Brave Company (8 page)

For the next hour, nothing happened. They could hear movement on deck, then the booming clang of the four-inch turret door opening and shutting. A gun crew was in position.

Eight o'clock. ‘Blue Watch report for duty,' the intercom ordered. They clattered up the ladder.

‘Report to stations,' PO Lucas told them. Men peeled off, some heading for the Bofors and the anti-aircraft guns; some for the depth-charge throwers in the stern. Russell, Kingi and the rest of the four-inch crew moved forwards.

Red Watch was still inside the turret, checking gear. PO Ralston and PO Lucas went through the formal
hand-over: gun setting; rounds available; protective gear.

‘All right, lads,' PO Lucas told them then. ‘You can relax outside. No sightseeing. No swimming. No sneaking off for sausages, Leading Hand Patu.' Kingi pretended to look insulted.

The Han River was silent, the water was almost motionless. Russell could see the US frigate back downriver with the destroyer. Both of them lay with their guns trained on the northern shore. Were the communists there? Were
their
guns trained on the three UN warships? Russell swallowed.

Time crawled by. Still nothing moved on land. It was like that first coast with its village, where they'd spotted for the bombarding battleship. Everyone had left. He'd seen them leaving, Russell knew. Even if they weren't from that place or this place, he'd seen them: on the roads, by the wharves, in those shacks of planks and sacks. The boy who'd stolen his blanket – where was he from? If I see him again, Russell vowed, I'll … I'll—

A droning sound high above. He stared up, but the sky was full of hurrying clouds, and he could see nothing. Amazing it could be so windy up there and so calm down here. The droning faded. Planes heading … where? When was something going to happen?

‘What's the time, boss?' yawned Kingi.

PO Lucas checked his watch. ‘0915.' He glanced at
Russell. ‘Stay on your toes, young Purchas.'

I
am
, thought Russell. Why does everybody pick on boy seamen? Aloud, he went ‘Aye, aye, sir.'

A line of smoke puffs showed far inland, like fluffy clouds above the fields. The gun crew stared. Then bells shrilled throughout the ship, and the voice of Commander Yates rasped over the intercom. ‘Action Stations! Action Stations!'

‘Leave the turret door open till we prepare to fire,' PO Lucas ordered. ‘We need to breathe.'

They stood at their posts, flash hoods tucked in belts, canvas gloves on hands.

Outside the doorway the Han River lay dull and thick-looking. Still no sign of life on the land. The line of smoke puffs – bombs? shells? – had thinned and drifted away. Downriver, the destroyer and other frigate sat, guns pointing towards the northern bank.

Russell dragged in a deep breath. His heart was thumping; his back prickled. I'm not afraid, he told himself again. I'm not a coward. The seconds crept past. Then the minutes. The world outside seemed in a trance. Come on! he thought. Make something
happen. I'm not afraid. I'm not—

‘Secure turret!' Captain Moore's voice burst from the intercom. Noel sprang for the door, clashed it shut, then jumped back to his place by the shell-locker. As Russell pulled the heavy flash hood down over his head, he heard someone panting. It was him. He tried to breathe deeply again.

‘Range 2000 yards.' Russell jerked as the captain spoke again, crisp and controlled. ‘Bearing 80 degrees. Prepare to fire.'

‘2000 yards! Bearing 80!' PO Lucas repeated. His hands and Kingi's were already moving on dials and wheel. The four-inch gun swung to the right. 2000 yards, thought Russell. Over a mile. What are we shooting at?

‘Ready!' called the petty officer. Russell opened his mouth; half-shut his eyes.

‘Fire!' He clamped hands to ears.
BLAM!
The slam and boom echoed around the turret. More flecks of paint dropped from the ceiling and walls. Suppose I'll have to paint that sometime, Russell thought. The breech recoiled; Kingi wrenched it open, and the sour smell of burned gunpowder filled Russell's nostrils again.

Already he was doing what he'd practised so often at training, jumping forwards, grabbing the hot shell-case from the floor with his stiff gloves, dropping it
in the metal bin. Noel shoved another round into the breech, and Kingi flicked it shut. They stood poised, except for PO Lucas who hunched again over his dials and gauges.

‘Fire!'
BLAM!
The same booming and slamming. The same recoil and stench of explosive. The same grab for shell-case, and thrust of next round into the breech. Russell heard himself panting again, even under the thick hood. Kingi's and Noel's eyes were slitted with concentration. ‘Fire!'
BLAM!

