The Cadet Sergeant Major (34 page)

Capt Conkey then smiled. “Relax CSM. I'm very pleased with your performance. It is just that there are eight to pick from and we only need five CUOs. But I will tell you now, in confidence of course, that you are top of my list; and Peter is next.”

Graham heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you sir.”

“That is not a promise mind you. And we won't decide till after the Passing-out Parade in October,” Capt Conkey cautioned.

“No sir, I know. I will keep on trying.”

“Good lad. Now, please keep that to yourself. Let us go and see how this lot handle the minefield.”

The OC led the way to where the second group of corporals was debating how best to get through a ‘Minefield' which blocked their path. Capt Conkey and Graham listened for a while then moved to catch up with the first group who were just debating what to do with a (theoretically) badly injured member of their squad, knowing the pursuit was on their trail.

They followed Group 1 of corporals to the next stand and listened to how they would deal with an enemy sentry who was guarding the only bridge across a crocodile infested river- with other enemy in the immediate area. Once again Graham thought Barbara dominated the discussion, and that Fiona had excellent ideas which she explained clearly.

Barbara certainly controlled the group during the next problem- a practical one- where a body with a map beside it was found lying in a grassy clearing. They did everything right and found the sniper, thus gaining the map. The next problem was what to do if a lone enemy soldier suddenly stepped out and surrendered. Gallon was first scout and his reaction, even though LCpl Martin was clearly unarmed and had his hands up, was to shoot him. He turned with a grin to receive the full wrath of an indignant Capt Conkey.

“That was murder Cpl Gallon; sheer bloody murder! How many times have I told you what the moral rights and wrongs concerning prisoners are! I won't have that sort of behaviour in my unit.”

Fiona spoke up. “Besides, he might have been able to give us valuable information.”

“Quite right,” Capt Conkey agreed. He again reiterated the correct way to handle prisoners, both legally and morally. Then he moved the patrol on to the final stand. Here Lt Maclaren and Lt Standish waited. The problem posed was that the patrol had reached the sea and a submarine was waiting offshore in the darkness to pick them up. But the only boat available was too small to safely carry them all, particularly as the weather was worsening. Someone would have to be left behind. The cadets did not have to discuss this one, just think about it for a few minutes then do a secret ballot on who in the section should stay.

This was potentially very hurtful and for this reason was kept confidential, only the officers knowing the results. It was included as a way of identifying cadets who had been rejected by the group. Sometimes the results were quite surprising.

As the first group of corporals finished the course Capt Conkey turned to Graham. “OK CSM, you go with this lot to keep law and order in the bivouac area. You can fill out your Personal Qualities Reports while you do. There are spare ones in my briefcase.”

Graham led the cheerful corporals back to their platoon areas a hundred metres off over the next dune. He set them to fill out their reports then obtained a bundle of blank forms and settled himself in the shade to do likewise.

The Personal Qualities Reports listed 21 headings, some of character and some for leadership. In most cases a simple tick in the appropriate box: from Very Good to Very Poor; was all that was needed. Sometimes he wrote a comment. He had to write one on every NCO, plus any cadet who had come to his notice for disciplinary reasons, or for some outstanding quality.

The very first name he wrote, starting with the most senior NCO, was SSgt Costigan. This instantly presented Graham with a quandary. What should he tick for ‘Loyalty'? What about ‘Honesty and Integrity'? For a few minutes he agonized over this. After all he had no real proof. He toyed with putting the decision off and starting at the other end: with the cadets and lance corporals.

“No, you bloody weakling!” he berated himself. “What tick would you give yourself for ‘Moral Courage'?”

So he made rapid and decisive ticks in the columns as he deemed appropriate. Costigan did not fare well. It made Graham feel uneasy in case he was being unfair. This feeling increased when he ticked Peter's report. Almost every mark was ‘Very Good', with only a few ‘Goods' (for Energy and Group Influence); and none for ‘Satisfactory' or ‘Poor'.

“I mustn't be biased,” Graham muttered. “Just because Peter is my mate. I've got to be fair.” So he went over both Peter's and Costigan's again on fresh sheets- and changed nothing.

