Edge of Valor

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  Ingram said, “Gee, too bad. Maybe Marshal Vasilievsky will have to shoot Captain Dezhnev here for incompetence.”

  “I appreciate your goodwill, Todd,” said Dezhnev.

  Just then, number two engine rolled. After three turns it coughed, rattled, and then roared to life.

  Jon Berne walked up. “’Scuse me, Commander. I have a message for Mr. Blinde.” He waved a message pad in the air. “Priority.”

  Blind grabbed the pad and began reading.

  Number one engine rolled, sputtered, and shot out a stream of blue-black smoke. Then it rumbled into life.

  They waited for number four engine to start and settle down. Ingram spoke loudly. “Look, Ed. The Japanese have surrendered to us. You can consider them our prisoners. We’ll round them up and—”

  Dezhnev said, “Sakhalin is Soviet territory. Major Fujimoto must surrender to me. I’ll give him just four hours. Then my T-34s will roll.”

  Fujimoto’s hand went to his sword, “Not before I have your head on a stake.”

  Ingram shouted, “Gentlemen, please. I’m sure—”

  Blinde waved the pad in the air and shouted, “I have here a State Department communiqué saying that Generalissimo Stalin has ordered Marshal Vasilievsky to stand down from his Hokkaido invasion.”

  The others stared dumbly.

  Blinde said, “Gentlemen, this means the war is over. Truly. There is no reason to keep fighting.”

  Dezhnev said, “I don’t believe you.”

  Ingram said, “What if it is, Ed? This means you can take your tanks and put ’em back on flatcars.”

  “Ridiculous. Even if it’s true, you all are still my prisoners. I’ll need confirmation before I can release you.”

  “Then get it.” Ingram took Dezhnev’s elbow and guided him to the command car. “And then you can pop open your vodka bottles, Ed, and enjoy life. Now move that thing before I chop it up with my propellers. We’re not waiting. We have wounded aboard.”

  Dezhnev looked into the distance and seemed to make a decision. Sticking out a hand, he said, “We could have been friends, Todd.”

  Ingram said, “You crank out such bullshit, Ed. But yes, I agree. We could have been friends. In another time.”

  “Maybe once again?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m sorry about San Francisco. I was under orders. I always liked you. We had so much fun.”

  “Until you got serious and tried to turn in Helen, to say nothing of espionage against the United States.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am.” Something in the way Dezhnev said the last part told Ingram that it was true. At least that Dezhnev believed it was true. “How can I make it up to you?”

  Ingram gestured at the Japanese. “By letting these people pack up in peace and go home.”

  “I’m sorry. These people are my prisoners.” He stiffened slightly, puffing out his chest; a shaft of sunlight glinted off his golden Alcatraz belt buckle.

  The C-54s Pratt & Whitney R-2000s rumbled under their cowlings, softly backfiring.

  Dezhnev looked first at Ingram. “Go, then,” he said. To Fujimoto he said, “You have two hours to surrender, Major. If not, then we will attack.” Ingram said, “You said four hours, Captain.”

  “Now it’s two.” Dezhnev bowed. “Goodbye, Todd. Perhaps we will meet under more favorable conditions sometime.” He turned, signaling his driver and twirling a finger in the air. The command car started. Dezhnev climbed in and the car sped down the runway trailing dust.

  Ingram turned to Fujimoto. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I made a mess of that.”

  “I too am sorry. I would have liked to spend more time with my brother.”

  “I wish I could help.” Ingram waved toward the Soviet lines. “Your chances are not too good.”

  “I know, but surrender or no surrender, did you see that man’s eyes?”

  Ingram nodded.

  “He has overwhelming force and he wants to use it. I think it is his first fight. And he is afraid to lose. He needs a victory. War or no war.”

  Ingram recognized the truth in what Fujimoto said. He offered, “Last man off the ship?”

  “I’m afraid that is me this time.”

  Ingram looked up. “Why don’t they use airplanes?”

  “We’re not much of a target, really. They stopped bombing last week when they took out our remaining aircraft. I think they want to do an Attila the Hun number and rush in with swords flashing.”

  “Okay. Good luck.” Ingram held out a hand.

