Brave Company

by Hill, David

  Then he was riding a bike. Riding his bike to school, and pedalling hard so he wouldn’t be late. Someone was riding another bike beside him, freewheeling along but somehow moving as fast he was, and watching him quietly. His Uncle Trevor. Crazy, Russell thought. His uncle looked just the same as he did in that photo; Russell recognised him straight away.

  ‘Get lost!’ he yelled, and pedalled harder. ‘Scram!’

  Uncle Trevor watched him for another few seconds, then lifted one hand as if saying goodbye and turned his bike away. Russell felt relieved. He kept pedalling hard, looked to the front, and suddenly the road was filled with people in white baggy clothes, some carrying children, some holding their hands out. He was going to hit them. He jammed on his brakes, and the bike skidded. He—

  He lay on his bunk, breathing hard. Around him, the others slept on. Grey daylight showed through the porthole. The ship was moving differently. There were no swells, no rising and falling. They seemed to be gliding through still water. Russell swung his legs from the bunk and hurried out, up the ladder and onto the deck.

  Taupo was sailing slowly up a harbour. No, a river: a river so wide, he could just make out distant muddy banks on either side. The water was sluggish and brown, and on the starboard side he could see fields reaching right to the water’s edge. A few whitewashed buildings lay scattered around; a couple of them looked as though they’d fallen down. Nothing moved: no vehicles; no animals; no people.

  A low grey shape slid by, just thirty yards away. A destroyer, just like yesterday’s. In fact, it wasn’t sliding; it was at anchor, guns all pointing towards the far shore while Taupo crept past. Men moved on its deck. They glided past another ship: yesterday’s frigate, Russell felt sure. Yes, there was the big 98 painted on its funnel. Was the aircraft carrier here? Couldn’t be; it was much too big to navigate a place like this.

  Taupo eased on, no more than twenty yards from the other ship. Her wake set the second frigate rocking gently. Men were busy on its decks as well. A couple waved. Russell waved back, excitement rising in him again.

  ‘Boy Seaman! What sort of uniform do you call that?’ It was Red Watch’s PO Ralston, from the supply party. He glared at Russell’s pyjamas. ‘You want the enemy to think we fight wars in our nighties? Get below and get dressed right now!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir. Sorry, sir.’ As he turned to scuttle back down the ladder, Russell thought he saw the petty officer grinning.

  He was too nervous to eat much breakfast. For the first time, he would be hearing Taupo’s guns fired in anger – fired at a real enemy, or at least enemy targets, even if they couldn’t be seen. The rest of Blue Watch seemed on edge as well, though Kingi ate everything on his plate. ‘Can’t win the war without my sausages,’ he announced.

  They were just stacking their tin plates for the galley detail to wash when they felt the frigate come to a stop. Anchor chains roared down and Taupo swung slowly around. Bells rang, and from down inside in the hull came the sound of steel sliding into place.

  ‘Closing the watertight doors,’ O’Brien said. ‘So if some boy seaman drops a live round on deck, only part of us will sink.’

  Russell tried to laugh, but his face felt tight and his mouth dry. A hand pressed his shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, mate,’ Kingi told him. ‘We just do what we’re told to.’

  For the next hour, nothing happened. They could hear movement on deck, then the booming clang of the four-inch turret door opening and shutting. A gun crew was in position.

  Eight o’clock. ‘Blue Watch report for duty,’ the intercom ordered. They clattered up the ladder.

  ‘Report to stations,’ PO Lucas told them. Men peeled off, some heading for the Bofors and the anti-aircraft guns; some for the depth-charge throwers in the stern. Russell, Kingi and the rest of the four-inch crew moved forwards.

  Red Watch was still inside the turret, checking gear. PO Ralston and PO Lucas went through the formal hand-over: gun setting; rounds available; protective gear.

  ‘All right, lads,’ PO Lucas told them then. ‘You can relax outside. No sightseeing. No swimming. No sneaking off for sausages, Leading Hand Patu.’ Kingi pretended to look insulted.

  The Han River was silent, the water was almost motionless. Russell could see the US frigate back downriver with the destroyer. Both of them lay with their guns trained on the northern shore. Were the communists there? Were their guns trained on the three UN warships? Russell swallowed.

