The Cadet Sergeant Major (26 page)

“Brrr! Bit cold now,” Graham commented as he trudged along beside Peter. Peter gave a grunt which made Graham look sideways at him.

“You OK Pete?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. Just tired,” Peter replied.

Graham nodded. He was a bit worried about his friend. ‘He isn't his usual cheerful self,' he thought.

Capt Conkey fell back to walk beside them. “That was interesting CSM,” he observed. “Which of those corporals would you promote to sergeant on the basis of that performance?”

“None sir,” Graham replied at once. “Well, none in Four Platoon but maybe some from HQ.”

“Which ones from HQ?” Capt Conkey asked.

“I'd say Allison Broadfoot but I know you will think I am biased. And Kate O'Brien is OK don't you think Pete?”

“Er!...Um... Yes,” Peter replied.

“Kellie Jones?” Capt Conkey asked.

“Aw, I suppose so,” Graham replied reluctantly. “But...”

They discussed the performance of the corporals as so far observed during the exercise while they trudged over the sand. This certainly gave Graham food for thought. Back at the bridge Capt Conkey roused Lt Hamilton. The cadets were instructed to put out that fire, to load all the gear into the vehicles and to get in.

It was just on 0500 when the vehicles were started up. They drove up to the highway and turned onto the bridge. As the Rover accelerated the wind of their passage generated a real chill. Graham shivered and pulled his jacket up around his ears. The two vehicles roared across the bridge and turned left up the Canning Road. They followed this until they reached the shed at the bottom of Black Knoll. Here they stopped while Capt Conkey gave Lt Hamilton last minute instructions. He was to continue on, to follow a rough track to the bank of the Bunyip so as to provide a safety vehicle for 4 Platoon.

After a radio check which confirmed that 4 Pl were now at the river and about to cross it Lt Hamilton drove on with Cpl Bax and Cpl Brown. Capt Conkey turned his Rover up a rough track which led up a wide spur to the crest of a hill. The vehicle was stopped beside the army car. Lights and engine were switched off.

“All out,” Capt Conkey ordered. “CQ, you and Bert wait here, and have all those jerry cans there ready to issue. Come over to the company once they are stood down.”

Graham hoisted on his webbing and pack. Peter did likewise and they followed the OC down a cattle pad across a shallow saddle. Beyond this the ground rose to a pile of black rocks crowning another flat-topped hill. This was Black Knoll. The Knoll itself was bare of vegetation but the hillside around was cloaked in short grass and a scattering of ironbarks, their black trunks just visible in the darkness. Graham knew the area well from the previous year's annual camp.

“Halt!”

The quiet challenge came from an outcrop of rocks beside the track. It was ‘Cactus' Carleton in Cpl Gallon's section. Capt Conkey answered and spent a minute chatting quietly with the sentries. Then he led the way on up over the low stony shoulder of the knoll to the flat hilltop beyond. Lt Standish sat there well rugged up. Beside her were a radio and the sleeping forms of Lt Maclaren and Lt McEwen.

Graham looked around. He knew he was in the centre of the company position but it was so quiet, except for distant traffic on the highway, that it was hard to believe there were nearly a hundred cadets around him. Off to the east, over kilometres of dark bush, a pale flush indicated dawn was not far off. He checked his watch. 0530 Time for the ‘Stand-to' to begin.

“Give me a hand Pete. Find Two Platoon HQ and tell them to stand-to. They are about fifty paces that way,” Graham murmured. He put down his pack and walked into the darkness towards 1 Platoon. As he got closer he heard the murmur of voices and rustle of plastic. Good. They were awake and packing up.

Graham found Stephen rolling up his plastic groundsheet. It was the unit's policy not to put up hutchies during a tactical exercise unless it was raining, or liable to rain. In inland North Queensland in September that was a very remote possibility. Unit policy also laid down that everything would be packed while it was still dark, with no noise, no lights and no fires. The cadets would then lie down, fully dressed (as they had slept, boots and all) behind their packs and facing their allocated ‘front'. They were to be wearing their hats and webbing and watching out- ready to ‘march or fight'.