  Fujimoto took it, saying, “To be honest, Commander, I don’t think they intend to let you out of here either. But rest assured that if anything happens while you are trying, we will open fire and stall them.”

  “Reveal your positions?”

  Fujimoto shrugged. “We have to start sometime. But were I Dezhnev, I would attack now rather than wait two hours. I think that is what he will do. It is the Soviets’ nature.”

  “Go on up and say goodbye to your brother.”

  “I’ve already done so. Goodbye, Commander.” Fujimoto saluted, then turned and walked off into the brush. He shouted and waved a hand over his head, and his soldiers melted into the brush with him.

  Ingram looked around. Aside from him, the only ones remaining were Harper’s Marines and Hammer, who was pulling safety pins from the landing gear and picking up wheel chocks. Ingram whistled, pumped a fist over his head, and pointed to the forward hatch ladder. They all ran for it and quickly boarded.

  Chapter Nineteen

  22 August 1945

  Toro Airfield, Karafuto Prefecture, Japan

  Captain Fujimoto stood at the forward hatch. Ingram was astounded he had gathered the strength to crawl there and then pull himself to his feet. Radcliff released the brakes, and the C-54 began moving. To Ingram’s amazement, Major Fujimoto stepped from under the wingtip. The brothers saluted one another and then waved, Major Fujimoto with his hands over his head. Captain Fujimoto struggled to raise an arm.

  Radcliff spun the C-54 to the right, leaving Major Fujimoto in clear view for a moment. Hammer left the hatch open until the brothers lost sight of one another. Then, almost reverently, he eased it closed and clipped it. Two Marines helped Captain Fujimoto back to his stretcher. Hammer and Ingram looked at one another with the same thought. Then both looked out at the right wing. Number three engine remained defiantly quiet, robbing them of 1,350 desperately needed horses.

  “Time to get to work,” said Hammer.

  Ingram followed the flight sergeant into the cockpit and strapped himself in.

  Peoples called off the checklist. “Controls.”

  Radcliff replied, “Free and clear.”

  “Electrical panel.”

  “Clear,” said Hammer.

  “Fuel transfer valves.”

  Hammer said, “Off.”

  “Master switches.”

  “On,” said Hammer.

  Radcliff eased the nosewheel tiller again, turning the C-54 to the right and sending it lumbering down the taxi strip.

  Peoples said, “Bucky, you taking off already?”

  “Why?”

  “Hell, we’re going kind of fast. I can’t tell if we’re taxiing or doing a loop-de-loop.”

  As if to confirm, the plane shook as it banged over potholes. “In a hurry, Leroy.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause I think that Commie wants to do us in.”

  “What if—”

  “Leroy, damn it. The checklist.”

  The plane lurched sickeningly over a pile of rubbish.

  Peoples said, “Battery switchers and inverters?”

  “On and checked,” said Hammer.

  “Booster pumps?”

  “Fifteen pounds.”

  “Trim tabs?”

  “Set,” barked Radcliff.

  An explosion erupted on the taxiway a hundred yards ahead.

  Ingram realized it was Dezhnev opening up with his artillery or his tanks. “Keep going
, Bucky.”

  Another round hit off to the right, sending up a great column of rocks and dirt.

  “Gettin’ closer,” muttered Hammer.

  “How far, Bucky?” asked Ingram.

  “Another couple hundred yards, give or take.”

  “Get on the runway if you can. I’m thinking they don’t want to damage the runway.”

  Radcliff muttered, “Okay, boss. I’ll try anything once.” He threw the C-54 into a laborious left turn and had it rolling onto the main runway. No sooner had it turned than an explosion ripped the taxi strip right where the plane would have been.

  Ingram cursed the day he met Eduard Dezhnev.

  “Tail wheel,” yelled Peoples.

  “Locked,” the three yelled back. The C-54 had no tail wheel.

  “Vacuum.”

  “Check.”

  “Altimeters.”

  “Toro reports 30.15,” said Berne.

  They twirled their altimeter knobs.

  “Instruments.”

  “Checked,” said Radcliff.

  “Checked,” said Hammer.

  “Radios.”

