Brave Company

by Hill, David

  He trained binoculars on where the sea still boiled and churned. Would he see wreckage? Would an enemy submarine appear, hull cracked open by the blast from the depth charges? He stared till he felt his eyes bulge. Nothing.

  The corvette came rushing back towards the patch of churning sea. More deadly drums rolled from the stern or flew through the air.

  Russell found himself counting, like before. ‘… seven … eight.’

  The sea flattened, the columns of water flew upwards, then fell back. The New Zealand frigate’s hull quivered a second time. Still nothing. And now the corvette was slowing, turning back to its normal position, signal lamp flashing.

  A false alarm. The underwater detection gear could pick up echoes from all sorts of things, Russell knew. Submerged wreckage, a school of fish, even underwater currents. And anyway, the commies didn’t have submarines patrolling – as far as anyone knew. He felt his heart-beat slowing to normal. A thin dark line now lay far ahead, just visible. The coast of Korea.

  He was cold again. In the excitement of the past few minutes, he’d forgotten all about his freezing limbs. He beat his duffle-coated arms against his body, stamped feet and blew onto gloved hands, pulled his woollen hat down over his ears. On Taupo the gun crews were standing down. The convoy sailed on.

  Half an hour passed. The end of his time on lookout was getting closer. He hoped there’d be hot cocoa. He swept the sea with his binoculars. Just the waves and the convoy.

  And something in the water, a hundred yards or so away. Russell jerked the binoculars back, trying to find it again. He had to be sure; mustn’t make a fool of himself. Where was it? Then he saw it through the lenses once more. His voice rang along the deck. ‘Mine! Bearing 290 degrees. 100 yards. Mine!’

  A shout came back immediately from the bridge. Taupo swung away, deck tilting. More orders rang out. ‘Bofors crew! Rifle detail – port side!’ Once more, men came charging up ladders and across the deck.

  Russell lifted his binoculars again. He gasped. Another mine. And another, the three of them bobbing in the choppy waves, dark spheres half as high as man. Now he could make out the spikes on them. Spikes that, if they hit anything, would recoil inwards, breaking a cylinder of acid into the chemicals packed inside, bringing an explosion that would rip through a ship’s hull.

  The Kiwi frigate was wheeling around again, signalling to the other convoy escorts now steering parallel to her previous course but further away from the deadly spheres. The Bofors gun swung around, too. Sailors with rifles lined the rails. Russell saw Petty Officer Ralston and Noel amongst them, rifles raised.

  ‘Lookouts! Report any more sightings immediately!’ Captain Moore’s voice. Then, ‘Fire!’

  Straight away, rifles began to crack. A second later came the blam-blam-blam! of the Bofors.

  The hair stood up on Russell’s neck as he watched. Shells from the Bofors punched spouts of water into the air, a few yards to one side of the nearest mine. Smaller splashes showed where the rifles were firing. Crack! Crack! Blam-blam-blam!

  BOOOM!

  The mine exploded, disappearing in a tumult of foam and white smoke. Cheers from the rest of the crew, who stood watching. Rifles and Bofors turned to the remaining mines. Both had drifted closer to the frigate.

  Crack! Crack! Whannng!

  The howl of a ricochet as a bullet glanced off the metal surface.

  Blam-blam!

  BOOOM!

  The second mine went up as well. More cheering.

  Where was—? Russell swallowed as he saw the last mine had drifted to within fifty yards of Taupo. Any closer, and they’d have to be careful. The Bridge must have seen the same. Captain Moore shouted, ‘Cease fi—’

  Crack!

  A rifle shot. Russell saw Noel’s rifle jerk. Saw a puff of smoke from the weapon.

  BOOOM!

  The explosion rang in Russell’s ears. Fragments of metal flashed and whined overhead. People ducked.

  Captain Moore came stamping out and glared down at where a red-faced Noel was slowly lowering his rifle. ‘Good God, sailor! Are you on our side or the enemy’s?’ Then, as he turned away, he called back over his shoulder. ‘Good shot.’

  Next morning, they steamed into the same ruined port they’d left ten days ago. There were the smashed wharves, the shelled town, the temple and wooded hills behind. Parties of Korean workers in their baggy white clothes were clearing away twisted metal, laying timbers to start a new wharf. Most of them wore jackets or jumpers against the bitter cold. Russell suddenly thought of the boy who’d stolen his blanket.