“Your lot awake Steve?” Graham whispered.

“Yep. I've just been around to make sure. They are all awake and packing up now,” Stephen replied quietly. A dark shape drifted over, grass swishing softly: CUO Sherry.

“Morning CSM,” she murmured.

“Morning Ma'am. I will just go round your troops if I may.”

“Certainly. How did the exercise go? What were those screams?”

Graham chuckled. “I'll tell you later.” He moved quietly down the gentle grassy slope to where black blobs and movement indicated the presence of the cadets. There was a low grumble of voices and the distinctive rustle of plastic groundsheets being folded up.

“Less noise Hodgins,” Graham growled.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

Graham began a clockwise walk around the perimeter, chiding laggards and correcting faults. By the time he reached the next platoon, 2 Platoon, he realized it was light enough to distinguish faces and to see much of the area.

He found these cadets all ready, lying silently. A figure moved to meet him: Cpl Brassington.

“Good morning sir. How are you?” she asked quietly.

“Tired thanks,” Graham replied. “Are all your people standing to?”

“Yes sir.”

Graham crouched to peer at the two people at his feet. They were Margaret and Rebecca Robinson. Margaret was looking up at him and he saw her smile. He returned it and felt an impulse to stroke her cheek. Surprised at this urge he whispered to Margaret, “Sleep well?”

“Not really. Too many rocks,” Margaret replied.

“And prickles!” Rebecca put in.

“And people stumbling over us and waking us by mistake every time the sentry was changed,” Margaret added.

“And it was cold,” Rebecca said.

Margaret gave an impish smile. “Yes it was. I needed you here to keep me warm.”

“Margaret!” Rebecca cried softly in a slightly scandalized tone.

Graham chuckled and had to resist the urge to pat her shoulder. At that moment there were the muted sounds of disagreement further along. Graham strode on.

It was Cpl Fiona Davies arguing with her 2ic, LCpl Leroy.

“Quiet!” Graham hissed. “LCpl Leroy, just do as you are told.”

“But Sir I…”

“Be quiet!” Graham snapped. “Not now. Discuss it after stand down.”

Leroy muttered and went off to lie down in the grass. Graham walked on, meeting CUO Grenfell.

“Oh it's you CSM. What was that about?”

Graham told him.

“Bloody Leroy!” CUO Grenfell grated. “He spends half his time arguing with Cpl Davies and the other half countermanding her orders because he thinks he knows better. He's an opinionated little toad.”

Graham added this to his mental files. Another problem to be resolved. He walked on with the CUO and came to Roger's section. They were all silent and ready.

“G'day CSM.”

“G'day Roger. How's tricks?”

“Good. We caught Sgt Crane and his smart-arse snipers last night.”

Graham chuckled. He looked around as more people approached. It was Capt Conkey with Sgt Copeland.

“It is getting light,” Capt Conkey said. “Let's all move to our positions and get under cover.”

They began walking back towards the centre of the position. Capt Conkey asked. “How are they round the other half of the company CSM?”

Graham told him. They joined Peter and the other officers and sat on their packs. After another ten minutes, during which it got rapidly lighter, the cadets lay in almost complete silence. When it was possible to recognize the platoon commanders by their face Capt Conkey stood up.

“That was good. Hardly a sound. OK. Stand down. Peter, you tell One Platoon please. CSM, Two Platoon, Lt McEwen Three please.”

Graham nodded and stood up. He felt a bit stiff but was surprised he didn't feel particularly tired.

‘I wonder what today will bring?' he mused as he walked towards CUO Sherry and Stephen.

As soon as the ‘Stand Down' was ordered Capt Conkey called off the tactical routine with its day sentries. “They practiced that last night and will get another chance tomorrow night. Time is more important. Let's get breakfast over quickly,” he told the Company ‘O' Group as they sat in a semi-circle facing him. He checked that everyone knew what was on the program and where they were moving to, then sent them to eat.

The group dispersed. Graham sat on his pack and began heating water. ‘No time to spare,' he told himself. He had to eat, shave, polish his boots, mark the roll; then get around to speak to the sergeants and take a look at the troops- all in an hour. ‘I wonder when I can find time for a crap!' he mused. ‘Oh well, just have to hold on I suppose.' He began mixing coffee, dimly aware that Peter was unusually silent and looking quite exhausted.

