Ice Brothers

by Sloan Wilson

  Somehow Paul was very surprised to see her.

  “What happened?” she said, out of breath. “I saw the smoke.”

  “We wiped out the base,” he said wearily.

  “Did you get the ship?”

  “Yes.”

  She hugged him. “I knew you would.”

  He could think of nothing to say.

  “Are any of your men hurt? Is Nathan all right?”

  “He’s all right. Look, I got about fifty wounded prisoners. Burns and exposure. We got to get them up to the houses. Cookie’s hurt bad.”

  Already wounded men wrapped in blankets were gathering on the well deck. Brit stared at them and suddenly the look of pleasure on her face died. “Fifty!” she said. “Good God. I’ll get the Eskimos down here with sleds and try to get ready for them.”

  She ran up toward the settlement. Paul went to the wardroom to look for Nathan. He found him helping a boy about eighteen years old to get his burned hands into the sleeves of a dry parka.

  “You got to get on the radio,” Paul said. “Have we told anything to GreenPat yet?”

  “I haven’t had time.”

  “He must be going crazy. Tell him what happened. Maybe he can parachute a doctor and medical supplies in here.”

  “All right,” Nathan said, and staggered up the companionway. Soot from the burned clothes he had been handling had streaked his gaunt face so that he looked like a walking corpse himself.

  Paul went to the pilothouse. He watched Boats and four seamen make stretchers out of strips of tarpaulin and rifles lashed muzzle to muzzle. “Boats, come up here …”

  Boats walked quickly to the bridge. Still alert and brisk, he seemed curiously untouched by the confusion around him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “How many of the prisoners are well enough to make trouble when they get a little rest?”

  “I haven’t checked them all, sir. They all look pretty beat, those I’ve seen.”

  “There must be some who aren’t wounded at all. Find out how many. I want them put out on the island with the other prisoners.”

  “It’s already pretty crowded out there, sir.”

  “There are more prisoners here than there are of us. I don’t want them even to think about taking over.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  “Can I talk to you, captain?” Carl Peterson asked. He was standing on the well deck, wrapped in a blanket.

  “All right. Come up here.”

  Hoisting his blanket above his knees to avoid tripping, Peterson hurried to the bridge. Apparently he had already recovered from much of his shock.

  “Captain, can I go ashore?” he asked. “I know some of the people here. I can help.”

  “You’re a prisoner. You were working with the Germans.”

  “Captain, I had no choice. They just grabbed me in Copenhagen because I’m an ice pilot and marched me aboard their ship.”

  “I suppose there will be hearings of some sort to figure all that out. Until then, you’re a prisoner.”

  “But meanwhile, can’t I help? We’ve got to find a way to feed all these people in there. I at least can set up a field kitchen.”

  There was a pause. “All right, go and help,” Paul said wearily.

  Peterson jumped ashore, his blanket fluttering, and hurried into the darkness toward the houses. Paul heard the sound of dogs, and a team with a sled surrounded by a crowd of Eskimos arrived on the end of the wharf. Brit was shouting orders at them. The Eskimos began to help the Arluk crew put the wounded on stretchers and carry them ashore. Paul saw her pause over one German who was moaning and tuck his blanket around him more tightly. She too had changed instantaneously from victor to rescuer, also probably without being aware of it.

  Damn it, they ought to get Cookie ashore first, Paul thought, and hurried to the forecastle. Cookie was lying in his bunk, his eyes open but so opaque that Paul thought he was dead. Still drowsy with morphine, Cookie managed a weak smile.

  “We’re going to get you ashore,” Paul said.

  “No!” Cookie sounded terrified.

  “You’ll be more comfortable up there.”

  “Let me stay here. Mr. Green will take care of me.”

  “I’ll let him make the decision,” Paul said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Who’s going to cook?”

  “We’ll find someone.”

  “The men have to eat …”

  “We can live on K-rations. You go to sleep.”

  Nathan was busy in the radio shack. Paul returned to the bridge and sat watching while the crew and the Eskimos moved the wounded ashore. Boats lowered the whaleboat and set off for the island with eight unwounded prisoners.

  Nathan suddenly appeared on the bridge. “I got GreenPat,” he said. “The bastard wanted to know every last detail. He finally said he’d try to parachute in a medic and some supplies.”

  “Good.”

  “He wants us to stand by until things are under control and then take all the wounded who can make it back to Narsarssuak.”

  That was too much for Paul to think about at the moment. “Cookie doesn’t want to be taken ashore,” he said.

  “I can take care of him here. I’m saving the last of the morphine for him. He needs a doctor quick.”

  “We got to figure out a place for them to parachute a man in and have Eskimos there to get him. Where’s the best flat land?”

  “Brit will know. I better get her to arrange it and tell GreenPat.”

  “Jesus, you must be dead on your feet.”

  Nathan wearily shrugged. “I don’t know, skipper. If winning is like this …”

  “I guess it’s better than getting beat.”

