Brave Company (11 page)

It couldn't be. It was. The boy had begun moving past
Taupo
's supply party as he and the others set off for their next load of firewood. He glanced at the newcomers. His eyes met Russell's, passed on, flicked back. Then he stopped.

For a moment, it seemed he would run. His body twitched. Then he stood still again. He gazed towards the little girl in her strange long coat, and Russell realised suddenly where his blanket had gone. The young Korean looked straight at the boy seaman. Then, to Russell's bewilderment, he bowed.

While the frigate's men headed to the cookhouse tent, and the truckdriver began hammering at something under his vehicle's bonnet, the Korean boy walked over
to the small girl, murmured something, and lifted the long coat over her head. She stood, hugging herself in the cold. Then he turned and came over to where Russell was watching. He bowed once more, held out the coat with its red blanket stripe running down the back and spoke. ‘I sorry.'

He was half a head shorter than Russell, lean and hungry-looking. His black hair needed cutting. His eyes were dark and steady, his face tired.

Russell shook his head. ‘No. No, you keep it.'

The Korean boy looked uncertain. Russell thrust the coat back at him, and pointed at the little girl, whimpering as the freezing wind cut through her thin clothes. ‘For her. You keep it.'

They both stood for a second, the woollen bundle between them. The other boy kept watching Russell. Then his face changed. He bowed a third time, moved back to the girl and helped her into the coat, talking softly as he pulled the garment over her thin arms and shoulders.

‘Hey!' They turned and stared as Russell called out. He held out one of the chocolate bars he'd brought. ‘For her,' he said again.

The girl understood instantly, clapped her hands and smiled. The boy spoke to her again. Now she trotted over, shyly took the chocolate from Russell, and also bowed to him. ‘San – sank you.'

‘You've met Sa-In, then?' It was Sergeant Barnett. ‘He's our Number One Helper. Works anywhere – here, on the road, down at the port. The hardest toiler we've got. Plus he's learning English as fast as he can. Okay, Sa-In?'

The small girl was eagerly unwrapping her chocolate. The boy had begun heading off to join the other wood carriers. He stopped and bowed to the sergeant. ‘Okay, thank you, sir.'

Sergeant Barnett chuckled. ‘Can't stop him calling me “sir”. The little kid's his sister, Yong Mee. He looks after her.' The sergeant shook his head. ‘Usual story. Village destroyed, parents vanished. Nobody has a clue if they're alive or dead, but Sa-In keeps searching for them everywhere.'

He glanced at Russell again and breathed, ‘Good God!' He opened his mouth, seemed about to say something, but moved off instead. Russell gazed after him in surprise for a couple of seconds, then moved towards the others who were now starting to ferry supplies from the lorry. The little girl, nibbling at her chocolate, smiled and waved as he passed. A familiar piece of cloth peeped out from under the sleeve of her blanket-coat. The handkerchief he'd given her last time.

An elbow dug him in the ribs. ‘You got yourself a girlfriend?' said O'Brien. ‘Is that a high-fashion navy
blanket she's wearing?'

Russell couldn't decide if the tattooed AB was picking on him once again. ‘It's mine. The one that got stolen.'

O'Brien blinked, then nodded. ‘Well, well. It's ended up in the right place, I reckon.'

After an hour, the supplies were stored away and
Taupo
's party sat eating from mess tins loaded with some sort of dumplings full of some sort of meat with some sort of vegetables. ‘These people really know how to cook,' one of the gunners said. ‘They can make a good feed out of scraps.'

‘Sounds a bit like our cooks,' Noel said. ‘Except they make a good feed
into
scraps.'

Laughter. Hands and legs were stretched out towards the stove. Russell felt glad he'd given the small girl her coat back. What were she and her brother eating? he wondered suddenly. Where had they come from? At the same time, he puzzled over what the artillery sergeant had meant by that ‘Good God!'

A noise sounded distantly. A booming and rumbling. Heads lifted. A gunner nodded. ‘Our guns or their guns. Happens four or five times a day. Someone sees something moving, or thinks they do.'

‘How far to the front line?' Noel asked.

‘Three or four miles still. They're quite close to the sea. Been quiet up there lately. No more of those human wave attacks, thank God. Maybe the French put them off.'

Another gunner saw the puzzled expressions on the
Taupo
party's faces and grinned. ‘The Chinese tried a surprise advance a week back, with those bugles of theirs blaring away. So some French infantry guys wound up a couple of air-raid sirens they had and set those screaming. Poor old commies couldn't tell who was on their side and who was on ours. They ended up running round in circles.'

