The Cadet Sergeant Major (25 page)

Graham squirmed and made a face. “I know. She is a grand kid. I'd hate to hurt her.” He changed the subject as they heard distant grunting away to the west. Peter shuddered and gave an internal sigh of relief. He wiped sweaty palms. Then felt awful. He hadn't been discovered- and wished he had been- just to relieve the stress. He felt a real fraud.

Graham looked up. “Here come some torches now,” he observed. “Nearly an hour late.”

Peter made his way back to the ruin and prepared. But it wasn't Dimbo Doyle's section that arrived half an hour later. It was Cpl Laidley's 12 Section. Peter did his act, this time successfully. He got some gratifying howls of fright. After he had passed on all the information he asked, “Wasn't Cpl Doyle's section supposed to be ahead of you Cpl Laidley?”

“Yes Sarge. He was back at the bridge, but the CSM said he hadn't seen him.”

Peter groaned. The thought of searching the Anabranches at night was not appealing.

LCpl Kenny gesticulated gloomily into the darkness. “He will be lost in this tangle,” he offered.

Cpl Laidley shook his head. “Bloody hell! We won't see him till daylight then,” he replied. “Do you remember when he got lost last year on that exercise down towards Bowen when those guys kidnapped some of the girls?”

“Don't remind me,” Peter said with a shudder.

Laidley led his section off into the night. Peter made his way back to Graham's fire.

“Bloody Dimbo Doyle!” Peter cried, waving his arms at the black tangle of rubber vines beyond the Bunyips Billabong.

“Be no fun looking for him,” Graham agreed. “But I don't think the OC will stop the exercise just to do that. They will be safe enough till morning.”

No sooner had he said this than the bull let out a mighty bellow somewhere near the Wild Boar Wallow. They both laughed. “That will hurry the buggers along,” Graham added. The sat and talked. Time crawled. A night bird flapped overhead. There was distant crackling in the undergrowth upstream. The roar of a train crossing the river came clearly to them on the still night air.

“Remember last year's exercise when we raided the rail bridge?” Graham asked. Peter knew the story well, but he also knew it was an important one to Graham so he was content to talk it through again. Graham told how, the morning before the exercise his section had been dismantled and he had been give a new section made up of all the ‘bad eggs' in the company.

“I reckoned that if the OC had made up a special section made up from the worst cadets, then that must make me the worst corporal. I was pretty depressed. Then, when I saw we were the only patrol on this side of the river I thought, ‘We must be the decoys; expendable; designed to draw the defenders away from the main strike'.”

Graham looked thoughtful then went on, “So I used the same tactic; sent the four worst trouble makers to create a diversion. They got captured. So did that drongo Bragg. But we made it. When I got home after midnight with only half my patrol I felt a real failure. I was sure I would be demoted on the spot.”

Graham again paused for a moment, remembering, then said. “The OC just listened, then made me fill out my Patrol Report and sent me to bed. I don't think I slept at all. It was a miserable night. Next morning the OC called me over and asked me if I wanted to stay in the cadets. I thought, ‘He's going to chuck me out!' I'd also had a bit of a cuddle with a girl cadet named Kirsty you see.” He stopped and met Peter's horrified gaze.

Graham nodded. “I thought he had found out. I replied ‘Yes'; and then he asked me if I wanted to be CSM next year. I tell you! It floored me. For a long time I wondered if he had taken all the trouble-makers and given them to me as a test; or to give the other sections a better chance.”

“Why don't you ask him?” Peter suggested.

“I did. When he was tearing strips off me for those unauthorized commando exercises we did earlier in the year. He told me that he had deliberately given me the trouble-makers because he thought I could handle them.”

Graham met Peter's eyes. There was quiet pride in his voice. What he said next shocked Peter.

“Capt Conkey also said that he did it to save me from myself. He made sure I had a section with no girls in it so I would not be tempted. He gave me some hard advice on what effect it could have on my future if I played around. I am sure he knew about Kirsty, but I've never been game to ask him that. He said he thought I had a lot of potential and he didn't want to see me wreck my future because I had gotten into trouble over girls. I owe that man a lot.”

Peter listened with intense interest. His mind turned over what Graham had said. ‘Is he trying to warn me?' he thought. He couldn't decide; and dared not ask.

More lights appeared. “Here comes the next lot.”

“I hope it is Doyle,” Peter said as he retreated to the ruin.

