Brave Company

by Hill, David

  Russell, Kingi and Noel gaped at one another. ‘Just as well I had those sausages,’ said Kingi. He shook his head. ‘Dunno why we bother having boy seamen – they’re too small to do any good.’ Russell tried to smile.

  Inside thirty seconds, the rails on the port side were crammed with men, tense-faced and ready. Except for those on the bridge, or down in the engine room, the whole crew seemed to be there. PO Lucas stood, braced on the tilting deck, one hand in the air, the other holding his whistle. ‘Go hard, lads.’

  Fweeep! Feet thundered across the deck to the star-board side, pounding up the slope. The ship trembled. Russell was sure she dipped sideways for a second.

  ‘Back again! Hard!’ Fweeep! They charged back down to the port side. Fweeep! Up to the starboard rail again. Taupo shook and shuddered. Surely this must rock her free. Surely.

  ‘Weirdest – weirdest PT I’ve ever done!’ puffed Noel as they pounded across the deck once more.

  Come on! Russell heard his voice begging silently yet again. He snatched a look over the side. Muddy water was rising in whorls along the length of the hull as the frigate shook.

  The cutter, he thought, while the whistle blasted and they stampeded for the rail once more. Why don’t they lower the cutter and get it to pull us? Then he saw how the little launch was swinging far inboard over the angled deck. It couldn’t possibly reach the water.

  The destroyer still lay just ahead of them. At least they weren’t here by themselves. Fweeep! Up to the port rail they charged again. In spite of the cold wind, Russell was sweating. On either side of him, men gasped and wheezed.

  Then his eyes bulged, as something came leaping up out of the river, thirty yards ahead.

  It rose in a column of dirty water, higher than Taupo’s deck, rushing upwards then falling back with an echoing thwack! The surface frothed and bubbled. Even while Russell gaped, another grey-brown column exploded into the air, ten or fifteen yards closer to the far shore. A bigger burst of mud and water this time, spraying upwards, then collapsing back on itself with the same flat thwack!

  It’s a whale, his mind blurted for a moment. No, someone’s accidentally dropped some depth charges. Then voices began yelling all around him, hands pointing inland towards the enemy-held land, and he understood. The Chinese or North Koreans had seen that the frigate was in trouble, and they’d opened fire.

  We’re a sitting duck, Russell thought. We can’t dodge. We can’t get away. Any second now, they’ll hit us.

  Terror gripped his whole body. He felt his eyes stretched wide, staring. The skin on his back crawled. His arms twitched and shook; his heart hammered. Something seemed to squeeze his stomach. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t make a sound.

  ‘Move, lads!’ PO Lucas was yelling at them. ‘Move! Faster!’

  Fweeep! They charged back up the tilting deck. Russell heard a voice gasping ‘Come on! Please – come on!’ It was his own. The ship shuddered each time they sprinted from side to side, but she was still stuck fast.

  Another fountain of water sprayed skywards, behind them this time. Two more followed, almost instantly. Russell could feel spray on his face, blown past by the wind. He imagined the communist gunners, dragging their artillery out from some bunker where they’d been hidden from UN planes. Where were they? Were they getting closer? The frigate’s crew pounded across the deck again. Russell was gasping and panting.

  BLAM! He cried out as an explosion slammed, louder than any before. His hands flew to his ears. BLAM! The enemy were here, somehow. They’d reached the river. Taupo was doomed. Then he saw the destroyer was firing, all its gun turrets pointing inland. BLAM! Smoke from the muzzles streamed away on the wind.

  His hands clenched the rail. ‘Move!’ shouted PO Lucas, and feet thundered over the deck once more. But Russell stayed put. He couldn’t unlock his fingers. His head was sunk down between his shoulders. He wanted only to crawl away and hide.

  He half-heard the others racing back down the deck towards him. PO Lucas was starting to point, glaring at him, mouth open to yell. Then Noel and Kingi had his arms, pulling him from the rail. ‘Come on, Russ! Just keep moving; you’ll be all right.’

  Fweeep! They stumbled back up towards the starboard side, the two other seamen half-dragging him along. Whooompf! More columns of water soared upwards, between frigate and bank and closer this time. BLAM! The destroyer’s guns roared. Taupo kept shuddering.

