The Cadet Sergeant Major (4 page)

For a time his mind struggled with the conflict between love and lust. He was ashamed of himself for having such a physical reaction to Kate. But the fact that she affected him that way was not to be denied! He began to fantasize that Kate was with him. As his passion mounted his mind struggled to generate romantic images which did not include sex.

‘Will she want that? Or will she be repelled and disgusted? Do I want her to- or is it true love I want?' Peter wondered. Then he knew, with a flash of insight, that he was being a hypocrite. “Of course I want her to! Ooooh!” he murmured. He gripped himself firmly as the sexual desire built up. He let out an involuntary groan as he did, the experience heightened by the sharp prickling of his conscience. ‘I'm the sergeant. I shouldn't be having such thoughts about one of my cadets!'

Peter struggled to regain control. He berated himself; ‘The wish is father to the deed! Stop! Besides, it won't happen!' he told himself. He lay back and wrestled with his conscience and his aroused state.

Then, to Peter's intense frustration, he heard Graham returning. Peter lay still and pretended to be asleep. He found himself shaking with emotion. His whole body seemed to writhe with urgent need. With an effort he lay motionless, fearful that Graham would hear his rapid breathing and guess what he had been doing. Shame and guilt swamped him.

Long after Graham had dropped into a deep sleep Peter lay awake. Kate! What should he do about her?

‘Oh, I love her! And I want to be with her!' Peter sighed. But he didn't know what to do next. He wasn't very experienced with girls. In all his 16 years he had only taken two out on ‘dates'; and only had one real ‘crush'. There had never been anything more physical than a couple of fumbled kisses. It wasn't much help. Fantasizing again he at last slipped into sleep.

Graham opened his eyes. It was still dark. He knew that sub-conscious worry had woken him. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he groped for the pencil torch he had placed on the groundsheet. Using it he checked the time: 0520. Good.

The air was cold enough to be chilly but he made himself get out of the sleeping bag at once. He felt stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground. He hadn't slept well; and Peter had done a lot of tossing and turning which hadn't helped. As quickly as he could Graham pulled on socks and boots. He had a drink of water and dabbed some on his eyes to ungum them.

Next Graham rolled up his bedding, strapping it into the bottom of his pack. It was a unit ‘Standing Operating Procedure'- for safety in case a snake, scorpion or centipede decided to crawl in. It was also good for efficiency and discipline. As a matter of routine Graham liked to get it out of the way first thing. Then he crawled out of the hutchie and stretched.

“Hat,” he mumbled. His slouch hat was located and jammed on his head. With rapid strides he made his way to the latrine. From painful experience he knew that if he did not go now he would not get another chance for a while. The camp and surrounding bush were very quiet. To the east there was a greying through the trees.

“Not even a Kookaburra awake. I'm the only silly bugger out of bed,” he told himself as he strode along. Then another thought came to him: ‘Unless a snake is up and about!' Graham hated and feared snakes. He had been bitten by a ‘King Brown' when he was eleven and knew he was lucky to be alive. During the safety brief the OC had warned them. It was springtime. The snakes were coming out of their hibernation and would be both hungry and looking for mates; and that would make them bad tempered and aggressive.

Fear slowed Graham down. He clicked on his torch to scan ahead. ‘Be a bit cold for them this morning,' he told himself hopefully. ‘Reptiles are cold-blooded. They need the sun to warm them up.'

As he walked back to his hutchie later Graham noticed a flare of sparks over at the officer's fire. He saw that Lt Standish was sitting there. ‘She must be the officer on duty,' he decided. He knew that the OOCs were rostered so that one of them was always awake, for safety and supervision. She raised her head and looked in his direction so he raised a hand and she waved back. ‘This unit has good officers,' he thought. ‘They try very hard.'

By 0540 Graham was back at his hutchie. He shook Peter. “Time to get up Pete. Check Parade in fifteen minutes.” As soon as he was sure Peter was awake Graham strode off to wake the other sergeants. As he did he noted that it was already noticeably lighter and there was a distinct pink tinge on the horizon.

The platoons were bivouacked in their own areas in a rough circle around HQ. They were located in stands of trees which suited the erection of hutchies. Each platoon area was separated by about 50 metres from its neighbour so there was no doubt about whose responsibility it was for cleaning up; and to develop platoon
Esprit d' Corps
. Graham walked around the area anti-clockwise.

1 Platoon. No problem. Stephen was awake and they exchanged ‘Good mornings'. Graham checked his watch and walked quickly. Ten minutes to go. ‘Will I make it in time?' he worried. 2 Pl. ‘Which hutchie?' he wondered. He threaded his way through them in the half-light until he found the one he wanted. ‘This one.' He bent down and shook the sleeping bag at what he judged to be the shoulder. It writhed like a giant pupa. There was a stifled groan. An arm came out then a head covered with tousled fair hair- Gwen Copeland.