The sun was just touching the tree tops, turning the river gums a lovely golden pink as Graham finished his coffee. By the time he had wolfed down a can of ‘Ham and Egg' and washed up his dixies the sun was on his face. He peeled off his jacket and packed it before shaving. Ten minutes later, at 0645, Graham stood up, adjusted his webbing and went to visit the platoons; 3 Platoon first, to see how Sgt Rankin was getting on. He found him having breakfast with CUO White, both chatting happily.

“Morning CSM. How was the exercise?” CUO White asked.

“Good. But it is still going on. I don't think Four Platoon appreciate it yet.”

“Humpf. They like to think they are tough. Let them prove it,” CUO White replied.

“How are things here?” Graham asked, looking around. It appeared normal: groups of cadets sitting eating, or cleaning mess tins, a couple filling waterbottles from a jerry can.

“Apart from Clayfield, fine,” Sgt Rankin replied.

Graham groaned. “What's he done now? Not crapped his pants again?”

“No. He has improved on that. This time he did a giant turd beside the sentry post and just left it there. Made no attempt to cover it! Poor old Cactus stood in it later and spread it around,” Rankin replied.

They laughed, but without humour. CUO White gave a wry grin.

“Cadet Clayfield is not popular in Cpl Gallon's section.”

“Poor little bugger! What can we do to help him? He must be hating the camp,” Graham said.

“I think he is, but he does keep on trying to do the right thing and he isn't pooing his pants as much,” CUO White replied. For the next few minutes they discussed what might be done to help but neither knew enough about the problem to decide.

“What about Cpl Goltz?” Graham asked, seeing her peeling off her pullover in the distance.

“Slept most of the night- and let her sentries go to sleep for a few hours; till I went round and stirred them up,” Sgt Rankin said. He obviously wasn't impressed by her. CUO White made no comment.

After more discussion Graham went on his way. He was happy that Rankin was trying hard and was doing the right thing. Apart from Gallon's section, 3 Platoon appeared to be in as good a shape as could be expected on Day 6 of a camp. ‘Day Six!' he thought sadly. ‘Only three more days to go.' He was conscious that he was really enjoying himself and felt very alive. He breathed in deeply and wished the camp could go on for weeks.

He stopped to talk to two nice Year 9 girls: Debbie Wallis, nicknamed ‘Superbabble' for obvious reasons; and Sharon Morrow. Graham thought Debbie was a lovely kid, having a nice personality and a pretty face with a cute little turned up nose. On the other hand he considered Sharon was on the verge of blossoming into a heart-breaking beauty.

“Enjoying the camp?” he asked. They had only joined a few weeks before and it was their first camp.

“Oh yes sir,” Debbie cried enthusiastically. “It is really interesting; different from what I expected though.”

“What did you expect?”

“Oh, you know, a lot more of that drill and shouting stuff, like you see on TV.”

They discussed aspects of the training for a few minutes before Graham excused himself and continued on.

He moved around to 2 Platoon and chatted to Roger for a while. ‘Poor old Roger. He's got the most difficult section in the company. What a mob of ruffians!' He looked at them: Anderson, the disgruntled malingerer; Walsh, full of jokes and dry humour; Szelag who played practical jokes; Arthur who was always pilfering things; Lazarus who never wanted to work. ‘At least he's got a good 2ic,' Graham thought, watching LCpl Pat Sheehan at work. ‘Pat will make a good corporal. I wonder if he is going to stay in Cadets?' The vague idea of trying to have Pat as one of his own section commanders the following year formed in the back of Graham's mind. ‘If I get to be a CUO of course,' he reminded himself.

He was already clear on who he would ask to be his platoon sergeant: Roger.

Graham continued his tour. There was Barbara's ginger hair shining like polished copper in the morning sun. As always Graham felt his heart turn over when he saw her- half lust- half affection. Deep down he knew it was no good trying. She was not his sort of girl.