As he worked Graham pondered the OC's words. ‘If I am top of the prospective CUO's list and Peter is second, who are the other two or three?' He turned over a used sheet and pencilled on the back a list in what he thought the rank order might be:

Kirk

Bronsky

Copeland

Bell

Costigan

Griffin

Rankin

Crane

Then he made a little arrow and moved Rankin up above Costigan. ‘Rankin is going OK. He is handling the job of platoon sergeant well,' he muttered. For a moment he considered moving Stephen's name above Gwen's but he paused. Was Stephen that good? He was a friend; and he certainly had the ability, but memories of past incidents clouded the back of Graham's thoughts and made him purse his lips.

Annoyed at his own doubts Graham made two bold strokes and crossed out Griffin and Crane. Both were in Year 12 and while, theoretically they could remain cadets until they were 19, there was small chance the OC would send either on a CUO's Course.

That brought him back to Costigan. Graham re-read what he had written and knew the direct consequence of his words would be a strong question mark against Costigan. The thought gave Graham no satisfaction but he placed the report down unchanged and firmly crossed out Costigan's name on his list.

‘He doesn't deserve promotion,' he said. So; only five contenders for five places- if the unit was allowed that many; unless the OC wanted one as CSM. That opened a new line of thought: who of the other sergeants would make a good CSM?

Graham was distracted from his speculations by the arrival of the remainder of the corporals. He directed them to their platoon areas then walked around to make sure they were all busy with their reports. Several were just gossiping: Goltz, Gallon and Fredericks.

Graham called to them, “Come on you lot. Get those reports done now. You only have six or seven to do. So stop talking and get them done before your troops arrive back. You will find them hard to do then.”

After which Graham returned to HQ and heeded his own advice. It only took him two or three minutes for most of them but an occasional individual warranted detailed comments and took five or so minutes. Graham was kept busy for nearly two hours, with interruptions to ensure that returning sections were behaving.

By 1630 all sections had completed the course and were in the bivouac area. The boisterousness had grown progressively, necessitating a watchful eye and several bellows. The staff came back in groups. Graham thankfully completed the last of his reports. He placed these in the OC's briefcase then moved around to supervise.

Capt Conkey walked over, a bundle of reports under his arm. “Right CSM, let's wash the sweaty horde. Swim parade till seventeen thirty, here, under my eye. Also, organize a work party to collect firewood for the company campfire. And remind all the corporals that every section must put on an act, to be counted for marks in the section competition.”

“Yes sir. My reports are in your briefcase,” Graham replied. He marched off, calling for the platoon sergeants. They came reluctantly as they were all still completing their reports. Graham passed on the instructions then stood in the centre to control.

He made an effort to round up the skulkers who appeared to be avoiding a bath. At the top of his list was Clayfield but, to his surprise he saw him walking down to the river with Barbara, Margaret and Becky Robinson. Clayfield was wearing a shirt and trousers and had a towel. Best of all he looked more relaxed. ‘Or at least less unhappy,' Graham observed.

Satisfied that things were going well he removed his own boots, emptied his pockets and waded in for a quick wash.

“Stop running you pair!” he bawled at Walsh and Anderson as they skittered past.

The shallow water quickly filled with laughing, splashing cadets. Exuberance and high spirits bubbled up. The camp was nearly over. All the training was done. Tomorrow they would go home.

Margaret came and stood beside him. Graham gave her a smile and felt a surge of genuine affection. She returned it, her face lighting up.

“Home tomorrow,” she said happily.

“Yes. Pity. I was enjoying the camp,” Graham replied.

“It is obvious,” Margaret said with a grin. “You've been like a pig in mud all week.”

“I'm not sure I like that description!” Graham cried in mock horror. Then he bellowed with laughter and had to suppress an urge to take her hands and dance. Graham's laugh attracted the attention of several dozen cadets. Those nearest began splashing him. He was seized and firmly ducked several times by the Control Group and the ruffians from 4 Platoon.

He surfaced spluttering and laughing to help the OC restore order as an epidemic of water fights broke out. Barbara joined Margaret beside him.