  Why aren’t we firing back? Why are we just sitting here? Russell didn’t know if he’d spoken aloud or not. He looked again at the sloping deck, the weird angle of the gun turret, and realised why.

  ‘Stop!’ PO Lucas shouted. ‘Stop!’ They were all still, half-slumped against the port rail, wheezing. An officer appeared on deck from below, clutching a heavy-looking leather bag.

  ‘The ship’s secret codes and paybooks and stuff – to throw overboard if we look like sinking,’ panted someone. ‘Hell, I hope – I hope my wages aren’t in there!’

  Noel and Kingi still held Russell’s arms. He couldn’t stop twitching and trembling. It was worse now they weren’t doing anything. He had to hide, crawl under something, anything.

  Whooompf! The tower of water hurtled up just a few yards from their stern. The frigate rocked as if something had rammed her. No! thought Russell. Please, no!

  ‘This is getting a bit close, eh?’ he heard Kingi mutter. ‘Maybe we should submerge.’ Russell couldn’t grin, couldn’t speak. His body kept jerking.

  Voices shouted from the bridge. Taupo lurched and moved. It was a different feeling from the shaking and shuddering of the last few minutes. There was water under the ship’s keel.

  The engines swelled into a pounding throb. Anchor chains crashed and clattered upwards. The frigate stuck, slewed sideways. Black smoke poured from the funnel. Then, so suddenly that they were all flung backwards, Taupo leaped forwards. Water rushed and frothed alongside.

  Cheering burst out all along the deck. Ahead of them, the destroyer kept firing, but the river was churning under its stern, and it was also heading for the river mouth and the open sea. Figures on its decks cheered as well, waving their hats as the two ships gathered speed. A geyser of water sprang upwards from the river, then two more, but already, they were thirty yards astern.

  O’Brien’s face was one huge grin. He thumped Kingi on the shoulder, and the other sailor staggered. ‘Thanks, commies!’ the tattooed seaman grinned. He saw Russell staring, and laughed. ‘It was that shell-burst shook us free. They helped us get away.’

  PO Lucas was smiling, too. ‘You all right, lads?’

  Kingi shook his head. ‘Don’t mind telling you, sir. I was the only white-faced Maori in the navy for a while there.’

  The petty officer chuckled. He nodded towards where the river broadened ahead and the ocean’s grey stretch was already appearing. ‘We’re okay now. Something for you all to write home about.’

  He looked at Russell. ‘All right there, Boy Seaman?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ Russell managed to mumble. He didn’t look at the PO; just stood staring at the cold waters ahead. The destroyer had stopped firing, and both warships steamed steadily towards the open sea. No more explosions erupted from the river. The enemy had given up.

  But Russell knew he wasn’t all right. Even though the worst of the fear had faded, his body still trembled. Another couple of minutes under fire, and he’d have cracked. He’d have run, deserted his post, curled up in a ball anywhere he could hide. He wasn’t going to prove anything to the others on board Taupo after all – except that he was just as much of a coward as his uncle.

  Eleven

  He lay in his bunk that night, body aching, yawning till his jaw began to ache as well.

  But he couldn’t sleep. Pictures from that morning kept swelling in his mind: the awful lurch as they hit the sandbank; the fountains of mud and water erupting upwards from the enemy’s fire; their own mad charging backwards and forwards across the deck; his fear.

  He’d never beli
eved it would happen. All those other times – spotting for the battleship, the boats of refugees, their own bombardment – he’d been fine. Then, with no warning, he’d turned into a terrified creature who only wanted to scuttle away and hide. The kids he’d seen on shore, the girl he’d given his handkerchief to, the boy who’d stolen his blanket, the refugees in the boat – they all had more guts than him.

  How much had the rest of the crew seen? Were they talking behind his back about what a coward he was, and how cowards brought bad luck on board?

  Nobody had said anything, except for Kingi, who ruffled his hair while they climbed down the ladder to the mess room afterwards, and said, ‘Glad I had you to hang onto back there, young Russ. Stopped me from jumping overboard and swimming all the way back to New Zealand.’