  He knew he wouldn’t be chosen to go with the supply party a second time. So of course he was. He heard his bottom jaw go clunk! when his name was read out. He blinked when he realised that O’Brien was also in the group again. So was Noel.

  ‘You notice how they keep sending the cream of the ship?’ O’Brien told Kingi.

  Kingi laughed. ‘You notice how cream often goes off?’

  Petty Officer Ralston, also with them once more, glared as they climbed into the cutter. Russell was stuffing some chocolate into his pocket. ‘Nobody fall off anything this time, eh?’ the bearded PO announced. He turned his gaze on Russell. ‘And nobody lose anything, eh, Boy Seaman?’

  The Koreans who hurried to carry their gear and supplies to the waiting truck didn’t include any faces from last time, as far as Russell could tell. The driver was a different guy, too: younger and with a few words of English. ‘Hi hello! I am very smooth driver.’ By the time they’d driven fifty yards, they’d already crashed over three potholes and almost hit a pile of bricks. ‘Good God!’ someone muttered, as they all clung to the wooden seats. ‘Why can’t we have a rough driver instead?’

  Up they wound, past the farmland and cottages. A few figures were bent over in some fields, digging or hoeing. Other Korean civilians trudged along beside the road. Many carried loads on bamboo poles across their shoulders.

  A couple of Taupo’s party carried rifles, and kept them close by as they jolted along. ‘Wouldn’t trust any of them,’ one seaman said. ‘You hear about them coming into our blokes’ positions claiming they’re refugees, then whipping out guns and attacking. You can’t tell whose side they’re on.’

  ‘Their own side, most likely.’ It was O’Brien speaking. ‘Reckon you’d love any country who came in and started fighting on our land?’

  ‘Ah, you don’t know what you’re talking about!’ sneered the first man. The others were silent.

  The truck spluttered, jerked, stopped. The driver got out, lifted the bonnet and did something to the engine. They bumped off again. It seemed to take less time than before to reach the trenches, the shattered trees and broken stone walls that Russell remembered from their last trip. They hadn’t passed any tanks today. A few lorries had gone bouncing by, heading back towards the harbour. A group of American soldiers leaned against a broken-down jeep, smoking and laughing, but fewer troops were on the move than before.

  The 16 FIELD REGIMENT sign appeared before he expected it. There were the gun pits with barrels pointing to the north. Camouflage nets on poles, strewn with branches, were now spread above them. Korean civilians bustled around, like they had before, carrying wood, lifting big pots onto big stoves. A little girl – the one he’d given his handkerchief to last time? He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like her – stood watching them. She was wearing a rough coat made from some dark woollen material that reached almost down to her feet. Yes, it was the same kid, all right.

  The artillery sergeant in his black beret was waiting for them. He shook hands with PO Ralston, and greeted the rest of the supply party as they clambered from the back of the lorry, stretching stiff legs and backs.

  ‘Morning, lads. Glad to see you again. Major Davies is up at the front lines on a recce. He said the navy can’t exist without a cup of tea, and told us to have a brew ready for you.’

  Grins and nods from Taupo’s men. The sergeant – Sergeant Barnett, Russell remembered – look
ed at the boy seaman and shook his head. ‘You’re the spitting image of somebody, all right, lad. I’ll tell you when I get my memory back.’

  Russell had stopped listening. He stood staring past the sergeant at where three Koreans were stacking firewood beside one of the stoves. They straightened, chattering among themselves as they began heading off for another load. Two men in their thirties or forties and a younger man.

  Not a younger man. A boy. The boy who’d stolen Russell’s blanket.

  Fifteen

  It couldn’t be. It was. The boy had begun moving past Taupo’s supply party as he and the others set off for their next load of firewood. He glanced at the newcomers. His eyes met Russell’s, passed on, flicked back. Then he stopped.

  For a moment, it seemed he would run. His body twitched. Then he stood still again. He gazed towards the little girl in her strange long coat, and Russell realised suddenly where his blanket had gone. The young Korean looked straight at the boy seaman. Then, to Russell’s bewilderment, he bowed.