“It's good to see everyone happy,” Graham said to Margaret as she wiped drops from her face.

“Not everyone,” Margaret replied. “Poor old Peter looks pretty low.”

Graham turned to look. Peter sat on the bank working on a pile of reports. He was sucking on his pen, deep in thought, and appeared very troubled. Graham shook his head in concern. “Controlling HQ is enough to make anyone frown,” he commented, but he felt a twinge of guilt for forgetting his friend for most of the day. He heard Margaret give a scandalized gasp and she grabbed his arm. He turned to see what had caused this reaction; and gaped.

It was Leah Allen. She had come out of the trees to stand on a rock and was wearing the skimpiest black bikini Graham had ever seen. That she aware she was the centre of attention was obvious. Dozens of cadets were staring and the Control Group and some of the older boys started to call comments. Her reaction was to smile and bend forward to ‘test the water', thereby revealing a considerable cleavage. A scandalized murmur broke out among some of the groups of girls and Bax wolf-whistled.

‘Bloody hell!' Graham thought. ‘That's not fair! Talk about teasing!' He wondered what to do, if anything. From a nearby group he heard Gwen mutter ‘tart'. Then Kellie Jones came out of the bushes in a white one-piece which set off her shape to perfection. Graham was stunned and realized he was goggling- even ogling!

As Kellie joined Leah on the edge of the water Marcia Denton emerged from the bushes. She wore a pale green one-piece, all lumps and bulges and cleavage above pudgy, pasty legs. A shout of cruel hilarity went up from the watching crowd.

Boys began to move towards the three as they waded into the water. Splashing and ducking began.

“Like bloody bees to the Honey Pot,” Graham said.

“More like blowflies to the dung heap!” Barbara sniffed.

Graham realized he was treading on thin ice. He also remembered his duty. ‘I'd better watch that mob tonight. If there is going to be trouble then the last night is the time. And that lot are prime candidates for it.'

A few minutes later Graham's attention was drawn to an angry altercation nearby. He turned and saw Kellie Jones standing amidst her friends. She was wagging a finger at the Control Group and looked very angry. She snarled, “You keep your filthy mouth shut Costigan! And stop saying things about me! I was told you were boasting what you claim we did. You can stop making up lies just to boost your ego.”

Costigan went deep red and said something in reply. At that Kellie Jones really flared up. “You just stay away from me! And stop saying things that aren't true.”

With that she turned and waded towards Graham. He friends followed. As they splashed past Graham called to Allison. “Hey Allie, what was that about?”

Allison stopped and cast a hostile glance back towards the Control Group. “Costigan has been claiming he was with Kellie.. That they.. they…you know.”

“I heard the same rumour,” Graham replied.

“Well it isn't true. Kellie can't stand Costigan. And anyway, she is very choosy. She knows her own worth. She can get any man she wants. Besides she doesn't muck up at cadets,” Allison said.

Barbara, who had been listening, spoke up, “That's right. Kellie isn't like that.”

Graham wasn't so sure but his opinion of Costigan went down another notch.

At that juncture Capt Conkey came along. He obviously hadn't heard the altercation as he ordered them all to finish washing and to get out of the river. Few objected as the water was cold and the wind chilly. Graham hurried them along. When all were out he waded ashore, dried his feet and pulled on his unlaced boots. He walked to his pack and extracted clean underwear, uniform and socks. With these draped over his arm he made his way behind some convenient trees and quickly changed.

It felt really good to be washed and in clean clothes. He hauled on the fresh socks and laced up his boots, then set about organizing a work party to collect firewood: one cadet from each section commanded by Bert Lacey. He was also aware that the HQ girls were still in their bathing costumes. Even Kate was wandering around just wearing a uniform shirt; her most delectable legs on display. Graham pondered what to do or say but decided the cold would make them cover up. ‘The officers are here and they don't appear concerned,' he reasoned.

Graham walked off with Bert and his work party, pointing out piles of dry timber in the mounds of flood debris. “Watch out for snakes and scorpions,” he warned, as grumpy cadets began hauling logs loose.