It wasn't. It was Sgt Griffin with the remainder of HQ. Peter got a scream out of Kellie Jones nearly as good as Kate's. She and Leah clutched each other in fright. Denton burst into tears, then got angry and hit at him. Once they had been calmed down and sent on their way Peter checked his watch. 0220hrs! Peter was surprised. He pulled his jacket up around his ears against the chill and set off down to discuss with Graham what they should do about Doyle.

He never got there. As he got closer he saw torches coming in from his right. ‘The right!' he wondered. That was the opposite direction to everyone else. ‘Must be Dimbo,' he concluded. He was correct; it was Doyle's section. Peter watched them arrive at Graham's fire, then returned to the ruin and got ready.

“Where the hell have you been Corporal Doyle?” Graham snapped as the section straggled into the firelight.

Doyle opened his mouth but his 2ic, LCpl Melchert spoke first. “Where haven't we been!” he snarled.

“Where haven't we been Sir,” Graham growled back. Melchert opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked sullen.

“Speak when you are spoken to,” Graham continued. “I asked Cpl Doyle.”

Dimbo Doyle flapped his hands and gestured at the surrounding darkness. “Not sure Sir.”

“You were supposed to come in that way, from the south,” Graham pointed, “Yet you arrive from the north. You must have skirted right around the Bunyip Billabong.”

An angry cadet stepped forward. “We floundered through the bloody thing,” he cried. Graham fixed a hard eye on him, trying to remember the boy's name, till the cadet added “Sir.”

Only then did Graham notice they were all soaked from the waist down and plastered with mud.

“Alright, warm up around the fire. Cpl Doyle, get your notebook out.”

Doyle thrust his hand down to his map pocket and the changing expression on his face told Graham the story. He had to suppress a smile. Doyle had forgotten to take his notebook out of his pocket when he had waded the swamp; and did not keep it in a plastic bag.

“Here, use mine. Tear the pages out,” Graham said, passing it across to the crestfallen corporal. He then dictated the information. Doyle wrote with laborious slowness which irritated Graham:-big block letters, which was good, but with a hesitation about which way an ‘S' went, or as though the exact difference between an ‘E' and an ‘F' escaped him.

Graham let them try to work out the word but quickly lost patience. They were already behind time. The section was not a team, just a collection of disgruntled individuals. At least half were taking no interest. He gave them the word ‘Treasure' then sent them off towards Peter, carefully checking they were headed in the right direction. As they trampled off up the slope they began bickering and several torches were turned on.

Graham bellowed after them. The arguing died down to surly murmurs and the torches went out. He shook his head and sighed, then checked the time. 0250hrs. He began to fret. ‘We will have to move if we are to be on time for our second act,' he thought. For five minutes he stood and nudged the ends of sticks into the fire, letting it consume itself.

Loud cries of fright made him smile. At least they had found Peter! He prepared to move. Another fifteen minutes went by before he saw Peter's torch approaching. Peter was carrying the kitbag and dummy.

“Bloody Doyle! What a drongo,” Peter grumbled. “He couldn't even go straight for two hundred paces. He would have missed the ruin by fifty metres if I hadn't walked out and spooked them!”

“Come on. It's quarter past three. We will have to run,” Graham said. He tossed several of the larger burning sticks into the billabong where they sizzled and steamed. Peter trampled on the embers. Within a minute they were moving. They used their torches for safety and speed. Graham noted that thin wafts of mist clouded the beams.

Away from the fire the chill hit them. Down in Wild Boar Wallow it felt frigid. Graham scooped up the dummy and strode on. His torch showed up the cattle pad clearly and he looked neither left nor right. At the Cowboy's Camp the fire was out. It took only two minutes to dismantle the camp. They proceeded at a forced march pace; Graham because he wanted to be on time and Peter because he wanted to be out of the Anabranches.

By 0330 they were at the highway bridge. Lt Hamilton was asleep beside the glowing coals of his fire. Graham noted that the OC's Rover was parked beside the QM's but Capt Conkey was not there.

“We are late,” Graham said. “Dump all this beside the Rover. And our packs. We have to hoof it, and fast.”

Peter did as he was told. In less than another minute the pair were trudging out onto the open sand of the river bed. The sand glowed silver-grey in the faint light of the rising moon. Wraith-like tendrils of mist met them. They no longer used their torches as it was quite light enough to see.

