Brave Company (5 page)

O'Brien shrugged. ‘Looking for anything that shouldn't be here. A whale with a sign saying
MADE IN CHINA
; the whole North Korean Navy, going, “Excuse me, do you Kiwis know which way the land is?”' He saw Russell's uncertain expression, and sighed. ‘Look, son, the commies make sneak raids from small boats, or they leave mines in the water and on the beach. They pretend to be refugees or fishermen. We're
here to tell them that they're actually very naughty boys. Okay?'

‘Okay,' Russell mumbled. He didn't ask anything else.

That first night on watch, they saw nothing except the white wash of foam along
Taupo
's sides, and the dark line of land to the west. They heard nothing but the slice of the ship's bows through water, and the occasional low murmur of voices from somewhere on deck.

The second night, there were stars. Northern hemisphere ones that Russell had never seen before, but that he recognised from his navigation training. The square shape of Ursa Major, the Great Bear; the snaking line of Draco the Dragon. If his mother looked outside at home, she'd be seeing such a different sky.

On that second night, they heard something as well: a murmuring drone, high above, coming towards them from the ocean and passing over in the direction of land. Far up in the sky, black shapes crawled in front of the stars.

‘Bombers,' a voice murmured. ‘Keep listening.'

The hum of engines faded. Minutes later, Russell heard the crump of distant explosions, muffled and ugly.

Red or White Watch was on duty for the next four nights. In his bunk, Russell was aware of the warship's
steady back-and-forth patrolling, the gentle heeling over as she turned. But mostly he slept. War is boring, he thought one time, then tried to push that thought away, too.

On the seventh night, they were back on watch. Russell was in the stern, with Kingi this time, both of them huddled in duffle-coats as the wind blew. ‘Boy, oh boy,' whispered Kingi. ‘I'm not looking forwards to winter up here. I wish—'

Feet sprinted towards the bridge from the bow. Hoarse whispers, rasped orders, then
Taupo
's engines beat faster, and the frigate surged forwards. Its searchlight slashed through the darkness, swept back and forth, then fixed on something off the starboard bow.

More orders. More hurrying feet, as gun crews rushed to their positions. The searchlight's glaring beam stayed locked on the object ahead. Russell and Kingi strained their eyes at where it rose and fell on the black sea, trying to make out what it was. Then, as quickly as it had turned on, the searchlight clicked off. From the bridge, Captain Moore's voice spoke, still quiet, but relaxed now. The gun crews began moving back towards their messes.

‘What's—' began Russell. Kingi pointed, and Russell stared at the object drifting past them. The remains of a shattered boat. It looked a similar size to
the other ones they'd seen – how many nights before? But this one was barely afloat; just the bows showed above the water. A bundle of clothes was caught up in the smashed timbers.

Except it wasn't clothes. Peering over the stern, Russell could just make out the shape of flopping arms and legs as the wreckage turned slowly in the frigate's wake. Man or woman? He couldn't tell. Then boat and body were drifting away into blackness. Russell remembered the refugees in the first boat: weeping, pleading, stretching out their arms for help. When he shivered this time, it wasn't just from the cold.

He didn't sleep much after they were stood down. His body felt tired, he kept yawning, but his mind wouldn't rest. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the body, caught in the smashed boat, lolling and lifeless. And even though he didn't want to, he kept thinking of that boatload of refugees. What had happened to them?

‘It's the people who've lost their homes, the refugees, that we're fighting for,' Captain Moore had told the crew after they left Kure. Had that body been someone trying to escape when the armies of the North or South swept through? Imagine being a victim of
both
sides.

But he wasn't going to let these people take his mind off the job, Russell told himself, as he turned over in his narrow bunk, half-listening to the snores and breathing
of the others around him. He had a job to do: to fight the commies, and to prove that someone in his family didn't run away from things.