  Time crawled by. Still nothing moved on land. It was like that first coast with its village, where they’d spotted for the bombarding battleship. Everyone had left. He’d seen them leaving, Russell knew. Even if they weren’t from that place or this place, he’d seen them: on the roads, by the wharves, in those shacks of planks and sacks. The boy who’d stolen his blanket – where was he from? If I see him again, Russell vowed, I’ll … I’ll—

  A droning sound high above. He stared up, but the sky was full of hurrying clouds, and he could see nothing. Amazing it could be so windy up there and so calm down here. The droning faded. Planes heading … where? When was something going to happen?

  ‘What’s the time, boss?’ yawned Kingi.

  PO Lucas checked his watch. ‘0915.’ He glanced at Russell. ‘Stay on your toes, young Purchas.’

  I am, thought Russell. Why does everybody pick on boy seamen? Aloud, he went ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  A line of smoke puffs showed far inland, like fluffy clouds above the fields. The gun crew stared. Then bells shrilled throughout the ship, and the voice of Commander Yates rasped over the intercom. ‘Action Stations! Action Stations!’

  Nine

  ‘Leave the turret door open till we prepare to fire,’ PO Lucas ordered. ‘We need to breathe.’

  They stood at their posts, flash hoods tucked in belts, canvas gloves on hands.

  Outside the doorway the Han River lay dull and thick-looking. Still no sign of life on the land. The line of smoke puffs – bombs? shells? – had thinned and drifted away. Downriver, the destroyer and other frigate sat, guns pointing towards the northern bank.

  Russell dragged in a deep breath. His heart was thumping; his back prickled. I’m not afraid, he told himself again. I’m not a coward. The seconds crept past. Then the minutes. The world outside seemed in a trance. Come on! he thought. Make something happen. I’m not afraid. I’m not—

  ‘Secure turret!’ Captain Moore’s voice burst from the intercom. Noel sprang for the door, clashed it shut, then jumped back to his place by the shell-locker. As Russell pulled the heavy flash hood down over his head, he heard someone panting. It was him. He tried to breathe deeply again.

  ‘Range 2000 yards.’ Russell jerked as the captain spoke again, crisp and controlled. ‘Bearing 80 degrees. Prepare to fire.’

  ‘2000 yards! Bearing 80!’ PO Lucas repeated. His hands and Kingi’s were already moving on dials and wheel. The four-inch gun swung to the right. 2000 yards, thought Russell. Over a mile. What are we shooting at?

  ‘Ready!’ called the petty officer. Russell opened his mouth; half-shut his eyes.

  ‘Fire!’ He clamped hands to ears. BLAM! The slam and boom echoed around the turret. More flecks of paint dropped from the ceiling and walls. Suppose I’ll have to paint that sometime, Russell thought. The breech recoiled; Kingi wrenched it open, and the sour smell of burned gunpowder filled Russell’s nostrils again.

  Already he was doing what he’d practised so often at training, jumping forwards, grabbing the hot shell-case from the floor with his stiff gloves, dropping it in the metal bin. Noel shoved another round into the breech, and Kingi flicked it shut. They stood poised, except for PO Lucas who hunched again over his dials and gauges.

  ‘Fire!’ BLAM! The same booming and slamming. The same recoil and stench of explosive. The same grab for shell-case, and thrust of next round into the breech. Russell heard himself panting again, even under the thick hood. Kingi’s and Noel’s eyes were slitted with concentration. ‘Fire!’ BLAM!

  His
ears rang with the noise. His head and his whole body seemed to shudder with each shot. From outside, other guns crashed as well. The enemy? No, the destroyer and second frigate blazing away, too. The world shook and echoed. ‘Fire!’ BLAM!

  Russell tried to imagine what it was like where the shells were landing. Were they aiming at railways? At enemy troops? With no warning, the face of the little girl he’d given the handkerchief to was in front of him, dark eyes watching. And the boy, the one who’d made off with his blanket. Thieves and cowards, he told himself again, half-aloud so that that Kingi darted a look at him. I’m – I’m just going to do my job.

  ‘Fire!’ BLAM!

