The Cadet Corporal

by Christopher Cummings

  “I don’t know,” Carnes admitted between sniffles.

  “Why didn’t you just walk back to camp?” Graham asked.

  More tears flooded Carnes’ eyes. “I don’t know the way. I’m lost!”

  Graham shook his head in amazement. From where he stood he could see both the red scar of the North Gravel Scrape and the tin shed beside the Canning Road. “You’d better come with us,” he said.

  Carnes didn’t want to but Graham insisted. “You can’t bloody well stay here! You’ll get heat exhaustion,” he snapped. He made Carnes have a drink and wash his face, then led him back to rejoin the section.

  As Graham and Carnes walked down into the dry creek bed to rejoin the section Andrews curled his lip and called out, “Well, look what the cat dragged in!”

  Graham was in no mood for any more nonsense. He was hot, tired and angry. “Shut up Andrews! If you’ve got nothing good to say then say nothing. Come on, get up! Let’s go!”

  Andrews looked sulky and moaned about the heat and feeling tired but the group began moving. Lucy did the compass work. They crossed a bare, sandy flat through scattered trees and then crossed another sandy creek bed. Graham saw on his map that it was the one which had it’s beginnings up near the 4 Platoon latrine. A fifty metre climb up a bare slope brought them to the Canning Road opposite the tin shed.

  To his surprise and dismay Graham saw that Capt Conkey had just arrived there and was talking to Lt McEwen. ‘Oh no! I hope he doesn’t notice Carnes,’ Graham thought. But even as they walked across to the two officers Graham saw Capt Conkey’s gaze rove along the section. A frown wrinkled his brow.

  “What is Cadet Carnes doing with your section Cpl Kirk?” he asked.

  Graham did not want to answer, knowing it would just lead to more ill will and trouble but he could not think of any sensible excuse. He stopped in front of Capt Conkey and gestured back towards the creek. “We... he... we ..er, we found him back there sir.”

  “Found him! What the devil does that mean?” Capt Conkey cried in amazement.

  “He wasn’t with his section sir, so I told him to come with us,” Graham explained, knowing as he said it that his explanation sounded lame.

  “Not with his section! What on earth?” Capt Conkey exploded. His gaze shifted to Carnes, who burst into tears again.

  “They left me sir!” Carnes shrieked. “They tease me and call me names all the time, and they hit me.”

  “Who, the people in your section? Doesn’t Cpl Brown stop it?” Capt Conkey asked angrily.

  “N...n...no sir. He teases me too,” Carnes sobbed. He then burst into tears and howled. “I hate this! I want to go home!”

  Capt Conkey looked grim. He turned to Graham. “You keep going Cpl Kirk. We will deal with this. Cadet Carnes will stay here with us.” He indicated that Graham should go to Lt McEwen and turned back to comfort the distressed boy.

  Graham did as he was told, but with a sinking heart. ‘Bloody Brown will give me a hard time now,’ he thought unhappily.

  Nor was he wrong. After getting the final leg (back to camp) from Lt McEwen Graham worked out the bearing, gave the compass to Roger and then urged his grumbling and protesting band into motion. They trudged up the bed of the dry creek until they reached Sandy Ridge. After reporting to Lt Standish Graham led the section back to the platoon area and fell them out. Half an hour later Brown arrived, furiously angry.

  Graham was lying in the shade of his hutchie resting. Brown kicked his boots and snarled at him. “You bloody dobber Kirk! You bastard! Now you’ve gotten me in the shit!”

  Half expecting to be struck as he did so Graham crawled out of his hutchie and stood up. “I did not. We found Carnes and took him with us. Capt Conkey saw him and asked what he was doing with us.”

  “Bull! You’re always suckin’ up to the OC. You just want another stripe, ya boot-licking turd!” Brown shouted. He had his balled fists on his hips and it took all of Graham’s resolve to stand his ground.

  ‘I don’t want a fight,’ he thought. ‘That could get me into real trouble.’ But his pride was hurt and he stood his ground. “You shouldn’t have left him in the bush,” he said as calmly as he could.

  “We didn’t! The moaning little mummy’s boy just walked off,” Brown snapped. “He’s bloody lucky I didn’t thump him one, the things he called me!”