  Nathan went ashore. When the last of the prisoners had been carried to the houses the Arluk crew returned to the forecastle and sprawled in their bunks. Krater lit off the galley range and began emptying cans of soup into a large pot. Paul came and sat at the big V-shaped table with the others while it warmed. Stevens was gathering up soiled blankets and throwing them in a pile on the well deck. The whole forecastle still smelled of sickness, wounds and scorched flesh. Everyone was too tired to talk as Krater handed out coffee mugs full of lumpy tomato soup and the last of the fresh bread that Cookie had made.

  “Cookie, you better get well damn soon,” the quartermaster said, but the old chef did not answer. With a surprisingly delicate, long-fingered hand covering his eyes, he slept in his bunk.

  The soup revived Paul a little. He had a compulsion to inspect the ship, to see what damage had been done by the gunfire they had taken, and perhaps to seek reassurance from his men as much as trying to give it. As his mind reached back, trying to reconstruct the events of the past day, he began to realize that the ship would not have been hit at all and Cookie would not have been wounded if he’d had enough sense to keep out of range of the enemy’s machine guns. Any sense of victory remaining to him was now wiped out by guilt. He was surprised and grateful when Flags, who had the watch on the bridge, smiled at him and said, “Well, skipper, you must be feeling pretty good.”

  “Better than the Krauts do, I guess.”

  Better than Fatso did when he died, he thought, and wondered what kind of man the captain of the hunter-killer had been. Had he been killed aboard, or had he been in one of those rubber boats? The image of the men trying to stand as those rubber boats disintegrated under the 20-millimeter gunfire was still sharp in Paul’s mind. About that, at least, he felt no guilt at all.

  The wardroom was the last compartment Paul inspected. The table there was covered by a tangle of soiled blankets. In a starboard bunk a body lay completely covered by a rumpled sheet. That must be Seth, Paul thought, but had no inclination to make sure. Jesus, he was a good man—old enough to be the father of all of us, and never a word of complaint. I guess I should write to his wife …

  And Sparks’s wife, and Blake’s mother—I should write them all, he thought. All the women should get letters
telling them how brave their brave men were …

  Paul put his hand on the wardroom table to steady himself. The tangle of blankets there stank. They should be thrown overboard, but then there would be no blankets. They should be washed and dried in the engineroom. First thing in the morning, as soon as the men got some rest.

  Without thinking Paul began to pick up the blankets and fold them neatly, then carried them to the well deck and shoved them under a tarpaulin. Staggering a little, he went to the bridge and tapped the barometer. It was still falling. Soon it would snow and blow like hell. Stepping to the wing of the bridge, he looked at the sky. Clouds had already obscured the moon. They better hurry with their medic, he thought. I ought to tell them, but hell, they have more weather reports than I do.

  The thought of a big blow coming made him get a flashlight and check the ship’s mooring lines. They should be doubled up, but everyone was too tired. The manila was still fairly new and should hold.

  He walked slowly back to the bridge. Guns, his wrist wrapped in a bandage, was talking to Flags about the girls in New Orleans.

  “Skipper, we’re just about out of ammo for the three-incher,” he said, perhaps to find out if he had been forgiven, or to prove that he was ready to forgive.

  “I’ll get some as soon as I can,” Paul said. “You did some good shooting, Guns.”

  “I shouldn’t have taken so long to get on target, but with a short-barreled gun like that—well, hell, we won. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

  Paul went into his cabin and shut the door. Suddenly he wanted a drink and wished he hadn’t thrown out all the booze he had found in the drawer under the bunk. There were a few bottles of sweet liqueurs still locked in the lazaret, where they were being kept for a beerbust ashore. Now on this night of victory he should get them out and share them with the crew. The trouble was he was too tired to get out of his bunk and all but the two men on watch were asleep anyway. Victory made a man very tired.

  Paul slept for more than ten hours. He was awakened by Nathan.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Nathan said, “but a hell of a lot has been happening.”

  “What?”

  “They got a medic in.”

  “Has he looked at Cookie?”

  “I made sure that Cookie came first. He’s a living pin cushion, but it looks like he’ll make it.”

  “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little. Look, we’ve got orders.”

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

  “We’re to take aboard all the worst wounded who can make it and bring them to Narsarssuak. Also, all the most able-bodied prisoners who might make trouble here.”

  “We’ll be loaded like a slave ship.”

  “GreenPat knows we can’t take everyone. The number is up to you. He’ll send another ship to get the rest as soon as he can.”

  “He’ll probably have us going back and forth all winter. How the hell are we going to handle able-bodied prisoners?”

  “Boats is making the hold into a brig. He’ll be done in a few hours.”

  “I’ll sail as soon as you’re ready. How are we going to guard prisoners in the hold?”

  “I’ve made up some stuff that will act as tear gas. If they act up, we can drop some in.”

  “Keep their hands tied anyway. I don’t want to take a cruise to Germany. And don’t take too many. Leave enough men to guard the rest on the island.”

  “Boats will take care of that … Brit wants to see you—”

  “Why? You’re taking care of her, aren’t you?” He couldn’t keep an edge from his voice.

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

  “You’re trying to get her out of here. Well, don’t ask me to take her without authorization—”

  “She’s changed her mind about that. I better let her talk to you. She’s in the forecastle now.”