His ears rang with the noise. His head and his whole body seemed to shudder with each shot. From outside, other guns crashed as well. The enemy? No, the destroyer and second frigate blazing away, too. The world shook and echoed. ‘Fire!'
BLAM!

Russell tried to imagine what it was like where the shells were landing. Were they aiming at railways? At enemy troops? With no warning, the face of the little girl he'd given the handkerchief to was in front of him, dark eyes watching. And the boy, the one who'd made off with his blanket. Thieves and cowards, he told himself again, half-aloud so that that Kingi darted a look at him. I'm – I'm just going to do my job.

‘Fire!'
BLAM!

For another … ten? … fifteen minutes, the turret rang with sound, as shell after shell hurtled inland. The air was foul with the reek of gunpowder. Russell's ears
thrummed so much he could hardly hear the orders over the intercom. His body felt buffeted and bruised from the explosions. His gloved hands shook as he clutched at the shell-casings.

Then – ‘Cease firing! Secure the gun.' As PO Lucas repeated the order, Russell realised the other ships' guns had gone silent also. A different sound rumbled through
Taupo
. The anchors were being hauled up and the frigate began swinging to point her bows back downriver.

‘Captain – doesn't want – to hang around,' grunted Kingi, as he swabbed the breech, then locked it shut. ‘Nasty people might want to start taking potshots back at us.' Noel was already at the door, letting in a glorious waft of fresh, damp air. ‘Muzzle cap on, sir?' he called.

PO Lucas shook his head, as the four-inch's barrel swung back level. ‘Not till Action Stations are over, Johnson. You know that.'

‘Sorry, sir.' Noel looked embarrassed, and Russell felt better about his own mistakes.

They came out of the turret, dragging in lungfuls of air, clutching at the rail as
Taupo
angled to port, foam already building at her bow. Russell stared inland. There was … nothing. Nothing but a pall of dirty black smoke rising then shredding away in the wind that now scudded across the river. Had they hit anything? He didn't know if he wanted them to have
or not. His heart-rate was slowing down, but his body still shook. I did it, he told himself again. I did it. I wasn't scared.

Ahead of them, the American frigate was moving as well, water churning under her stern as the propellers bit, bows pointed towards the open sea. ‘Nobody wants to stay and get shot at,' Noel muttered as they watched. Russell twitched: yes, the enemy had guns, too. How long before … he stared ahead, past their bows, past the other frigate at the still-unmoving destroyer, smoke pouring from its funnel, men on its deck busy at the anchor chains.

‘Put the foot down, boss,' said Kingi, then stopped as PO Lucas emerged from the turret also. ‘Sorry, sir.'

The petty officer nodded. ‘My thoughts also, Leading Hand. Let's get out to sea, pronto.' He glanced at Russell. ‘All right there, young Purchas?'

‘Yessir.' I am, he thought again. I did it. I've shown people.

‘Stay here, lads. We're still on Action Stations.' PO Lucas stared at where the destroyer lay. ‘Come on, you lot. Hurry it up.'

At that moment, the US frigate ahead of them sounded its klaxon. Short bursts, loud and urgent. The destroyer blared back, longer and deeper blasts. As the two smaller warships bore down on it, one behind the other, Russell saw men at the destroyer's stern swinging sledgehammers
at the anchor chain. Something was wrong.

Klaxons bellowed from all three vessels now. The gun crew lurched and nearly fell as
Taupo
went hard astern, slowing and slewing backwards, her whole length shuddering. Ahead of them, the US frigate was heeling over to starboard while it swung past the stationary destroyer.

Russell's breath caught in his throat. Beside him, Kingi began muttering ‘Man, oh man! Man, oh man!' The other frigate curved past the bigger warship with only a ship's length between it and the riverbank.

Now
Taupo
began swinging to port, past the destroyer's other side. Suddenly the big US ship's anchor chain seemed to snap and roar into the water. Its stern swung sideways, straight for
Taupo
.

The first frigate was safely past, steaming back into the middle of the river and towards the sea.
Taupo
surged on, straining to miss the lurching destroyer, heeling still further as shouted orders echoed from the bridge. Russell, hands locked on the rail, saw the other ship's stern looming at them, high above the New Zealand frigate's deck. Men on the destroyer yelled and stared.

For a moment, the two vessels were so close Russell could almost read the names on the other crew's caps. Then
Taupo
was clear, too, the bigger warship behind it and the river channel ahead. On their left, the muddy
bank slid by.

