The Cadet Sergeant Major (32 page)

“This is the piquet on the radio,” he said. “Eighteen hundred to twenty hundred- Denton (a loud groan), Twenty hundred to twenty two hundred Cpl Broadfoot. Twenty two hundred to midnight LCpl Allen. Now, Midnight to zero two hundred- any takers?”

“Put me down,” Peter said. Graham raised an eyebrow but did so. He went on. “Zero two hundred to zero four hundred Cpl O'Brien and zero four hundred to zero six hundred LCpl Parnell.” He had made a carbon copy of this which he now tore out and passed to Allison. “Stick that on the radio with some tape Cpl Broadfoot.”

With that organized Graham settled back to cooking and eating. Next to him Peter sat wrapped in silent misery. He tried to pretend things were normal but it was a strain. He finished eating, washed up and packed his mess tins. “If I'm going to be up half the night I'd better get some sleep while I can,” he said, adding, “Wake me when it's time for my patrol.”

“Never fear old son, we shall,” Graham replied with a laugh.

Peter moved his gear into the shadows away from the fire and unrolled his sleeping bag. The river sand was soft and he wriggled to shape it to his body then lay down. But he could not sleep. From where he lay he could see Kate's face, its lines sharply contrasted by the firelight. Once again he was struck by her beauty. He rolled onto his other side to stare into the darkness. For a while he lay brooding, then slipped into a deep sleep.

Cpl Parnell shook him awake at 2045. Most of the others lay asleep around the fire but Allison sat talking to Mrs Standish. Peter stretched and got up. He had no interest in the night exercise but wanted an opportunity to talk to Kate privately.

Kate and Denton were roused, not without a lot of grumbling by the latter, and Peter checked their webbing. “Full waterbottles? Matches in case you get lost? Spare meal? All got a torch? OK, let's go. We will look for Three Platoon first. Now, no talking.”

Peter led the way out of the firelight and through the line of trees to the starlit open sand. Half an hour of slow walking and the sound of coughing and murmuring voices revealed to them 3 Platoon's position. This was the opportunity Peter had been hoping for. He beckoned the others in close and whispered.

“Corporal Parnell, you and Cadet Denton will probe from the other side. When we hear you we will come in from this side. We will give you ten minutes to get into position.”

He did not look to see how Kate reacted to this but immediately moved over into the shadows under some trees. Parnell and Denton headed off. To Peter's intense relief Kate joined him in the darkness. Peter strained eyes and ears to check that they were alone. Satisfied there were no hidden watchers he beckoned Kate closer. She crouched beside him.

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone conveying both distrust and hostility. Peter was nettled but persisted.

“Kate, you remember when we went down the river the other day we saw three men?”

Kate grunted angrily. “Yeah. So what?”

“I think one of them is the dead man Dimbo Doyle discovered. You remember the skinny bloke with straggly fair hair? He had a tattoo of a snake on his arm. Graham said the dead man looked like that.”

“What's that got to do with me?” Kate asked.

Peter swallowed. “Well...the men with him might have been the killers. We could identify them; or at least describe them to the police.”

Kate was silent for a moment. “That was on the other side of the river from where the body was found,” she said.

Peter nodded. “I know. But it's too close to where the body was found for it to be coincidence. Besides the physical appearance fits.” He repeated the man's description.

Kate shook her head. “Maybe, but I didn't see the men very well.” Her eyes glinted angrily in the starlight.

Peter burned with embarrassment and shame at the memory. Despite her obvious resentment he persisted. “But it might help the police,” he said. “We must tell the OC.”

Kate snorted. “Oh yeah! And how will we explain being down on the river bank?”

Peter hung his head and swallowed. “We will have to tell the truth.”

“Like hell!” Kate cried. “You know what would happen? We would both be demoted and probably be chucked out of the cadets.”

“I know that,” Peter replied miserably. “But it is the right thing to do.”

“Stuff the right thing!” Kate snapped angrily. “I'm not getting into trouble over some dead bastard just to help the coppers. My old man would roast me alive!”

“But we should,” Peter persisted.

“Crap! I'm not getting into trouble just because you want to be a ‘goody goody'.”

Peter shrugged in confusion. He tried again. “But the information might be important.”

“I'm more important! Don't you care about me?” Kate asked.

“Yes I do,” Peter replied in an agonized whisper, “But...”

“Don't you bloody tell!” Kate snarled. “Don't you get me into trouble or I will give you hell!”