“Time to get up,” Graham said. As he knelt there he smelt a waft of warm ‘woman in bed' scent. It caused him to experience a strong urge to stroke her cheek, which he sternly suppressed. It also surprised and worried him by the intensity of it. While berating himself for being a weakling he marched briskly over to 3 Platoon.

He had trouble waking Sgt Brown. “Get up Lance! Five minutes to check parade.”

“Humfff. Uh!. Mmmm.... Bugger check parade,” came Sgt Brown's voice from the sleeping bag. He rolled over with his back to Graham.

“Get up Sgt Brown!” Graham shook him again.

“Bugger off! Hmmm. Mmmm. Grumble!” Brown replied. Graham shook him firmly. With groans and obvious reluctance Sgt Brown rolled on his back, opened his eyes and sat up.

Graham looked at his watch. Only two minutes! ‘I've miscalculated!' he thought with a mixture of shame and dismay. He walked quickly to 4 Pl. ‘I need to start earlier and go faster,' he berated himself angrily.

Luckily Sgt Griffin was up, stretching and yawning. He said ‘Good morning' and yawned again. Graham checked the time. 0600. He stopped and called out in a loud clear voice, “OK Platoon sergeants; get them up.”

At once the morning stillness was shattered by the sergeants bawling at their cadets. Graham strode over to the clump of twisted Mulga trees where the Control Group were camped and started to shake them. He was annoyed with himself because he didn't know exactly where Sgt Crane slept. ‘And I haven't shown the sergeants where to line their platoons up for parade.' He bit his lip; then shouted at the sleeping cadets, “Get up Control Group! Check parade.”

The noise had woken the birds. Kookaburras began chortling. Graham marched quickly back to the clearing on the vehicle track along the centre of the ridge. There was an area of about a 100 paces extent clear of trees.

“This will have to do,” he told himself. He began pacing along, making boot marks in the sand to show the sergeants where to put their Right Markers. It was dawn by this and he could see figures moving in all the platoon areas. The sergeants were still rousing sleepy cadets out of bed. Graham heard Stephen bellow, “Out you get! Boots and hat and NCOs make sure you have your radios. And make sure you have your sticks.”

“Arthur's got a stick!” a voice called.

Stephen at once snapped back, “Don't be crude Cadet James. Just get moving. Hat and boots.”

“What about clothes sergeant?” another voice called.

“Don't be a smart-arse Hodgins! Just get a move on!” Stephen yelled.

Graham grinned. He called out, “Sergeants! Move your platoons over here! Now!”

He looked around and saw that cadets were lining up in most areas, preparatory to marching over. Only at 4 Pl were they still milling around. Then he heard Peter's angry voice.

“Get out of bed Cadet Denton!”

“I'm not ready yet,” came Denton's muffled reply.

“Just come as you are!” Peter cried in exasperation.

“But I'm not dressed yet!” Denton wailed.

“Don't come!” cried LCpl Henning. “Spare us Sergeant! Spare us!”

Peter scowled. “Be quiet Headquarters! Get in line. Hurry up Cadet Denton! You were told to sleep dressed, now get a move on!” he snapped.

Graham had to grin. The thought of Denton, ‘The Human Hippo', as Henning had once unkindly called her, appearing on parade without clothes was too horrible to contemplate.

The platoons were formed up in shivering ‘threes' and then marched across to where Graham waited. He directed them to where he wanted them but it was still a bit of a muddle as some sergeants had trouble manoeuvring them into position.

Sgt Griffin made the worst hash. 4 Platoon was last. They marched over looking like a shambling rabble, half out of step. Griffin got flustered trying to get them back in step; then misjudged the distance and had to ‘about turn' them and move them back. He then wheeled them the wrong way while trying to avoid HQ. Then he ordered them to continue the wheel. The result was that the platoon did a complete circle and still did not end up in the right place. Under the snickering of the rest of the company, who stood in three ranks waiting, Griffin got more and more flustered.

Graham gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. He did not want to criticize a sergeant in front of the troops; but was embarrassed that one of the sergeants was making such a fool of himself. Finally Griffin fell them out and reformed the platoon in the gap between 3 Platoon and HQ.

The company was then formed up ‘In line'; the platoons lined side by side along the track in three ranks with a gap between each platoon and its neighbour. Graham stood 50 paces out in front facing them. He checked his watch. It was now light enough to see.

“Not good enough! It took you nearly ten minutes just to get out of bed and on parade. Tomorrow we will halve that. I want the whole parade over in ten minutes. Company, Attennnn...shun! Company, Right...dress! Wake up! Get the timings right! As you were.”

