Edge of Valor (9 page)

“I see you've finally read your orders.”

“Not all. Now where's the translator?”

Neidemeier sighed and nodded to a well-dressed Japanese civilian seated seven rows back. The man looked at Ingram for a moment, glanced at Neidemeier, then looked away.

“That's him?”

“Nogi Tanaka. I think so. Supposed to speak fluent English, Spanish, and Tagalog.”

“You
think
so? Aren't you supposed to know who these people are?”

“Yes.”

“And you don't know if this is the guy?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You see, the Japanese were instructed to provide sixteen of their top people. But this surrender has been such an embarrassment to them that people disappeared as soon as they were appointed. They just went away. Nobody wants to take responsibility.”

“Then who are all these guys?” Ingram waved around the cabin.

“Good question. Whomever they could scrape up, I suppose.”

“So the roster is not accurate?”

“It was as of yesterday afternoon. The thing is, we're not sure if these are their best people.”

“So how did you make up this list?”

Neidemeier gave a thin smile. “Oh, no. It wasn't me. I'm not that good. This comes straight from OSS.”

“OS—what the hell is an OSS?”

Neidemeier sighed. “You've been at sea too long.”

“Come on.”

“OSS: Office of Strategic Services. A secret government agency.” He looked furtively from side to side. “Keep a secret?”

Ingram almost laughed. This airplane was full of people blabbing secrets. “Sure, ah . . . by the way, what's your name?”

“What?”

“First name; what do they call you?”

“Clive.”

“Okay, Clive. I'm Todd. And yes, I can keep a secret.”

“See that man back there? Blond American, young looking, in a green suit?”

Ingram craned his neck a bit and rose on his haunches.
There
. He spotted a very young man, a near teenager, with white-streaked blond hair that spilled across his forehead nearly to his eyebrows. He was seated next to an Air Force general, and they were engaged in an animated conversation, hands waving. “Young is an understatement. Looks like he should be fishing little red whistles out of Cracker Jack boxes.”

“That's Colin Blinde. Don't let his looks fool you. A wunderkind. He graduated from Yale at the age of nineteen. And yes, he's our OSS man. Feeds me all this stuff, which he filters from the State Department. Then I translate it into militarese.”

“If that means he's smart, I don't want any part of him.”

“He knows a lot of people in high places. He's seated next to General Dexter, Curtis LeMay's second in command.”

Ingram whistled.

“Speaking of high places,” Neidemeier nodded to the Japanese captain across the aisle. “Your Captain Fujimoto over there. Originally, we were to have a rear admiral.”

“An admiral was bumped by a captain?”

“No, no. We were supposed have Admiral Onishi.”

“Who is . . . ?”

“Leader of the kamikaze corps.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Committed hara-kiri. Onishi could have done wonders for us. Instead, he slit open his stomach and his throat. Then, in direct defiance of Hirohito's peace proclamation, our next choice, Vice Admiral Matome Ugaki, flew off.”

“To where?”

“Nobody knows. Ugaki was a samurai. He couldn't bear the shame of defeat. So he strips off all emblems of his rank, climbs into the observer's seat of a B5N, and takes off in glory on a kamikaze attack on Okinawa on the day peace was declared.”

“What happened?”

Neidemeier shrugged. “Don't know. Ugaki's plane just . . . disappeared. Conjecture is the combat air patrol got him. Trying to arrange the surrender terms has been just one crisis after another. There was a palace coup. They tried to kill Hirohito.”

Ingram was shocked. “Who would do such a thing? I thought the emperor was sacrosanct, a god.”

Neidemeier nodded. “It's the army. They can't stand the idea of surrender. If they had their wish, they'd fight to the last bullet . . . the last drop of blood.”

“I thought the atom bomb taught them otherwise.”

“One would think so. But they stick their heads in the sand. And they're still all-powerful in Japan. Do you realize that they have more than a million men in the Kwangtung Army in China?”

Ingram thought about that. “Maybe so. But they'd have to get to the home islands to fight us, wouldn't they? And without a navy or air force for transportation . . .”

“You have a point.”

“And even in China they need to be supplied, don't they?”

“Yes. But keep in mind that the Kwangtung Army is not just an army. It's a political system and economic machine and military organization all wrapped into one. They are almost self-sufficient. Prime Minister Tojo came out of the Kwangtung Army.”

“Well, let 'em rot in China,” Ingram said. “Let's return to the subject. Who staged the revolt on the emperor?”

“Kwangtung fanatics—junior officers ranking no higher than major—who tried to kill Hirohito.” He looked back into the cabin. “But it was put down after only a few hours. They never got near him. I'll tell you,” the major added, “these people are burning up their best and brightest even though the shooting has stopped. It's scary. We need them.”

“What for?”

“Who's going to run the country and prevent a civil war or civil riots? The emperor can't do it by himself.”

Ingram nodded.

Neidemeier waved. “So what we have with us today is a patchwork quilt of Japan's diplomatic and military staff. We pray their negotiations and commitments are binding. Otherwise, it's back to . . . God forbid.”

Ingram thought about all the years at war—the death and horror and fear. Neither he nor anyone else was anxious to go back on the firing line.

Neidemeier gave a long sigh. “But we were lucky on one score.”