  Russell had managed a half-grin. But he knew everything had changed. He wasn’t the person he’d thought he was.

  They’d steamed quickly away from the estuary of the River Han, coastline shrinking behind them. Russell stood by the rail for a few minutes, staring at the land as it became just a dark smudge. The Koreans can keep it, he thought. Let the North and South fight their stupid war themselves, and we can all go home.

  He didn’t mind the frigate’s pitching and swaying as it butted into the heavy swells, or the spray that swept the deck each time water broke over the bows. Just so long as they kept heading away from the place where he’d been shamed.

  After an hour or so, a voice crackled over the intercom. ‘This is your captain speaking. I want to congratulate all ranks on the way you behaved back there. It was a tricky spot, and you can all feel proud of how you handled yourselves under fire. Now we can keep on doing our job.’

  Russell stared at the deck. The captain’s announcement had made him feel like a cheat. He felt sure that sooner or later he’d be found out for what he really was.

  The next day was grey and bleak. The air felt freezing when Russell breathed it in. The cold pierced his heavy jersey and duffle-coat. The swells had dropped, and Taupo butted through a dark, unfriendly sea.

  Russell was halfway into his spell as stern lookout, the ship’s wake spreading in a foaming fan behind him, when Commander Yates appeared. The 2-i-c returned Russell’s salute.

  ‘An interesting morning yesterday, young Purchas.’

  ‘Sir.’ Russell’s stomach went heavy. He’d been seen, all right. Everyone knew he was a coward.

  Commander Yates watched him for a moment. ‘You’ll be all right now.’

  Russell didn’t know what to say. The officer went on. ‘Nothing wrong with feeling scared sometimes. Even brave men like your uncle have – had – their times of being afraid. You did all right, Boy Seaman. I mean that.’

  Russell saluted again as the 2-i-c moved off. Yes, he’d been seen, and people knew. In spite of that, he felt a fraction better. But he wondered what people would say if he told them the truth about that so-called brave man, his Uncle Trevor.

  When his time on lookout was over, he was sent to start scraping rust from the davits where the cutter hung. ‘That’s the idea, lad,’ PO Lucas told him as he passed. ‘If I see it shine, then everything’s fine. If it’s not clean, then I’ll get mean. A bit of navy poetry for you.’

  After quarter of an hour, another duffle-coated figure appeared, limping along the deck. It was AB Buchanan, the young sailor who’d hurt his leg when he was supposed to be on the supply party. Buchanan said nothing when Russell greeted him, just began scraping at another davit.

  If he’s in a foul mood, that’s his bad luck, Russell decided. They worked in silence for ten minutes. Then Buchanan said, ‘Where were you when they started shooting at us?’

  He knows about me, too, Russell thought. ‘On deck,’ he said. ‘We’d been in the four-inch turret.’

  Buchanan just nodded. ‘I was in the mess room. Didn’t know what it was at first. Wish I’d been on gun duty. We’d have given those commies more than they expected!’

  Russell felt anger began to glow inside him. He’d talked like that, too, before he’d faced any real danger. This bloke didn’t know what he was on about.

  He took a breath. ‘You can’t—’

  Then the intercom interrupted him. ‘Attention, all hands. This is Commander Yates speaking. We’ll be heading back in to the coast tonight. There’s a landing party of South Korean troops going ashore, and we’ll be making sure they have a nice safe ride. More orders later. Carry on.’

  ‘Koreans!’ muttered Buchanan. ‘They don’t deserve us. We take all the risks while half of them are running away.’

  Russell remembered thinking the same thing. His mouth was still open to tell the other young sailor that he didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead, he bent over his paint scraping again.

  They changed course soon after dusk. Russell had spent the afternoon off watch, reading and dozing in his bunk, starting another letter to his mother. When they clumped up on deck again in their sea boots, duffle-coats, woolly hats and gloves, he was sent to the stern once more to act as lookout.

  Taupo steamed forwards, on a sea that was now almost flat, but heavy and sullen-looking. Russell stood in the shelter of the engine room ventilator shaft, shivering in spite of the warm, oily air that breathed over him. The moment he stepped to either side, a freezing wind struck through all his layers of clothing. He stamped his feet, thumped his arms across his body, rubbed cheeks and nose through the wool of his black balaclava.

