Ice Brothers (61 page)

Paul continued to the
Arluk
. Nathan met him in the pilothouse. “Skipper, I want to move the dead ashore right away. I've got them in the wardroom.”

“The old Dane is coming here. I'll make arrangements.”

“One of the Eskies told me they have a place to put the dead until they can dig graves. They even have a special dog sled for a hearse. They've gone to get it.”

“Fine. Move the dead off as soon as you can.”

Paul went to his cabin. He was chilled to the bone and his talk with Brit had left him even more tense than his dealing with the prisoners. From a drawer under the desk he took a pint of apricot brandy that he had found hidden under the mattress. He had already opened it when he was hit by the thought that he needed it too much. A man who wouldn't drink while he was playing cards had no right to touch alcohol while dealing with life and death. He poured the brandy down his sink and went to the forecastle for coffee.

The men were playing checkers again as though nothing whatsoever had happened. Two of the German wounded were watching the tournament, despite assorted bandages. Christ, even here we've got unguarded prisoners, Paul thought, and ran to the bridge. Nathan was not there. “He's in the wardroom,” Flags said.

Nathan sat imperturbably writing at the wardroom table. Two bodies wrapped entirely in blankets lay crowded together like a companionable couple in the forward starboard bunk, one in the after one.

“I'm just putting their names and serial numbers in the log,” Nathan said. “Sparks was a Catholic and Blake was a Baptist. I don't know what the German was—not a Jew, I presume. Do you want to hold services?”

“They have a church in there,” Paul said. “They must have a minister. I suppose we should have a service of some kind.” Pulling himself back to what seemed more important matters, he said, “I want to get the Kraut wounded off of here right now.”

“How about our own wounded?”

“They have a dispensary up there. Check into that, but I want the Kraut wounded under guard. Christ, they're sitting up there watching the men play checkers.”

“I don't think there's much fight in them,” Nathan said.

“How the hell can you be sure? They could blow up this whole ship. Bring them up there to Boats and let him tie them up with the others.”

“One of them is pretty bad hurt, skipper.”

“I can't assign all my men to guard duty. Do you want to take chances?”

“No, you're right. I'll take care of them.”

Flags appeared at the companionway. “Captain, a Dane is here to see you, a Mr. Swanson.”

“Show him to my cabin,” Paul said and hurried there.

Swanson climbed the steps to the pilothouse with difficulty. A fat old man who wore several sweaters under a rumpled blue greatcoat, he stood as straight as he could near the ship's wheel. Everything about him drooped—his mustache, his triple chins and his belly. A defrocked Santa Claus, he still managed to achieve the dignity of suffering.

“You wanted to see me, captain,” he said in his strong Danish accent.

“I want to get a few things straight,” Paul said without bothering to ask him into his cabin. “First of all you're a traitor to your own government and an enemy of mine. You knew the Germans had a base just up the coast and you didn't tell me.”

“I'm sure that's the way the world will judge me.” His voice was flat, beyond emotion.

“Secondly, I am taking charge of this whole area. You have no more authority. My guns say that now. We'll let our governments argue about it later.”

“My own government has already told me nearly that.”

“Will the Eskimos do what you tell them to?”

“The Eskimos are free, perhaps the last free men on earth.”

“They won't stay free long if you don't help me fight the Germans. Are they working for them?”

“We have tried to make the Eskimos hate the Germans. It is hard for them to understand. There isn't really a word for hate in their language.”

“Do they know that the Germans gunned down the survivors of the
Nanmak?
”

“We got that news on our radio. I'm not sure that the Eskimos believe it. I'm not sure they believe anything we hear on the radio these days. Who could believe it all? The Eskimos just like the radio for music.”

Shouts and the snarling of dogs on the wharf interrupted the old man. Looking out the pilothouse window, Paul saw an astonishing spectacle. A fan-shaped team of dogs was towing a long black sled with black strips of cloth streaming like plumes from short staffs on each corner. The dogs were fighting with each other, and an Eskimo with a short-handled whip was lashing and shouting them into order.

