22 August 1945
Toro Airfield, Karafuto Prefecture, Japan
Ingram and Fujimoto broke from the brush to see a Russian command car with two white flags on its front fender parked beneath the C-54’s nose. An officer walked unsteadily back and forth, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Three other Russians sat stiffly in the command car, fully aware that they were the focus of Harper’s well-armed Marines and a number of Japanese soldiers. Ingram waved to Harper at the edge of the brush. The sergeant set his end of Boring’s stretcher down and then fanned out his men.
The Russian looked up and smiled. Flicking away his cigarette, he shuffled toward Ingram, hand outstretched. “Todd, how the hell are you?”
Ingram knew that voice and that walk. “No!”
“Hey, come on, it’s me.”
“Eduard?” He couldn’t believe it. It was the flamboyant Eduard Dezhnev, once naval attaché to the Soviet consulate in San Francisco. But the FBI had caught him and his control, Sergei Zenit, in a sting operation and had them deported, persona non grata.
“That’s right. Good to see you, comrade.” He grabbed Ingram’s hand, pumped it, and then gave him an awkward bear hug. “You’re looking great.”
Ingram pulled away. Dezhnev had gained weight since the last time Ingram saw him. His 5-foot 11-inch frame now carried about 190 pounds instead of the 160 Dezhnev had weighed when Ingram knew him in San Francisco. His dark red hair was still combed straight back, his face was fair complected, and his broad shoulders exuded confidence. And he was walking better, without the limp he’d had two and a half years ago after losing the lower half of his left leg in a skirmish with German E-boats in the Gulf of Riga.
Dezhnev caught him looking. “New prosthesis—American, actually. Mail order, and not bad—I walk almost normally.”
“Waste of time. I thought by now they would have tied you to a chair and put a bullet behind your ear.”
Dezhnev gave a broad grin. “You have it all wrong. There’s a war on. They need me. Look, I’m a captain third rank now.”
“I’m so impressed.”
Colin Blinde walked up. “Good to see you two have met up. I wondered what would happen.”
“This is a farce, Colin. What’s he doing here?”
Blinde stammered, “I thought you were old friends. You know, from your San Francisco days.”
“Yes, San Francisco,” said Dezhnev loudly. He pointed to his gleaming belt buckle, which featured the outline of a series of buildings. It was stamped with the legend ALCATRAZ. “Remember?”
“No, I don’t remember.”
Dezhnev scratched his head. “Must have been while you were gone. Toliver and I had a night on the town. Went to Wong Lee’s and then strolled through Chinatown. He bought this for me.” Oliver P. Toliver III, now a commander in naval intelligence, was a shipmate and close friend of the Ingrams. He had been one of the eight, including Otis DeWitt and his then girlfriend Helen Duran, who had escaped Corregidor with Ingram in a 36-foot launch.
Dezhnev stuck out his chest. “Gold plated, too. Ollie had that done for me.” Toliver came from a wealthy family.
“You should melt it down and sell it,” said Ingram. He turned to Blinde. “You knew about this all along?”
Blinde said, “Ahhh, yes. It was meant to be a surprise. A backup if things went wrong. Something to smooth the waters, so to speak. I just wasn’t sure if Captain Dezhnev would be in this particular spot. We knew he was in the area.”
“Peachy keen,” said Ingram. “And things did go wrong.”
Dezhnev said, “Look, Todd. I can explain. We have all this—”
Ingram turned to Harper. “Get that man aboard, Sergeant. We leave momentarily. Please ask Major Radcliff to step out here, and I’d like your men to set up a perimeter around the plane.” He added quietly, “Stick the crate and boxes in the cargo hold.”
“Yes, sir,” said Harper. He whistled, and several of his men hustled the stretcher carrying Boring from the brush to the C-54. Another stretcher followed with Boring’s crate.
Dezhnev said, “Is that one of your men?”
Blinde said, “You see, Captain—”
“Yes, that’s one of my men. He was shot when your people fired on my plane, Captain Dezhnev.” Ingram nearly spat the last word. “He was treated at the field hospital here. Now we’re trying to get him home.”
Dezhnev rose on his tiptoes to watch Harper and his men carry their loads to the C-54. “Yes, of course. Perhaps our doctor could examine him. We have whole blood. Everything you need. Here, let me—”
“No need to bother, Ed,” said Ingram. “American doctors can do just fine.”
Dezhnev took a step toward the C-54. “No, I insist. We can do a much better job right here.”
“We have it all set, Ed. He’ll be in good hands by this evening.”
Dezhnev persisted, “Our doctor really must examine him. I have to show proof that—”
“Not to worry, Ed. I’ll vouch for him.”
“And I’ll need to examine that crate. It’s contraband.”
“Nonsense.”
“You are standing on territory of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and are taking equipment that belongs to us. I demand that you turn it over.”
Blinde muttered under his breath, “Ixnay, Commander.”
Dezhnev said loudly, “Ixnay? Ixnay? What sort of charade is this?”
Ingram said, “Colin, I want you to meet Eduard Dezhnev, captain third rank, Bykovo graduate, stage actor, expert in colloquial English, and consummate bullshitter.”
“You forgot, NKVD, Todd,” said Dezhnev.
“Oh, so you’ve been elevated? Now they’ve taught you how to pull fingernails?”
Dezhnev rolled his eyes. “Please, Todd, you’re making it difficult.”
Time. Play for time. “No need to shoot up my airplane, Ed.”
