The Cadet Sergeant Major (31 page)

Capt Conkey led the others along the dusty track through the rubber vines and across the main grassy channel towards the bivouac area. Peter looked at Graham, hardly able to restrain his curiosity, then followed him along the track. At the first opportunity he moved up beside him.

“What did you find Graham? Doyle told me it was a dead body; a man's.”

Graham nodded. “That's right. Here, come with me. I want to inspect the latrines before I go back.”

The pair turned and headed along the flood channel in the direction of the boy's latrine. Graham looked very serious and said nothing. Peter wondered if he had instructions to remain silent.

“Aren't you allowed to talk about it?” he asked.

“Mmm. Yes. Yes I can. It's no secret. It just hasn't been very pleasant,” Graham replied. He then went on to describe how he, the OC and the QM had waited for the police. “First the local coppers from Charters Towers; then another two hours for the detectives from Townsville.” He described how they had taken several police over much of the exercise course while the area around the body had been photographed and searched.

“We got back just as they were dragging the body out. I didn't really want to watch but I did. It was horrible. I was nearly sick. I don't think I will sleep for a week. The officers wanted to send me away but one of the ‘D's asked If I could have a look to see if I could identify the bloke.”

Peter looked hard at Graham and nodded. The friends had stopped walking and faced each other. Graham looked very pale under his freckles.

“Did you know him?”

Graham shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life. He was stripped naked. All his clothes were gone- to make the body harder to identify if it was ever found the detective said- that's why he asked me, just in case I'd seen him around the area.”

Graham paused, pressed his lips together, then continued. “The body was all covered in mud but he was a real mess. The pigs had been at him; and it seems that whoever murdered him had also smashed his face and mouth up; broke out most of the teeth- to make it harder to identify from dental records.”

Peter nodded. “He was murdered then?”

“The coppers think so. They reckon he was shot in the back of the head with a twenty two.”

Peter thought hard. “Sounds like an execution. I wonder why they did it?”

Graham shrugged. “Don't know. The cops are glad we found the body though. They reckoned that, but for Doyle getting lost, it might have been years before some stockman or prospector found the bones. And without clothes or teeth they said it would have been virtually impossible to identify the man, never mind find out who killed him.”

“Can they identify him then?”

Graham scratched his chin. “They think they might be able to because he hasn't decomposed much, and he's got some very distinctive tattoos.”

At the word ‘tattoos' Peter felt a stab of cold shock. The back of his skull seemed to tighten up and he had a vivid flashback. “What sort of tattoos?” he asked, finding it an effort to speak; and hoping he sounded normal and only casually interested.

“He was a skinny little bloke,” Graham explained. “He had fair hair and this wispy, straggly little beard. On his left arm was a tattoo of a snake, a cobra ready to strike. The cops reckon they can identify him from that.”

Peter was stunned. His mind seemed to blur, then refocus on moving images:- naked Kate, the river bank, the big brute, also with tattoos; a thin, pale-skinned man with the tattoo of the cobra; and a third man, a hard-faced man with a .22 rifle. Peter realized Graham was staring at him.

“Pete, are you OK?”

“Yeah....yeah. I just felt nauseous and went giddy. I was thinking about the body and... and us being near it all night,” Peter gasped in reply. His heart hammered and his vision blurred. ‘It was them!' he thought. He had seen the murderers and their victim, of that he was sure. But what to do about it?

Graham grabbed his arm. “Here! Don't faint on me! Sit down on the grass.”

Peter flopped down. He felt devastated. What should he do? What could he do?

Graham looked down at Peter in surprise. It wasn't like him to crumple up because someone else had found a dead body, even if he had been in the vicinity. ‘Pete's seen plenty of stiffs,' he thought. ‘There was that old bloke we fished out of Tinaroo Dam back in June. He was shot in the back of the head and Pete didn't collapse over him. And there were the people shot later by those Kosarians on the Herberton Range. There must be more to this. I wonder what has upset him? He hasn't been himself all camp.'