“Those are young dogs,” Swanson said. “Peomeenie took the trained ones.”

“Do they always use that thing for funerals here?”

“Yes. The Eskimos are very good at funerals. We have had a great many lately. Measles took nineteen adults and eight children last spring. Perhaps the Germans brought it.”

German measles, Paul thought, but he said nothing. He watched while the men of the
Arluk
carried the three blanket-shrouded bodies to the sled. The Eskimos tied them in place and the driver cracked his whip over the dogs. They set off at a run and three Eskimos rushed to hold them to a dignified pace. Soon they disappeared into the swirling snow. Almost immediately Nathan appeared on the well deck, pistol in hand. He and two armed seamen helped the German wounded to the wharf and marched them toward the village. When one of them fell, a seaman helped him up, put his arm around his waist and walked beside him like a lover.

“Do you have a doctor here?” Paul asked.

“Only a nurse. She is old and not very well, but good as most doctors.”

“How many beds do you have in your dispensary?”

“Six with twelve more mattresses for emergencies.”

“I'll send my four wounded there right away, maybe five. Your nurse can check the wounded Germans. They're with the other prisoners.”

“I'll tell her.”

“Have the Eskimos make the island you have for contagious diseases ready for about twenty-five prisoners. You have huts out there with stoves?”

“Yes.”

“Will they hold twenty-five?”

“They have accommodated more than that, I am afraid.”

“Can you get them ready tonight, now?”

“The Eskimos can. Perhaps I shall tell them that the Germans have an infectious disease. Then they will understand and move fast.”

“Do you have a minister who can give a funeral service tomorrow?”

“I am a minister. What time?”

“About noon. We'll bury two Americans and one German, Protestant and Catholic. I don't care how you handle it.”

“How many will attend? Your whole crew? The prisoners?”

“A third of my crew and one witness from the prisoners. I'm not going to have them making a break in the church.”

“The church will be big enough then.”

There was the sound of many dogs barking in the direction of the village. Soon an Eskimo came running to the ship. He called from the wharf in his language and Swanson went to the bridge to answer. They talked for about a minute before Swanson returned to the pilothouse.

“Peomeenie has returned,” he said. “He caught the German lieutenant. The man is nearly frozen to death. They're taking him to the dispensary.”

“The hell with that. I can't stand guard in two places. Tell your man to put him with the other prisoners. Your nurse can tell my guards how to take care of him.”

“He may die, captain. Cases of severe exposure need skilled care.”

“It was his idea to try to escape. Go up and have him put with the other prisoners now. My men will check on him in a few minutes.”

“Yes, captain. Is that all?”

“One more thing. I hear you're afraid of what the Germans will do to your people when we leave.”

“I am very much afraid of that.”

“Don't be. I promise you that when I leave, not one German will be alive anywhere near here. You can count on that.”

“How can you stop more from coming?”

“We'll have more and more ships patrolling this coast and more planes. The Germans will get so much kicked out of them at home before long they'll forget about Greenland. Don't you know that we're winning the war?”

“Yes, I suppose you are, but the Germans are a very resourceful, determined people. They can do a lot more killing.”

“So can we,” Paul said.

CHAPTER 41

The snow looked as though it would never let up. Because the blizzard sheltered him from any possible attack, either from the sea or air, Paul was glad. He wanted to get all the prisoners moved to the island and the funeral services over with before anchoring the
Arluk
in a safer place.

An Eskimo used the Danes' big launch to help the whaleboat ferry the prisoners to the island. Paul let Nathan supervise the operation with the help of a dozen armed guards. Shortly after nine in the morning, Nathan knocked on Paul's door to announce that the transfer of the prisoners had been completed.

“Did they give you any trouble?” Paul asked.

“No sir,” Nathan replied, his face grim. “For some reason they seem afraid of me.”

Guns came in. The big black-bearded man was wearing only a parka and boots with no pants in between. Since Nathan had taken him to the dispensary only a short time ago, he looked at him in astonishment.