  For another … ten? … fifteen minutes, the turret rang with sound, as shell after shell hurtled inland. The air was foul with the reek of gunpowder. Russell’s ears thrummed so much he could hardly hear the orders over the intercom. His body felt buffeted and bruised from the explosions. His gloved hands shook as he clutched at the shell-casings.

  Then – ‘Cease firing! Secure the gun.’ As PO Lucas repeated the order, Russell realised the other ships’ guns had gone silent also. A different sound rumbled through Taupo. The anchors were being hauled up and the frigate began swinging to point her bows back downriver.

  ‘Captain – doesn’t want – to hang around,’ grunted Kingi, as he swabbed the breech, then locked it shut. ‘Nasty people might want to start taking potshots back at us.’ Noel was already at the door, letting in a glorious waft of fresh, damp air. ‘Muzzle cap on, sir?’ he called.

  PO Lucas shook his head, as the four-inch’s barrel swung back level. ‘Not till Action Stations are over, Johnson. You know that.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Noel looked embarrassed, and Russell felt better about his own mistakes.

  They came out of the turret, dragging in lungfuls of air, clutching at the rail as Taupo angled to port, foam already building at her bow. Russell stared inland. There was … nothing. Nothing but a pall of dirty black smoke rising then shredding away in the wind that now scudded across the river. Had they hit anything? He didn’t know if he wanted them to have or not. His heart-rate was slowing down, but his body still shook. I did it, he told himself again. I did it. I wasn’t scared.

  Ahead of them, the American frigate was moving as well, water churning under her stern as the propellers bit, bows pointed towards the open sea. ‘Nobody wants to stay and get shot at,’ Noel muttered as they watched. Russell twitched: yes, the enemy had guns, too. How long before … he stared ahead, past their bows, past the other frigate at the still-unmoving destroyer, smoke pouring from its funnel, men on its deck busy at the anchor chains.

  ‘Put the foot down, boss,’ said Kingi, then stopped as PO Lucas emerged from the turret also. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  The petty officer nodded. ‘My thoughts also, Leading Hand. Let’s get out to sea, pronto.’ He glanced at Russell. ‘All right there, young Purchas?’

  ‘Yessir.’ I am, he thought again. I did it. I’ve shown people.

  ‘Stay here, lads. We’re still on Action Stations.’ PO Lucas stared at where the destroyer lay. ‘Come on, you lot. Hurry it up.’

  At that moment, the US frigate ahead of them sounded its klaxon. Short bursts, loud and urgent. The destroyer blared back, longer and deeper blasts. As the two smaller warships bore down on it, one behind the other, Russell saw men at the destroyer’s stern swinging sledgehammers at the anchor chain. Something was wrong.

  Klaxons bellowed from all three vessels now. The gun crew lurched and nearly fell as Taupo went hard astern, slowing and slewing backwards, her whole length shuddering. Ahead of them, the US frigate was heeling over to starboard while it swung past the stationary destroyer.

  Russell’s breath caught in his throat. Beside him, Kingi began muttering ‘Man, oh man! Man, oh man!’ The other frigate curved past the bigger warship with only a ship’s length between it and the riverbank.

  Now Taupo began swinging to port, past the destroyer’s other side. Suddenly the big US ship’s anchor chain seemed to snap and roar into the water. Its stern swung sideways, straight for Taupo.

  The first frigate was safely past, steaming back into the middle of the river and towards the sea. Taupo surged on, straining to miss the lurching destroyer, heeling still further as shouted orders echoed from the bridge. Russell, hands locked on the rail, saw the other ship’s stern looming at them, high above the New Zealand frigate’s deck. Men on the destroyer yelled and stared.

  For a moment, the two vessels were so close Russell could almost read the names on the other crew’s caps. Then Taupo was clear, too, the bigger warship behind it and the river channel ahead. On their left, the muddy bank slid by.

  PO Lucas shook his head. ‘Remember that when you’re a captain, Boy Seaman. Try not to sink anyone from your own side.’

  Russell heard himself give a shaky laugh. ‘I won’t, sir. I—’

  A yell from a lookout interrupted him. At the same moment, Taupo swung violently once more, to starboard this time. A judder under the hull, a dragging lurch like nothing he had ever felt before, that threw them all against the rail. Another lurch, and a grinding, graunching sound. The frigate stopped, clouds of mud and water swirling and bubbling all along its sides. It sat in the water as if gripped in some giant hand.

