Brave Company (9 page)

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 believed 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.

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—

He went still. A noise from somewhere ahead: faint but quickly getting louder. A motor. One of the South Korean boats returning?

The bow lookout shouted. O'Brien's voice. ‘Unknown vessel! Bearing 330 degrees. 80 yards!' Almost instantly,
Taupo
's searchlight blazed, its beam sweeping the black sea in front. Russell saw the boat straight away. Not one of the landing craft: longer and differently shaped. More fishermen or refugees?

A signal lamp began flashing from the other craft. At the same moment, someone started hammering on the frigate's funnel.
Whang-whang-whang!
Fast, sharp blows echoed off the metal sides. Who was there?

Then he realised. The lights below weren't from a signal lamp. They were the muzzle flashes of a gun – a machine-gun from the speed of it. Bullets were spraying into
Taupo
's funnel. Now he heard a deeper
whang-whang!
as they hit something else, and the
eeee!
of ricochets hurtling off. He ducked his head.

Taupo
's searchlight flooded the other boat with its glare. Russell could see two groups of figures crouched along its side. A second machine-gun fired; the sound
was like a stick swiped across a corrugated iron roof. Voices shouted from the bridge and the frigate heeled sharply, sending Russell staggering against the stern rails. He glimpsed the Bofors crew swinging their gun towards the enemy vessel.

Blam-blam! Blam-blam-blam! Taupo
's shells sped across the dark sea between the two ships. Russell saw fountains of water erupt in front of the other boat, then a blur as the Bofors' rounds tore into its bow.
BLAM!
The four-inch gun joined in. Part of the enemy vessel seemed to fly in the air suddenly, then shred away in the wind. Russell caught his breath. A direct hit.

The machine-guns from the other boat had stopped firing, but the Bofors kept ripping fragments from the small craft's hull. Things were falling into the sea. No, jumping, not falling. Men, leaping from the doomed ship.
BLAM!
Another round from the four-inch. The enemy vessel lurched sideways in the water.

Taupo
swung to starboard, and Russell saw that the other ship was already settling deeper in the waves. He swallowed as another two figures threw themselves from its side. I'm not scared, he realised. I'm not. We've been fired at again. We've been hit. But I'm not scared.

The frigate's searchlight still gripped the sinking craft. Another shout from the bridge. The Bofors stopped. Into the sudden silence, more orders came. ‘Scrambling nets, port side! Rifle detail, port side!'
Feet pounded. Against the beam of the searchlight, Russell glimpsed silhouettes struggling with two heavy nets at the rails, looping them on and dropping them down the side. Others formed up nearby, rifles at their shoulders, aimed towards the shattered enemy ship and the water near it.

Taupo
had come to a standstill. Russell had been so busy gaping, he hadn't even noticed they'd stopped. The other ship was foundering, steadily, quietly, going down as if drawn from beneath.

There was movement in the sea between it and
Taupo
. Shapes splashed and struggled. The searchlight moved to sweep across the water. Russell glimpsed white faces, arms flailing towards the frigate. Four … five … eight of them, all thrashing towards the ship's side. He remembered what PO Lucas had said about people dying in the freezing water, and he shuddered. ‘Come on!' he heard himself muttering – just as he had when they were the ones in trouble and stuck on the sandbank.

The rifle detail still stood at the rails. Some of them kept aiming at the ruined boat. Others, with weapons half-lowered, watched the desperately struggling figures. Those in charge of the scrambling nets – Kingi was one of them – also stood, gazing down at the icy water.

A seaman near Kingi called out and pointed. The enemy boat was going. Its smashed bows had already
vanished beneath the surface. Now the midships section dipped; the stern rose slightly, stayed poised for three … four seconds, then slid into the blackness.
Taupo
's searchlight moved to show a hatch cover and a few other objects bobbing on the surface. Nothing else.

What had it been doing in the area? Russell wondered. Laying mines? Spying? Waiting to intercept any landing parties? If so, it had got more than it expected.

The splashing figures had almost reached the frigate. But there weren't as many as there'd been two minutes before. Again, Russell imagined the freezing water.

A voice called out from somewhere beneath
Taupo
's side. A frightened, pleading voice, gasping and spluttering. Russell couldn't understand any of the words. Another called as well, further away and weaker. It faded into a choking sound, then stopped. Come on! Russell begged again.

Kingi and the others on the scrambling nets leaned over the rails, urging, ‘Keep coming!' Hands stretched down, clutched and heaved. A dark shape was hauled over and flopped onto the deck. One of the rifle detail aimed his weapon at the figure, then lowered it as the man lay moaning.

A second shape was dragged on board, collapsing beside the first. A third. A pause, and then a fourth. No more. The searchlight swung backwards and forwards
across the empty sea. The sailors at the rails shaded their eyes and peered into the darkness. Nothing.

Two of the figures on deck lay unmoving. One moaned and stirred. The fourth was crying, wailing and weeping helplessly. A young voice, Russell realised. Someone no older than him, by the sound. Kingi was bent over whoever it was, saying, ‘You're all right. You're all right.'

One by one, the survivors were pulled to their feet, and led or carried away. Two were able to walk, more or less. The other two were dragged, arms and legs lolling limply. The crying had died away to a frightened whimpering. They'll be locked up somewhere, Russell knew. Probably in the brig, the frigate's own little jail. The only time he'd ever known it used before was for two stokers who'd drunk too much Japanese beer in Kure.

Taupo
's engines were louder again. The warship was underway, moving further out to sea. Somewhere on the dark coastline behind them, the South Korean landing party was at its deadly work.

Twenty minutes passed. Behind
Taupo
, the land had vanished into the night. A figure came along the deck towards Russell. ‘Anything to report, Boy Seaman?' asked PO Lucas.

‘No, sir.' Russell hesitated. ‘Who were they, sir? What were they doing?'

The PO stood watching the frigate's wake. ‘North Koreans. A patrol boat, by the looks of it. Their bad luck to meet us. Still, at least they didn't meet the blokes going ashore. That would have caused a few problems.'

They were both silent for a few seconds. ‘What's going to happen to them, sir?' Russell asked.

To his surprise, the petty officer chuckled. ‘Well, at the moment, they're having mugs of tea. They wouldn't touch it at first – maybe they've drunk navy tea before. No, I imagine they've been told all sorts of stories about how we'll poison them.' He chuckled again. ‘So finally PO Ralston drank a mug in front of them, and that made it all right. Now they're turning into tea addicts.'

He nodded at Russell. ‘Don't worry, lad. There'll be some left for you. You'll be off watch in another ten minutes.'

Another nod, another salute from Russell, and he was gone, back along the deck.

As he stamped his feet and swung his arms once again, Russell thought of that scared young voice crying. He felt glad the boy was all right. But most of all, he felt grateful. This time,
he
hadn't been afraid. Commander Yates was right: everyone was frightened sometimes. But that was still no excuse for them to run away, was it?