Ice Brothers

by Sloan Wilson

  Paul’s voice sounded reasonably calm when he called “Fire! Fire stations!”

  Guns took the nozzle of a hose and started to scramble up a ladder to the flying bridge, followed by a half dozen seamen. Paul was still not sure what had happened, except that somehow they had been suckered and the German had escaped to its base. There was a lot of running and shouting on the decks. Nathan said, “We have a lot of men hurt. I’ll see to them.” He was just leaving the pilothouse when Paul heard a roaring scream from the flying bridge, which he would never forget. Nathan scrambled up the ladder toward it, followed by Paul. Flames in the middle of the deck there were dying under spray from two hoses. In their ruddy glare Guns stood holding a body that was almost decapitated, and which was gushing blood. From the slender size of the body, Paul guessed it was Blake who had been hit by machine-gun fire. Hugging this corpse against his chest with one gigantic right arm, Guns pushed by Paul and somehow carried it down the ladder. Cradling it in both arms he dashed across the well deck toward the forecastle. Moving almost as fast, Nathan followed him.

  After making sure that the fire was under control, Paul also went to the forecastle, which was now crowded with men. Guns had stretched Blake’s body on the big V-shaped table. His own parka drenched with blood, he stood leaning over the boy’s head, apparently looking for a face. When anyone else tried to come near, Guns emitted a roar and shoved him aside.

  “There’s more wounded in the wardroom,” Nathan said to Paul. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Still in a daze, Paul walked to the wardroom. Flags was ripping up a sheet and binding the upper arm of the quartermaster. Other men lay in the bunks.

  “How many wounded here?” Paul asked.

  “Four sir,” Flags said. “They’re not too bad, but Sparks is dead. They got him right in the radio shack.”

  Paul went to the radio shack. Its starboard bulkhead had been perforated by machine-gun bullets. Sparks sat with his hand resting on his desk, his earphones still on. His chest dripped blood. Methodically, Paul felt his wrist. There was no pulse. Feeling lightheaded, he went to the pilothouse.

  Chief Banes stood there and that was very odd because the old machinist never came to the bridge. “Two dead and six wounded, captain,” he said. “I took a count.”

  “Thank you, chief.”

  “The fire’s out and the ship’s ready to get under way.”

  “Thank you, chief.”

  Paul stared into the hood of the radar. Nothing moved, to the north or anywhere. The illusion that he had been surrounded by ships lost its sense of reality. There had been two explosions to the north, but no shells or machine-gun fire had come from that direction. Paul sat on his stool near the wheel. Gradually his mind cleared. Apparently the German had created a diversion to the north of the Arluk, maybe by leaving explosives with time fuses on the ice set to explode while he dashed in from the east, or maybe with a small boat. Paul had been suckered, like a man with a gun who had been told by his prey to look behind him. At least, that seemed the most likely explanation. Only one thing was sure: the Krauts had clobbered the Arluk and had made it to their base, but the old trawler was still afloat and could fight again. Right now he ached to get to sea, away from the situation he still was not sure he understood. The ship’s immediate need was a safe place where she could lick her wounds.

  “Is there anyone in the engineroom, chief?” Paul asked Baines.

  “I got my first class down there.”

  “You take the telegraph and I’ll take the helm. I want to get out of here. Ahead slow.”

  Paul steered due east. As soon as he came to a good lead, he followed it slowly into the slanting snow. He started to call Sparks to the radar, but realized that Sparks was dead.

  “Chief, you take the helm,” he said, and studied the radar screen himself. The lead circled north and seemed to show the way to an ice sound that probably was connected to the open sea. No noise but the steady beat of the engine and the howl of the wind could be heard as the Arluk beat her retreat.

  Paul had just worked the Arluk free of the ice when Nathan came to the pilothouse. His tan parka was covered with dark stains.

  “Are we going to Angmagssalik?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Paul said, though he had been more intent on making his ship hard to find than on going anywhere.

  “How long will it be?”

  “About three hours.”