  While the frigate’s men headed to the cookhouse tent, and the truckdriver began hammering at something under his vehicle’s bonnet, the Korean boy walked over to the small girl, murmured something, and lifted the long coat over her head. She stood, hugging herself in the cold. Then he turned and came over to where Russell was watching. He bowed once more, held out the coat with its red blanket stripe running down the back and spoke. ‘I sorry.’

  He was half a head shorter than Russell, lean and hungry-looking. His black hair needed cutting. His eyes were dark and steady, his face tired.

  Russell shook his head. ‘No. No, you keep it.’

  The Korean boy looked uncertain. Russell thrust the coat back at him, and pointed at the little girl, whimpering as the freezing wind cut through her thin clothes. ‘For her. You keep it.’

  They both stood for a second, the woollen bundle between them. The other boy kept watching Russell. Then his face changed. He bowed a third time, moved back to the girl and helped her into the coat, talking softly as he pulled the garment over her thin arms and shoulders.

  ‘Hey!’ They turned and stared as Russell called out. He held out one of the chocolate bars he’d brought. ‘For her,’ he said again.

  The girl understood instantly, clapped her hands and smiled. The boy spoke to her again. Now she trotted over, shyly took the chocolate from Russell, and also bowed to him. ‘San – sank you.’

  ‘You’ve met Sa-In, then?’ It was Sergeant Barnett. ‘He’s our Number One Helper. Works anywhere – here, on the road, down at the port. The hardest toiler we’ve got. Plus he’s learning English as fast as he can. Okay, Sa-In?’

  The small girl was eagerly unwrapping her chocolate. The boy had begun heading off to join the other wood carriers. He stopped and bowed to the sergeant. ‘Okay, thank you, sir.’

  Sergeant Barnett chuckled. ‘Can’t stop him calling me “sir”. The little kid’s his sister, Yong Mee. He looks after her.’ The sergeant shook his head. ‘Usual story. Village destroyed, parents vanished. Nobody has a clue if they’re alive or dead, but Sa-In keeps searching for them everywhere.’

  He glanced at Russell again and breathed, ‘Good God!’ He opened his mouth, seemed about to say something, but moved off instead. Russell gazed after him in surprise for a couple of seconds, then moved towards the others who were now starting to ferry supplies from the lorry. The little girl, nibbling at her chocolate, smiled and waved as he passed. A familiar piece of cloth peeped out from under the sleeve of her blanket-coat. The handkerchief he’d given her last time.

  An elbow dug him in the ribs. ‘You got yourself a girlfriend?’ said O’Brien. ‘Is that a high-fashion navy blanket she’s wearing?’

  Russell couldn’t decide if the tattooed AB was picking on him once again. ‘It’s mine. The one that got stolen.’

  O’Brien blinked, then nodded. ‘Well, well. It’s ended up in the right place, I reckon.’

  After an hour, the supplies were stored away and Taupo’s party sat eating from mess tins loaded with some sort of dumplings full of some sort of meat with some sort of vegetables. ‘These people really know how to cook,’ one of the gunners said. ‘They can make a good feed out of scraps.’

  ‘Sounds a bit like our cooks,’ Noel said. ‘Except they make a good feed into scraps.’

  Laughter. Hands and legs were stretched out towards the stove. Russell felt glad he’d given the small girl her coat back. What were she and her brother eating? he wondered suddenly. Where had they come from? At the same time, he puzzled over what the artillery sergeant had meant by that ‘Good God!’

  A noise sounded distantly. A booming and rumbling. Heads lifted. A gunner nodded. ‘Our guns or their guns. Happens four or five times a day. Someone sees something moving, or thinks they do.’

  ‘How far to the front line?’ Noel asked.

  ‘Three or four miles still. They’re quite close to the sea. Been quiet up there lately. No more of those human wave attacks, thank God. Maybe the French put them off.’

  Another gunner saw the puzzled expressions on the Taupo party’s faces and grinned. ‘The Chinese tried a surprise advance a week back, with those bugles of theirs blaring away. So some French infantry guys wound up a couple of air-raid sirens they had and set those screaming. Poor old commies couldn’t tell who was on their side and who was on ours. They ended up running round in circles.’

  ‘Pity you lads haven’t got longer here,’ added the first man. He nodded at where the artillery sergeant stood, talking intently to PO Ralston. ‘The sarge is heading up to the front lines to bring Major Davies back. Couple of you could have gone along for some sightseeing.’

