Brave Company (7 page)

The soldiers glared, but lowered their guns. PO Ralston, still going ‘Kiwi. United Nations. New Zealand', led Russell away.
Taupo
's boy seaman realised he was shaking.

‘Where's your brains, lad!' the petty officer hissed. ‘There could have been anyone waiting down that alley. Those blokes were just stopping you for your own good.'

‘He stole my blanket, sir,' Russell heard himself babbling as they reached the rest of the supply party. ‘I saw him. He stole it.'

‘I know.' The PO nodded. ‘No need to make a song and dance about it. It's not your fault.'

O'Brien, thick tattooed arms folded, was gazing at the alley where the boy had disappeared. ‘Not his fault, either,' he muttered.

They're thieves, Russell told himself as he waited to climb down into the cutter. Thieves who steal and run away. Cowards who won't stand and fight. No wonder my uncle ended up hiding among people like them.

Russell had to fill in three forms next morning about his stolen blanket. ‘The navy likes to have
blanket
coverage,' joked Quartermaster Katene.

Taupo
was already well out to sea. They'd weighed anchor as soon as the supply party returned. Once again, they seemed to be steaming in circles. Once again, they'd had first aid training: how to take a person's pulse; how to make someone start breathing again by laying them on their front, then pressing over and over again on their back. And once again, Russell was scraping off old paint, this time from the davits where lifeboats hung.

It was cold. Even inside the work gloves the quartermaster had issued him, his hands felt chilled. Blue Watch had all worn jerseys when they did PT
on deck earlier, and now Russell was wearing heavy trousers, woollen singlet, woollen shirt, woollen jersey, woollen hat. He scraped at the flaking white paint as hard as he could, to try and stay warm.

A pale mist lay on the sea, where slow swells kept the frigate lifting and dropping. It looked like smoke, almost as if the ocean was on fire.

‘Water's warmer than the air, lad,' PO Lucas said as he passed. ‘So it gives off steam, just like when you breathe.' Russell brushed away a speck of paint that landed on his cheek, went to flick another from his nose, then stopped. It wasn't paint. Thin flecks of snow were drifting down, melting as soon as they settled on the deck.

He gazed at the tiny shapes as they spiralled towards the grey sea. This was amazing! But by the time his watch ended two hours later, the thin snow had changed to thin rain, and he was glad to get below.

Snow and rain were both gone by the next morning. The mist wasn't. Nor was the cold. All over the ship, men stamped feet and thumped hands together as they moved around. The ocean swells were deeper and slower. ‘Bad weather coming,' muttered O'Brien.

Blue Watch went on duty just after lunch. ‘Boy
Seaman Purchas?' called PO Lucas. ‘Lookout. Crow's-nest. Look lively, there.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

As he climbed the ladder that took him up the mast, Russell knew
Taupo
was moving differently – not just rising and dipping, but starting to pitch from side to side as the swells swung past. Just as well he never got seasick: there were sailors on the frigate who ended up spewing over the rails every time the sea got rough.

He'd just reached the crow's-nest when Commander Yates called. ‘Purchas? We're expecting company soon. An aircraft carrier and a few others. Don't worry: they're friendly ones. Keep your eyes peeled.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

Russell still felt ashamed when he thought of how he'd forgotten to call down his report while he watched that village burn nearly two weeks back. He wasn't going to make that mistake again. He lifted his binoculars.

Just ten minutes later, he saw it. A grey shape sliding out of the thinning mist on the port bow. A frigate, almost the same as
Taupo
. The number 98 on its funnel, in huge black letters.

‘Frigate! 320 degrees, 500 yards.' To his pleasure, his voice rang out a full second ahead of the bow lookout. An answering hail came from the bridge.

Another three minutes; another shape. Larger this
time, lean and powerful. A destroyer. No sign of the aircraft carrier. Where—?

The mist on the starboard side darkened. A great grey wall seemed to form. Even as Russell opened his mouth, the carrier emerged, its superstructure of masts and bridge appearing suddenly, then the enormous slab of hull. It was still a hundred yards away, yet it seemed to loom over
Taupo
and the others. How could anyone ever fight that? Russell wondered.

The three US ships and
Taupo
slowed till they were almost stationary. The white curves of foam at their bows died away, and they stopped. Russell could feel the frigate's engines still throbbing.

‘Cutter!' a voice called.

Russell gazed down at where the small launch was already being readied on its davits. A figure strode across the deck towards it, and the cutter's crew snapped to attention. Captain Moore, in full uniform, shoulder epaulettes gleaming gold, medal ribbons, braided cap level on his head, climbed aboard. Thirty seconds later, the cutter was heading in a curve towards the huge wall of the aircraft carrier. Launches from the other two warships were doing the same.

At the end of Russell's watch in the crow's-nest the cutter still hadn't returned. ‘What are they doing over there?' Russell asked as he headed below.

Kingi grinned. ‘Well, Russ, if we wait just a couple
of years till they make you an admiral, you'll be able to tell us.'

By the time Blue Watch went for dinner, the cutter still hadn't returned. The rain had.

Russell heard the clanking of davits and the whirring of cables as he lay on his bunk writing to his mother. (He'd told her about taking supplies to the artillery; he'd begun telling her about the sergeant who seemed to know him, then for some reason he screwed that page up.) They must have had a lot to talk about on the carrier, he thought. I wonder what it's like to be on something that huge. Be amazing to see the planes take off and land.

He'd just finished the letter when bells rang distantly, down in the engine room, and
Taupo
began to move. He jumped as the intercom on the wall crackled.

‘This is your captain speaking.' Russell realised he'd come to attention where he lay on his bunk. He glanced sideways, hoping nobody had seen him. They were all listening to the intercom. Phew.

‘It's late and it's raining, so I'm not calling a muster,' Captain Moore went on. ‘I want you to know that we're starting a different kind of mission.' Kingi's words about ‘just one weird thing after another' flicked into
Russell's mind for a moment, then he concentrated. ‘We'll be entering the estuary of the Han River soon after daybreak. There are enemy forces north of the river; we and other UN ships and aircraft will be engaging them. It's another chance to show what we can do, and I know you'll be on your toes. That's all.'

Russell slept. He hadn't expected to; he'd felt sure the thought of the next day would keep him awake. But just a few minutes after Kingi had started to snore (‘I don't
snore!
I just sing in my sleep!'), he'd heard himself breathing regularly as well. Some time after that, he woke briefly to feel himself pressed against the side of his bunk as
Taupo
came around onto a new course. Voices called on deck; feet moved. They must have full lookouts up there still, Russell decided. He tried to listen, see if he could work out where they were heading, but his blankets were too warm.

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.'