  “What kind of medical facilities do they have there?”

  “Damn little, but they must have some kind of equipment.”

  “We’ve got two men with bullet fragments and all kinds of crap in their wounds. Guns is off his rocker. I’ve knocked him out with morphine. Maybe he’ll be all right when he wakes up.”

  “Sparks is dead,” Paul said.

  “They told me. We should get rid of the dead as soon as possible. The prisoner with the bad burns died in the middle of all this.”

  “Do you want to bury them at sea?”

  “I don’t think anybody’s up to that right now,” Nathan said. “We can just put them ashore when we get in.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Nathan, I’m sorry,” Paul said. “They suckered me.”

  “Nobody blames you. As far as that goes, I was no great help. I didn’t know what in hell was happening.”

  “I’m still not sure.”

  “I think I heard an outboard out there,” Nathan said. “I thought I was imagining it.”

  “Any damn skiff could have worked around us and set off some dynamite.”

  “They’re clever! I have to hand them that.”

  “But not too clever,” Paul said. “They could have finished us off with torpedoes or just with gunfire. They’ll find that was a bad mistake.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “No heroics. There was a minute there when I thought of charging right after him into his fjord. We won’t fight that way.”

  “All we have to do is call in the planes when the weather clears.”

  “I doubt if it’s going to be that easy. If they can hide a base they can hide a ship that small. Our first job is to get somebody in there who can see what they’ve got, and exactly where. That fjord is about thirty miles long. They won’t send bombers until we can pinpoint a target for them.”

  “I’ll go,” Nathan said. “Just put me ashore.”

  “I need you here. Anyway what the hell do you know about walking around in the goddamn Arctic?”

  “I can learn.”

  “No doubt, but frankly I’d rather send an Eskie if I can find one I can trust. Maybe an Eskie with one of our men, if we can find an athlete.”

  “I can walk.”

  “I got work for you here. Can you make mines out of depth charges that you can explode by radio?”

  “Yes. I’ve already worked that out.”

  “If we’re going to hang around Angmagssalik waiting for scouts and air raids, the smart Kraut might come in after us to try to finish his job. The chart shows a small shallow bay near the head of the fjord. There’d be too much ice moving with the tide for contact mines, but we could lay depth charges on the bottom if you could set them off at will.”

  “No problem.”

  “We’ll lie inside a screen of charges and hope he comes after us. His only choice will be that or waiting for the planes in his damned base.”

  “You think the planes can wipe out the whole base?” Nathan asked.

  “Maybe … if we can pinpoint it for them.”

  “In Europe they bomb the hell out of cities, but they don’t kill everybody. The Krauts could go underground or beat it out to the hills. After the planes have left, they could rebuild.”

  “So we’ll move in and mop up after the planes get done,” Paul said. “I have an idea that our men are about ready for an operation like that.”

  “It could be rough,” Nathan said. “The planes can blow up buildings, but not many trained troops.”

  “
I promise you this,” Paul said, “they won’t sucker me again.” He hoped they weren’t famous last words.

  CHAPTER 40

  After about an hour, the snow let up a little, and with the help of radar, Paul guided the Arluk into Angmagssalik Fjord. The wind whistled through the rock canyons there even worse than at sea. The snow from the sky was mixed with that blown from shore. In such conditions Paul did not fear immediate enemy attack. As he crept closer to the wharf, he could see the Arluk’s whaleboat moored alongside the Danes’ heavy launch. No people were in sight and the red wooden cottages, now standing in deep snow, looked like a deserted village except for dark smoke from their chimneys and a few dimly lit windows.

  “Maybe the Danes are hoping we are,” Paul replied. “I said. “Hell, we could be the damned German.”

  “They probably don’t even know we’re here,” Nathan was going to anchor, but it doesn’t look like any boat is going to come out for us. We can unload the wounded easier if we go alongside the wharf.”