Even as he wistfully formed the thought his eyes met those of another girl: Margaret. She smiled. He smiled back and felt he had to walk over to talk to her. ‘Speaking of my sort of girl,' he thought. Deep in his heart Graham sensed that he was a fool; that all the beauties he fell hopelessly in love with were not for him. But, being stubborn, he would not readily yield to the obvious. ‘Margaret is just a good friend,' he told himself.

For the next few minutes he spoke to Margaret and was impressed by her cheerfulness. Then he moved on to speak to Sgt Copeland.

“How is Cadet Lake getting on Gwen?” he asked.

Sgt Copeland looked at Margaret and smiled. “She tries very hard, but she will never be a real soldier. She is very willing- but...”

“I know she is very willing,” Graham quipped with a wry grin.

Gwen laughed. “Don't be hard on her Graham. She worships the ground you walk on.”

Graham sighed. “I know. That's why she joined the cadets. She's been like that for years. She is a good kid. And I like her, but.. Oh well. Anyway, how are things in Two Platoon?”

“Apart from the love chain in Cpl Brassington's section things are fine,” Gwen replied.

“Love chain!” Graham cried. That gave him a jolt. “What is it this time?”

“Oh, it's not critical yet, but it is becoming a problem,” Gwen replied. “It seems that Barbara is in love with CUO Grenfell. But he doesn't like her at all and he has told her to get lost. But that is only the beginning. (Do I detect jealousy here, Graham thought. He had often wondered about CUO Grenfell and Gwen; they had now been three years together in 2 Platoon.) Barbara's 2ic, LCpl Greg Wakely, is desperately in love with her. But she thinks he is a real dork and has given him the cold shoulder.”

Graham groaned and eyed the gangling Lance Corporal. Gwen grinned and went on. “That's not the end of it. Believe it or not but Leslie Reid, that freckly girl next to Margaret, thinks that Wakely is the most wonderful man on earth. And guess what? He can't stand her. He has been very rude to her several times. And, still in the same section we have the tail end. See that little Year Eight boy, Richardson? You guessed it. He adores Leslie, but she won't have anything to do with him.”

Graham laughed, a deep belly laugh that echoed along the Canning and set the cockatoos screeching. Heads turned to stare, then smile.

“Keep me informed,” he said. “It sounds better than ‘Days of our lives'!”

He then continued on to 1 Platoon. By 0715 he had made a circuit of the complete company and spoken to most of the corporals and some of the cadets. ‘The camp seems to be going well now,' he decided. He pulled a face at the memory of Brown's incident but already that seemed a long time ago. ‘Let's hope nothing else serious happens,' he thought.

By 0730 the whole company was ready to march, except for the few who had not filled their waterbottles. Graham gathered the platoons together, sitting on their packs behind their section commanders.

Amazingly no-one was sick, beyond a few blisters and headaches. ‘And probably a few people with upset stomachs and constipation who haven't plucked up courage to tell the medics,' Graham thought as he wrote down the sergeant's reports. He then handed over to the OC and moved to one side to study the ‘problem children'.

Capt Conkey briefed them and also congratulated them on doing a good job during the night. The CUOs had their orders so it was simple to get them moving. At 0800 the company began moving in single file; 1 Pl, 2 Pl, 3 Pl. They first had to crawl under a barbed wire fence. Then, packs on backs they headed down a track slashed through the rubber vines to the bed of the Canning.

Capt Conkey watched them for a few minutes, took some photos, then nodded to Lt Standish who was walking with the cadets. He called Graham and Peter to join him and Lt Maclaren.

“We have to move. Pancho the Fat has a rendezvous with destiny at zero nine hundred.”

“Are we driving sir?” Graham asked.

“Only as far as the junction of the two rivers. We will then walk along the bank of the Bunyip to the ambush site. I want to check the condition of the track we cut last year through that blasted rubber vine,” Capt Conkey explained.

Graham experienced a vivid flashback. As a corporal he had led his section on a patrol exercise up the dry bed of Dingo Creek and into those rubber vines. It had placed him right under the captain's eye. He remembered sweating the whole time as he was sure he was doing poorly.

