get here. The Wolffish is the closest. So they were ordered to drop the first batch on Marinduque and skedaddle back." Marinduque was an island about one hundred miles southeast of Manila.

  Ingram was glad when Mordkin said, "What happens to them?"

  "Resistance cell is there. Amador will--"

  "Who?" said Mordkin.

  "Amador, Captain." DeWitt was more than a bit bothered. He swung on Mordkin and almost shouted, "That Filipino we took out that night the Jap ship almost sunk us. He's supposed to hook up
with the resistance there and make their way to Mindanao via interisland steamer. Nasipit, if I read his orders right."

  Ingram thought of Helen Durand. He'd given her his ring. "And then?"

  "Another sub picks 'em up off Nasipit."

  A prolonged silence set in. Each let his own thoughts range over the two lucky groups rescued by the Wolffish and how precious that freedom was. And Ingram had thought a lot about Helen Durand during his time in jail. Soon, she would, be headed for Australia. Then home, maybe on leave, to a little town in California: Ramona, where she would have clean sheets, steak, and potatoes, long hot showers, cool beer beside--"huh?"

  "I said, Mr. Ingram," DeWitt stood close to the bars, "unless you provide tangible evidence, we have no choice but to send him out."

  "Who?"

  "Radtke, damnit."

  "No!" roared Ingram. He pointed to Radtke. "That bastard killed Epperson." Ingram's hair was wild; sweat ran down his face. "You can't let him go. He's a spy, “he gasped his voice raspy. He cleared his throat, knowing he didn't sound convincing.

  "Prove it!" said DeWitt.

  Feeling weak, Ingram held his head. "That PFC...the one under the sink..."

  "Malone," said DeWitt.

  "Yeah, Malone. Radtke must have strangled Malone, then shot Dwight with Malone's .45."

  "Why?"

  "Dwight says he photographed secret documents."

  "Photographed? With what?" demanded DeWitt.

  "Little camera, Dwight said it was a Minotaur. Disguised as a matchbox."

  DeWitt rubbed his chin for a moment, then looked at Radtke. "Minox?"

  Ingram shrugged.

  DeWitt said to Radtke, "Turn out your pockets."

  "Yes, Sir." Radtke stepped to a table and emptied his belongings. DeWitt's eyes roamed over a small pen knife, a key chain, and a can opener.

  "No matchbox," said DeWitt. "Radtke. Do you smoke?"

  "No Sir."

  "Hold out your hands," ordered DeWitt.

  Radtke held up splayed fingers. DeWitt stepped close looking for nicotine stains. Satisfied there were none, he moved away saying, "Sergeant, search this man. His duffle, too," DeWitt ordered.

  The Marine sergeant said, "Ssssir." With a nod to Radtke he said, "Hands on the wall, swabbie. Feet spread."

  Radtke rolled his eyes, turned, slapped his palms on the concrete wall and leaned against them. The sergeant patted, while the corporal emptied the duffle. It didn't take long for the Marines to finish. They looked at DeWitt shaking their heads.

  DeWitt walked up to Ingram's cell and said, "No secret cameras, Mr. Ingram. Anything else?"

  Ingram could only stare. Why had Dwight been shot? Why didn't they believe him? What sort of magician was this man Radtke, anyway? Artillery thumped somewhere on Caballo and he spread his hands in desperation saying, "Sir, you can't let this happen. That man knows we've cracked the Jap code and have learned their plans for a major invasion early next month. Dwight said he photographed documents that prove it."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Lieutenant?" said DeWitt, his eyebrows raised.

  "The Navy radio intercept tunnel. It's connected by long-line to Pearl. Dwight talked to them all the time."

  "Nonsense," said DeWitt. "We would have known."

  "It's true," said Ingram, his words rushing faster. "And Dwight said we could beat the hell out of the Japs with sort of a trap; a surprise counterattack. But let Radtke go free and he'll warn them."

  DeWitt studied the floor. "Warn who? The Japs?"

  "I don't know."

  DeWitt paced up and down for a few minutes. His gaze swung back and forth between Ingram and Radtke. At length, he stopped before the cell, looked straight at Ingram, hooked his hands in his belt loops and rocked on his heels. "You really think this man murdered Lieutenant Epperson?"

  Ingram looked around the room, finding everyone's eyes fixed on him.

  "Well, come on, Lieutenant-Captain of the minesweeper. Did he do it?" growled DeWitt.

  Ingram straightened to his full height. "I believe he did."

  "And the reason he shot Lieutenant Epperson is that he's a spy," DeWitt shook his head slightly.

  Ingram said, "That must be what happened."

  DeWitt's voice dropped to an almost gentle tone, "Lieutenant. Are you aware of the precautions our security people go through before they send a cryptographer to us?"

  The green metal lampshades swayed in concentric orbits as shells rumbled overhead, making their faces turn from gray to white and gray again.

  "We're wasting our time," DeWitt said softly. He turned to Mordkin. "See that Ingram is released when the enemy takes the island. He'll receive the same treatment as the others. I'll get to the bottom of this somehow in prison camp. That is, if we survive." He headed for the door.