  As the ship slowly approached the granite pier, about twenty Eskimos came running from the village. Perhaps they had been waiting to make sure of the nationality of the ship emerging through the snowstorm, Paul thought, but their round copper-colored faces were smiling as they caught the heaving lines. One figure in a fur parka who was taller than the rest hauled in the heavy bow line, and expertly made it fast to a bollard. As he jumped aboard Paul was surprised to see that it was Boats. His gaunt face was not smiling, and his expression of anger turned to astonishment when he saw the lines of splintered holes and smashed ports left by the machine-gun bullets. Running to the pilothouse, he said, “Christ, skipper, what happened to you?”

  “We got jumped. Two dead and six wounded. Are the prisoners under control?”

  “They are now, but the lieutenant escaped.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I wanted to tie them all up before we let them get out of their boat, but Mr. Williams and Mr. Farmer wouldn’t let me. The Danes and a bunch of Eskies just surrounded us while we were trying to find a place for them. In all the confusion, the lieutenant just slipped away. We didn’t even find it out until we got them inside and I took a head count.”

  Suddenly Paul imagined how old Mowrey would react to this news, to reports of his encounter with the Germans. “Jesus, I told you you’d fuck up!”

  “Maybe it isn’t too bad,” Nathan said. “Where the hell can he go?”

  “Back to his base,” Paul said grimly. “Probably with plenty of help.”

  “The Danes sent an Eskie after him,” Boats said. “They think he’ll find him.”

  “I bet. Where the hell are Mr. Williams and Mr. Farmer?”

  “Mr. Williams is standing guard. He’s pretty sore at me. Mr. Farmer is sick. The Danes think he had a heart attack.”

  “Show me where the prisoners are.”

  Leaving the ship in charge of Nathan, Paul put on his pistol belt, checked his automatic and walked with Boats toward the house to which Brit had taken him. As they passed the little ketch on the ways, Paul saw that the snow had been shoveled off her deck and smoke rose from the Charlie Noble which vented her galley range.

  “Mr. Williams is mad as hell with me because I said I couldn’t take responsibility for the prisoners if he didn’t let me tie up both their hands and their feet,” Boats shouted above the wind. “He wouldn’t even have tied up their hands if Mr. Farmer hadn’t taken my side. Christ, there’s no place to put the damned people here. They could smash their way right out of that house. Mr. Williams won’t even let me lash their wrists real tight. When I said me and my men couldn’t take responsibility, he took over the whole guarding operation himself.”

  Paul said nothing. The snow and wind cut his face as they trudged through knee-deep snow toward the village.

  Harley, a tall thin seaman so self-effacing that Paul had hardly been aware he was aboard the ship, was standing or rather sitting guard in the tiny vestibule of the house which Paul had visited with Brit. He was slumped on a bench under a row of parkas smoking a cigarette with his automatic rifle propped against his knees. Seeing his commanding officer, he stood up, grabbing the rifle just before it fell.

  “Don’t sit down when you are on guard duty, damn it!”

  Without more comment, Paul entered the livingroom of the house. It was a memorable sight. Twenty-three men were crammed together. About half stood and half sprawled on the floor. All had their wrists bound. On a chair in a corner by the stove, Williams sat like a host, except that he was gesturing with his pistol as he talked. When Paul came in there was an instant of silence, followed by complaints in German from everyone. Their wrist bindings hurt. There were no beds. The one toilet was stopped up. Two men shouted that they were sick. Above this din Williams shouted, “Skipper! Thank God you’re here!”

  “Silence!” Paul bellowed in German, but there was only a short lull before the voices rose again. Williams stood up and kept yelling in English for quiet. His high, piercing voice was drowned in the uproar. Pushing toward him, Paul grabbed his chair. Raising it high above his head, he brought it down on the floor so hard that it broke. The splintering crash produced a sudden hush.

  “When I say silence I want silence,” Paul said in German. “If you can’t keep quiet, I’m going to put the stove out and see if the cold can shut you up.”

  The Germans stared at him, their faces stolid. The youngest looked about seventeen, the oldest about fifty. They could have been the crew of another American trawler.