  O’Brien shook his head. ‘Thanks all the same, but we prefer the safe, mine-infested sea. Don’t we, boys?’ This time his elbow nudged Noel in the ribs, and the young sailor turned red. ‘I’m not naming any names,’ O’Brien went on, ‘but we’ve got this real crack shot on board, and he …’

  The meal was over. Russell and Noel had wandered across to where the guns crouched in their sandbag-lined pits. A man with New Zealand artillery shoulder-flashes was doing something to the breech of one gun, and raised a gloved hand to them. ‘Nah, we’re not sissies. Touch any steel with your bare hands when it’s this cold, and you leave skin behind.’

  Russell nodded at the squat metal shape. ‘How far can it fire?’

  The gunner pretended to snap to attention. ‘Sir! Twenty-five pounder Mark II Field Gun, sir! Maximum range 13,400 yards, sir!’

  ‘That’s … that’s almost eight miles!’ Russell felt pleased with his arithmetic. ‘Amazing!’

  The gunner grinned. ‘How about your frigate? What’s she got?’

  ‘One four-inch gun,’ Noel told him. ‘Plus a Bofors and a couple of anti-aircraft machine-guns.’

  The figure in the pit looked thoughtful. ‘Hmmm. In that case, I hope the peace talks are going really well.’

  Russell was trying to think of an equally cheeky reply when PO Ralston called. ‘All right, lads. Time to head back. Let’s be having you!’

  Russell and Noel nodded to the gunner and set off for the lorry. Artillery growled and grumbled again in the distance. The Korean boy … what was his name? Sa-In … was stacking more wood by the cookhouse stove. Russell thought about some of the other refugees he’d seen. The desperate ones at sea; those plodding along the roadsides. He felt differently about them now.

  A dirty olive-green jeep sat by the side of the rutted track. Sergeant Barnett was climbing into it. ‘Thanks, you navy boys!’ he called. ‘We’ll see you again, I hope.’ He looked at Russell and seemed to hesitate, then swung into the driver’s seat.

  A few yards from the jeep, a loud discussion had started up. The Korean truckdriver was pointing at his vehicle, which still had its battered bonnet open. He spread his arms and shook his head at PO Ralston who was peering at the truck’s engine.

  The petty officer didn’t look pleased.

  ‘Sorry, lads. We have a
non-operational truck. Mr Fixit here is doing his best, but it could be a while.’ He turned to the artillery sergeant, who’d got out of his jeep. ‘We might be here overnight.’

  Noel pretended to clutch his head. ‘Not a night on land, sir? Can humans live like that?’

  ‘Might as well make yourself comfortable,’ PO Ralston told them. ‘Don’t go far, though.’ He glared at the lorry. ‘You never can tell – we might have a miracle.’

  They made themselves comfortable, as ordered. Someone brought out a pack of cards. Soon, half the men were hunched around a big wooden pack case, arguing and laughing. The other half sprawled by the stove and talked. Russell heard a giggle, and looked up to see that the little girl – Yong Mee – had arrived. O’Brien was showing her a playing card, making it disappear in his hand, finding it in a pocket, bringing it out again.

  ‘Purchas?’ He started as someone said his name. ‘Boy Seaman Purchas?’

  It was the artillery sergeant. Russell scrambled to his feet. ‘Here, sarge.’

  ‘Been looking for you,’ the man said. ‘Come on, then – you’re coming for a tour of the front line.’

  Sixteen

  The inside of Russell’s mouth felt cold. He realised it was because his jaw was hanging open. PO Ralston, who’d appeared behind the artillery sergeant, laughed. ‘No time to stand around catching flies, Boy Seaman. Get moving. It’s not every day the army runs sightseeing tours. You’ll be back well before we’re ready to go.’ The petty officer gazed grimly at where the Korean driver was still head-down in the engine of his lorry. ‘Looks like that could be a long time. I presume you do want to go?’

  Russell managed to speak. To stammer, at any rate. ‘Yessir. I do, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Excitement welled up inside him. The front line! Nobody else on Taupo had ever been there. That would really be something to tell them – and Graham – about.

  ‘Hurry up, then, Boy Seaman! Over to the jeep. The sergeant’s waiting for you.’ As Russell headed off, Red Watch’s PO called after him. ‘Take your pack, just in case. And your blanket, before anyone steals it.’