Edge of Valor (58 page)

“Very well.”

Boland continued, “Lieutenant White saved my ass down on Bougainville. Came inshore and picked me and six grunts up right off the beach while the Japs threw everything they had at us. Two of my men was wounded, and he got them out too. He's got real guts.”

Ingram nodded. “Yep, that's Tubby.” He climbed up halfway. “Oh, and Gunny, can you send out some recon to see what we're up against?”

“Consider it done, Commander.”

The thick overcast hid the moon and stars, and there was no wind to stir the bushes around the isolated C-54. The cockpit was nearly as cold as the outside with the engines shut down. They all wore mittens and heavy parkas, and vapor shot out when they spoke. From the cockpit they could see over the low berms lining the airstrip and out into the blackness of the Sea of Japan. They saw nothing where they knew the
Admiral Volshkov
was anchored. Peoples instructed a couple of Marines to pull the plane's props through every hour lest oil freeze in the crankcases.

After two hours a tiny glow popped up on the horizon to the southeast. The glow grew brighter and larger and eventually separated into a ship's red and green sidelights and white masthead lights: the
Maxwell
. The men waiting in the cockpit found it comforting that an American ship was nearby, especially because it was the only light in the otherwise complete darkness.

Then Ingram heard a welcome sound: an anchor chain rattling through a hawse pipe, which meant the anchor was plunging through the icy depths and digging its flukes into a soft muddy bottom. The
Maxwell
's running lights flipped off, and seconds later her anchor lights went on, bathing the forward section of the ship in a soft radiance.

Berne tapped his CW key as they watched. Finally he stopped and said, “Atsugi authenticated the message about Mr. Blinde, Commander.”

“Okay, thanks, Jon,” said Ingram.

The other three looked at him, their faces saying, “What the hell is going on?”

Okay
. Ingram held up the message and read it to them. “You all know him. Can you believe it?”

“Never did trust the man,” Peoples said. “Damned Yankee prances around like a French poodle. And smells like one too.”

“Let's hope we catch the son of a bitch,” said Lassiter. “An American! With people like that, no wonder the Commies are giving us fits.”

Berne grabbed his earphones. “I have the
Maxwell
on voice, Commander. Here.” He passed over the headphones and a microphone. “I know he's only about a mile away, but our Army-Navy liaison ain't too hot at this angle. The connection is intermittent, but it's the best I can do. Use this squelch knob if it gives you trouble.”

“Thanks, what's our call sign?” asked Ingram.

“Apprentice two-six,” said Berne.

Ingram gave a thumbs-up and then said into the mike, “Crackerjack, this is Apprentice two-six, over.”

“Crackerjack, over.” It was Tubby White's voice.

Ingram said, “Crackerjack, be advised reception for Apprentice two-six very unfriendly. No lights, no reception committee. Also, one of our passengers is a Benedict Arnold and has jumped ship, over.”

“Apprentice two-six. Understand your last. Have much ONI traffic for you regarding Benedict. In particular, you should be aware—”

A loud buzzing in Ingram's earphones blotted out White's voice. He gave them back to Berne, who flipped switches and turned knobs. Finally, he said, “Looks like we're being jammed.”

“What?” demanded Ingram.

Berne pointed in the direction of the cruiser. “That bastard is jamming us. All frequencies. We can't get out. Nor can we receive.”

Peoples opened his window and shined a flashlight at the ground. “Well, if it's any consolation to you, I believe we can turn the airplane around if we don't run number two engine. Looks to me like we can barely clear the half-track. So we can get out of here any time we like.”

Ingram rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I would agree with that. We should think about the safety of your airplane and crew. With the
Maxwell
here, no sense risking you guys. You want to go?”

Peoples eyed his three men, then said, “Shucks, if it's okay with you, Commander, we'll stick here a bit longer, especially since Ivan is jamming the radio. You may still need the Confederate Air Corps for a thing or two.”

“Thanks,” said Ingram. Then he asked, “Say, do you have a signal light?”

Hammer opened a small cabinet and fished around. “This do the trick?” He held up a hand lantern.

Ingram said, “Right, let's rig it up. Is that a hatch up there?”

“Yes, sir. We can open it up and—”

“Sheeyat! Look at that,” shouted Peoples pointing out the window.

The cockpit glowed as a searchlight's pencil beam shot from the Soviet cruiser and bathed the
Maxwell
's forward deckhouse in a hoary brightness. A second searchlight flicked on, playing over the
Maxwell
's after deckhouse.

Lassiter said, “What the hell do they expect to accomplish by that?”

“Just being assholes,” said Hammer.

“What do you think, Commander?” asked Lassiter. “Does the
Maxwell
have a chance against her if it comes to a fight?”

“You mean as in a street fight?”

“Well, yes.”

Ingram said, “The
Volshkov
is three times the
Maxwell
's size and has nearly twice the armament.”

“What can she do, then?” asked Berne.

As if in answer, the
Maxwell
's stack-mounted searchlights flicked on, illuminating the Russian cruiser.

“All right!” said Peoples.