‘Pity you lads haven't got longer here,' added the first man. He nodded at where the artillery sergeant stood, talking intently to PO Ralston. ‘The sarge is heading up to the front lines to bring Major Davies back. Couple of you could have gone along for some sightseeing.'

O'Brien shook his head. ‘Thanks all the same, but we prefer the safe, mine-infested sea. Don't we, boys?' This time his elbow nudged Noel in the ribs, and the young sailor turned red. ‘I'm not naming any names,' O'Brien went on, ‘but we've got this real crack shot on board, and he …'

The meal was over. Russell and Noel had wandered across to where the guns crouched in their sandbag-lined pits. A man with New Zealand artillery shoulder-flashes was doing something to the breech of one gun, and raised a gloved hand to them. ‘Nah, we're not sissies. Touch any steel with your bare hands when it's this cold, and you leave skin behind.'

Russell nodded at the squat metal shape. ‘How far can it fire?'

The gunner pretended to snap to attention. ‘Sir! Twenty-five pounder Mark II Field Gun, sir! Maximum range 13,400 yards, sir!'

‘That's … that's almost eight miles!' Russell felt pleased with his arithmetic. ‘Amazing!'

The gunner grinned. ‘How about your frigate? What's she got?'

‘One four-inch gun,' Noel told him. ‘Plus a Bofors and a couple of anti-aircraft machine-guns.'

The figure in the pit looked thoughtful. ‘Hmmm. In that case, I hope the peace talks are going really well.'

Russell was trying to think of an equally cheeky reply when PO Ralston called. ‘All right, lads. Time to head back. Let's be having you!'

Russell and Noel nodded to the gunner and set off for the lorry. Artillery growled and grumbled again in the distance. The Korean boy … what was his name?
Sa-In … was stacking more wood by the cookhouse stove. Russell thought about some of the other refugees he'd seen. The desperate ones at sea; those plodding along the roadsides. He felt differently about them now.

A dirty olive-green jeep sat by the side of the rutted track. Sergeant Barnett was climbing into it. ‘Thanks, you navy boys!' he called. ‘We'll see you again, I hope.' He looked at Russell and seemed to hesitate, then swung into the driver's seat.

A few yards from the jeep, a loud discussion had started up. The Korean truckdriver was pointing at his vehicle, which still had its battered bonnet open. He spread his arms and shook his head at PO Ralston who was peering at the truck's engine.

The petty officer didn't look pleased.

‘Sorry, lads. We have a non-operational truck. Mr Fixit here is doing his best, but it could be a while.' He turned to the artillery sergeant, who'd got out of his jeep. ‘We might be here overnight.'

Noel pretended to clutch his head. ‘Not a night on land, sir? Can humans live like that?'

‘Might as well make yourself comfortable,' PO Ralston told them. ‘Don't go far, though.' He glared at the lorry. ‘You never can tell – we might have a miracle.'

They made themselves comfortable, as ordered. Someone brought out a pack of cards. Soon, half the men were hunched around a big wooden pack case,
arguing and laughing. The other half sprawled by the stove and talked. Russell heard a giggle, and looked up to see that the little girl – Yong Mee – had arrived. O'Brien was showing her a playing card, making it disappear in his hand, finding it in a pocket, bringing it out again.

‘Purchas?' He started as someone said his name. ‘Boy Seaman Purchas?'

It was the artillery sergeant. Russell scrambled to his feet. ‘Here, sarge.'

‘Been looking for you,' the man said. ‘Come on, then – you're coming for a tour of the front line.'

The inside of Russell's mouth felt cold. He realised it was because his jaw was hanging open. PO Ralston, who'd appeared behind the artillery sergeant, laughed. ‘No time to stand around catching flies, Boy Seaman. Get moving. It's not every day the army runs sightseeing tours. You'll be back well before we're ready to go.' The petty officer gazed grimly at where the Korean driver was still head-down in the engine of his lorry. ‘Looks like that could be a long time. I presume you
do
want to go?'

Russell managed to speak. To stammer, at any rate. ‘Yessir. I do, sir. Thank you, sir.' Excitement welled up inside him. The front line! Nobody else on
Taupo
had ever been there. That would really be something to tell them – and Graham – about.

‘Hurry up, then, Boy Seaman! Over to the jeep. The sergeant's waiting for you.' As Russell headed off, Red Watch's PO called after him. ‘Take your pack, just in case. And your blanket, before anyone steals it.'