The search took them over onto the main grassy flood channel. Graham heard laughter and saw three boys come hurrying out of the rubber vines. ‘That latrine. I will just check it.'

He strode up the sand ridge and along the animal pad. When he reached the clearing he stopped in disgusted amazement. The new latrine was completely filled in and, despite their being a shovel there the surrounding area was littered with unburied turds and used toilet paper. For a minute he stared in mounting anger. Then he spun on his heel and stormed back to the grassy hollow.

Graham went along this until he reached the animal pad leading up to the vehicles, which acted as the dividing line between ‘girls' and ‘boys'. Debbie Wallis and Sharon Morrow were just returning from the ‘girls'.

“Is there a girl at the toilet?” Graham asked.

“No sir.”

“Good. Wait here and stop any who come along while I do a quick inspection,” Graham ordered. He walked to the secluded dell and looked. All was neat and clean. A new hole had been dug, the old one properly filled in. There was fresh, clean water in a washbasin with a jerrycan beside it for refills, soap, a shovel, toilet paper in a large can to protect it from dew or rain; even a plastic rubbish bag for unmentionable items.

Still in a grumpy frame of mind Graham returned to the two girls and walked with them back to the bivouac area, complimenting the girls on their field hygiene. It was twilight by then and cooking fires flickered amongst the trees.

Without further thought Graham stood in the middle of the sandy river channel, fists on hips, and bellowed.

“Platoon sergeants! All boys to report here now! And I mean now!”

“But we are having dinner,” Sgt Griffin called back.

“I don't care if you are having a bloody birthday party. Get all the boys in your platoon here now!”

His anger transmitted itself to them. They moved- sulkily and with much grumbling- but fast enough. Graham paced up and down; short, angry steps. He was aware the officers were watching but did not care.

The male cadets began falling in. CUO Grenfell strode over and faced Graham. “What is going on CSM? My platoon are eating.”

Graham stood to attention and made himself poker-faced. “It is an administrative matter Sir. It does not concern the officers.”

“But... but my cadets..” CUO Grenfell began, clearly unsure.

“Sir, I appreciate your loyalty to your cadets but it is sergeant's business. Please speak to the OC if you do not agree,” Graham replied. He knew he was being stubborn but was determined.

CUO Grenfell hesitated, then shrugged and walked off. He did not go to the OC. Graham let his breath out slowly, then inhaled and shouted for the stragglers to hurry up. He noted with satisfaction that, even though he had stipulated male cadets, Gwen Copeland stood in front of her platoon.

“Sgt Copeland, thank you for coming. This only concerns the boys. You may fall out.” When she had done so Graham raised his voice. “Compane-e-e-e. Atten - shun! Now, listen to me you mob of grubs. You will remember the state of your latrine yesterday. Well, I have just been to inspect it and it is worse!”

He paused to add emphasis then went on. “The boy's latrine looks like a pig sty! There is unburied crap, and used dunny paper scattered... (From….? He groped for something suitable to say, well aware all the girls must be listening)..all over the place. It is disgusting! It is a disgrace! Even damned animals are cleaner than that!”

Graham paused again, aware they were still standing to attention, a surly, discontented mass. “You have a sandy river bank hundreds of kilometres long to hide your filth in. There is a shovel there in case the hole gets filled in. But some of you are too lazy to use it. You couldn't even scrape a hole in the sand with the heel of your boot!”

He ran his eyes over them, staring them down, noting the ones with righteous indignation; and the ones exhibiting sullen rebellion. “It is not good enough. It is poor hygiene and it is poor soldiering. We don't teach you that. You have been shown the correct thing to do. That latrine is a disgrace to this unit. The place will be cleaned up and now, before anyone eats.”

This elicited a mass groan and mumblings.

“Silence! Platoon sergeants, detail a lance corporal and three cadets each. One platoon to clean up. (This drew snickers from the others) Two Platoon to dig a new hole. Three Platoon to provide clean water and soap. Four Platoon take over collecting firewood. HQ to arrange for rubber gloves for 1 Platoon and for the toilet paper to be kept dry. The rest of you will sit here until the job is done. Now carry on!”