Brave Company

by Hill, David

  ‘That right?’ The two men relaxed. So did Sa-In, who had been sitting very still, watching the gun. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

  I’m not sir – began Russell’s mind. But the black American was speaking. ‘We’ll get a medic for you real soon. Here, buddy.’ He pushed a bar of chocolate at Russell, and another at Sa-In.

  The Korean boy bowed, looked longingly at the bar, then thrust it into the pocket of his ripped, stained trousers. Russell knew who he was saving it for. He handed his own bar to Sa-In as well. The other boy began to shake his head, and Russell somehow managed to smile.

  ‘Take it. Remember – I’m sir!’

  The enemy was completely gone. He realised it as he gazed around. The attackers had retreated down the valley and back into their own positions. The firing had almost stopped, too, except for the occasional shell-burst on the far slopes.

  But the ground in front of their trench was torn with craters, smoke still drifting from some. Bodies in light-brown uniforms sprawled all across the churned-up earth. One communist soldier knelt, hands on his head while American troops advanced on him with rifles ready. He was moaning and mumbling: a young, frightened voice. Was he the one who—?

  ‘What did you say to that soldier?’ Russell asked Sa-In. The other boy blinked. ‘Sir?’

  ‘The soldier who was going to shoot us – a few minutes ago. You talked to him and then he went away.’

  Sa-In gazed across the valley. ‘He ask, am I spy? I say no. I say my mother and father is – are gone. Then he say his mother die when bomb hit. Peace soon, he say. I tell him that is good, then he go. Family is much – most special in Korea.’

  Russell was silent. After a few seconds, he said, ‘Special for us, too.’ I’ll tell Mum, he decided. As soon as I can, I’ll tell her the truth about Uncle Trevor.

  Forty … fifty minutes later, the two boys were heading back towards the rough road. ‘Go on,’ the corporal of the American medic unit said, as they finished fixing a splint to Sergeant Barnett’s leg. The man was asleep; a needle in his arm had sent his eyes flickering shut. ‘You’ll get a lift soon enough. We’ll look after your buddy. Could be a while before we can get him to an ambulance, and the commies might start dropping a few shells any time.’

  Russell had found his boots where Sa-In had hurled them. Only one sock, though: he trudged along with the chilled toes of his left foot rubbing inside the leather. Beside him, Sa-In walked slowly in his rough sandals. One hand held his ribs. He looked exhausted. Russell’s shoulder throbbed and his leg ached where the enemy soldier had kicked it. His body felt as though he had been run over by an entire army of tanks. It didn’t matter. He was alive.

  Groups of UN soldiers were moving across the battlefield, checking the fallen communists, leaving some where they lay, bending over others. Russell saw one of them hand a cigarette to a wounded man, lighting it for him while the soldier lay helpless. He remembered the wild courage of the attack, the retreat which followed. What had that enemy said to Sa-In? ‘Peace soon.’ Yeah, thought Russell. I hope so, too.

  The grey-black clouds had lifted, but the icy wind moaned on. Russell wondered if he would ever be warm again.

  He paused, gazed around. Beside him, Sa-In stopped as well. The Korean boy made a noise in his throat, and Russell realised Sa-In was sobbing, shuddering and weeping while he stood with head bowed and shoulders slumped, staring at the frozen ground. Suddenly, Russell began trembling and crying too. He reached out his unhurt arm, rested a hand on Sa-In’s shoulder. The other boy gripped it hard. They stood there, side by side, heads bent, till their gasping had mostly died away. Then, without a word, they trudged on.

  Something – a tank, an armoured personnel carrier – had shoved the smashed jeep to one side of the road. Traffic was already jostling past: jeeps, lorries with men and supplies. Troops were jumping down from vehicles, moving off in all directions. Aircraft snarled overhead. The UN was reclaiming its front line.

  The two boys reached the roadside and stood staring, uncertain what to do. Right then, a jeep skidded to a stop almost beside them. ‘Sa-In?’ went a New Zealand accent. ‘Sa-In, is that you?’

  Russell gaped as he recognised the artillery officer. Major … Major Davies. The man saw him at the same moment, and looked just as amazed. ‘You’re a long way from the water, Boy Seaman.’