The sand was mostly soft and piled in uneven hummocks which made walking an effort. Graham began to perspire. Neither wasted breath on talking. A bird swished low overhead. A curlew uttered its dirge. A truck roared across the bridge behind them. Graham knew the way. He had been shown by the OC. Their course led them diagonally across the open sand to the tree-covered dunes near the water half a kilometre upstream.

They skirted the dunes on the side closest to the river and followed a vehicle's wheel ruts in under the trees. They passed the Fisherman's Camp, now just a mound of sand over the remains of a fire. Another two hundred paces led them between two dunes and into a sandy hollow surrounded by overhanging trees.

A small fire flickered. Beside it sat two figures, well muffled against the cold: the OC and Cpl Bert Lacey. Nearby lay the sleeping shape of Cpl Bax. Capt Conkey looked up as the pair trudged into the hollow.

“Good. Well done. I thought you weren't going to make it in time.”

Graham checked his watch in the firelight. 0350. “Corporal Doyle's section got lost sir. They came through last and late.”

Capt Conkey nodded and made a face. “You don't have to include that ‘I told you so' tone in your voice CSM.”

“No sir,” Graham replied, unabashed. He swung off his webbing and stood close to the fire. Peter had a good look around then joined him.

Graham also looked around. “Nice spot for a Bandit's Camp sir,” he said, quite unaware that Peter was in turmoil, as it was not fifty paces across the shallow stream to where he and Kate had swum naked.

“It's a lovely spot,” Capt Conkey agreed. “A nice place for a swim and a picnic.”

“What do we have to do sir?” Graham asked.

“Just fight and then die heroically when they attack. I will do all the talking. You observe how the leaders perform,” Capt Conkey replied. He checked his watch then asked. “How did it all go in the middle there?”

“Really good!” Graham replied enthusiastically. “By the time they reached me they were all freaked out by the bull and the whole situation and when Peter did his ghost act they really shrieked.”

Capt Conkey and Bert both laughed. “We know. We heard the first screams down at the highway bridge.”

They fell to discussing the activity. Graham noticed a line of dark figures silhouetted against the moonlit sand between the camp and the water. “Here they come now sir,” he said quietly.

Capt Conkey nodded. “Wake Cpl Bax.”

Peter moved to do so but before he could Coralie Bates' voice shattered the stillness, shouting, “Hands up! Surrender!”

Capt Conkey ignored this and jumped up, shouting, “Bang! Bang!”

“Open fire!” screamed CUO Bates.

From Graham's left came yelling to simulate a machine gun firing. ‘Fire support is in the right place anyway,' he thought. He ran to cover and pretended to fire back at a line of attackers.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” he yelled then dutifully fell ‘dead'. The sand was soft but cold. He wriggled into a comfortable position to watch.

CUO Bates did a good job. She kept tight control and her voice carried well. Scott's section was the assault section and they swept through in extended line and up the next dune. There they went to ground amongst the trees on its crest. Doyle's section followed and was directed to cover the ‘bandits', and to protect the flanks and rear.

Graham observed carefully. ‘Sgt Griffin is like a bloody chook with its head cut off,' he thought while watching the platoon sergeant try to organize HQ to do a search. Here training paid off and the Intelligence team began to work methodically along. CUO Bates crouched beside a tree, watching, directing and dictating a message to Allison who sat with her torch in her mouth to encode it.

Kate and Parnell arrived at Graham and began to search.

“Don't tickle,” he said playfully as they began to empty his pockets into a plastic bag. Kate smiled but Graham could see she was in a bad mood. The pair moved on to search Peter who lay nearby. Kate stood back and let Parnell do it, then called him off after a perfunctory effort. They moved to the fire to sort out what they had found.

Capt Conkey sat with his hands on his head under guard. After five minutes CUO Bates looked up from the captured documents. “Are you Pancho the Fat, sir?”

“No I am not,” Capt Conkey replied. “I am Pablo, his faithful sidekick.” His voice changed. “Stop the exercise CUO Bates and call all your people in beside the fire.”

Graham stood up and thankfully moved close to the fire. Bert began stoking it up. Peter and Staff Costigan joined them. When the cadets were all seated on the sand bank on the other side of the now crackling fire and the roll checked Capt Conkey said to CUO Bates, “OK, ask the question again.”

They repeated the conversation. CUO Bates then asked: “Where is Pancho?”