Ingram's eyebrows went up. He had to lean in as Neidemeier spoke in a near whisper. “See that general three rows down on the right hand side?”

Ingram craned his neck to see a bemedaled Japanese general wearing a crisp uniform. His cap rested on a thin briefcase in his lap, and he sat very erect, looking straight ahead. “I see him.”

“General Torashiro Kawabe, deputy to Imperial Army Chief of Staff General Yoshijiro Umezu, the top officer in the entire Japanese army. With Kawabe along, we may have some pulling power.”

“Let's hope.” As the plane droned on, Ingram suddenly understood that General MacArthur was not just going to just walk into Hirohito's palace and take over. The peace process was not going to be easy. A lot had to happen: on both sides of the Pacific.

Hammer walked by counting a fistful of ten-dollar bills.

“You there,” said Neidemeier, “what's that?”

Hammer's lips drew to a grin. “The Japs tipped us for their lunches. Ten bucks apiece. I have over a hundred and fifty smackers. Gonna give it to Bucky and see—”

Neidemeier stuck out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“But Major, the Japs are tipping us. That means . . .”

“Please,” said Neidemeier. “It's evidence.”

Hammer's fists went to his hips. “Evidence of what?”

Ingram said, “It's okay, Hammer. Give it to Bucky.”

“Yes, sir.” A relieved Hammer quickly stepped through the cockpit door.

Major Neidemeier gave Ingram a fierce look.

Ingram said, “Forget it, Clive.”

Neidemeier sputtered, “That's insubordination.”

“Forget it. It'll be something for these guys to tell their grandkids.”

Neidemeier snorted. “I'll bet they spend it on women.”

“Women? Where, Clive? Manila? Tokyo? Those cities are wrecked. They'll probably lose it in a poker game.” A moment passed as Neidemeier gained control of himself. Ingram flipped to the last page of his orders. “I'll be damned.”

“What?”

He pointed to the signature line.

“Yes, Otis DeWitt. He works for General Sutherland.”

“Now I know who sucked me into all this.”

“You know him?”

“In a manner of speaking. I see he's a brigadier now.”

“What's wrong with that?”

Ingram chuckled. “Otis DeWitt a brigadier general? What's this world coming to?”

Neidemeier said, “A little advice. Don't trifle with General DeWitt. He'll scour you.”

“He's a pussycat.”

“How can you be so sure?”

The day continued clear, and Berne gave the crew a course to fly over the South China Sea down Luzon's west coast. The landscape below them was dotted with extinct volcanoes, and the terrain looked verdant and tropical. By late afternoon they had dropped to five thousand feet and arrived at the entrance to Manila Bay, an enormous natural harbor thirty miles across. Three of the P-51s accelerated ahead while the other three climbed and took station five hundred feet above the C-54. Ingram stood just behind Radcliff; Berne and Hammer were there too, all peering out the cockpit window.

Peoples was back at the controls. He popped the C-54 out of autopilot and banked left. Soon they flew right over Corregidor and into Manila Bay.

Ingram watched the tadpole-shaped island slide under the left wing. He hadn't been here since 1942. Unlike the Bataan Peninsula to the north and the Pico de Loro Hills to the south, Corregidor was brown and barren, devoid of greenery, a victim of the two-month Japanese round-the-clock artillery barrage prior to the invasion. Memories flooded: his ship, the minesweeper
Pelican
, had been bombed and sunk in a cove at nearby Caballo Island. Several of his men had died there. He and the remainder of his crew had taken refuge with 11,000 GIs and Filipino Scouts on Corregidor, a 3-mile-long island able to accommodate only 4,000. Many were escapees from Bataan and were terribly wounded. Ingram watched many die.

Corregidor did hold one bright spot in his memory. He had met Helen on Corregidor. He wondered what it was like now in the Malinta Tunnel's hospital lateral where she had worked so hard to save soldiers, amputating arms and legs without anesthetic as artillery shells thundered overhead. During the last two months before being evacuated by submarine she had worked in that putrid atmosphere with scant supplies, limited equipment, and almost no food or sleep.

Radcliff seemed to understand. “Been there, Commander?”

“Yes, I have,” Ingram said softly.

“Yeah.” Radcliff waved a hand toward Manila, almost hidden beneath haze. Smoke rose from the hills to the left. He said to Peoples, “What do you think, Leroy? Can you find Nichols Field in all that goop?”

“Do my best, Bucky. The chart says ten miles south of town.” Peoples looked a bit nervous, sitting forward, his back erect.

Radcliff keyed his mike, held up a hand as he checked in with the tower. “We're cleared to land. Altimeter 29.62. Runway two-four.”

They set their altimeters, then Peoples said, “Roger runway two-four.”

“That's it. Come a little bit more right and have at it, my man. And get us down to two thousand feet.” Radcliff looked up at Ingram and winked.

“Roger, Skipper.”

“And try not to screw it up, Leroy,” said Berne.

“Shut up, Jon,” said Peoples.

Berne crowded in. “Hey, you can't—”

Radcliff turned around and, giving Berne a cold look, chopped a hand across his throat.

Berne nodded and stepped back.

“Cavite.” Ingram picked out the Cavite naval station off to the right. Ahead, a long runway appeared out of the dust.