  “You shouldn’t call him names,” Graham replied as levelly as his anxiety allowed. He was now breathing very fast and resigning himself to a fight and all the unpleasantness that would follow.

  “I didn’t!” Brown yelled angrily.

  Graham noted that his face was very red and his eyes glaring dislike. It made his stomach turn over and he trembled. “Your section does though,” he retorted. “You should stop them.”

  At that Brown’s anger really flared. “Don’t you lecture me on how to run my section! Who the hell do you think you are! You don’t outrank me!”

  Graham braced himself, determined not to throw a punch until it was obvious self defence. He was dimly aware that a crowd was gathering. Brown raised his fists.

  “That’s enough!” shouted a voice: CSM Cleland. He walked in between them. “Don’t Cpl Brown,” he snapped. “I’m warning you.”

  “So am I!” cut in another voice: Lt Hamilton’s.

  Graham glanced away from Brown’s angry eyes and saw that both Lt Hamilton and Lt Maclaren had arrived. CUO Masters and Sgt Grenfell also appeared.

  CSM Cleland stood facing Brown. “Cpl Brown, go back to your platoon area. Get your section and move them to the big ironbark for a roll call. That applies to Two Platoon as well Sgt Grenfell.”

  That defused the situation. Brown glared at Graham, and his face twisted in animosity but he lowered his fists and walked away. Graham stood and heaved a huge sigh, then shook from head to toe with emotion. Roger clapped him on the back, “Well done mate!” he said.

  Graham was now all a-fluster with emotions, not least because he noted Kirsty giving him an adoring look. Again he was saved by Sgt Grenfell calling on the section commanders to move their people to the big ironbark. Stephen was curious to know what it was about but Graham told him he would tell him later. Still trembling with reaction he led 4 Section across to the tree.

  On arrival he caught the eye of several people in 4 Platoon and he felt sick inside at the sneers and hissed threats they offered. CSM Cleland took control and seated the company in their sections, then silenced them while he called on the platoon sergeants for a roll check. There was only one section missing: Dimbo Doyle’s. It seemed so inevitable that the company gave a collective sigh and burst into laughter and comments.

  “Silence!” thundered CSM Cleland. He was so obviously in a bad mood he got it instantly. “Sergeants, take your people back to their areas and get ready for lunch.”

  Poor old Dimbo. He led his section in half way through lunch, to a rising tide of jeering comments and laughter. With him came CUO Grey and CUO Mitrovitch, who had found them down in the bed of the Canning. Graham sat among his section and shook his head. ‘Poor bugger!’ he thought. He vowed never to get lost if he could possibly help it.

  After eating lunch and washing up Graham felt the need to do another pee. The climate was so dry that he was drinking a lot and he really needed to go. He looked towards the 4 Platoon latrine and bit his lip. ‘Don’t be a bloody coward,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t let them scare you.’ He at once amended that to, ‘Don’t let them think they’ve got you scared!’ But he knew he was. For a minute he hesitated, wondering if he could ask Stephen to come with him. Then he shook his head. ‘You are being stupid, and gutless! Just go!’

  So he did- and walked straight into more trouble!

  CHAPTER 8

  FIELDCRAFT

  In a small depression near the head of the gully sat a group of cadets. From the way their heads turned Graham at once deduced they were guilty about something. The furtive hand movements gave it away as they tried to hide cigarettes. With a sinki
ng heart Graham noted Waters, LCpl Franks and Poschalk, another 4 Platoon cadet. Then to his dismay he realised that one of the other cadets smoking was Andrews. A couple of cadets from 1 Platoon also sat there.

  But for Andrews, Graham would have walked away in disgust. Smoking was one of those things that was considered an acid test in the unit. While not particularly important in itself Capt Conkey had made it quite clear that, in his opinion, it was critical in such things as trust. It angered Graham that Andrews, who had only promised the day before to behave, was letting the section down.

  Bracing himself for the aggravation he knew must follow, Graham strode angrily across to the group. As he did he saw the sneers and snide asides being cast by Waters and Co. It made him feel ill inside but he kept on.

  Waters spoke first, “Piss off Kirk, you bloody sniveller.”

  Graham ignored him. He looked down at Andrews, who was looking quite guilty and was hiding the cigarette in his hand. “Get rid of the cigarette Cadet Andrews and get back to the platoon area,” he said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

  “Why should I?” Andrews queried, but nervously.