Taupo
stayed out at sea for another three days, cruising in what seemed to be circles on the dull grey ocean. Rain fell, puddling on the decks, pocking the slow swells as they heaved past. ‘Water, water all around,' Noel complained, as he came stamping down the ladder to the mess in oilskins and sea boots.

For the first time, Russell didn't look forward to being on lookout. Even with binoculars, he couldn't see further than fifty yards in the rain and mist. Water got on the lenses. Water ran down his neck and up his arms under the oilskins. Water crept into his sea boots.

Each day seemed colder than the one before. ‘This is nothing!' someone said in the mess. ‘On
Rotoiti
in the winter, we had to wash the guns out with warm water before we fired, or they'd be iced up and the shell could explode inside the barrel.'

‘And the ice!' another voice added. ‘Icicles everywhere: on the rails, the rigging, the funnel. We had to keep chipping them off in case the ship got top-heavy and looked like capsizing. Down to minus thirty degrees it was. Even worse on land!'

They did PT on deck, one watch at a time, jumping and beating their arms against their sides, running on the spot. It warmed them up for a few minutes. When he wasn't on watch or in the mess, Russell huddled fully clothed in his bunk, all his blankets and his duffle-coat piled on top of him. And this was just the start of November, with the real winter still to come.

He thought of his mother and his friends at home in the New Zealand spring and almost wished he was there. He thought of the people whose village he'd seen in flames and wondered where they were finding shelter now. It's not my problem, he kept telling himself. It's not my problem.

The rain lifted. A pale sun showed, making the decks steam. Another day, and Captain Moore assembled them again on the deck.

‘You're probably getting sick of the sound of my voice. But this war is a messy affair, and I want you to understand what's going on.' He paused, eyes sweeping the rows of duffle-coated figures. ‘Some of you have already seen that this Korean business is very different from World War II.'

Nods from the older men. The captain went on. ‘In that war, we knew exactly who the enemy was. We
knew we were fighting for the British Empire. It's not the same here. This is the United Nations showing it'll come to the aid of any country that needs our help.'

Another pause. ‘Peace talks started nearly five months ago, and you've probably heard how the North Koreans and Chinese are proving difficult to negotiate with. They launch attacks even while they talk peace. So our side is standing firm. We're not giving up ground. We're making it clear we'll fight back.'

Taupo
's crew listened silently. ‘Our next task is landing supplies and ammunition for troops ashore – for our own artillery lads and others. I can't tell you when or where. But we'll select a landing party to take equipment ashore and up towards the front line. In the meantime, keep a sharp lookout as usual. Thank you, Petty Officer Lucas, dismiss the men.'

‘Aye, aye, sir. Crew – atten
shun!
' As the captain saluted and moved off, one thought pulsed in Russell's mind. Choose me. Please choose me!

‘Captain's right about the peace talks being slow,' grunted O'Brien in the mess at lunchtime, as he lifted a forkful of stew and gazed suspiciously at the meat. ‘They reckon the commies brought a whole lot of wooden platforms into the building where they're
meeting, and sat their tables and chairs on them so they were higher than our side. That stopped things for a week, till they sorted it out.'

‘I heard the South Koreans walked out one time because the North put up a flagpole outside that was bigger than theirs,' another seaman said.

Kingi's face was serious. ‘I've got a mate in the artillery. He says the Chinese get up out of their trenches and just charge straight at our guns. Doesn't matter how many our boys shoot down; they keep coming.'

Silence, except for the scrape of knives on metal dishes. It was broken by a cook's voice. ‘There's more stew in the pot. Come on: fill your boots.'

‘Go ahead, Russ.' Noel smiled as they climbed to their feet. ‘If they pick you for the supply party, could be the last decent meal you see for a while. It's just tinned beef and stale bread on land.'

O'Brien snorted. ‘There's less than that for some of the poor sods who live there.'

Russell didn't care what he might or might not be eating. Choose me, he begged again, silently. Choose me!