Graham leaned down and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Are you sure you are OK Pete? Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I'll be OK. It's upset me a bit, that's all,” Peter replied. He looked up and Graham was shocked by the look in his eyes.

Haunted?

Peter looked thoroughly miserable. Graham bit his lip and wondered what to do. That reminded him he had duties. “I'll just go and check this latrine. Will you be alright here for a minute?”

Peter nodded, his head lowered between his knees. Graham strode quickly along the cattle pad and into the rubber vines. Even before he reached the small clearing where the boy's latrine had been dug he knew he had a hygiene problem. When he arrived he stopped, hands on hips, and surveyed the scene with a mixture of anger and disgust.

The narrow trench had been mostly filled in but half-buried turds protruded from the soil along with pieces of used toilet paper. Worse still there was unburied or half-buried crap all around the clearing. Used toilet paper littered the ground and even festooned the surrounding rubber vines. Flies crawled and buzzed in hundreds. The stench was appalling.

Graham compressed his lips into a thin, angry line. He turned on his heel and marched back to where Peter sat.

“You feeling better?” he asked.

Peter looked up. “Yes. I'm OK. It was a shock that's all.” He stood up.

“So was that latrine,” Graham grated. “It is enough to make a man nauseous. Let's go.”

They walked quickly back to the bivouac area. The cadets were already going in for a swim. The river was dotted with laughing and splashing groups. Graham sat on the bank and began unlacing his boots. “Coming in Pete?”

Peter sat down and shook his head. “No. I don't feel well. It's a bit cold.”

Graham shrugged. He hauled off his boots and socks, emptied his pockets and stood up. He looked at the other people still on the river bank to see if there were any obvious ‘grubs' who needed a bath. Lt Maclaren and Lt Standish were supervising. About a dozen cadets sat there. No-one obvious came to mind so Graham waded in.

Already Capt Conkey was ordering cadets out. Graham braced himself and fell forward into the deepest flow of water he could find- knee deep. The water was cold and revived him instantly. He washed his head and stood up to help the OC chase the cadets out of the water. A shiver ran through him.

“Brrr. That wind is bloody cold!” he cried. This drew splashes from Barbara and Margaret who had waded over to him. He laughed and splashed them back. Barbara dashed in and tried to push him over. Graham laughed and tried to free himself without touching Barbara in the wrong places. He was deliciously conscious of the roundness of her body. He was also aware that Margaret was jealous; that she wanted to be the one holding his arm. She had that wistful little smile Graham knew so well.

“Margaret! Help me!” he cried. Margaret's face lit up and she waded closer.

“No!” Barbara shrieked. “Help me!”

Margaret closed in and grabbed Graham's free arm. Barbara twisted and their legs tangled and they all fell in a splashing heap. Graham's head went under. He wriggled free and rose to his feet to splash at the two retreating girls, who skittered off giggling. His eye met Allison's and she made a sour pout which gave Graham a jolt. ‘I shouldn't be behaving like this,' he told himself. ‘I'm setting a bad example. And I think I've cashed my chips with Allison!'

He wiped water from his eyes and joined Capt Conkey in calling on the stragglers to get out.

To speed them along Graham called, “Hurry up you lot. I need a work party to dig a latrine and you will be it if you don't move!”

That got them going. Once all the other cadets were out of the water Graham waded ashore, followed by the OC. He stood on a rock to dry his feet before pulling on his socks and boots, then gathered all his loose items in his hat and clumped up the bank, through the trees where 2 Platoon were bivouacked and back to HQ.

The first person he noticed was Peter. ‘Poor old Pete! He looks pretty miserable,' he thought. Graham cast around for some way to cheer his friend up but was overrun by events. The latrine had to be dug and the platoons were beginning their ‘Orders Groups' for the night exercise.

“Pete, round up LCpl Parnell and get one male from each platoon and clean up that bloody boy's latrine, and have another dug would you?”

Peter nodded and stood up. Graham then busied himself making notes. He sent LCpl Henning to start collecting firewood for the HQ, then went into the bushes to change into dry clothes. Back at HQ he sat and pulled on clean socks and laced up his boots. For a few minutes he just sat and watched. It had been a long day and he was feeling tired.