“Guns, what are you doing back here?” Nathan asked.

“I belong here,” Guns replied. “Why did you take me up there with all those sick people? Why have you been doping me up? You've got me so I don't know what I'm doing.”

“I've just been trying to help you get some rest.”

“I don't need no rest. Where are we? Is this Angmagssalik?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“What are we doing here? Why don't we go in after the Krauts?”

“We will as soon as we get organized,” Paul said.

“I want to go in after them,” Guns said.

“You'll have your chance,” Paul said.

“I want a head,” Guns said.

“A head?” Nathan repeated.

“Cookie said he'd let me boil it. I'm going to clean up the skull and send it to Blake's mother.”

“I'm not really sure she'd appreciate that,” Nathan said.

“She'll appreciate it. I'm going to make it into a lamp. Chief Banes is going to help me.”

“Well,” Paul said, “you can't do much about it now. You better put on your pants or get into your bunk before you freeze your legs.”

“Cookie is going to save me an olive jar,” Guns continued. “When he does, can I get some alcohol from the medicine chest? I'm going to get me a Kraut prick. That's what I want for my own war souvenir.”

“Guns, some Kraut will be putting your prick into a jar if you don't take care of yourself,” Paul said. “Go to your bunk. If I see you out of uniform again, I'll send you back to the dispensary.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Guns said. “Don't worry about me, captain, I'll take care of myself. Just take me where I can get me some Krauts.” He went back to the forecastle.

“Do you think we should lock him up?” Nathan asked.

Paul shrugged. “The old Norsemen drank from the skulls of their enemies. Haven't you ever said ‘Skoal!' when you touched glasses? That means skull.”

“You follow your ancestral customs and I'll follow mine,” Nathan said.

“Maybe that's not such a bad idea. A cold beer from the polished skull of the captain of that hunter-killer might taste pretty good.”

“Are you going to ask Cookie to save you an olive jar?”

“Just remember that they'll jump you if they get a chance. Remember how the Krauts treat prisoners.”

“You don't have to ask me to remember that,” Nathan said softly. “There's no mercy in me at all, no forgiveness. I can't find a trace. That's what scares me, what if everybody on both sides is like this?”

“You better get some sleep. How long has it been since you've had eight hours?”

“I don't seem to need much sleep anymore. That nurse up there is going to clean out the wounds of the men, and I want to see if she knows what she's doing.”

When Nathan left, Paul stretched out on his bunk. His watch told him it was a little before ten o'clock. It was dark outside. The long nights made it as difficult to keep track of time as had the endless days of summer. It took concentration to figure out that it was ten in the morning. Paul asked the quartermaster to call him in time for the funeral services and slipped into a deep sleep during which he dreamed of Mowrey coming back and court-martialing everybody, starting with him.

Paul was so exhausted that he found it almost impossible to get up in time for the funeral services. Let the dead bury the dead, he thought, but the crew might be upset if he did not show up, and anyway, there were many more plans he had to set in motion before getting a real rest. After taking a shower, putting on his cleanest uniform and gulping a cup of black coffee, he hurried through the snow to the church.

The chapel was so small and simply constructed that inside it reminded Paul of a tourist cabin. By the time he arrived it was already filled by all those men from the
Arluk
who were not on watch or on guard duty, a tall young prisoner who could tell the other Germans that their shipmate had had a proper funeral, his guard, who carried a .45 at his pistol belt, several old Danes and a dozen Eskimos in their furs. The heat from all these bodies and a coal stove near the altar made the room stifling, and there was a pungent, unidentifiable smell. A row of seamen squeezed together on a pew made of rough planks to make room for Paul. Glancing around he saw Brit. She was wearing the green skirt and reindeer sweater he remembered, probably her only good European clothes, and she sat leaning forward in prayer, her eyes closed. Almost as soon as Paul sat down, Swanson walked to a simple lectern. He was dressed in a black clerical robe. With his portly figure, heavy face and white hair, he looked more like a judge than a minister. Clearing his throat, he began the service in his strongly accented but correct English.