  ‘Sir, Major!’ Sa-In’s grimy, blood-smeared face opened in an enormous grin. ‘Oh, sir, the sergeant sir is hurt.’

  There were other men in the jeep also, but Russell was too shaky and exhausted to take in any details. ‘Sergeant Barnett. His leg is broken,’ he managed to say. ‘The Americans are looking after him.’ He told the major what had happened, hearing his voice catch and tremble as he did so.

  The officer turned, spoke to the man beside him, then looked back at the two boys and shook his head. ‘You were in that attack? You guys just can’t stay still, can you?’

  The soldier sitting next to the driver was talking on a radio set. ‘Confirmed that your sergeant will be evacuated as soon as possible, sir,’ he told the major. ‘The Yanks have already contacted Battery HQ.’

  The artillery officer shook his head again. ‘What am I going to do for a sergeant in the meantime?’ He looked at the two boys. ‘Maybe I’ll give you the job, Sa-In. You can do just about anything, I reckon.’

  Russell and Sa-In squeezed into the back of the jeep. ‘Shoulder hurt?’ asked Major Davies. Russell nodded. ‘And Sa-In’s side,’ he said.

  There were two other officers, spotters from different artillery units. They’d all been in a bunker when the attack came, and they’d got back safely to a fortified position. ‘I cannot believe how their soldiers charge,’ said a foreign voice – French? Spanish? The others nodded.

  ‘Your lads are with 16 Field Regiment, aren’t they?’ It took a second for Russell to understand that Major Davies was talking about the supply party. In the chaos and terror of the last hours, he’d almost forgotten them. ‘You know Taupo was there, helping with the bombardment? They were full steam out of harbour as soon as the attack seemed likely. As I say, you navy lads just can’t sit still.’ He grinned at Russell. ‘Sorry you missed the fun.’

  Actually, I didn’t, Russell told himself. And it wasn’t fun. He didn’t know what it was.

  Even though he sat wedged between the major and Sa-In, and the jeep’s canopy was up, he still shook with cold. Every part of his body throbbed. He could almost hear it shaking as the noises of the front lines faded behind them. The only thing he wanted was to crawl into his bunk on board ship, and sleep forever.

  The jeep jolted along, bouncing on the rough side of the road as more lorries and other traffic poured towards the front. Groups of civilians were beside them again, heads down, trudging along. Sa-In would be watching them, yearning for a sight of his parents. But when he glanced sideways, Russell saw that the other boy’s eyes were closed, and he was asleep. A minute later, so was Russell.

  ‘Russ? Hey! Boy Seaman Purchas?’ Voices kept nagging at him. ‘Hey, Russ?’ He tried to turn over, pull the bunk blankets up over his head. His injured shoulder stabbed, and he jerked awake.

  He was in the jeep. Just him and Sa-In, who was also slumped half-asleep, wincing and clutching his ribs as he tried to struggle upright. Major Davies stood by the door; the others were gone.

  Faces stared at him. O’Brien. Noel. Petty Officer Ralston. Others from Taupo’s supply party. Some grinned; some looked worried; some seemed as though they couldn’t believe their eyes.

  The Red Watch PO stepped forwards to help him out, but the tattooed arm of O’Brien got there first. Russell could hardly stand. His legs shook; his head kept wobbling.

  ‘Easy, lad,’ O’Brien went. ‘Take it easy. Suppose you’ll want to be let off rubbish detail now!’

  Someone cried out. The little girl – Yong Mee – came rushing across from the cookhouse to Sa-In. He put one arm around her, closed his eyes for a second. Her voice was high and frightened, and s
he pointed at his battered, bleeding face. As he replied, she went silent. She took a breath and said something else. Sa-In shook his head, and the girl’s face crumpled into tears. Russell knew instantly what they’d been talking about. We’ve both lost someone, he realised. But I’ve been lucky: I found my person again – the real person. I know who my uncle was now.

  The Korean boy took the bars of chocolate that the black soldier had given them, and passed them to his sister. He murmured something, and pointed to Russell. Once again, the small figure trotted over to him and bowed. ‘Sank you,’ she said, through her tears.

  ‘No.’ Russell had to concentrate to speak properly. If it weren’t for O’Brien’s arm still supporting him, he’d probably have fallen over. But he looked at Yong Mee, and he looked at her brother. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘Thank you.’

  He saw only blurred bits of the trip back to the harbour. More arms had helped him across to the lorry – the now-working lorry – then lifted him carefully into the back, laid him down on a bed of blankets and sacks and spread more blankets over him.

  A few times when they stopped, or when some especially noisy vehicle roared past, he jerked half-awake and glimpsed lines of troops marching up towards the front, laden lorries grinding by. The ruined farmhouses and deserted fields slid past. He thought of Sa-In, and of the enemy soldier who’d spared their lives. Had he died in the retreat? The retreat after an attack that had brought … what?

  His shoulder ached, but the pain felt further away. The air was bitter chill, even though the blankets were tucked warmly around him. How strange that all this had happened away from the frigate. He’d wanted so much to prove himself to those on board. But it had all happened somewhere else instead.

  Oh well, he knew now that in his family there always had been a courageous person. Was he another one? He didn’t know. When he was back on board, he’d … he couldn’t remember what it was that he’d do.

  Then he was asleep again.

  Twenty-two

  They’d piped him aboard.

  When the supply party finally arrived back at the harbour, after their slow, stop-start journey on the crowded road, Taupo was tied up to a nearly rebuilt wharf. O’Brien and others helped him out of the lorry, holding him by the elbows as he lurched. ‘You all right, lad?’ PO Ralston asked. ‘They’re ready for you.’

  He hadn’t understood at first. He saw PO Lucas and half a dozen others from Blue Watch, Kingi among them, lined up at the head of the gangway. As he stumbled across the wharf towards the ship, they all came to attention. The petty officer lifted the whistle that hung from a lanyard around his neck, and a series of shrill notes rang out on the cold air. Piping Aboard: it was the formal welcome for visiting or returning senior officers, admirals and commodores and such. Russell stopped. Looked around to see who was coming.

  Nobody. Just him and the supply party. PO Ralston smiled at him. ‘Well, come on, Boy Seaman. You don’t want to keep the navy waiting.’

  He couldn’t believe it was happening. It shouldn’t be. It wasn’t right; he didn’t deserve it. Even as he began to walk – stagger – up the gangway, and saw Captain Moore and Commander Yates arriving to join the others, he expected a hand to push him, and a voice call, ‘Wake up, Russ! Stop dreaming!’

  But it was real. As he neared the frigate’s deck, PO Lucas stopped piping, tucked the whistle away in his tunic pocket, then snapped his right hand up in a salute. The other members of Blue Watch did the same. Captain Moore stepped forwards, saluted also, then shook Russell’s hand.

  ‘Well done, Boy Seaman Purchas. You helped save the life of one of our side. We’re proud of you.’

  Somehow, Russell managed to pull his mind together enough to salute in return. It wasn’t me, he wanted to say. Sa-In was the one who saved him, who saved me, too. But Kingi and the other Blue Watch blokes by the gangway were watching him. Commander Yates was also stepping forwards to shake his hand, and he heard himself mumbling ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’

  He’d done what he’d always dreamed of, he realised. He’d shown the whole ship that he could be brave. Yet … yet it wasn’t really like that. It wasn’t just being a hero and beating the evil commies. Everything was so much more complicated than he’d imagined. He’d have to try and work it out – sometime. Just now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

  He did, all through the night, even though his shoulder, strapped up by Lieutenant Commander Merrill, jabbed through him each time he tried to turn over in his bunk. He got up for breakfast, and listened half-awake as Kingi talked excitedly about how they’d stormed out of harbour at top speed to join the bombardment as soon as news of the attack reached them. ‘Should have realised you were up there, Russ. That’s why the commies tried their advance, eh? To capture someone really important?’

  His head flopped forwards again over his mug of tea. He tried to struggle to his feet as the intercom called ‘Blue Watch on duty’, but a hand stopped him. ‘Not you, Boy Seaman,’ said PO Lucas. ‘We don’t want any sleepwalkers on deck. Don’t worry: the gun turret needs a good clean out after yesterday’s firing, and we’ll save that little job for you. We’ll tie scrubbing brushes to your feet if your shoulder’s still crook. Back to bed in the meantime.’

  Inside three minutes, he was in his bunk and asleep once more.