Graham waited till the shuffling stopped. “Company!” He paused and ran his eyes over them. “Don't anticipate the order! Stand still till I give the executive word of command. Company....Right... dress!”

Graham could see cadets mumbling under their breath but he didn't care. He wasn't interested in popularity. ‘I'm the sergeant major. My job is discipline,' he told himself.

“Company, Eyes front! Stand at...Ease! Platoon sergeants, mark the roll.”

The sergeants snapped to attention, except Brown who did it lazily- Graham noting this. They called, “Sir!”, about turned and faced their platoons. Roll books were extracted from pockets and they began calling names. Graham looked along the line.

“What is the problem Sgt Griffin?”

Griffin looked foolish and flustered. “I left my roll book in my hutchie CSM.”

“Go and get it. Double! Silence in the ranks!”

Griffin doubled away. Smirks appeared on the faces of his cadets and several snickered. Graham glared at them. ‘Bloody fool!' he thought.

Once the roll marking was complete and each sergeant was again facing the front ‘At ease' Graham took out his notebook and a pencil and called for reports, a platoon at a time. As each sergeant reported their numbers Graham wrote them down and did a running total down the side. This reached 109. He checked the figures again.

‘None missing or absent. Good.' It had been known to happen and was one of his chief worries. He put the notebook and pencil away.

“Now everyone who was issued with a radio or compass check that you have the correct ones. Check the numbers on them. Platoon sergeants count the radios and compasses in your platoon,” Graham said. Every section commander had been issued with both and they belonged to the unit, not the army.

Graham checked the time. Nearly twenty past six. ‘Ten minutes longer than I should take,' he noted irritably, angry with himself. He glanced across at the officer's camp and noted the cluster of OOCs and CUOs sitting or standing around the fire. At Graham's call the platoon sergeants reported that there were no radios or compasses missing. He said, “Good. Any sick can report to the medics as soon as you are fallen out. Remember you have inspections at 0730: Hygiene and gear. Platoon sergeants there are still two latrines to dig. I will show you where. You provide me with a work party of one lance corporal and two diggers. Company parade is at 0800 here. Platoon sergeants, carry on!”

Graham stood and watched as the platoon sergeants marched their platoons away. Sgt Griffin waited till HQ was gone but then, instead of turning them left, as the easiest way to get them back to their area, he turned them right. This wouldn't have been so obvious if he had then ordered ‘quick march and ‘right wheel' as that would have put the corporals at the front, which was normal. Instead he ordered an ‘about turn.'

From among the ranks of 4 Platoon came an aggrieved, “Make up yer bloody mind!”

Graham could not identify the culprit but he snarled, “Silence in the ranks!”

Sgt Griffin gave him a sheepish look and then got the platoon marching.

Graham groaned inwardly. ‘Bloody drongo!' he thought. Shaking his head he turned and marched towards the officer's camp. The check parade had been entirely his business. The officers and CUOs were not involved. They sat or stood around the fire. Graham marched up to Capt Conkey. Being ‘in the field' he did not salute.

“All present sir. No radios or compasses missing and no sick.”

“Very good CSM,” Capt Conkey replied with a cheerful grin. “Carry on.”

“Company Roll please sir,” Graham asked, still standing stiffly to attention.

Capt Conkey was busy describing an incident with Sgt Griffin during a bivouac earlier in the year. He pointed with a cup of coffee. “My briefcase CSM.”

Graham extracted the roll book and sat on a log to mark it. While he did he listened to the story. Capt Conkey continued in his hearing because Griffin was of a lower rank and therefore the CSM's business. The story confirmed everything Graham thought about Griffin.

As soon as he had marked the roll Graham went on his way, leaving the officers to talk. Normally he liked to sit and listen to their stories and discussions but at that moment he had too much to do. He liked the officers. They were not like normal army officers. They were Officers of Cadets, although the OC, 2ic and QM had been, or were, officers of the Army Reserve. All were teachers who ran the cadet unit as a part-time, mostly unpaid ‘extra'.

Graham did not linger. He marched over to where HQ sat in a circle having breakfast.

“What have we got?”

“Vienna sausage, potatoes and peas,” Peter replied. Graham quickly hauled out his stove and mess tins. He poured water into a mess tin, then struck a match and lit the half block of hexamine in the stove. It flared into flame and Graham smiled. He knew he did this every time because the smell of hexamine conjured up thoughts of food and warm drink; and many happy memories. ‘Like that bloody Russian's dog that salivated every time it heard a bell. That's me and hexamine,' he thought. Still smiling he placed the mess tin of water on to heat.

Peter passed him food tins. Graham spooned his share into the other mess tin. Coffee and sugar were added to his Cup Canteen Steel. He quickly prepared the hot drink and food, listening to the cheerful banter of the others but not joining in. His mind was too busy planning his day.