The artillery sergeant was back by the battered, olive-green jeep. Once again, guns rumbled in the distance. A couple of gunners were loading boxes into the back. ‘Extras for the blokes at the front,' said Sergeant Barnett. ‘Hop in, lad.'

Then someone else arrived, talking urgently. It was Sa-In, panting, face anxious as he struggled to find words. ‘Please? I go, too?' Sergeant Barnett shook his head, began to say something, but the Korean boy kept on. ‘My parents. I find. Please?'

The sergeant hesitated then shrugged. ‘All right. We leave in one minute.' The boy bowed, and hurried to where the little girl, Yong Mee, had appeared and stood watching. He spoke low and urgently to her.

‘Like I said, he keeps looking for their mother and father everywhere he can,' Sergeant Barnett muttered to Russell. ‘Hopeless, I reckon.'

Sa-In seized his sister in a hug, then came trotting back to the jeep, where he squeezed among the boxes and a tarpaulin in the back. Yong Mee waved as they headed off.

Smashed or leaning power poles lined the potholed road. A few cottages, with shattered walls through
which Russell could glimpse smashed boards and bits of furniture, stood in the middle of fields. Gun pits and supply depots were everywhere, surrounded by walls of sandbags. A group of Koreans, children as well as women and men, were loading twisted pieces of metal into a wheelbarrow. ‘They sell it for food,' Sergeant Barnett told Russell.

An old man with a wispy beard limped past. One leg of his muddy white trousers was torn and blood-stained. Behind him came a group of women, some leading children by the hand, others carrying bundles on their heads. Russell was aware of Sa-In behind him, staring hard at everyone they passed.

‘What's it like in the front lines?' Russell asked, clinging to the dashboard as the jeep jolted over frozen ruts.

Sergeant Barnett steered them onto a slightly smoother stretch, then had to slow and pull over for a truck with
UN
in big white letters on its side.

‘Well, they've got cookhouses and bunkhouses and even hot showers in some places. They've got helicopter landing pads, and they get mail and fresh supplies brought up nearly every day. All home comforts.'

He steered the jeep around a crater that had destroyed half the road. ‘But less than a mile away, there's whole armies of Chinese and North Koreans, ready to come screaming and charging at them if anyone gives the
order. Not a place for anyone with bad nerves.' The sergeant paused. ‘Now, where do we go?'

They had reached a crossroads. A burned-out truck lay half-capsized in the ditch. More Koreans were clustered around it; Russell glimpsed another wheelbarrow like the one he'd seen earlier. A grove of blackened trees stood nearby. As the jeep slowed, Russell could hear gunfire rumbling ahead once more, louder and closer now. A shiver ran through him.

‘Sa-In?' said the sergeant. ‘Could you ask if they know where the artillery observers are?' As the boy looked blank, the man put imaginary binoculars to his eyes, went ‘Boom! Boom!' and added, ‘Major Davies'.

‘Yes, sir.' Sa-In started levering himself out from among the boxes.

The sergeant sighed. ‘I'm not “sir”, remember?' The Korean boy went ‘Sir?' and Sergeant Barnett sighed again. ‘Never mind.'

The wiry figure hurried over to the people by the truck. Arms began pointing, some one way, some the other. Russell shivered, and pulled his duffle-coat closer around him.

Sa-In came back. ‘Them say – over here.' He pointed to the left.

Sergeant Barnett gazed across the bleak, torn land. ‘All right, we'll try that.' The boy stood looking around, too, as if he hoped someone would appear
from the frozen waste. ‘Jump in, Sa-In. Pull that tarp over you. It'll help keep you warm.' The sergeant pointed to the stack of folded canvas in the rear of the jeep. ‘Tarpaulin.'

‘Tarp-lin.' Sa-In repeated the word as if he couldn't really believe it. ‘Thank you, sir,' said Sa-In, and clambered into the back again, dragging the canvas over his legs.

They started along the road to their left. Someone had been working on this stretch, too, so for a few minutes they drove briskly past more smashed farmhouses, more trucks overturned or burned, more gun pits. But these gun pits were empty. In fact, this whole part of the land was strangely deserted: no troops; no moving vehicles; no civilians. Only the rumble of gunfire, almost continuous now, coming from somewhere ahead.

In spite of his coat, Russell was still shivering. He hugged his arms across his chest.

The sky was dull and lead grey. A drop of rain appeared on the jeep's windscreen. Then a second one. Not rain: snow.

The sergeant spoke again. ‘Okay, son. I knew your uncle.'