“He is not here. Pancho left an hour ago. He has gone to make a quick visit to his girlfriend, the lovely Marguarita.” Capt Conkey sighed theatrically, which drew some snickers from the cadets, then went on: “Pancho said he would meet us at a rendezvous at Quilp Creek at nine o'clock.”

“Where is Quilp Creek?”

Capt Conkey shrugged and gestured. “That way. In Indian Territory across the river. Do you not have a map?”

CUO Bates coloured and pulled out her map. “Show me where.”

“I cannot. I am loyal and faithful- but, if you promise to let me go I can tell you perhaps a leetle.” Capt Conkey put a hand to the side of his mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “That Marguarita, she is a very hot number. If Pancho is in jail perhaps she will need a new man?”

There was a burst of laughter. Capt Conkey pointed out the location. CUO Bates noted the Grid Reference and told her NCOs to mark it on their maps. Laidley whistled. “Strewth! That's a bloody long way!”

“Only about four kilometres,” Capt Conkey replied.

“What!” cried a cadet in dismay, “Isn't this bloody exercise finished now?”

Graham noted him and thought: ‘Morton. No promotion for you ‘Sunshine'. Reaction under stress- Poor.'

Capt Conkey nodded. “That's right. You mission is to capture Pancho the Fat, not just some of his gang.”

There was a wave of surly muttering. Graham noted several disgruntled faces and a general lowering of morale. Sgt Griffin did nothing to quell this and looked unhappy. Only Doyle, of all the corporals, looked cheerful. Scott looked poker faced. Laidley appeared angry. Kate looked as though she was about to burst into tears and neither Allison nor Kellie gave the impression of being enthusiastic.

Graham nodded and pressed his lips together. ‘This is what the OC planned on. This is the test of character. They thought it was over, but it is only just beginning!' He watched with interest how the CUO handled the situation. ‘I wonder if I will get an exercise like this to test me when I am a CUO next year?' he pondered. ‘I hope so.' As Capt Conkey did nothing to stop the grumbling Graham followed his lead.

For a minute CUO Bates collected her thoughts. Then she silenced the platoon and turned to the OC. “Where is the treasure?”

“Pancho took it with him. He did not trust us.”

“Sensible man!” Doyle offered. This produced some half hearted laughter. CUO Bates then asked, “Is Pancho alone?”

“No. He has Pedro and Garcia with him, and probably his Apache scout Geronimo.”

“Where does this Marguarita live? Show me the route Pancho will follow to the rendezvous,” CUO Bates asked.

Capt Conkey pointed to her map. “Here. He will follow this track along the river bank. You are to go North West following the bed of the river to this point, then cross. You will recognize it easily enough as the bed changes from being mostly sand to large sheets of exposed bedrock. Cross at the narrowest place. The water there is only knee deep and five or ten metres wide. But you must be across the river by dawn and in hiding. Go into a hide here.”

Capt Conkey marked her map then went on. “If the Apaches see you they may attack you. So put your platoon in all-round defence. Then you do a recon and set a trap somewhere along this track. Be in position by zero eight thirty. Radio me when you are in position. After the ambush you will get further orders.”

This statement caused more long faces and gloomy looks. CUO Bates looked at her watch. Graham checked his. 0425hrs and only about 90 minutes to first light. Graham did the sum in his head. ‘Tired cadets plus four kilometres of soft sand at say 20 minutes per kilometre instead of the normal ten. They will need every minute of it,' he deduced.

That was obviously CUO Bates' conclusion as well. She stood up and gave rapid orders. “Let's move. We will have a meal and a hot drink when we are in our platoon harbour. Move back and collect your packs. Order of March is Twelve Section, HQ, Eleven Section, Ten Section. Get up and move!”

Her voice snapped at them and they reluctantly stirred. Some were plainly unwilling but there was no obvious disobedience. Graham half-expected some-one to say they were sick; or had blisters, but none did.

‘Not even Denton,' Graham thought in mild surprise. ‘No help from her NCOs though. And Henning and Parnell are joking about something.'

The platoon filed glumly off into the night. Capt Conkey stood up and watched them go, his back to the fire. Then he turned to the control staff. “Good. That was very instructive. Now, pack up and put this fire out. We have to move fast. I want to be back with the First Years by zero five thirty to watch their ‘Stand-to'.”

Graham and Peter used their boots to push sand over the fire while the others rolled their bedding up. In five minutes they were on the march back towards the bridge. As soon as they came out of the shelter of the trees they felt the chill.