Free Brave Company by David Hill

gun swung to the right. 2000 yards, thought Russell. Over a mile. What are we shooting at?
    ‘Ready!’ called the petty officer. Russell opened his mouth; half-shut his eyes.
    ‘Fire!’ He clamped hands to ears.
BLAM!
The slam and boom echoed around the turret. More flecks of paint dropped from the ceiling and walls. Suppose I’ll have to paint that sometime, Russell thought. The breech recoiled; Kingi wrenched it open, and the sour smell of burned gunpowder filled Russell’s nostrils again.
    Already he was doing what he’d practised so often at training, jumping forwards, grabbing the hot shell-case from the floor with his stiff gloves, dropping itin the metal bin. Noel shoved another round into the breech, and Kingi flicked it shut. They stood poised, except for PO Lucas who hunched again over his dials and gauges.
    ‘Fire!’
BLAM!
The same booming and slamming. The same recoil and stench of explosive. The same grab for shell-case, and thrust of next round into the breech. Russell heard himself panting again, even under the thick hood. Kingi’s and Noel’s eyes were slitted with concentration. ‘Fire!’
BLAM!
    His ears rang with the noise. His head and his whole body seemed to shudder with each shot. From outside, other guns crashed as well. The enemy? No, the destroyer and second frigate blazing away, too. The world shook and echoed. ‘Fire!’
BLAM!
    Russell tried to imagine what it was like where the shells were landing. Were they aiming at railways? At enemy troops? With no warning, the face of the little girl he’d given the handkerchief to was in front of him, dark eyes watching. And the boy, the one who’d made off with his blanket. Thieves and cowards, he told himself again, half-aloud so that that Kingi darted a look at him. I’m – I’m just going to do my job.
    ‘Fire!’
BLAM!
    For another … ten? … fifteen minutes, the turret rang with sound, as shell after shell hurtled inland. The air was foul with the reek of gunpowder. Russell’s earsthrummed so much he could hardly hear the orders over the intercom. His body felt buffeted and bruised from the explosions. His gloved hands shook as he clutched at the shell-casings.
    Then – ‘Cease firing! Secure the gun.’ As PO Lucas repeated the order, Russell realised the other ships’ guns had gone silent also. A different sound rumbled through
Taupo
. The anchors were being hauled up and the frigate began swinging to point her bows back downriver.
    ‘Captain – doesn’t want – to hang around,’ grunted Kingi, as he swabbed the breech, then locked it shut. ‘Nasty people might want to start taking potshots back at us.’ Noel was already at the door, letting in a glorious waft of fresh, damp air. ‘Muzzle cap on, sir?’ he called.
    PO Lucas shook his head, as the four-inch’s barrel swung back level. ‘Not till Action Stations are over, Johnson. You know that.’
    ‘Sorry, sir.’ Noel looked embarrassed, and Russell felt better about his own mistakes.
    They came out of the turret, dragging in lungfuls of air, clutching at the rail as
Taupo
angled to port, foam already building at her bow. Russell stared inland. There was … nothing. Nothing but a pall of dirty black smoke rising then shredding away in the wind that now scudded across the river. Had they hit anything? He didn’t know if he wanted them to haveor not. His heart-rate was slowing down, but his body still shook. I did it, he told himself again. I did it. I wasn’t scared.
    Ahead of them, the American frigate was moving as well, water churning under her stern as the propellers bit, bows pointed towards the open sea. ‘Nobody wants to stay and get shot at,’ Noel muttered as they watched. Russell twitched: yes, the enemy had guns, too. How long before … he stared ahead, past their bows, past the other frigate at the still-unmoving destroyer, smoke pouring from its funnel, men on its deck busy at the anchor chains.
    ‘Put the foot down, boss,’ said Kingi, then