  “Because I am your corporal and I’ve just given you an order,” Graham replied.

  That drew jeers and insults from the 4 Platoon cadets. “Don’t do it Andrews, tell the moron where to go,” Waters called, glaring dislike and defiance at Graham.

  That made Graham shiver inside but also annoyed him. “Get up and get moving Cadet Andrews!” he snapped.

  “He doesn’t have to. It’s lunch time,” Watts said challengingly. He deliberately put his cigarette in his mouth and took a puff.

  Graham tried to ignore him but felt very anxious, aware that things could quickly go wrong. “Get moving Andrews, or else,” he threatened.

  “Or else what?” Franks queried. “Will little Mister Weakling run to the CSM with tales? That’s about all you are good for Kirk, you bloody boot licker!”

  Graham glared back at him, his heart rate rising as his fear and anger grew. He was blushing and knew it and that did not help. Now he was regretting making an issue of the situation but felt he had to go on. “Move Andrews!”

  Andrews looked worried. “What ya gunna do?” he asked, anxiety evident in his voice. “Are you gunna tell on me to Sgt Grenfell?”

  “No I’m not. I’ll deal with you myself,” Graham replied. “From now on you win every dirty job that the section gets.”

  That drew more jeers from the others. “Don’t believe him Andrews,” Waters cried. “He hasn’t got the guts to do anything without one of the officers standing nearby.”

  Andrews looked anxiously around then, to Graham’s intense relief, stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. The others all jeered him and called him a wuss and a weaky, making him blush with resentment.

  Waters called at Graham, “What about us Mister Goody Goody? Aren’t you going to boss us around too to show how tough you are with two stripes?”

  “You aren’t in my section or I would,” Graham retorted. But inside he felt bad. He knew it was not the right answer. ‘If I did the right thing I would. A corporal can give orders to any cadet,’ he told himself. But he just wanted to resolve the situation with some dignity.

  His answer drew derisive jeers and sneering laughter. Graham turned and told Andrews to start walking. As he did Waters called after him, “You better not dob us in Kirk or you’ll bloody well regret it!”

  “Yeah!” Franks added. “If ya do we’ll get ya!”

  Graham ignored them and started walking. As he and Andrews made their way up out of the hollow a stone went skittering past through the grass beside Graham. He felt a wave of cold, then hot resentment but kept walking without changing pace or looking back.

  “Don’t dob Kirk!” called Waters as another stone went flying past. Andrews ducked and looked scared but Graham managed to pretend he was not affected.

  With relief Graham led Andrews away from the area. Once they were safely past the 3 Platoon hutchies Graham stopped and so did Andrews. “You shouldn’t be smoking Cadet Andrews,” he said.

  “Why not?” challenged Andrews. “My dad smokes. Why shouldn’t I?”

  All sorts of medical reasons like lung cancer and so forth rushed through Graham’s mind. He managed to bite back a comment on how stupid it was. Instead he said, “Because it is against the law, and specifically forbidden in the cadet regulations.”

  “So?”

  “So you made a promise to Capt Conkey to behave!” Graham flared.

  Andrews shrugged. “So who’ll know if you don’t tell him?”

  “You’ll know! Where’s your self respect?” Graham cried. “Isn’t your word worth anything?”

  Andrews had the grace to blush and he mumbled. Graham kept on, “And you are letting down the section and the platoon. If you don’t want to be with us then ask for a transfer to another platoon.”

  At that Andrews shrugged but he made no reply and Graham thought he had gained his point. He led Andrews back to the platoon area, then realised he still hadn’t had his pee. Nor did he get a chance as Sgt Grenfell called him over and told him to get his section ready for training. “Make sure all their waterbottles are full. It’s going to be very hot this afternoon,” he added.

  For the first lesson the entire company was moved to sit in the shade of the Burdekin Plum tree on Bare Ridge. To get there they walked the 500m cross-country, going down along the dry creek from 1 Platoon’s bivouac, then across the shallow valley. They were then seated in sections as part of a company group. By then Graham’s need was very urgent. As they were still waiting for 3 Platoon to arrive Graham went to Sgt Grenfell and asked permission.

