The Cadet Sergeant Major (5 page)

Graham ate quickly, heating more water as he did. This was for shaving. He was proud of needing to shave. It made him feel very manly. He shaved by feel, using warm soapy water from the mess tin as lather. The fingers of his left hand felt for the stubble and his other hand wielded the razor.

As he shaved Graham felt someone's eyes on him. He looked up and his gaze met Allison's. She smiled. He smiled back and felt his heart bound. ‘Bright Eyes likes me!' he thought happily. Boosted by that he went on shaving, conscious of her gaze but pretending not to be. He washed the soap off, dried his face on a hand towel, washed and dried his mess gear, then packed everything away in his webbing.

That done Graham sat on the pack and extracted boot polish and brushes. He set to work on his dusty, grass-scuffed boots. Peter was busy packing up beside him. Graham said, “You didn't sleep very well last night Pete.”

Peter grunted; then said, “No, I didn't dig a hip-hole. I was uncomfortable.”

“Make sure HQ has its waterbottles filled before parade. They are going straight on to this ‘Escape and Evasion' exercise after it.”

“I will.”

Graham stowed his pack, filled his own waterbottles from a nearby jerry can, brushed his teeth, cleaned his fingernails and ran a comb through his hair. He noted a couple of empty tins left over from breakfast still not in the rubbish bag and drew Peter's attention to them. Outside the next hutchie Allison sat while Kate braided her hair. Allison looked up and smiled. He smiled back; then turned away, annoyed with himself.

‘Weakling! Don't fall for every pretty face you see!' he told himself. Again he checked the time: 0725. He marched off to inspect the area. The track Graham took led towards an old gravel pit near the highway. It went between the 2 Pl area and 3 Pl. As he passed he observed Roger trying to line his section up for inspection.

‘Poor old Roger!' he thought. ‘How did he end up with that bunch of lazy little grubs: Anderson, Arthur, Walsh, Skolaz and Lazarus!' He shook his head and walked on. Roger could cope.

On both sides of the vehicle track were a series of small gullies. Graham tramped up and down these for twenty minutes selecting sites for latrines. All the time he kept his eye on the time. At 0740 he headed back to camp.

The particular gully he followed led up to where 4 Pl were bivouacked. The first thing he noticed was Cpl Scott, a thin, pasty -faced Year 11, losing his temper and angrily berating Cadet Bragg. Bragg was a tall, gangling simpleton whose chief asset was his sister. He had been in Graham's section the previous year but had not been promoted. ‘Bragg is enough to try anyone's patience,' he thought. ‘But Scott needs to learn to control himself. Abuse won't win any leadership struggle.' He detoured and called Cpl Scott over. After a few quite words of advice he went on his way.

Graham marched over to where the platoon commander, CUO Coralie Bates, a tall brunette with freckles, was inspecting Cpl Doyle's section. She was quietly grilling two sulky looking girls that had already acquired the nickname throughout the unit of ‘The Two Tarts'. Sgt Griffin stood behind the platoon commander, notebook and pencil ready. Graham halted and waited. Inwardly he groaned. ‘What on earth possessed these two girls to join the cadets?' he wondered. They obviously hated taking orders and weren't interested in soldiering. ‘Are they really tarts? Did they join up to be with the boys?' he speculated. ‘I hope not. We don't want any trouble,' he thought. He resolved to keep an eagle-eye on the pair.

As soon as the CUO stopped speaking Graham stepped forward. “Excuse me Ma'am,” he said.

“Yes CSM?”

“Pardon me but could you please hurry your inspection along? The OC wants the company on parade at 0800. That's only five minutes from now.”

“Yes CSM.”

“Thank you Ma'am,” Graham said. He turned and strode off towards 3 Pl. From a distance he saw that CUO White had finished his inspection so he called, “Sgt Brown! Move your platoon over to the parade ground now.”

“Yes CSM.”

Graham checked his watch. ‘I will have to be less tactful with the other platoons.' He marched to his position on the ‘parade ground' then halted and yelled, “Platoon sergeants! Get your platoons on parade now! Move!”