  As he stood or stamped, he peered into the thickening darkness behind and on either side. Nothing. No other ships; no movement anywhere, except for the warship’s wake and the black gleam of water. Maybe the South Koreans had decided to stay at home by the fire.

  A bundled-up form came trudging along the deck towards him. Petty Officer Lucas. ‘Cool enough for you, Boy Seaman?’

  ‘Sir.’ Russell began to grin, then realised his face was invisible behind the balaclava. ‘Nothing happening here, sir.’

  The Blue Watch PO nodded. ‘Keep your eyes peeled. We’re supposed to be rendezvousing with the South Korean landing party in about ten minutes. Report as soon as you see anything.’ He gazed out over the stern at the icy-looking foam. ‘And don’t go swimming, lad. Haven’t been in seas this cold since I was on the Arctic convoys in the last war.’

  He was silent for a second, then, ‘I recall one time, an aircraft of ours had to make an emergency landing in the water, just … oh, fifty or sixty yards from us. We had a boat lowering to go and pick him up. The pilot climbed out of his cockpit and was sitting on the wing, waving to us as his plane started to sink. He couldn’t have been in the water for more than a minute when we reached him, but he was stone dead. The cold just stops your heart.’

  Russell swallowed, then saluted as the PO nodded and moved off. He hoped there were no mines or anything near that might leave him struggling in the icy sea. But he also felt another glow of relief at being treated like any one of the crew. It was true what Commander Yates had said. Everyone was scared at some time.

  He stamped his feet again, whacked his arms across his chest. The night and the sea were empty. The land was invisible. Nothing happening.

  The low calls from the bow and crow’s-nest lookouts came three minutes later. Thirty seconds after that, Russell saw it, too. A shape on the starboard side. A boat, about twice the size of Taupo’s cutter, moving in the same direction as the frigate. Another, a few yards beyond it. He peered towards the port side. Two more – squat dark shapes low in the water. The New Zealand warship was reducing speed, matching her progress to the small fleet around her.

  After two … three more minutes, there were six of them, ranged alongside the frigate like chicks with a mother hen. They were sailing closer to the bigger ship now, near enough for Russell to make out the dark forms of men packed into them. Their engines must be silenced in some way; he could hear only the faintest of murmurs as they slid through the water. Taupo had slowed even more, too.

  Figures stood at the
Bofors gun a few yards ahead of him on the frigate’s deck. He saw others entering the turret of the four-inch. Taupo was ready for action. Russell’s back prickled.

  He watched the small boats moving steadily onwards beside them – Korean soldiers, on their way to land on their own shores and maybe fight other Korean soldiers. That must feel so strange.

  He peered into the night on the port side. Something was different there. A change in darkness. It was the shore, low and curving out towards them. If there were enemy near, then any minute – but no sound came from the land. The frigate and the craft to either side crept on.

  Another bell sounded faintly, down inside Taupo. The frigate’s wake died away; her bow dipped and she slowed even further. The Bofors and four-inch crews still stood silent at their stations.

  The smaller boats were moving past them now, heading for the shore, the leading ones already vanishing into the darkness. As the nearest one slid by, a hand lifted towards Taupo. Russell waved back. He watched as one by one, they disappeared from sight.

  Twelve

  For another hour, Taupo crawled on a back-and-forth course across the sea, water scarcely bubbling under her bows. The land lay dark and silent. Russell pictured the South Korean boats gliding to the shore. They’d turn their engines off for the last few hundred yards, he supposed, and paddle the rest of the way as quietly as they could. So far there was no sound of any enemy having heard or seen them. Once he thought he heard aircraft, far off to the north, but it could just have been the chill night wind in the warship’s rigging.

  Finally, muffled signal bells rang once more, first on the bridge, then from the engine room. Taupo began to turn away from the coast, heading back out towards the open sea. Now Russell could hear the hiss and slosh of water building along the sides as they picked up speed.

  He felt his body relax. Another half-hour or so, and he’d be off watch. He was looking forward to getting into the warmth of his bunk. A mug of cocoa if the cooks were in a good mood, then he’d—