  “Send her up.”

  “Paul, I don’t know how things are between you and Brit, but she’s been a hell of a big help. She’s been running everything ashore. Without her—”

  “I know, you don’t have to tell me about her. Just send her up.”

  When Nathan left, Paul went to the head and washed his face in cold water. He did not have time to shave but combed his hair and put on a less rumpled blue coat. Soon he heard a light knock on his cabin door.

  “Come in.”

  She was wearing her green skirt and the reindeer sweater. She had recently brushed her short hair but her face looked exhausted, her eyes dark and enormous. She shut the door behind her and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  “I won’t pretend,” she said. “I’ve come to ask a favor, a big one.”

  “Nathan says you’ve changed your mind about wanting to get out of here.”

  “There’s too much for me to do here now. With Swan gone …”

  “What do you want?”

  “What are you going to do with Carl Peterson?”

  “He’s a prisoner. He can stay with the others.”

  “He’s a Dane!”

  “He was working with the Germans and still would be if we hadn’t captured him.”

  “He had no choice. He has a family in Denmark. Do you know what the Germans would have done if he hadn’t worked with them?”

  Paul sighed. “That’s not my business. Somebody else will have to figure that out. To me, he’s got to be just a prisoner.”

  “We need him here. Why can’t you just leave him with us?”

  “How would I ever explain that?”

  “Who would ever ask for an explanation?”

  “I should report that I captured him—”

  “Why? They could keep him locked up for years until they figure out what I know now. If I thought he was a traitor do you think I’d beg for him?”

  “Have you known him before now?”

  “Yes. He taught courses about Greenland at the university. He’s a fine man who got dragged into this war like everybody else. Can’t you just forget you ever saw him?”

  There was a pause before Paul said, “All right, Brit. Carl Peterson will be my sort of a going-away present to you …”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “I feel it like that!”

  “Will you always be bitter about me, your whole life?”

  “No. Hell, I don’t like to lose you. I can’t share you. Can’t you understand that?

  “We don’t have any choices. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I guess … Brit, am I any different to you, or are we all just men who happen to need you?”

  “You are the only man I ever knew who I think will somehow always win …”

  “Win what?”

  “Anything. And winning is important, believe me … you have to lose to learn that.”

  “I understand … Jesus, Brit—”

  “I’ll remember this cabin,” she said, “and laughing together, so silently, under that sword.”

  “I’d give it to you as a souvenir, but I’m afraid it would make all your other friends jealous.” He didn’t smile.

  “Jealous men I don’t want. I’d like to have your sword. I’d hang it on the wall to remind me that it’s not always necessary to lose.”

  He took the sword in its leather case from its brackets and handed it to her.

  “Does this mean that you surrender to me?”

  “I did that a long time ago, and you know it.”

  “I have something to give you in return. I’ll send Peo down to the ship with it before you sail, but I’ll tell you about it now.”

  “I’d like a picture of you.”

  “I’ll send that too, but my real gift is a narwhale tusk, the biggest I’ve ever seen. Do you know about narwhale tusks?”

  “Not much.”

  “The Greenlanders for centuries have sent them to Europe and Asia, where they think they come from a unicorn. Old men grind them and drink the powder as a love medicine.”

  �
�You think I need that?”

  She touched his face. “Not for sex, Paul, but maybe for love.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “No, I don’t mean that … Just take the narwhale tusk and hang it over your bed and if anyone asks, say it comes from a unicorn. And if anyone says that’s a mythical beast, just say, ‘How could it be? Here’s its horn.’”

  He laughed, and kissed her, and then Guns was knocking loudly at his door and saying, “They’re bringing the wounded aboard, sir, and Mr. Green is going to have funeral services for Mr. Farmer up in the chapel.”

  Brit went with Paul to the funeral services. No clergyman was present, but almost all the members of the Arluk’s crew were there and many Eskimos. The old woman played the organ while they sang “Abide With Me.” Mr. Williams read a service from his Bible that Paul somehow did not want to hear, and then Nathan said, “I think the men would like to hear a few words from you, Paul.”

  He felt curiously weak as he made his way to the lectern. He looked at Brit’s tired face, at Nathan’s haggard one and at the exhausted faces of the Arluk’s crew and suddenly he was terrified he’d break out into tears and not be able to say anything.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he began. “Seth Farmer died while he was helping to carry a wounded German below. He had a bad heart, and a great one. Most of you knew him as well as I did. He never complained …” For about five minutes he praised the old fisherman, but his words didn’t seem to make much sense to his own ears, though they were all true enough. The church was much too hot … “What I guess I’m trying to say is that Seth was part of the Arluk and part of us, whatever we are. I think we’re important, but I don’t know how. We’ve been through a lot together, and now we’re burying one of our own. May God have mercy on his soul and on all of ours.”

  He paused and was grateful when the organ began to play “Rock of Ages.” He returned to his pew and stood beside Brit while everyone mumbled the hymn. Afterward he followed her out of the church.

  “I suppose Greenland will preserve Seth forever, with all the rest of her dead,” he said of her.