He could see that 1 Platoon commander was still inspecting but she immediately stopped and handed over to Stephen who began forming the platoon up in three ranks. Bellowing and shouting broke out in all the platoon areas. Graham noted that Stephen formed his platoon up in three files with the corporals at the rear so they were already facing the way they had to go and were in the order they would be on parade. A single command set them marching. ‘Cunning dog!' he grunted.

On the other hand Sgt Griffin formed 4 Platoon up on a right marker and then had to turn them. Because of the way he had been facing this put his corporals at the rear as well, but meant they would be at the wrong end when he halted them on the parade ground. Griffin only realized this as they approached their position. He got all flustered, tried to wheel them round but misjudged the distance and had to halt them rather than collide with HQ.

This brought murmurings and jeers both from HQ and 4 Platoon. Griffin went red with embarrassment and rubbed his nose. To Graham's astonishment he ordered the platoon to ‘about turn' and ‘quick march'. This set them in motion away from the parade ground but with the corporals leading. Griffin again tried to wheel them round but again miscalculated and sent them off across the front of 3 Platoon, which was also marching towards the parade ground. Sgt Brown ordered his platoon to halt to avoid a collision. Graham tried to mask his contempt.

Sgt Brown was less polite, as he had every right to be when Griffin's troops marched through between himself and his own cadets.

“Gawd you are a drongo Griffin!” he jeered.

Griffin flapped his arms and tried to explain to Brown, then realized the platoon was getting away from him again and were about to collide with HQ. “Halt!” he shrieked. Peter stood watching with his hands on his hips. He shook his head sadly. Grins, snickers and jeers indicated what the cadet's opinions of all this were. Griffin stood and looked around in indecision.

Graham saved him by calling, “Sgt Griffin, fall them out and form them up again on a marker. Sgt Brown, get that shambling mob you call a platoon into step.”

“Yes sir. Get in step 3 Platoon,” Brown shouted angrily. “Left, Left, Left, Right, Left. Stoneman, get in step!”

At length all sub-units were lined up along the vehicle track. Graham made a play of looking at his watch. “Not good enough! Seven minutes late! You cadets get more organized and be ready on time,” he growled. ‘Sergeants too!' he thought, but he did not say. He dressed the company and had the sergeants number their cadets. This was just a quick check to ensure they were still all present. Graham then called for reports and added up the numbers. While he was doing this he was conscious that the officers and CUOs were lining up on the notional ‘edge' of the parade ground behind him.

None absent. None sick. Graham ran his eyes slowly over the company. The cadets were wearing ‘Patrol Order': camouflage uniforms, cloth bush hats and basic webbing. The medics had their First Aid Kits and the signallers their radios.

“Get the buckles of the basic webbing done up. Don't rest your arms on the basic pouches on parade. Sergeants get your corporals to check by tomorrow that all this webbing is assembled correctly and that it is adjusted to fit. Now, stop moving and stand still. You! Cadet Smart, face the front and stop whispering! Leave the flies alone, you've had breakfast.”

It was an old one but it still raised a few grins. Satisfied, Graham did an about turn and stood ‘at ease'. Facing him ten metres away were the OC and 2ic. In line with then, and in front of their own platoons, stood the four CUOs. The other officers stood off to one side.

The 2ic marched on and took over the parade. Graham reported the number present. The 2ic nodded. “Good CSM. Take post.”

Graham did an about turn and marched through the gap between 2 and 3 Platoons. He halted three paces in rear of 3 Platoon's rear rank, one file to the right of centre (leaving room for the Pl Sgt). Staff Sgt Costigan stood one pace to the left of centre. Graham faced the front and stood at ease.

The 2ic ‘posted' the platoon commanders. The CUOs came to attention, marched forward and took over from their platoon sergeants who marched around to the centre rear of their platoons. This put Sgt Brown between Graham and Costigan.

The 2ic then handed over to Capt Conkey. The OC spoke briefly, thanked them for being well behaved on their first night, reminded them about heat exhaustion and the need to drink plenty of water; and to obey the safety rules. He then said, “Four Platoon, HQ and Control Group stand fast. One, Two and Three platoons move your cadets into the shade of the big tree behind you. CUOs and Sgts then report to Lt Maclaren. CSM and CQ fall out. Carry on!”