  Sgt Grenfell frowned. “Hurry up! You should have bloody gone at lunch time,” he growled.

  Graham hurried away, walking west over the Canning Road and across the crest of Bare Ridge. The ridge turned out to be just that- bare. It was also much flatter and wider than it looked so he had to walk over a hundred metres to get over the curve out of sight of the officers on the road. Moving to a clump of thorn bushes he thankfully relieved himself. As he did he noted that the ground dropped gently away to a flat plain on which cattle were grazing in a paddock. An old farm house stood beside a dirt road that came in from the Flinders Highway. A few hundred metres beyond the farm was the line of the river.

  The Bunyip came around from the North West in a mighty curve, then went off southwards. In the bend Graham could see sunlight glinting on water but most of the river bed appeared to be dry sand and trees with a few clumps of rocks. On the outside of the curve another line of trees came in from the right to join the river. ‘Canning River,’ Graham thought, recalling the map. The Canning came from behind a treecovered hill on Graham’s right. ‘And that is Black Knoll, where that shed is,’ he told himself.

  Looking directly to his front Graham could see gently undulating, tree-covered country as far west as the eye could see. A couple of small hills broke the monotony on the horizon. To his left was the highway bridge. A kilometre further downstream was the massive rail bridge. Once again Graham admired its sheer size and marvelled that such a huge construction could be in such a middle-of-nowhere place.

  Hurrying back over the crest he saw that he was not late. 3 Platoon was still marching across the shallow valley, spurred on by CSM Cleland calling on Sgt Yeldham to speed them up. Feeling much better Graham resumed his seat at the front of his section.

  “Feeling better?” Kirsty asked, giving him an impish grin as she did.

  Graham blushed but nodded. “A bean’s a bean but a pee’s a relief,” he quoted.

  Kirsty giggled and blushed. She opened her mouth to say something but CSM Cleland called for silence as the last of 3 Platoon were seated. Lt Hamilton then took over and gave a lesson on ‘Why things are seen’. This was part of the unit’s fieldcraft training. Graham had been taught this both as a First Year cadet and on his Corporals Course but he still made himself pay attention.

&n
bsp; The lesson covered the usual shape, shine, shadow, silhouette, spacing, etc. Senior NCOs and the Control Group provided the demonstrations. This led to an outburst of laughter and cheering when, on Lt Hamilton’s command, the Control Group stood up along the small dry creek 200m away. They wore their ‘Yowie’ suits- strips of Hessian (scrim) and pieces of camouflage net all made into a shapeless, shaggy outer garment. As soon as they were visible someone cried, “Hutchie men!”

  The cry was taken up by virtually the whole company. “Hutchie Men! Hutchie Men!” they chanted. The Hutchie Men responded by striking victory poses, causing another outburst of shouts, laughter and cheering. It took a minute or so for Lt Hamilton and CSM Cleland to restore quiet. Graham took the opportunity to look around to see how Carnes was reacting to this. However he could see no sign of him. ‘I wonder where he is?’ he thought. With a shrug he decided he was probably still back at camp.

  The Hutchie Men were moved to do more demos. Other displays were put on by the CQ and HQ Sergeant and by a couple of HQ NCOs . Graham found the lesson interesting but he did watch the Hutchie Men make their way back towards camp with mixed emotions. ‘If I muck up that might be my fate next year,’ he thought soberly. His heart was set on being one of the eight corporals selected for the Sergeants Course at the end of the year. As there were 16 corporals in the unit that meant he had to do better than half of them.

  The next lesson was to be in platoon groups back near the camp. Before the platoon moved Sgt Grenfell ordered them all to have a big drink. Then they marched across the valley and up the shallow dip beyond to be again seated in the shade of trees near 1 Platoon’s camp. Here they were given a First Aid lesson on treatment of snake bites and stings by Lt McEwen.

  Graham thought she was a lovely person. She was in her early twenties and had a pretty face and brown curly hair. She taught the lesson very well and had everyone in the platoon carry out the practical exercise of putting on a constrictive bandage.

  At the end of the lesson they were told to drink again. Some of the girls asked if they could go to the toilet, which was just over the low ridge behind them. Barbara was one of these. She and Gwen Copeland had only walked twenty paces when Barbara suddenly cried out and pointed.