  The realization sank in with Ingram feeling as if he'd been skewered with an ice-cold, heavily barbed sword. DeWitt had said matter-of-factly "when the enemy takes the island," not "if they take the island." Looking around, he noticed the others stared at the ground. But suddenly a thought struck him. "Wait!" he shouted.

  DeWitt took two steps then hesitated. "What?"

  Ingram pinched the bridge of his nose and snapped his fingers several times. "A musician. Dwight said...he plays...the trumpet!" His voice rose a notch. "This guy's supposed to play the trumpet. A virtuoso or something. He was in the ship's band aboard the North Carolina. And...and he's supposed to be as good as Ziggy Ellman in civilian life. I--"

  DeWitt turned, seeing Ingram's red face. "What's wrong, Lieutenant?"

  "The Sonofabitch!" roared Ingram. He yanked at the bars making his door rattle. "My electrician, Hampton, was on the North Carolina before he came to us. He must of known the real Radtke." He pointed, "You bastard! You killed Hampton, in case he discovered you weren't Radtke. What's your real name? You work for Tojo, maybe? Or is it Uncle Adolph?"

  All eyes settled on Radtke.

  Radtke stuffed his belongings in his pocket, jammed his left hand behind his back, and said to DeWitt. "Sir, I'm sorry about all this. Mr. Epperson was like a friend to me. We were close. He taught me a lot. Encouraged me to go to college. Become an officer. I intend to do that if I...well, if I live through this."

  He looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "I don't know why the Lieutenant here persecutes me. But I do know that I'm going to be late for that sub. He already made me miss her once."

  DeWitt stepped close to Radtke looking him up and down. "How, Lieutenant Ingram, do you think your spy got in our Navy in the first place? Maybe he crawled up the North Carolina's anchor-chain?"

  Ingram barely heard what DeWitt said. He thrust an index finger through the bars and yelled louder. "My God. The poor bastard. You doped Hampton then twisted his leg to make him bleed to death."

  Radtke's voice was close to a bored exhaustion. "Sir. Can I go now?"

  DeWitt said, "Lieutenant, these are serious charges. And if you can't prove them, I have no choice but to release this man. I'm under orders. We have a message from Nimitz, himself."

  Ingram's chest heaved and sweat ran freely down his face. In his mind, a voice kept saying, get a handle on it, you're making a fool of yourself. But he didn't listen and raged again, "See? That proves it. The long-line to Pearl Harbor. Radtke, or whatever his name is, has access to the highest levels. You have to believe me. He must know our plans for counterattack!"

  DeWitt sighed. "Counter-attack, Lieutenant? Just where is this great battle to take place?"

  Ingram was ready to say "Midway," but, for some reason, chose to remain silent.

  "You have proven nothing, Lieutenant." DeWitt walked to the door.

  "A trumpet," shouted Ingram. "If he's so hot, let's hear it."

  DeWitt said, "Sorry, no time."

  Mordkin said, "Actually, Major, we could easily check this out. Do you remember the night that PBY crashed?"

  DeWitt snorted. "Which one?" They had lost many aircraft during the siege.

/>   "I was there that night," said Ingram.

  "That's right," said Mordkin. "We had word to pick up an ONI guy who was coming in on a serious security matter. The message was very cryptic, and we were told to throw out the red carpet for the guy. But the PBY crashed on landing. It..." He swung to Ingram.

  Ingram picked it up. "We were on our way back to the Pelican." His eyes rolled. "The PBY's pontoon snagged an oil drum, just as it landed. Damn thing ground-looped. We got there a few minutes later and fished Richardson out of the water. He died just as we got back to South Dock."

  "Why wasn't I informed?" demanded DeWitt.

  "Actually, you were, Major. I told you about that," said Mordkin. "And then I--"

  "His real name was Fowler," Ingram blurted.

  "What?" They all turned and looked at him.

  Now Ingram was sorry he hadn't turned the ONI man's wallet over to Mordkin that night. He said, "Later, I described the incident to Dwight. He knew Richardson. Said his real name was Fowler. Taught a security class at Treasure Island. You're right, Captain. Dwight thought Richardson was here to investigate a security problem."

  "What else?" asked DeWitt.

  Ingram rested his hands on the bars and shook his head.

  DeWitt said, "Unless there is something significant to add, I find nothing more conclusive about this, one way or the other."

  "The point is," said Ingram, "that guy flew out here and gave his life for us."

  "Maybe he has something," muttered Mordkin.

  DeWitt absently pulled at his lower lip. "What are you suggesting?"

  Mordkin said, "The band equipment room is just down the hall. Shouldn't be too hard to find a trumpet. If he can play one, fine. Send him on his way. Otherwise, we talk a little more with Cryptographer Technician Second Class Walter Radtke."

  Artillery rumbled overhead making the ground vibrate. The lamps swung on their cords again, this time in an oval pattern. Furniture rattled and concrete dust and chips cascaded, adding to the coat of thick, hoary pumice coating the cellblock's horizontal surfaces. Finally, DeWitt sighed, "Alright. Hurry."

  Radtke said with an edge to his voice, "Sir, I'm overdue at the boat landing."