Graham snapped to attention. “Sir!” Training had begun.

“What's happening now Peter?” Kate asked.

Peter turned to face her; annoyed that she had used his first name rather than the correct title of ‘Sgt Bronsky'. ‘I must tell her not to do that,' he thought. But he knew he was being weak in not correcting her there and then; especially with ‘Big Ears' Denton listening. He replied, “We march down to the Canning River for an ‘Escape and Evasion' exercise.”

“What's that? Is it like the one we did last year?” Kate asked.

‘Hasn't she got lovely eyes!' Peter thought. He knew he was gazing at her and tried not to. “Yes. While the OC briefs the ‘First Years' for a Navex we walk to the river. He will then come and brief us. We will have to navigate cross-country to some place he will nominate. The First Year sections will be zig-zagging all over the place on compass bearings looking for us. We must also avoid the checkpoints which will be the officers, CUOs and Sergeants. Now we had better get a move on or we will be late. There goes Four Platoon now.”

“Why do we have to walk?” asked Denton on a sulky voice. She had forgotten to refill her waterbottles which was why HQ was still there.

“Because we don't have a truck. Now hurry up!” Peter snapped. “Come on HQ. Let's go.” Peter started walking. Denton grumbled something about using the Land Rovers and was left to hurriedly finish screwing caps back on the plastic water ‘Jerry'.

Kate fell into step beside Peter. The others followed. Peter led them along the vehicle track towards the Canning Road. He hitched his webbing around to settle it more comfortably then rested his arms on the basic pouches.

“Is it far Peter?” Kate asked.

‘Peter! Again.' Peter felt a flush of annoyance. “No. It's only about two kilometres. Look Kate, don't call me Peter please, not in front of the other cadets.”

“I didn't call you Peter Please. I only called you Peter,” Kate replied, her mouth dimpling impishly.

He looked at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. There was laughter in her eyes- and something else. Peter wasn't sure. Was it mischief? He shook his head remembering what they were told on every Promotion Course. ‘Fair, Firm, Friendly but NOT Familiar. You can't have favourites and be fair. It divides the team. It is unmilitary. And familiarity breeds contempt. That undermines discipline.'

Peter squirmed inside. He knew all that; and his instinct told him it was true. But other instincts he was never previously conscious of were coming into play. He was aware that powerful emotions were stirring. ‘I like her calling me Peter,' he admitted to himself.

‘She likes me!' he thought happily as they turned right onto the Canning Road and headed north down a long, gentle slope. He found that being the object of a girl's interest was a pleasant new experience. ‘And I think she is beautiful,' he told himself.

After a hundred paces Peter looked back. HQ was straggling over 50 metres of road. “Catch up you lot at the back. Cpl Lacey! Cadet Denton! Walk faster!”

He got them together in single file on the right of the road and began to call the step. To make sure he dropped back so that he was behind, and to one side of, the last person. This way he could see them all. In the distance, at the bottom of the slope, he could see 4 Platoon, also in single file. Everyone began to sweat. Their boots stirred up the dust.

“I'm hot,” grumbled Denton. “Can't we stop for a rest?”

“No, we will be late if we do,” Peter said. He glanced at the sky. Not a cloud to be seen.

As they passed a road junction near the bottom of the slope Denton began complaining again. “I need to stop. I'm getting blisters.”

“No, keep going. It's only another kilometre,” Peter replied.

Denton mumbled and looked sulky but kept walking, though with an ostentatious limp.

All this time they were passing through open forest, mostly Ironbarks and stringy Eucalypts, with an occasional Burdekin Plum tree with its black trunk and dark green leaves. There was almost no grass on the sandy soil and very little deadfall or leaf-litter. A few beef cattle moved off as the cadets approached. The road crossed a small dry creek and went up a low rise. It curved to the right over the low shoulder of a barren, rocky hill which was nicknamed ‘Black Knoll'. The pile of rocks on the summit which earned it this name was just visible up to the left through the trees.