  A mine, Russell thought. We’ve hit a mine. We’re going to sink. He clung to the railing. Again, Taupo’s klaxon bellowed.

  PO Lucas stood peering over the side. Filthy clouds of mud and water still churned along the warship’s sides. Taupo rose a fraction, tilted slightly sideways, then was still once more.

  ‘It’s a sandbank.’ The petty officer’s face was grim. ‘We’re stuck on a sandbank.’

  Ten

  Taupo lay unmoving, deck tilted. When Russell looked for’ard, he saw that the starboard side of the frigate was definitely higher; the lifeboats and cutter swung to and fro in their davits. He stared down at the dirty, scarcely flowing river. Was it his imagination, or was the water a darker colour beside the ship where the sandbank must be? The engines had stopped their furious drumming, and throbbed quietly. An eerie near-silence seemed to surround them. All at once, they were helpless. As long as the engines pounded and the ship moved, things had felt safe somehow. Now they were just a target.

  ‘That flamin’ destroyer!’ Noel glared at the bigger warship. ‘It’s their stupid fault. If they hadn’t been in the road like that—’

  Russell wasn’t listening. Captain Moore and Commander Yates had both come hurrying out of the bridge, and stood peering down at the water where Taupo lay. They pointed, turned to gaze at the stern, then strode back to the bridge, labouring up the slant of the deck.

  The Blue Watch gun crew jumped as the klaxon blared from the funnel above them: once – twice – three times. A deeper bellow came from the destroyer behind them. The bigger ship was beginning to move, bow swinging out towards the middle of the channel, white water building under it. The other frigate was at least 400 yards away now, heading steadily for the sea.

  Russell swallowed, took a deep breath, tried to stay calm. ‘Stay here,’ PO Lucas told them, then headed for the bridge, staggering slightly on the angled deck.

  ‘So what are we going to do now, guys? Have a snooze while everyone makes their minds up?’ Noel was trying to sound cheerful, but Russell could hear the tautness in his voice. It made him feel a fraction better; he wasn’t the only nervous one.

  Kingi stood watching the muddy water as it crawled past. ‘Tide’s coming in now. That should help – unless it pushes us further onto the sandbank.’

  Right then, the frigate moved. It lurched sideways. Its stern swung. The keel dragged, then stuck. Taupo shivered, then was still once more. The starboard side seemed even higher.

  Another klaxon burst. The destroyer was edging past, twenty yards or so away. Sailors on its deck stared at the trapped frigate.

  ‘Don’t you lot get stuck,’ Kingi muttered. ‘One at a time is enough, thanks.’

  Taup
o rose a fraction in the water as the wake from the larger vessel reached them. For half a second, she seemed to float free, then she settled again.

  Come on! Russell hardly knew whom he was pleading with, but the words beat inside his head. Come on! We have to get off here. We have to!

  A half-yell broke from his throat as a crashing and clanging echoed nearby. Taupo’s anchors roared down into the river. Why? They wanted to get away from here, not stay! What was the captain doing?

  ‘It’s okay, Russ.’ Kingi was watching him. ‘We’re holding steady till the tide lifts us. Don’t want to slide any further onto the sand.’

  The land was silent. The smoke from their recent bombardment had gone. Were enemy eyes watching them?’ Were guns being pointing at the trapped vessel? Forty … fifty yards ahead, the destroyer had stopped once more. From its bridge, a light flashed and flickered at the frigate. A signal lamp. ‘Hope they’re sending us an apology,’ grunted O’Brien, who had arrived beside them. Others were emerging from below as well, holding on as they crossed the sloping deck to peer over the sides.

  Kingi nodded towards the destroyer. ‘Reckon they can pull us off?’

  O’Brien shrugged. ‘Tricky. They’ll have to get really close to fix a cable. Could end up getting caught themselves.’

  PO Lucas came hurrying back towards them, grabbing at ventilators and rails to keep himself steady, a whistle in one hand. ‘Port side! Everyone line up on the port side. When you hear the whistle, across to the starboard, quickly! We’ll try and rock her free!’