Peter was stunned. He swallowed. Hell! He had been there for days! He groped in his mind for some other argument he could use. Part of his mind was absorbing the new aspects of Kate's personality and it left him numb.

At that moment he heard shouts and bangs. Parnell and Denton had begun probing the platoon. Kate stood up and walked away. She headed towards the position. Peter sighed and did likewise.

The ensuing hour was just a blur to Peter: dim figures in the dark, rubber vines, sand and shouting. At the end of it he led his patrol back to the HQ fire. He did not exchange a single word with Kate the whole time.

They reached HQ just before 2300 to find an angry scene being enacted around the fire.

Graham had been roused, seemingly just after he had dropped off to sleep, to find CUO White talking to the OC beside the fire. Nearby stood Cadets Steele and Nolan.

“It was Sgt Crane sir, and Cpl Brown,” White said heatedly. “They did it.”

“Did what sir?” Graham asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“They captured Cpl Goltz's patrol, made them lie on their front on the sand and then poured sand down the back of their shirts and in their webbing and waterbottles,” CUO White explained.

“And they hit me!” Steele cried shrilly, indicating his head.

“Who hit you?” Capt Conkey asked.

“Bax sir. He whacked me with that stick he carries.”

Capt Conkey sighed. “OK CSM, go and find the Control Group and tell them to come here.”

“Sir.” Graham turned and found his torch and grumpily set off into the night just as Peter's patrol returned. Graham was tired but he was also annoyed so he walked fast, covering the soft sand with rapid strides.

‘I must be getting fit,' he mused. He was enjoying the hard physical activity. ‘Be ready for the Foreign Legion after all this bloody sand!' he thought. He began to pant and sweat. His leg muscles worked strongly. It felt good.

The Control Group were in their camp, just settling down to sleep. Graham shone his torch on them. “Up you get you lot. Over to company HQ, now!”

“What for?” Cpl Brown asked in a resentful tone.

“Capt Conkey wants you. It is about Cpl Goltz's section.”

“Stuff Goltz,” Crane snarled from his sleeping bag.

“I thought you had,” Bax called with a snigger.

“That's enough talk like that!” Graham snapped angrily. “The OC wants you and he's in a bad mood. Now get up and move.”

For a moment Graham thought they were going to defy him. He braced himself for the clash of wills. Then, with sulky slowness the six cadets got up and moved off. Bax was last to move.

“Come on Cpl Bax. You in particular. Now move!”

“Why me?” Bax sneered.

“Cadet Steele claims you hit him.”

“Lying little turd,” Bax replied, but he got up and moved.

The group tramped across the half kilometre of soft sand to the HQ fire muttering sullenly. Graham moved with them but they did not speak to him. When they arrived Capt Conkey met them, out in the darkness.

“Sit them here CSM and bring them to me one at a time,” he ordered.

Graham did as he was told. He took them in individually and listened while Capt Conkey and Lt McEwen questioned them. It took nearly an hour. Midnight passed and Staff Costigan headed out with his patrol. From time to time distant yelling indicated a patrol in contact with a platoon.

When all had been questioned Capt Conkey faced the seated Control Group in the starlight. “Now listen to me you mob. There is no excuse for your behaviour. You know our Standing Orders: NO physical contact on exercises. It's against State Law, never mind anything else; and I will remind you yet again that Civil Law overrides Military law. So you, Corporal Bax, want to hope that Cadet Steele's parents don't take legal action against you. He's got a nasty bruise where you hit him, and plenty of witnesses. There will be no more of it; is that clear?”

There was a sulky chorus of “Yes sir.” Capt Conkey went on, the anger clear in his voice. “Next, the sand down the shirts. What a stupid thing to do at any time, let alone at night! You will go and apologize and then clean out their waterbottles and webbing. They are to come here for that and so they can have a wash. Now go and get them. Move!”

Graham could tell that the Control Group were annoyed but they moved. The OC was obviously in no mood for nonsense. They followed CUO White off into the night to collect Cpl Goltz's section. The OC returned to the fire and sat talking to Lt McEwen who had taken over duty. Graham returned to his sleeping bag but only lay on top of it fully dressed.