PO Lucas shook his head. ‘Remember that when you're a captain, Boy Seaman. Try not to sink anyone from your own side.'

Russell heard himself give a shaky laugh. ‘I won't, sir. I—'

A yell from a lookout interrupted him. At the same moment,
Taupo
swung violently once more, to starboard this time. A judder under the hull, a dragging lurch like nothing he had ever felt before, that threw them all against the rail. Another lurch, and a grinding, graunching sound. The frigate stopped, clouds of mud and water swirling and bubbling all along its sides. It sat in the water as if gripped in some giant hand.

A mine, Russell thought. We've hit a mine. We're going to sink. He clung to the railing. Again,
Taupo
's klaxon bellowed.

PO Lucas stood peering over the side. Filthy clouds of mud and water still churned along the warship's sides.
Taupo
rose a fraction, tilted slightly sideways, then was still once more.

‘It's a sandbank.' The petty officer's face was grim. ‘We're stuck on a sandbank.'

Taupo
lay unmoving, deck tilted. When Russell looked for'ard, he saw that the starboard side of the frigate was definitely higher; the lifeboats and cutter swung to and fro in their davits. He stared down at the dirty, scarcely flowing river. Was it his imagination, or was the water a darker colour beside the ship where the sandbank must be? The engines had stopped their furious drumming, and throbbed quietly. An eerie near-silence seemed to surround them. All at once, they were helpless. As long as the engines pounded and the ship moved, things had felt safe somehow. Now they were just a target.

‘That flamin' destroyer!' Noel glared at the bigger warship. ‘It's their stupid fault. If they hadn't been in the road like that—'

Russell wasn't listening. Captain Moore and Commander Yates had both come hurrying out of the bridge, and stood peering down at the water where
Taupo
lay. They pointed, turned to gaze at the stern, then strode back to the bridge, labouring up the slant of the deck.

The Blue Watch gun crew jumped as the klaxon blared from the funnel above them: once – twice – three times. A deeper bellow came from the destroyer behind them. The bigger ship was beginning to move, bow swinging out towards the middle of the channel, white water building under it. The other frigate was at least 400 yards away now, heading steadily for the sea.

Russell swallowed, took a deep breath, tried to stay calm. ‘Stay here,' PO Lucas told them, then headed for the bridge, staggering slightly on the angled deck.

‘So what are we going to do now, guys? Have a snooze while everyone makes their minds up?' Noel was trying to sound cheerful, but Russell could hear the tautness in his voice. It made him feel a fraction better; he wasn't the only nervous one.

Kingi stood watching the muddy water as it crawled past. ‘Tide's coming in now. That should help – unless it pushes us further onto the sandbank.'

Right then, the frigate moved. It lurched sideways. Its stern swung. The keel dragged, then stuck.
Taupo
shivered, then was still once more. The starboard side seemed even higher.

Another klaxon burst. The destroyer was edging past, twenty yards or so away. Sailors on its deck stared at the trapped frigate.

‘Don't you lot get stuck,' Kingi muttered. ‘One at a time is enough, thanks.'

Taupo
rose a fraction in the water as the wake from the larger vessel reached them. For half a second, she seemed to float free, then she settled again.

Come on! Russell hardly knew whom he was pleading with, but the words beat inside his head. Come on! We have to get off here. We
have
to!

A half-yell broke from his throat as a crashing and clanging echoed nearby.
Taupo
's anchors roared down into the river. Why? They wanted to get away from here, not stay! What was the captain doing?

‘It's okay, Russ.' Kingi was watching him. ‘We're holding steady till the tide lifts us. Don't want to slide any further onto the sand.'

The land was silent. The smoke from their recent bombardment had gone. Were enemy eyes watching them?' Were guns being pointing at the trapped vessel? Forty … fifty yards ahead, the destroyer had stopped once more. From its bridge, a light flashed and flickered at the frigate. A signal lamp. ‘Hope they're sending us an apology,' grunted O'Brien, who had
arrived beside them. Others were emerging from below as well, holding on as they crossed the sloping deck to peer over the sides.

Kingi nodded towards the destroyer. ‘Reckon they can pull us off?'

O'Brien shrugged. ‘Tricky. They'll have to get really close to fix a cable. Could end up getting caught themselves.'

PO Lucas came hurrying back towards them, grabbing at ventilators and rails to keep himself steady, a whistle in one hand. ‘Port side! Everyone line up on the port side. When you hear the whistle, across to the starboard, quickly! We'll try and rock her free!'

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.