  “Boats, you take charge here,” Paul said. “If one man speaks, shut down the drafts of the stove and open the door. Make sure you stand guard in it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Come with me,” Paul said to Williams and led the way to a tiny kitchen adjoining the main room. As soon as he shut the door, he turned to the ensign and said, “Those men could rush you any second. You’ve let the lieutenant escape. This is the worst fuck-up I ever saw.”

  “Sir, they don’t want to escape. Where the hell would they go? The lieutenant was crazy. If he’s not dead by now, the Eskies will bring him back.”

  “Maybe, but I want them hog-tied. I want them bound hand and foot until I find a better place to keep them.”

  “Sir, you can’t do that. Where the hell are they going to run to?”

  “How do you know who might help them? Maybe that Eskie who went after the lieutenant is showing him the way to his base right now. They could take over this whole damn village if you give them a chance to think it out. Where are the rest of your guards?”

  “I’ve got two men posted upstairs at the windows. They could shoot anyone who ran out.”

  “If they’re awake and if the Krauts didn’t take you hostage. Where are the rest of your men?”

  “They have to sleep, sir. And Mr. Farmer’s in the dispensary. He had a heart attack.”

  “Get everyone but him here. I want everyone here with drawn guns while Boats hog-ties these bastards.”

  “Sir, two of them are sick.”

  “Tough. Mr. Williams, the Krauts killed the men from the Nanmak because they were too smart to take prisoners aboard a small ship. Now I haven’t been that smart, but I’ll get exactly that smart if I see one chance in a thousand that these people can take us over. So for their own good you better get them hog-tied until I can find a safe place to keep them.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Now get all your men.”

  Paul waited until he had armed guards lining the walls of the room before he told Boats to start tying up the prisoners, hands and feet. As Boats moved toward them with his hands full of short lines, which he had already prepared for the purpose, the prisoners again started to yell. Paul went to a window, forced it open by hammering it with the palm of his hand, and fired his .45 automatic twice into the drifts outside. The reports of the gun were deafening in the small room, and they were followed by silence.

  “I’ll shoot the next man who opens
his mouth and who doesn’t hold still while he’s being tied up,” Paul said in German. “You people shot all the survivors of the Nanmak, and all I want is an excuse to shoot one of you.”

  The prisoners stared at him as indignantly as innocent men, but said nothing. Boats swiftly proceeded with his job, tying his knots so tightly that the men flinched.

  “You’ll cut off their circulation,” Williams said.

  “Two men aboard my ship just had their circulation cut off,” Paul said. “Blake and Sparks are dead. Don’t talk to me about circulation.”

  When the prisoners had been hog-tied, Paul had them laid out like cordwood on the floor. Leaving Boats and four armed men to watch them, he said, “Now Mr. Williams, find the governor of this place. His name is Swanson. Tell him I want to see him aboard my ship right now. Bring him aboard at the point of a gun if you have to. I’m taking over this town.”

  “Sir, that’s not necessary. Mr. Swanson has been doing everything he can to help.”

  “Help who? Get him, now.”

  Storming out the door, Paul cringed as the snow and wind hit him, but ducking his head, ploughed toward the wharf. A dozen Eskimos followed him. There were no dogs. Eskimo settlements were almost always swarming with sled dogs. Had all the dog teams left this place, and if so, where were they going?

  As Paul came abreast the ketch on the ways, he saw what looked like an Eskimo coming to meet him. He guessed that it was Brit before he saw her white narrow face. “Paul!” she said. “Thank God you’re here.” She put a heavily mittened hand on his arm.

  “I’m not sure what side you’re on—”

  “I understand that, I respect it … I have to talk to you.”

  “Not now. I have wounded to take care of, prisoners, and I have to bury the dead.”

  “I can help you.”

  “From now on I trust no one but my own men. Where are the dogs?”

  “Peomeenie took two teams to look for the escaped prisoner. Not many are left. The dogs usually stay with the natives over by the sod huts. We try to keep them away from here.”

  “Christ, I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”