  They all assembled on deck the next morning. Nobody knew what it was about. ‘Maybe they’re going to promote you to admiral straight away?’ Kingi whispered to Russell.

  Captain Moore appeared, and stood them at ease. ‘Men, I regret to inform you that we’ve just received a signal announcing that His Majesty King George VI is gravely ill in hospital. Fears are held for his life. Caps off while we pray for His Majesty’s recovery.’

  They stood silent, heads bent while the freezing wind blew past. Even a king has battles to fight, Russell thought.

  Two days after that, Russell had recovered enough to be back on light duties. That meant emptying rubbish (one-handed), and a short spell on bow lookout.

  The rest of the crew smiled and nodded, or patted his back when they passed. It made him feel awkward. I don’t deserve it, he wanted to tell them. Buchanan went by once, and Russell heard a sneer. ‘Big hero, eh?’ He said nothing.

  In mid-afternoon, he stood in the bows, wrapped in a new duffle-coat (‘What did you do?’ demanded Quartermaster Katene, as he examined the torn, filthy one. ‘Fire it at the enemy?’), plus gloves, woolly hat and sea boots. Taupo glided through a perfect green sea under a perfect blue sky.

  A perfect and bitterly cold blue sky. Ice hung from rails, rigging, gun barrels. Other members of Blue Watch were chipping it off. ‘When d’you reckon your shoulder will be better?’ complained Noel, as he hacked at one stubborn chunk. ‘I’m sure you’d enjoy this job.’

  Russell grinned. ‘Oh, be about five years till I can help. Or ten, maybe.’

  Christmas was just over a month away. There’d be extra rations for everyone, and extra pay. He was going to send some of his pay to Sa-In and Yong Mee. He didn’t know how, but he’d find a way.

  A hazy low line of coast lay a mile away. Sea and sky were empty and quiet, but he knew now what could be happening behind those quiet hills. The peace talks were dragging on. According to O’Brien, the front between the two sides even included a line painted down the middle of the table in the building where the talks took place. ‘Wonder what happens if somebody’s pen rolls over the line?’ went Kingi. ‘Maybe they open fire on it?’

  It all seemed pretty stupid to Russell. But then, so did war in some ways.

  On his second day back on board, he’d been called to the captain’s cabin, to describe exactly what had happened. He sat in a brown armchair, while Captain Moore sat opposite, smoking a pipe and chatting away as if he was a friend of the family. Russell told him about the jeep ride, the sudden bombardment and the shell that injured Sergeant Barnett, the terrifying enemy attack (his voice began to shake as he described it), how Sa-In had saved them. ‘He was t
he hero, sir. I wasn’t.’

  Taupo’s commanding officer watched him quietly. ‘You would have been if you had to, son. You did well.’ As Russell left the cabin, Captain Moore returned his salute, and said, ‘Your uncle would have been proud of you.’

  Russell remembered the artillery sergeant speaking the same words. He hoped they were both right.

  A call echoed down from the crow’s-nest lookout. ‘Smoke. Bearing 300 degrees. Two miles.’ An acknowledgement came back from the bridge. When Russell raised his binoculars, holding them carefully so they didn’t drag at his bad shoulder, he could see a mast and funnel starting to appear above the horizon, heading in their direction. A warship. The frigate sailed steadily on; the other vessel must already have been identified as friendly.

  Russell lowered the binoculars, and looked around him. He’d had a letter from his mother. One from Graham, too, talking about footie, and the motorbike he was saving for. ‘Hope you’re showing those Koreans what a Kiwi bloke can do,’ his friend had written. Russell knew it had been the other way round.

  He hadn’t replied to Graham yet, but he’d almost finished a letter to his mother. He’d told her about Uncle Trevor – not how he’d heard the truth and where he was at the time; that would only make her feel afraid for him. But he’d said how he knew just what a hero his uncle was, and how proud they could all feel of him. He didn’t say anything about the letter he’d found three years ago: the letter that in some ways had started all this. He didn’t tell her about being caught in the attack or being hurt, either. He didn’t need to.

  The other warship was closing on them fast. A US destroyer, Russell saw now as it sped past, klaxon blaring in salute while the New Zealand frigate replied. He watched the lean grey shape, the curve of foam under its bows, long barrels of guns pointing fore and aft. Beautiful. And deadly. That was war, too.