Capt Conkey stood talking to the other officers. Graham noted Lt Standish collect a girl from 1 Platoon. For a moment he struggled with the name. ‘Something East European sounding? Ah! Yes. Chernik. Only spelt Cernik. I wonder what's wrong?'

He watched the QM and Lt Standish walk off with the girl, the QM carrying her gear. Graham stood up and asked Lt Maclaren.

“Sick,” he replied. “They are taking her to hospital.”

Graham made a note to include in the daily strength return. Capt Conkey stood nearby with hands on hips watching 1 Platoon go trudging off, laden with full ‘marching order'. The other platoons were also moving or preparing to move. Graham watched half enviously. He didn't want to spend the night just sitting around the HQ fire while the platoons had all the fun.

The exercise planned for that was to test the platoons in night sentry procedures. Each platoon had been allocated a different location where they were to deploy in defence. Once it was dark they were all to send out a succession of three patrols, each five strong and led by a corporal. These patrols would have the mission of locating another platoon's position, then trying to infiltrate. If they were detected they were to probe and harass to test the sentries and to determine the exact layout.

The platoons would be spread along nearly 2km of the dry river bed and would hide themselves among the tree covered dunes and rubber vine. 1 Platoon and 3 Platoon were downstream and about 300 metres apart. 2 Platoon and 4 Platoon were upstream and similarly deployed. The Control Group were in a new location up Quilp Creek and were free to roam around and annoy them all. The exercise was to last all night, which would test the leaders ability to plan and maintain rosters so the cadets got at least a few hours sleep.

“Although I don't care how tired they get,” Capt Conkey commented. “If they are really worn out there will be no mischief on the last night.”

The patrols were to last about two hours and were to go out successively: from 1930- 2130; 2200- 2400; and 0100- 0300. For the corporals it would be the culmination of their leadership training. For the CUOs it was their test to see how they handled a platoon on their own.

Graham watched 3 Platoon march past in a long line, all laden down with packs and gear, the CUO in front. The sight strengthened Graham's resolve to do well; to be selected to be a CUO. He was certain he was good enough and relished the challenge.

Peter returned from supervising the latrine digging and sent the cadets to rejoin their platoons. Then he slumped down on his pack and began preparing his tea. Once again Graham noted how tired and down he looked. ‘Poor old Pete. I must draw him out of himself,' he thought. He began preparing his own meal as 2 Platoon filed past. As it did he looked for Margaret and she rewarded him with a big smile. He smiled back and then noted that Clayfield was walking behind her and that he was being helped by the girl behind him; Becky Robinson.

‘He looks a bit happier,' Graham noted, hoping the change had helped.

4 Platoon filed past next. Graham watched them with both interest and envy. ‘I will ask to be commander of 4 Platoon next year if get to be a CUO,' he decided. He then turned to Peter. “How did the patrol circuit go Pete?” he asked.

Peter shrugged. “OK. No problems. A bit boring. I had to spend the whole day with Lance Corporal Martin. That was something of a trial.”

“I wish I'd been able to watch more of it,” Graham went on. “It is the best opportunity to observe which section commanders have got what it takes.”

“It certainly is,” Peter agreed.

The two friends were seated away from the others in HQ so Graham asked, “Which section commanders would you recommend for promotion to sergeant? The OC is sure to ask me again and, as I didn't get a chance to watch them all I'd appreciate your opinion.”

Peter looked very thoughtful while he stirred spaghetti and meatballs in a dixie. “Well, In One Platoon: Lofty Ward and Big Charlie for sure.”

“Not Anne Hopwell?”

“No. Too gentle. Too nice. She wants to please everyone and won't stamp on the troublemakers.” Peter replied.

“What about Two Platoon?” Graham asked.

“All three corporals. Barbara Brassington is probably the best. We know Roger is a good hand and Fiona Davies is quite capable too.”

“Three Platoon?”

“None of them!” Peter replied emphatically.

“None! What about Fredericks?”