  “All set,” said Berne. “We have Toro tower on VHF and Okinawa on CW.”

  “Flaps?” said Peoples reaching for the handle.

  Radcliff said, “It’s okay for now, Leroy. Just leave it there until I tell you. Then I want full flaps.”

  “Huh?”

  Radcliff said, “What is it about the English language you don’t understand, Mr. Peoples? Or do they teach you something different in Arkansas?” He threw the C-54 into a graceful 180-degree turn at the runway’s end. “I’m tellin’ you no flaps.”

  Peoples said, “Bucky, where did you learn to fly? Don’t you want—”

  Radcliff said, “Seriously, Leroy. I got it. Just call out our speed and hit full flaps when I tell you. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t forget: opposite rudder.”

  “Well, I’m going to need you to work with me on this, old son.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m going to go with full power on engines one and four.”

  “And then we—”

  “You got it. After we start rolling, we feed in engine number two as quickly as possible. By that time my hands will be busy, so you’re the one to do that. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. And don’t forget to call our speed.”

  “Have I ever forgotten before?”

  “Shit. Leroy!”

  They felt more than heard three rapid thumps. Smoke puffs and foliage debris blew out of the underbrush nearby. “Japs are shootin’ back,” said Radcliff.

  “Well, let’s not hang around to see who wins,” said Ingram.

  “Right. Here we go.” Radcliff stomped on his brakes. Then he advanced the throttles on engines one and four, the outboard engines, to full power. The C-54 roared and rattled and bucked as it stood in place, the crew’s eyes riveted on the rpm and manifold pressure gauges. “Tighten up, everybody,” shouted Radcliff.

  Berne faced forward, locked his seat, and drew the belt snug. Ingram did the same and from the corner of his eye saw Berne pull rosary beads from his pocket. Ingram wished he knew the prayer.

  Radcliff popped the brakes. An explosion slammed into the ground fifty feet to their left. Thick black smoke gushed past the windshield. “Wow!”

  But the C-54 was moving. Peoples advanced the number two engine’s throttle as the C-54 lumbered along. The plane rolled faster, but not before it had gobbled up a thousand feet of runway. Radcliff gradually fed in left rudder to offset the asymmetrical pull of the port-side engines.

  “Forty-five,” said Peoples.

  Hammer slapped a hand over his eyes, but his fingers were splayed.

  “Fifty-five,” said Peoples. Fifteen hundred feet gone.

  Ingram rose a bit to peer out the windshield. The M-16 was still there. Spaced on either side were two T-34 tanks. Miraculously, their turrets pointed off to the side. They were shooting at something else.

  Ingram had felt terror before, and this was just as he remembered. He wanted to defecate, urinate, and vomit all at the same time. Perhaps he was thinking too much. Always before he had had something to do. Now he just had to sit and watch it happen, feeling as if he was wired to a transformer sending a thousand volts through his body. Helen, I love you. I love Jerry. Take good care of him. The Lord ’s Prayer came to him, and he said it while watching Berne’s fingers move over his rosary beads.

  “Sheeeyyat, Bucky.”

  “Come on, Leroy, speed, damn it!”

  “Seventy-five . . . eighty . . .”

  Three thousand feet gone. The M-16 and the tanks grew large in the windshield. The top hatch of the tank on the left popped open. Then the hatch on the right flipped open.

  “The bastards are bailin’ out,” said Peoples. Indeed, four men scampered from the top hatches, jumped to the ground, and ran away.

  “Leroy!”

  “Eighty-five.”

  Land and runway whizzed past. They were almost on the Russian armor now.

  “Ninety-five.”

  “Full flaps!” yelled Radcliff.

  Peoples shoved the handle and Radcliff pulled back on the control column.

  The C-54 staggered into the air and mushed in surface effect. The two tanks and the M-16 whipped past below. Moments later they were over the Russian lines looking down on surprised upturned faces, tanks, trucks, and armored vehicles—hundreds of them. Then the surf. Then gray, quiet ocean. And ships, Soviet warships.

  “Can you believe this?” shouted Peoples.

  Hammer and Berne yelped and shot their fists over their heads.

