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.
“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.”
“When we get off the ground,” Ingram corrected.
“Roger that,” said Radcliff.
“How long before he tests it?”
“Pretty soon.”
“No kidding?” Ingram looked over to engine four. Hammer and Peoples stood on a platform, surrounded by cowling and tools. He couldn’t see their faces. Both were shirtless and muttering as they clanked and tinkered at the engine. Oil dripped everywhere.
“I’ll let you know when we’re ready to test, Todd.”
Ingram said, “Okay, I’m off to secure our guest.”
“Who?”
“Walter Boring.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s why we’re here, Bucky.”
Radcliff gave him a look that said bullshit.
Hammer walked up. “I think we can give it a go.”
“You sure?” said Radcliff.
“Only way to tell is to give it a shot. Can I have a bottle?”
“Right.” Radcliff ducked back and reappeared with a fire extinguisher.
Peoples walked up, oil smeared all over his torso. “Try not to flood it, Bucky.”
“Damn it, Leroy, I know how to start an engine.”
“I wonder at times,” countered Peoples.
A muttering Radcliff ducked from the hatchway and soon appeared at the copilot’s window, sliding it open. “Gimme a minute.” He looked down and checked switches and gauges. “Everything away from the engine?”
Hammer said, “Everything except the cowl. And that’s right here under the wing.”
“Okay. Clear prop!” yelled Radcliff.
The starter motor wound up to full rpm; Radcliff engaged the propeller.
Out of curiosity, Ingram asked, “How far does he wind it?”
“Twelve blades should do it,” said Hammer.
Radcliff gave a thumbs up and watched closely as the propeller slowly turned.
Ingram tried to keep up. Twelve blades for a three-bladed propeller meant four complete revolutions before Radcliff switched on the magneto.
The blades swung gracefully through the air. Suddenly the engine coughed. Flames gushed out the exhaust stacks. A plume of blue-black smoke followed. Then it began to catch, a few cylinders at a time. It sputtered and backfired. Then all fourteen cylinders caught and the engine roared to life.
They grinned at one another as Radcliff ran it for a couple of minutes to smooth it out. Finally, Hammer drew a finger across his throat. Radcliff nodded and cut the engine. Radcliff barked, “Secure the cowl, Chief, and get ready to get the hell out of here.”
“What about number three?” Hammer asked.
“Do what you can, but I want to get out of here at a moment’s notice. Right, Todd?”
“You bet.”
“Okay, let’s get at it,” said Hammer. He went over to the work stand and with Peoples helping began replacing the cowl.
Ingram called up, “Bucky, can you send Mr. Blinde to the hatch?”
“He’s right here.” Radcliff stepped away and Blinde appeared. “Yes? What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you,” Ingram said with exaggerated politeness. The sarcasm earned a cold stare from Blinde. “We’re going after Mr. Boring now,” he continued. “Do you wish to come?”
“The radio. I have to stick close. Big things are happening. Can it wait a few minutes?”
“No. I want to get out of here. What’s so big?”
“Soviet intentions. Could affect what we’re doing here.” Blinde turned an ear toward the cockpit. “This sounds important.” He moved away.
Major Fujimoto appeared in the doorway and climbed down, the doctor right behind. “Congratulations. What about the other engine?”
Ingram said, “We’re going to check. But I’m told we can take off on three engines if we must.”
“How about fuel. Do you need any?”
Ingram shrugged. “Ask the pilot.”
Fujimoto walked under the cockpit and called up to Radcliff.
“Do you need fuel?”
Radcliff said, “We could use some. Especially if we hit headwinds. Hold on. Weather report.” He moved inside.
Fujimoto turned to Peoples, “You see, with all our aircraft gone, we have fuel we won’t be needing. What octane do you burn?”
Peoples drawled, “Any old rotgut.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“One hundred, Major,” said Hammer.
“We have a few barrels.”
Peoples smiled and said, “Damn fine.”
Fujimoto said, “What does that mean?”
Ingram said, “He means we’ll take your one hundred octane, Major. Thank you. Now, where do I find Walter Boring?”