After that he got little sleep. The Control Group returned and sat in a disgruntled group to one side of the fire to rinse out the waterbottles. They refilled them from jerrycans. When this was done and the webbing inspected the Control Group filed off into the night to return to their camp. While they doing this the cadets of Cpl Goltz's section were sent off in two groups: boys and girls, to the river. The boys went downstream 50 metres and the girls upstream the same distance. Once out of sight of the camp they were allowed to strip off and rinse the sand off their bodies. They then washed their uniforms and changed into clean clothes. The OOCs controlled this and Graham had no part in it.

Graham rested until it was time to wake Peter for radio watch. It was nearly an hour later than on the roster but, as Graham said, he was awake and so were the OC and Lt McEwen so there was no point in Peter losing more sleep. “You looked like you needed it mate,” Graham concluded.

Peter got up and made himself a cup of Milo. Capt Conkey took himself to bed so Peter sat and talked to Lt McEwen. The hour dragged by, punctuated twice by the distant hubbub as patrols clashed or probed platoons.

“The troops sound like they are having a good time,” Lt McEwen said cheerfully. Peter agreed and wished he was. He stared into the flames turning over bitter thoughts, only half his attention on what the officer was saying. It was a partial relief to wake Kate at 0200.

She sat up and stared at him with hard suspicion and obvious dislike.

“What do you want?”

“Time for you to go on radio piquet,” Peter replied. He wanted to talk to her but could not think of what to say. Besides, with Lt McEwen awake there was no privacy. Peter retreated to his own sleeping bag and lay brooding with his face turned to the darkness. Unhappily he contemplated his options.

‘I don't want to get Kate into trouble- but the police should be told. What story can I tell so that she doesn't get implicated?'

He finally dropped into fitful slumber as Graham was woken for his 0300 patrol.

For Graham the night improved. Two hours sleep had refreshed him and he always enjoyed night fieldcraft exercises. His patrol discovered both 1 Platoon and 3 Platoon and annoyed each for half an hour. Graham was able to infiltrate to 3 Platoon HQ and wake up CUO White to tell him his throat was cut. At 0430 he was at the Control Group camp and stirred them up to get reinforcements for a dawn attack on 4 Platoon.

The exercise orders had stipulated that all platoons were to wake and pack at 0500, ‘Stand-to' at 0530; and to end the exercise and move in at 0600. The yelling and action around 4 Platoon died down as the grey half-light gave way to the pink flush of dawn. Happy and pleasantly tired Graham led his group back to the HQ fire. From both directions the platoon commanders led their platoons in, long lines of bleary eyed and cold cadets who trudged wearily over the sand.

Graham met them and positioned them as a ‘company in line' by platoons so he could do the check parade. Packs were dropped and the CUOs went off to report to the OC leaving Graham with the sergeants. It was 0630 by the time the last platoon, 3 Platoon, arrived.

After the sergeants had marked their roll books Graham ordered them to do the usual checks. He watched while they did that. “Corporals check you have your radios and compasses.”

There was a flurry of activity. When all the sergeants had done an about turn to face the front Graham called for reports. After the sergeants had reported all correct Graham told them they had till 0800, “At which time you will be ready to march,” he stated.

The sergeants led the cadets away to the bivouac areas they had previously occupied. Graham reported to the OC. “All present Sir. No sick. One in hospital.”

“Good. Any gear missing?”

“No Sir,” Graham replied.

“Excellent. I was a bit worried with that sand business in the middle of the night. Don't forget Coy ‘O' Group at 0730. You had better eat fast.”

“Yes Sir.” Graham moved to his gear and began heating water. ‘Always the same,' he thought. ‘Never a minute to myself.' But he did not really mind. He gave Allison a nod and began shaving. Later, as he stirred his breakfast, Graham glanced at Peter.

“You are very quiet Pete. Did you sleep OK?”

“No, not really,” Peter replied.

Graham noted that Peter was pretending to be his usual self but he knew him too well to be deceived. “How do you feel today? Do you still feel sick?”

Peter looked at him with eyes sunk in dark sockets. “I feel rotten actually but I can still do my job,” he replied. He gave a forced smile. Graham noted it as such. ‘Something is bothering Pete. I must talk to him as soon as I get a chance,' he thought. Then time overran his good intentions. He wolfed down his breakfast, washed up, washed his face in the river, cleaned his teeth, rolled up his bedding, packed his pullover, polished his boots and marked the company roll all in just over thirty minutes. He was just in time for the Coy ‘O' Group.