At first, the words made no sense to Russell. He sat, watching the landscape in front. A group of people had appeared, about a hundred yards away. Civilians by the look of them. He could feel Sa-In leaning forwards to watch.

He realised Sergeant Barnett was still talking.

‘… just the way you were standing, back there after your lot arrived. I suddenly knew who you reminded me of.' He paused; Russell said nothing. ‘Trevor MacKenzie was your uncle, wasn't he?'

Russell didn't speak. He couldn't; his throat felt squeezed shut. He swallowed, managed to nod, blurted, ‘Y-yes.'

‘Thought so. I was talking to your petty officer back there, and he knows. But he doesn't think many others do. You've kept it quiet.'

Another nod from Russell. He was still struggling to speak.

‘Why? Thought you'd be proud to have a hero for your uncle.'

The civilians were just thirty yards away now. The jeep bumped towards them. More flakes of snow made star shapes on the windscreen. Finally, the words seemed to burst from Russell's throat. ‘He wasn't a hero. He was a coward!'

He knew Sa-In was staring at him from behind. The other boy must have heard the anger, even if he didn't understand the words. Sergeant Barnett kept his eyes on the road. He didn't seem surprised. They slowed to a crawl as the group of people plodded past, bent and exhausted.

‘Thought you might be feeling that way,' the sergeant said when the way ahead was clear again. ‘So what do you know about how he died?'

‘He ran away.' The words poured from Russell now. ‘He ran away and hid among the refugees. I found it in a letter from the army. He was a coward! He kept trying to hide till he was killed.'

Movement to their right. Tanks, six or seven of them, churning across the bare land, tracks flinging clods of dirt into the air, engines roaring. Last time Russell had seen tanks, he'd trembled with excitement. Now he hardly noticed them.

Beside him, Sergeant Barnett spoke again. ‘It didn't happen that way.'

‘It
did!
' Russell sensed Sa-In flinch at his shout. ‘It was in the army letter. My … mum never told me, but I found out! He was hiding among the civilians and the Germans killed them. He was—'

‘Listen, son. Listen!' the sergeant's voice was raised, too. A tank bucked across the road in front, gun swinging skywards. ‘Look, I was there – in that area,
at the time. I was an artillery observer for the British Army, attached to an infantry battalion. There were Kiwi infantry on one side of us. Top fighters. Your uncle was infantry, right? A captain?'

‘Lieutenant.' Most of the tanks had crossed the road. Even above the roar of their engines, Russell could hear that the firing up ahead was louder. The rattle and crack of small-arms fire mixed with the booming crash of artillery.

‘A lieutenant. That's right.' The sergeant's hands held the steering wheel. The final tank began bucking across the road. ‘He'd been operating behind the enemy lines – you knew that?' He didn't wait for Russell to reply. ‘The Italians had surrendered, the Germans were retreating but still fighting. There were Italian refugees all over the place. Homes destroyed, families trying to escape, people lost and wounded. You've seen the same thing happening here.'

Yes, he had. He was seeing it again now. A man and woman had struggled up from a ditch ahead, where they must have been sheltering or hiding, and came hurrying past the jeep, faces haggard and frightened. Sa-In called to them, began speaking urgently. They listened, shook their heads, scuttled on.

‘Your uncle was crossing the front lines almost every day. The Germans were shooting in one direction. Our boys were shooting in the other. He was under fire
every place he went. Does that sound like a coward?'

Suddenly, Russell couldn't speak again. He shook his head once, stared across the broken land. The snow had stopped, but the sky still pressed down, dark and threatening. The tanks had disappeared. The jeep moved on, bouncing past a line of empty trenches.

‘Some of the Italians were helping your uncle,' Sergeant Barnett said. ‘They hid him; they gave him food. He found out where most of the refugees were, and he radioed back info to our guns, so we didn't fire on them. I was the artillery observer, remember? So I saw all his messages. The Germans knew there was someone operating behind their lines, and they were hunting for him. If they found him, they'd have shot him there and then, and anyone helping him.'

The firing ahead was almost continuous now: a swelling rumble that came from every direction. Sergeant Barnett didn't look at Russell. He seemed to be staring into his own memories. He spoke more quietly.

‘Our side was planning a major assault. Your uncle was ordered to pull out, to come back and rejoin his unit, so he'd be safe when the attack came.' The sergeant went silent again.

Russell knew what was coming. But he heard himself ask. ‘He – what did he do?'

‘He refused the order. He deserted.'