They walked to the vehicles, hooked on the trailers and helped the CQ and Bert load the jerry cans. A few minutes work and they were on their way, the officers driving and the boys in the back. They drove back down to the Canning Road, turned right past the shed, over the grid and through the dip, to turn right on the dirt track which went to Canning Junction. This led back over the shoulder of Black Knoll and down across a stony spur dotted with thorn bushes to an open area amongst large trees on top of the river bank.

Below was a triangular wedge of country dotted with tall trees inside the junction of the two rivers. The vehicles were parked here. They debussed and hoisted on webbing. Capt Conkey told them to take their packs.

“You can leave them at the bivouac site. Sgt Bronsky, grab that box. Mel, would you mind carrying the army radio?”

“I do, but I will,” Lt Maclaren replied with a dry smile.

Graham hauled his pack on and wiped perspiration from his face. It was already quite hot and the clear sky promised it would get even hotter. Capt Conkey led the way, followed by Lt Maclaren, Lt McEwen, Graham and Peter. The two ‘Q' were left to guard the vehicles.

The group followed a cattle pad through knee high grass and weeds down onto the dry sandy bed of the Canning. Fifty metres to their left was a deep pool of water where the two rivers joined. Beyond was the wide expanse of sand extending across to the dun coloured bluffs of Ruin Island.

Graham screwed his eyes up against the glare reflected off the sand. Was it only a few hours ago that he and Peter had been over there? He could just make out the tops of the Burdekin Plum trees at the ruin. They showed as dark blobs above the greyish belt of thorn bushes.

Waiting in the shade in the bed of the river were the remainder of the Control Group: six, led by Sgt Crane. Graham noted Brown looking surly. All wore a greenish foreign camouflage uniform and looked tired and dirty.

“How is the track through the rubber vines Sgt Crane,” Capt Conkey asked.

“OK sir. We had to do a bit of cutting but you can get through alright,” Crane replied.

Capt Conkey gathered them into the shade and quickly gave instructions. Sgt Crane's team were to be the Apaches. They were to follow along the track but ensure they weren't caught in the first action. When the ambush had been sprung and the re-org was under way they were launch a rapid counter attack. While the OC spoke Graham noticed Brown giving him a sour look. It made him angry.

‘Serves the silly bugger right,' he thought.

Capt Conkey dug in a haversack and handed each of the Control Group a yellow cloth to wear as a headband. “Sorry, no feathers, but here is some face paint courtesy of the Art Department.”

The six ‘Braves' soon had white, yellow and red war paint daubed in patterns on their faces. They laughed and clowned a little self-consciously.

Brown sneered. “We are a bit old to be playing Cowboys and Indians!” he commented.

“You don't have to,” Capt Conkey rejoined. “You can go and guard the vehicles if you like.”

That shut him up, but Graham could see he was ‘off side'.

Capt Conkey next produced a large crumpled straw hat, a long multi-coloured beach towel and a drooping, black false-moustache. In moments he transformed himself into ‘Pancho the Fat'.

They all laughed heartily at that and the OC joined in. He pointed to Graham and Peter. “Now, you two, you can pay for getting some amusement at my expense. Pick up that box. It is the treasure and you are the mules. Now, let's move. We are late.”

Sgt Crane led the way. It took them between a belt of bent-over young paperbarks in the bed of the Canning and larger, older trees which overhung from the bank. A long muddy backwater caused them to pick their way along the bank over or under the overhanging trees for a hundred paces till they came to the mouth of Dingo Creek. They skirted a muddy pond and entered the creek. Dingo Creek was dry. Its course flowed through a deep gully eroded in the river bank. On both sides the banks were an all but impenetrable tangle of rubber vines and weeds. The bottom was a thin layer of dry mud over sand. The whole place had been extensively rooted up by wild pigs.

Graham enjoyed the sensation of the hard ‘plates' of mud scrunching and snapping beneath his boots. As he walked his eyes explored every bend. Yes, that was where he had to cope with a contact front. Half his section had gone astray in the rubber vines. ‘I wasn't even able to climb up to join in,' he remembered ruefully.