The morning's activity was for each platoon in turn to do a platoon attack, as a final test for the platoon commanders, not to teach infantry tactics but to see if they could plan and conduct a complex activity requiring clear orders and co-ordination. This gave the CSM little to do other than observe. The Control Group were positioned by Lt Maclaren and the CUOs were given from 0800 to 0930 to do a recon and write their orders. In the meantime the platoons were to have their gear inspected by their sergeants and their feet inspected by the medics.

As soon as the ‘O' Group was over Graham took the opportunity to inspect the latrine- and to use it. He then moved from platoon to platoon observing and chatting to people.

This soon revealed two different, but very serious problems. The first he overheard as he came up behind Roger's section. Kellie Jones was there, inspecting the feet of Cpl Davies' section nearby. Cadet Anderson nodded towards Kellie and said to Cadet Walsh next to him.

“Gee I'd like to get alongside her.”

“Y'ed have to join the queue,” Walsh drawled back.

“Why? Wha'dya mean?”

Walsh shook his head. “What do ya think ya nong! She does it alright but ye'd have ter wait till them sergeants ‘ave ‘ad their go, an' even then I don't like yer chances.”

“What sergeants?” Anderson queried

“That CQMS for one. I heard he was with her last night,” Walsh replied.

Graham had been standing with his back to them chatting to Roger but his ears had instantly pricked up at the mention of Kellie's name. As the implications of what the cadets were saying sank in Graham pursed his lips. He spun round.

“Who says so Cadet Walsh? Who told you that?”

Walsh looked around in worried surprise. “Aw...er... I dunno CSM.”

“Crap! You seem to have all the details. Now tell me what you heard,” Graham grated.

Walsh licked his lips nervously. “Well sir, I heard that when she was out on patrol last night she went off with Costigan. I heard that both blokes did ..er.. had..er.. did something.”

Graham's mind raced, ticking over the patrol rosters. Kellie Jones had been out on patrol from midnight till 0200- and with two boys: Costigan and Lacey; and a girl: Ramsey. He shook his head. Ramsey was there so surely not? And Bert? Would he do something like that? Graham shook his head again. ‘If Kellie offered me I'd be mighty tempted,' he mused.

“Who told you that Cadet Walsh?” Graham asked again.

“No-one sir. I heard Costigan tellin' Crane up at the latrine a while ago,” Walsh answered.

“Was Staff Sergeant Costigan boasting to Sergeant Crane what he had done, or just relaying a rumour?”

“Boasting sir. He described how they did it and said that it was real good. He said the others did it too,” Walsh replied.

“Damn!” Graham compressed his lips. “You two say nothing about this to anyone; and you too Cpl Dunning. I don't want a wave of rumour going round the company and harming people.”

“Yes sir,” they chorused.

Graham stalked off, his good humour evaporated, to confront Costigan up at the safety vehicle where he and Cpl Lacey were loading jerry cans.

“Staff Costigan, a word with you,” he said.

“What, now? I'm in a hurry,” Costigan replied.

“In private, now!” Graham snapped.

Resentment showed on Costigan's face but he walked away from a curious Cpl Lacey to stand hands on hips facing Graham.

“What?”

“What Sir,” Graham murmured.

“Cut the crap! What do you want?” Costigan sneered.

“Discipline first; then answers,” Graham replied grimly. He stood his ground and with difficulty kept his arms by his sides. They eyeballed each other for a minute before Costigan said,

“Yeah what...Sir?”

Graham stared him down, prepared for a blow. Then he asked quietly, “I've just been told you were boasting to Sgt Crane that you and Cpl Jones did something while on patrol last night. Is that true?”

Costigan's eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed. He pursed his lips. “Mind your own business.”

“It is my business! I am the CSM,” Graham growled. “Now, is it true?”

Costigan hesitated then shook his head. “No. I said I'd like to that's all.”

Graham searched his face. “I was told the person with you also did something as well. That was Cpl Lacey wasn't it?”

Costigan looked worried and glanced over towards Bert. “He was with me. He didn't do anything. Nor did I. He'll tell you. Ask him.”

“I intend to. So you deny anything happened?”

“Yeah. I do,” Costigan replied, defiance clear in his voice.

“Thank you. That is all for now,” Graham said. ‘He's lying,' he thought. He looked past Costigan. “Cpl Lacey, come here.”

Costigan made no move to leave. Graham met his hostile gaze. “That is all Staff Sergeant Costigan. I wish to speak to Cpl Lacey alone.”