They gasped as the searchlights probed and dueled into the night, each playing over the other's ship as a policeman would play his flashlight over a gang of criminals.

The plane jiggled, and Sergeant Boland appeared in the cockpit doorway looking like Nanook of the North in his white snow parka and trousers. The hood was up, vapor erupted from his mouth, and frost coated his eyebrows and nostrils. “Gentlemen.”

“Gunny, how is it out there?” asked Ingram.

“Patrol returned, safe and sound,” Boland said.

“Good.”

“Surprise. This place is damned near empty. No more than fifty to seventy-five men ashore. And they're just guarding Jap prisoners bivouacked in a camp about five hundred yards due north, right near the pier. It looks like they're getting ready to load out because there's three 50-foot personnel boats tied to the pier along with a barge. But get this. Everything is gone except for about twenty trucks and some mechanized, including a half dozen T-34s and as many M-16s. But there are two 105-mm fieldpieces at the end of the runway, fully manned and with plenty of ammo.”

The searchlights continued their intricate dance as Boland went on, “The headquarters is empty.”

Ingram looked up. “That is a surprise.”

“And no sign of Benedict Arnold.”

“That's not a surprise.”

“Hey!” Lassiter pointed at the
Maxwell
. In the frosty light they saw a living room–sized American flag unfurled, run up, and two-blocked on her starboard halyard.

“I'll be gaw-damned,” said Peoples.

Ingram felt a surge of pride. “Her battle flag.”

“That Tubby White?” asked Boland.

“That's him.”

“He don't screw around,” said Boland.

“That the fat little guy with us on the
Missouri
?” asked Peoples.

“Yes. He was your host for the day aboard the
Maxwell
.”

“Guy has guts,” said Berne.

Ingram smiled to himself, wishing Landa could see this. “Indeed he does.”
I'm going to put the little son of a bitch in for a medal
.

“That's it for now, Commander,” said Boland.

“Thanks, Gunny. Return to your men. I still want to hold tight on the perimeter until morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Boland walked out.

Ingram muttered, “The rules are changing.” To Hammer, “Okay, that light ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Know how to use it?”

“I can, sir, but I feel certain, Marco Polo here can do a better job.”

Of course
. “Jon, can you send a flashing-light message to the
Maxwell
?”

“You mean out the hatch?”

“That's the idea.” With Hammer's help he reached up to unclip the escape hatch.

Hammer plugged in the light and handed it to Berne, who asked, “What do I do?”

“Smile for the Commies,” said Peoples.

“Up yours, hillbilly,” said Berne.

Ingram said, “Flash ‘dog five.'”

“That's letter dee and then a numeral five?”

“Right. They should respond with the same thing. And keep trying. They're busy out there with all that damned searchlighting.”

“Okay.” Berne stepped on a foot brace and raised himself halfway through the hatch.

“How's the weather out there, big Jon?” asked Peoples.

“Screw you.”

They laughed. Peoples cupped his hands to shout—

“Hey! Here we go. They roger dog five followed by able two-six. That's us. What now?”

“Okay. Send ‘Tubby, MT 5 shoot one star.' Got that?”

“Tubby, MT 5 shoot one star.”

“Right. And then wait for a roger.”

“Freezing my ass off.” Berne began clicking his signal lantern.

“Don't worry. I'm sure Mr. Peoples will put you in for a Silver Star,” called Hammer.

“Over my dead body,” said Peoples loudly.

“That's the spirit,” said Hammer.

Berne yelled down, “Leroy, when I get out of this, I'm going to beat the crap—ho, wait a minute. I have a roger from the
Maxwell
.”

“Good. Now sign off and come on down, Jon.” Ingram and Hammer grabbed Berne's elbows and lowered him to the flight deck. Quickly they secured the hatch.

Berne's eyebrows and hair were frosted. His teeth chattered as he said, “B-b-blanket.”

Hammer stepped aft to a locker, drew out a blanket, and wrapped it around Berne's shoulders. “Sorry, no booze, Jon.”

Berne shivered. “I'm sure you have some stashed somewhere, you stingy bastard.”

Blam!
A gun fired from the
Maxwell
.

Seconds later a star shell puffed gently into the night well beyond the Russian cruiser. Swinging on its little parachute, the flare eased down, fully illuminating the cruiser for the
Maxwell
's gunners.

“What's to keep them from shooting back?” asked Peoples.

“I don't think so,” said Ingram. It was a gutsy move, Ingram knew. But the
Maxwell
had the drop on the Russian cruiser at the moment. She would be mortally wounded if gunfire broke out now. He repeated, “I don't think so.”

The cruiser's searchlights flicked off.

A half minute later the
Maxwell
turned off her searchlights. Then her anchor lights flicked off. With all the lights out, Shakhtyorsk was once again plunged into darkness.

Good
. Ingram turned to Hammer. “Got another blanket?”

Hammer opened a locker. “All you need, Commander.” Then, “Oh my, oh my, what is this?”

“What?” they demanded.

Hammer reached in and carefully lifted out a bottle of brandy. “Who would ever do such a thing?”