Dezhnev pulled a face. “You killed eight of my men.”
Ingram said, “After you fired on an unarmed American transport on a peaceful mission, killing a U.S. naval officer, injuring another man, and crippling this aircraft. Then your M-16 blocked our path on the runway and threatened to fire on us. Yes. We killed a few of yours, Ed, and I’m hoping your superiors will find you at fault and finish the job they failed to do three years ago and shove you down a hole.”
Dezhnev wiped a hand over his face. “I came in a gesture of peace, Todd, for you. We demand the surrender of this garrison and everything here, including your airplane.”
“My airplane? What do you intend to do with it?”
Dezhnev didn’t answer that. “You’ll be guests of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, of course. You’ll be interned in Vladivostok and treated well while you’re there. In no time you’ll be returned to your loved ones.”
Radcliff walked up. With an eye on Dezhnev he asked, “What’s up, Skipper?”
Ingram said, “Excuse us, please?”
Dezhnev said, “Of course. Take your time while I get to know Major Fujimoto a little better.”
Ingram, Blinde, and Radcliff walked away—ten paces.
Before Ingram could say anything, Blinde hissed, “Why are you treating Captain Dezhnev like a schoolyard thug?”
“Because that’s what he is. What do you know about this guy?” replied Ingram.
“That he is the area commander.”
Ingram said, “I can’t believe your spy buddies haven’t shown you the file.”
“What file?”
“The FBI file. That son of a bitch betrayed our friendship. He spied on the United States while working in the Soviet consulate in San Francisco.”
Blinde said, “That’s all diplomacy. Half of it’s gobbledegook. You’re not cleared for those levels. You don’t know.”
“Let me put it on a personal level for you. Dezhnev knowingly tipped the Japs via radio of my wife’s whereabouts while she was hiding out on Mindanao awaiting rescue. The bastard did his best to turn her in—to screw us.”
“You have no proof. Look, this is important. We must keep the Soviets happy and—”
“Mr. Blinde. Our mission is to rescue Walter Boring, and we are doing that. Isn’t that right, Bucky? Is he on the airplane?”
“Yes,” said Radcliff.
“Can we take off, Bucky?”
Radcliff said, “Normally, yes.”
“Normally?”
Radcliff glanced down the runway. “That’s a five-thousand-foot strip, which would be marginal to okay for a three-engine takeoff. But now that piece of crap is parked out there eating up the last seven hundred to five hundred feet. Dicey.”
“How dicey?”
“Very dicey to maybe not.”
“You’re saying we can’t take off?”
Radcliff tilted a hand from side to side.
“Decide, Bucky.”
Radcliff looked up to the sky, threw up his hands, and asked, “Is this important enough to die for?”
Ingram said, “Extremely important. They used the phrase ‘prejudicial to the security of the United States.’ And I believe it.”
“It has to do with what’s in the cargo hold and that guy they brought on board?” asked Radcliff.
Blinde said, “Commander, you’ve said enough.”
Ingram nodded toward Radcliff. “Mr. Blinde. If this man is about to die, he should know why, don’t you think?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes.”
“Are there any abnormal circumstances when you die, Mr. Blinde?”
Radcliff said, “Okay, you guys. Quit the bickering. I can do it.”
Ingram and Blinde looked at one another. Ingram asked, “You sure?”
Radcliff said, “I’m sure, Todd. Look, I just said I can do this. What more do you want?”
Ingram said, “All right, let’s do it then.”
Blinde nodded.
Ingram said to Radcliff, “Get back aboard and wind ’em up. And ask Berne to inform Okinawa of our intentions.”
“Got it.” Radcliff trotted back to the C-54.
Ingram and Blinde walked back to Dezhnev and Fujimoto, who stood silently ten feet apart. After a pause, Dezhnev spoke first, “Are you aware, Major, that Toyahara has fallen? The capital of the Karafuto Prefecture and the headquarters for Japanese military operations on the island are no longer in your hands.”
Fujimoto said, “I am.”
“You have orders to surrender, then.” A statement.
“It has been left to my discretion, Captain,” said Fujimoto.
Dezhnev said, “Major, we can squash you like a grape.” He waved a hand toward the sea. “On a moment’s notice I can have twenty T-34s charge down this runway in line abreast, roll over your stupid pillboxes, and grind your troops into the soil. You’ll all be dead within twenty minutes.”
Ingram muttered, “Now that’s what I call negotiating.”
Blinde said, “There’s more to this than meets the eye.”
Dezhnev said, “I don’t follow you, Mr. Blinde.”
Blinde said, “Isn’t it true that the Soviet Union intends to invade Hokkaido?”
Dezhnev paused. “Marshal Vasilievsky doesn’t disclose his plans to me.”
Ingram had heard the name somewhere. “Who is Marshal Vasilievsky?”
Blinde said, “Marshal Vasilievsky is the theater commander. He reports to Stalin.”
“Generalissimo Stalin,” corrected Dezhnev.
“Yes, the generalissimo,” said Blinde. “Well, let’s take a hypothetical case. Let’s say that the Soviet Union does plan to invade Hokkaido. Maybe even as early as tomorrow. But Major Fujimoto and his people here are tying up his right flank. And Marshal Vasilievsky needs the tanks that are here for his amphibious operation tomorrow or the next day.” He turned to Fujimoto. “I’m sorry Major; you seem to be interrupting Marshal Vasilievsky’s plans.”
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.