“No. He would be mediocre at best. So would Gallon.”

“And Goltz?” Graham asked, tongue in cheek.

Peter was instantly assailed by fierce guilt. Should he report what he had heard about her? He knew he should but the word ‘Hypocrite!' screamed at the back of his brain and he flamed with shame. “No,” he replied, hoping Graham had not noticed the hesitation.

He had but he made no comment. Instead he asked. “What about Four Platoon then?”

“Maybe Scott. But not Melchert or Laidley; and certainly not Doyle. You saw how they performed on ‘Bunyip Ghost' when they had to pick up their bundle after the dawn attack. They are both useless and weaklings,” Peter replied.

“And HQ?” Graham asked.

Peter was unwilling to discuss them but knew it would look odd if he did not. “Bert will be fine as CQ. Allison Broadfoot should be OK as a HQ sergeant,” he replied.

“What about Kellie Jones?” Graham asked, lowering his voice as the girls were sitting nearby.

“No. Too much of a flirt,” Peter said. He had been going to say ‘tart' but changed it just in time.

Then Graham asked the question he had been dreading. “What about Kate?”

Peter hesitated. His eyes flickered to Kate, then down to his meal. He told himself to be fair. “I suppose so,” he muttered.

“You only suppose so?” Graham said in surprise, raising his eyebrows when Peter lifted his gaze to meet his. “I was under the impression you thought she was pretty good. What's wrong mate? Did she give you the brush-off?”

Peter felt his cheeks and neck burn. ‘If only she had!' he thought bitterly. He shook his head but did not reply. Then he blushed with even more shame when Graham clapped him gently on the shoulder and said.

“Bad luck mate. Never mind. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

Peter couldn't answer. He felt so miserable he thought he was going to throw up. It became a battle to hold back the tears. He stared at the food he had just heated and felt he could not possibly eat it. With an effort of willpower he forced himself to swallow a mouthful as an excuse to avoid further conversation.

Graham noted Peter's unhappiness and felt sorry for him. ‘Poor bugger! I know what it is like to have a broken heart- and he doesn't have anything like my experience.' Smug in his own conceit Graham let the subject drop and concentrated on preparing his own tea.

Capt Conkey called across to him from where he sat brewing coffee. “CSM, do you want to organize HQ to do a couple of patrols tonight?”

“Yes sir!” Graham replied enthusiastically.

“Good. Organize three, and a roster for listening to the radio. One person will do for that as there will also be an OOC awake. Send the patrols out at 2100, 2400 and 0300 for two hours each. And see if you can catch the Control Group as well as locating the platoons.”

Graham grinned. “Good idea sir. That will be fun.” He turned to Peter. “You lead one Pete. Costigan can take one and I will lead one. I will do the zero three hundred job. Which one do you want?”

“The early one. I'm not feeling well,” Peter replied.

They fell to discussing who would be in each patrol. “A medic with each,” Capt Conkey added.

Graham flipped open his notebook and frowned; then began to pencil names. “Any preferences Pete?”

Peter shook his head. “No.” He didn't want to be seen to select Kate. He wanted a chance to talk to her but was torn. He did want her on his patrol- but would be relieved if she was not.

Five minutes later, after several interruptions to stir his cooking, Graham read out the names in each patrol. “Patrol One: Sgt Bronsky, Cpl O'Brien, LCpl Parnell and Cadet Denton.”

Peter silently swore. He wanted to look at Kate to see how she reacted but controlled himself. Graham went on: “Patrol Two: Staff Costigan, Cpl Lacey, Cpl Jones and Cadet Smart. Patrol Three is myself, Cpl Broadfoot, LCpl Allen and LCpl Henning.” He looked up and met Allison's eyes and she smiled. ‘I hope that is not too obvious!' he thought.

Graham next drew a ‘timeline' across a page and put in the hours from 1800 to 0600. He then blocked off alternately above and below the line in 2 hour periods, the second commencing one hour after the first so that there was always a one hour overlap. Into the shaded spaces he printed names, checking to ensure people weren't on patrol when he wanted them on radio roster.