HQ crossed a cattle grid. Just beyond it a rough vehicle track went off to the left up a spur of Black Knoll. The Canning Road curved left around the base of the hill. It crossed an area which had been scraped bare for gravel. Several dry creeks came together on their right. Beyond them was a low ridge which was just raw, red earth- another gravel pit. Rubber vines became more frequent until they hemmed the road in on both sides. The road straightened out and the low concrete causeway which crossed the Canning River came into sight.

The Canning was over a hundred metres wide. The bed was nothing but dry sand. Both banks were covered in a dense growth of trees, thorn bushes and rubber vines.

Peter noted that the ‘Control Group' was already seated in the shade beside where the road climbed the far bank through a cutting. 4 Platoon were just joining them. Peter made sure that the members of HQ were all in step as they crossed the causeway.

On the far side he called, “Headquarters.....halt! Fall out.”

They joined the others under what shade was left. Peter sat down, acutely aware that Kate had settled herself beside him. He tried to pretend he wasn't interested in her; conscious he was practising a form of deceit, and with deliberate intent- to divert any curiosity or gossip. To this end he joined in the general conversation of those around him.

After a ten minute wait a Land Rover arrived. Capt Conkey and Graham climbed out.

Capt Conkey pointed. “Sit in a group here in the shade,” he instructed. Several cadets who were sitting further away moved in. Peter stood up.

Graham called him. “Help me issue these yellow epaulets Sgt Bronsky. You too Sgt Griffin.”

Each cadet was given two yellow epaulets. These were just cloth sewn and cut so they could be slipped onto the shoulder straps of their shirts. This was to mark them as ‘the enemy' for the First Years. That done Peter sat down again.

Capt Conkey began briefing them. He made them take out their maps and orientated them, then pointed out the boundaries: the Canning River to the north, Scrubby Creek to the east, the Flinders Highway to the south and a fence line to the west.

“The story is that you are prisoners of war. You were being moved in a truck under guard, back from the battle area to a prison camp. But on the way the truck has crashed. Your guards and the driver were injured. In the confusion you have escaped. Someone else has taken the guard's guns and they have run off; so you are unarmed and in enemy territory. You know that other enemy vehicles use the road and that as soon as your escape has been reported they will be looking for you. Your aim is to sneak back through hostile territory to you own lines without being seen and recaptured. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “Yes sir,” answered this. Peter moved into a more comfortable position and his hand touched someone else's. He pulled it away at once but glanced to see whose it was.

It was Kate's.

Their eyes met; and the look she gave him set him smouldering with desire.

‘Holy Moses! If that isn't a “Come on” look then I've never seen one,' Peter thought. ‘She really must like me!' He seemed to boil inside and found it hard to sit still and to concentrate on what the OC was saying.

“Avoid being seen,” Capt Conkey explained. “If you are, then you must decide whether it would be reasonable to run for it, or whether you would be shot. Play fair. If you clearly have no chance of escape then surrender. The First Years will then take your name and one of your yellow epaulets. The epaulets represent a ‘Life'.”

“What if we lose them both Sir?” asked LCpl Percy Pearson.

“Then you are dead,” Capt Conkey replied. There was a ripple of laughter. “In that case go with your captors. Now, usual rules: No physical contact. No fighting, punching, tackling, rock throwing or any other idiot act which might hurt anyone. Do not split up. I will say that again. For safety sake stay in the groups in which I put you. Don't split up! I do not want individuals lost or injured out in the bush. If one is caught then the whole group is caught.”

Capt Conkey paused and looked hard at the ‘Control Group' to make sure they got the message; then went on, “There is a time limit. You will all be back at camp by 1200 hours. That gives you just over three hours. You have about three kilometres to go so take your time. Good fieldcraft is the aim, not speed. Your objective is to reach the Flinders Highway. Wait there till I drive along and tell you what to do next. Any questions?”

After answering a few queries Capt Conkey divided the cadets into groups of four or five. Graham was allocated the signallers and Cadet Denton. Costigan had Bert Lacey, Kellie Jones and Cadet Bax. Peter was given the two Intelligence NCOs and Leah Allen. As soon as he realized Kate was in his group Peter looked at her and smiled.