He wasn't chosen. That afternoon, as Blue Watch was
getting ready to report on deck, O'Brien and Noel and two other seamen were ordered to report to the bridge.

‘Been bad boys?' someone asked when they returned. O'Brien shrugged, and the mermaids on his arms twitched. ‘Never been a bad boy in my life. Nah, they've put us in that supply party.'

Disappointment dragged at Russell. Why hadn't they picked him? The others were joking with O'Brien. ‘Must be your tattoos, eh? If you get captured, the enemy will get fooled into thinking they're a secret code.'

Kingi punched him gently – fairly gently – on the arm. ‘Don't worry, Russ. You'll get your turn.'

It didn't make Russell feel any better. In fact, the next morning after another night sailing in circles out at sea, he felt even more disappointed.
Taupo
began making her way slowly towards shore, where a wide river mouth showed. Other warships were steaming up on either side, or lay moored nearby. Flags flapped in the chill wind: a US destroyer; a British cruiser; South Korean gunboats, with the blue-and-red circle in the middle of their white flag. Merchant ships, too.

Cutters and launches bustled between ships and land, carrying men and supplies. There were wharves, but hardly any vessels tied up at them. When Russell looked harder, he realised the wharves were smashed and buckled, with great gaps where bombs or shells
must have hit. As
Taupo
nosed in, a bridge came into sight further up the river. It was shattered, too, the central section slanting at a crazy angle into the water.

More gunboats patrolled around the merchant ships. One swept close by
Taupo
as she slowed to a stop, the South Korean crew in steel helmets standing by their weapons. They stared at the Kiwi frigate, but there were no smiles or waves.

A rattling roar, and the bow anchor was dropped. The frigate swung slowly around till her stern pointed towards the shore. ‘Tide's coming in,' someone said.

The supply party had already formed up, nine of them altogether, under the command of Red Watch's petty officer. The party included a young seaman – AB Buchanan – only a couple of years older than Russell. Disappointment filled him again.

Boxes of small-arms ammunition were being stacked in the cutter. Medical supplies, rations, other equipment. The petty officer and two others climbed in, and the boat was lowered to the water. Russell saw that all three men carried rifles. ‘Koreans steal anything,' muttered someone, who must have noticed the same thing. Kingi chuckled. ‘Be a brave thief who tries to steal O'Brien.' The tattooed AB snorted and said nothing.

It took nearly an hour and four trips to ferry the supply party and more equipment to shore. A radio set
went with the last load. Each man carried a pack and a blanket, though they were supposed to be back by nightfall. ‘Wouldn't want to be them if they have to sleep on land,' said Kingi. ‘I like my nice warm bunk.' But once again, Russell wished he was going.

He turned to the bridge window from which he was wiping salt spray. Inside, Commander Yates was bent over a chart, while PO Lucas watched the shore. Even though
Taupo
was moored, a seaman stood by the wheel. They and the shore party were doing proper naval things, while he was just a … just a window cleaner. He felt glad that Graham and his other friends back home
couldn't
see him now.

He finished the port side of the bridge, and moved around to the rear windows. He could see the shore from here. Behind the shattered wharves lay blackened remains of buildings. Something – someone – had blasted the town almost out of existence. Then the sun rode out from behind a cloud, and a tall white shape gleamed on a slope above the river: a church or a temple or something, high trees surrounding it. It looked peaceful. It reminded him of hills near home. He—

Russell jumped and almost dropped the bucket of soapy water. Screaming in from the sea, four planes hurtled over
Taupo
, banking to sweep above the broken bridge. Russell glimpsed the white American
star on their wings. Jet fighters! They flashed inland, skimming over the tree-covered hills and the temple, then disappearing from sight. He waited, listening for the thud of bombs or the crackle of gunfire, but there was nothing. He let out his breath.

The cutter was taking a long time to return. Through the window he was rubbing, Russell saw Captain Moore talking quickly on the ship's radio. PO Lucas still watched the shore. Now he said something to
Taupo
's captain.