  “Quiet. Gear up, Leroy.”

  “Coming up, boss. Talk to me about flaps.”

  “What’s our speed?”

  “One oh five.”

  “Jesus, we shouldn’t be flying,” muttered Radcliff.

  “What do you want, Bucky?” asked Peoples.

  “I dunno. Milk ’em up. Try flaps thirty and pray we stay airborne. And gimme some trim, my foot’s getting tired. But not too fast.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Peoples cranked in rudder trim to ease the pressure on Radcliff’s rudder pedal.

  Berne pocketed his rosary then clamped a hand over his earphones. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?” said Ingram.

  Berne called out. “Toro tower says, ‘Sayonara.’ They’re signing off now.”

  “Tell them thank you,” said Radcliff.

  “Hey, look at this,” Radcliff said two minutes later. “We’ve gained all of six hundred feet.” But their speed was holding at 135. He turned to Hammer. “Okay, Chief, give it a try.”

  “Really?”

  “No time like the present.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hammer pushed some levers. “Here we go.” He hit the button to unfeather engine number three. “Fire in the hole.”

  Peoples looked out the cockpit window. “She’s rolling.”

  “Hurry up, our speed’s dropping,” said Radcliff.

  Peoples flipped engine three’s magneto to “all.” The engine caught.

  “Glory, glory,” said Hammer, adjusting the throttle. “All yours, Skipper.”

  “Okay, Leroy, let’s reset the trim.” With all four engines running, the C-54 flew smoothly.

  Radcliff said, “Jon, if we keep flying in this direction we should hit Peking about dawn tomorrow morning. What do you think we should do?”

  Berne said dryly, “Well, it would be a good thing if you could fly course one-nine-one. That way, we won’t be tried and executed for wasting one of the taxpayers’ fine aircraft.”

  “Makes sense to me. Think you can handle that, Leroy?”

  “Got it, Pop.” Peoples took the control column and eased in left rudder to come to the new course.

  Radcliff turned to Ingram and said loudly, “How you doin’, Todd?”

  Ingram shouted back, “More underwear to clean.”


  They laughed.

  Ingram leaned forward and said quietly to Radcliff, “That was a very nice job, Bucky.”

  “Thanks. Challenging, huh?”

  “So how are we doing now?”

  Radcliff said, “Climbing like a homesick angel.”

  Chapter Twenty

  23 August 1945

  Seventh Air Force Headquarters, Yontan Airfield, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan

  The mess tent was cramped and hot. There was just one long table on a packed-dirt floor. At the insistence of Brig. Gen. Otis DeWitt the tent flaps were closed and a guard was posted outside. Two anemic fans attempted with very little success to clear the heavy cigarette smoke.

  DeWitt leaned back and blew a smoke ring. “He was in good shape when you found him?”

  Ingram yawned again. Two hours’ sleep hadn’t made a dent in his exhaustion. “I’d say no. He looked like death warmed over, and he sounded like it too.”

  “What did he say?” asked Neidemeier.

  “He was incoherent,” said Ingram.

  “Are you sure?” Neidemeier pressed.

  Ingram looked around the table at Otis DeWitt, Clive Neidemeier, and Colin Blinde, the latter gushing Aqua Velva from every pore. Bucky Radcliff kept nodding off, his head propped on his fist.

  Almost all of the other men in the tent were as tired as he was. On their arrival at Kisarazu they had sent Captain Fujimoto to a hospital and transferred their cargo to a new C-54 flown in by a replacement crew. Then they bucked and bounced through headwinds back to Okinawa, not arriving until 5:30 in the morning. DeWitt had called an 11 a.m. meeting in spite of everyone’s exhaustion—everyone except Clive Neidemeier, who, with eight solid hours of rack time, bored in like a pit bull.

  “Commander, please, this is important,” pleaded Neidemeier.

  “Don’t you think I know that, Clive? I’ve told you everything I can.”

  “But none of this makes sense,” replied Neidemeier. “How did Walter Boring die?”

  “Captain Dezhnev shot him in the head?” said Ingram.

  Radcliff snickered. Otis DeWitt groaned, and Blinde’s eyes popped wide open.