‘Good!' he thought. ‘Couldn't be better if I'd organized it myself.'

Capt Conkey began sending them off, a group at a time with two minutes between groups. The Control Group went first, followed by Graham's group, then Costigan's and then Peter's. 4 Platoon was to follow them in five groups. Each group was to select its own route.

The Control Group went left along the bed of the Canning towards Scrubby Creek and Costigan led his to the right along the base of Black Knoll so Peter followed Graham's group who had vanished into the deep, dry creek which joined the Canning just upstream of the causeway. A study of the map showed that this creek was the lower end of a whole network of small creeks and gullies which led all the way up to Sandy Ridge. It seemed to offer the best covered route.

Peter led the way followed by Kate. LCpl Parnell came next with Leah Allen last. The creekline was narrow and deep. The bed was dry, white sand, marked only by the bootprints of Graham's group and a few animal tracks. Both banks were a thick tangle of rubber vines. There were several logs which caused some delay while they clambered over them. Peter noted several snake tracks and the footprints of wild pigs.

The second fallen tree they came to gave Peter a chance to hold Kate's hand. He clambered over first, then turned and offered his hand to help steady her. She took it and jumped down. As she did she met his eyes and smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Peter returned it. He wanted to keep holding her hand but, fearing the others might notice, he let go.

By then his mind was in a whirl and his heart was pounding fast. He was also amazed, delighted and appalled to discover that her touch had got him instantly aroused. That had never happened to him before. He glanced down and was relieved to see that it was not obvious because of the loose fitting camouflage uniform and webbing. Still, he was glad that he was in front. They resumed walking and he turned his thoughts back to navigation and fieldcraft.

The creek wound left, then right. The banks became less steep and there were gaps in the rubber vine. On the slope up to the left were the ugly scars of the disused gravel scrape. Around the next bend they came to a rough vehicle track which ran from the gravel scrape across to the Canning Road. Just beyond it was a creek junction. Both creeks looked of equal size, about five metres wide. Peter studied the sand. Graham's group had gone right.

“We will go left,” he said.

They were now in an area of dry, open scrub. The banks were lower and lined with trees. Up on the left was a wide, timbered ridge which the map showed ran all the way to connect with Sandy Ridge. To the right was a bare, flat area dotted with trees and small bushes but almost devoid of grass. Peter checked his watch. Half an hour; and they had come about half a kilometre. He signalled halt and climbed the bank. Beside the rough, black trunk of a Burdekin Plum Tree he carefully raised his head.

Almost at once Peter spotted movement- a section of First Years crossing the flat between the two creeks. He screwed his eyes up against the glare. ‘That's Lofty Ward,' he muttered. ‘They look like they are following the fence towards the cattle grid on the Canning Road. I hope they don't blunder into Graham.'

After a cautious look in all directions Peter moved back down to where the others waited. “There's a section about a hundred metres away heading away from us. I can't see any other movement. Let's get going.”

They resumed their cautious advance. Peter was now most worried about suddenly meeting a group who might be following the creek. They would only be visible at short range. ‘We will meet them at a bend,' he mused. He puzzled over what action to take if this happened. ‘We will have to run back and try to hide up on the bank somewhere,' he decided.

No sooner had he come to this conclusion than they heard the sound of rapid footsteps- from behind them! They looked around for cover but there was none. ‘If they are First Years we are sunk!' Peter thought as he crouched in a tiny washout.

They weren't. It was Dimbo Doyle and four of his section. They came trampling past. As Dimbo reached them he said, “Wotcher doin'?”

“There's a First Year section ahead. Slow down Dimbo,” Peter replied.

“She'll be right. We seen ‘em,” Dimbo answered. He led his section on at a fast walk.

Peter stood up and shrugged. “Oh well, they will break the ice for us if nothing else,” he said. He began following Dimbo's group who had already vanished from view around the next bend.

For five minutes they walked slowly along, still following the creek bed. The creek had a dozen small bends in it. After about two hundred metres they came to a sharp bend to the right. Just as Peter peeked cautiously round this there were yells and shouts from further up the creek.