The Cadet Corporal

by Christopher Cummings

  ‘Lost maybe?’ Graham wondered. He waited until the person was only a few paces away then quietly called, “Halt!”

  The cadet let out a loud cry of fright and sprang back as Graham stood up. It was LCpl Franks. “Oh shit! You bloody scared me then,” Franks gasped. “I thought you was a big pig. I seen one earlier.”

  “What are you doing? Where are the others?” Graham asked, casting anxious glances in all directions. The mention of pigs made him worry and he found the Anabranches a spooky place to be in the middle of the night.

  “They all got captured, but I got away,” Franks replied.

  ‘Ran away more like,’ Graham thought, but then he remembered just how useful the decoys had been and decided to believe. ‘I have to weld this section together so I’d better not make it harder by accusing people of lying.’ he told himself. “That’s great,” he said. “You blokes did a really great job at drawing away the enemy patrols.”

  “Did you reach the bridge?” Franks asked.

  “Yes we did. Halyday planted the bomb,” Graham replied.

  Halyday came forward and wanted to describe in detail how he had done it but Graham stopped him. “We have to get back,” he said. “Save it for later. Cadet Carnes, call HQ and tell them we are at the north end of the Anabranches.”

  While Graham opened the wire gate Carnes tried calling. There was no reply. “They aren’t answering,” Carnes replied.

  “Is it turned on?” Halyday asked, making Graham blush for not thinking of it himself.

  Graham moved to the radio and looked, then reached across and turned the on-off switch. At once the radio crackled. “Ok try again,” he said.

  As the patrol filed through the gate Carnes called HQ. Graham closed the gate behind them and was relieved to hear HQ answering. “Where are we?” Carnes asked.

  Graham took the handset and told HQ, then gave ETA 15 minutes. He was feeling much better now. Not only had he recovered the radio and another missing patrol member but they should make it back by midnight. ‘Even if we don’t get back in time HQ know we are alright and won’t be worrying,’ he told himself. ‘Now it is just a walk.’

  It wasn’t quite that simple though. The walk was a kilometre on the soft sand and that took the 15 minutes. Andrews grumbled all the way, either about sore muscles or the cold. It was getting cool but the exercise was enough to make them perspire. The sweat chilled on the skin as a cool breeze was blowing up the river bed. Then Graham miscalculated and went too far to the right. In the starlight he did not notice the break which indicated the mouth of the Canning in the black line of trees which lined the far bank. That brought them to a deep, wide pool of water.

  Graham stared at it, wondering how deep it was. He could see the stars reflected on its surface and thought it was the pool at the mouth of the Canning. Telling the others to wait he dropped his webbing and waded in to check how deep it was. He was now so anxious to get back he did not care if he got a bit wet. In the end he got more than a bit wet. The bed of the river was soft sand and the slope suddenly increased sharply. Unable to stop himself he slithered and floundered, then slipped right in.

  The water was well over his head and he had to swim. With a lot of splashing, and feeling really foolish, he floundered back to the shallows.

  “How’s the water Kirky?” Halyday asked with a chuckle.

  “Corporal Kirk to you Cadet Halyday,” Graham snapped, his frail ego burning at the mistake.

  “Yes Kirky.”

  Andrews then whined, “I ain’t going ter cross there!”

  “None of us is!” Graham snapped. He was dripping wet and worrying about his torch, map and notebook. He emptied his pockets, the placed the sodden contents in a plastic bag which he pushed into his webbing.

  Then Milson said, “There aren’t any crocodiles are there?”

  “No!” Graham snapped, but he wasn’t sure and it must have sounded in his voice as they all stared anxiously at the brooding, dark water.

  “What about Bunyips?” Milson asked.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ Graham thought as he noted the scared looks on the faces of the cadets. “There are no such things as bunyips,” he said.

  “So why is this called the Bunyip River?” Milson queried.

  Graham was unable to answer that. He just shook his head in exasperation. “If it was dangerous Capt Conkey wouldn’t do an exercise here,” he said. All he now wanted to do was get back to camp. The water had been warmer than the air but now it began to chill him and he shivered. “Let’s go!”

  He led them left until he was sure he had located the mouth of the Canning and the small island. Then, what had been simple in daylight, was difficult in the dark. While crossing the rocks and wading the narrow channel both Franks and Carnes slipped and fell. Carnes let out a cry of fear and went right in with a loud splash.

  ‘Bloody hel1, the radio!’ Graham thought in dismay as Carnes floundered around. He at once jumped in and grabbed hold of the radio and heaved Carnes upright. Carnes began to sob and had obviously received a real shock. Graham snatched the handset and squeezed the pressel switch, “Four, this is Four Bravo, radio check, over.”

  There was no answer and he didn’t think the radio was transmitting. That got him all depressed and upset again. He snapped testily at Carnes, “Oh shut up! It was only bloody water. You swam in it yesterday. Now get moving!”

  The patrol stumbled, slithered and splashed its way across to the island, then waded across to the far bank. After that it was easy, but tiring. As they trudged up the bed of the Canning in the dark it seemed very spooky as the overhanging trees cast weird shadows. The scuttle of small animals up the bank and the mournful hooting of curlews added to this feeling. Then an instinct stopped Graham and he froze.

  Straining his eyes he moved back a pace. “Halyday, have you got your torch?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Shine it here,” Graham said.

  Halyday did and Graham felt a chill of fear. He had been right. Sliding slowly across the sand in front of him was a snake. It was only about a metre long but it was a brown of some sort. “Bloody hell! I nearly trod on him,” he croaked through a mouth that had suddenly gone dry.

  “He’s not moving very fast,” Franks observed.

  “Probably too cold,” Graham said, staring in fascination at the repulsive thing. He loathed and feared snakes and the sight of it made him shudder.

  “So am I,” Halyday added.

  The snake had been apparently ignoring them up till then but Andrews now threw a stick at it, causing it to curl swiftly into the ‘S’ shape ready to strike. The cadets all backed hastily away, Graham almost tripping over Carnes as he did. “You bloody idiot Andrews!” he snapped.

  To Graham’s relief the snake now slid off into the flood debris against the base of a nearby tree. It was only then that Graham realised there were several other snake tracks showing clearly in the sand. He had to struggle with the urge to have Halyday lead with his torch versus the military sense of doing things correctly with no lights. Pride finally won and he told Halyday to turn the torch off.

  No sooner had they started walking again than a pig went snuffling off up the bank into the rubber vines fifty paces ahead of them. Graham’s hair stood on end with fright and Franks cried out in fear. They stood listening, ready to run. The pig snorted and snuffled and crashed off over the top of the bank. Silence settled, to be broken by the eerie wail of a curlew close by.

  “What’s that?” Carnes asked, his voice quavering with fear.

  “Only a bloody curlew,” Graham snapped. All he now wanted to do was get back to the bivouac area but it seemed further than he remembered.

  Milson didn’t help by saying, “I was told they are the ghosts of dead Aborigines calling out.”

  Remembering Carnes’ earlier mention of ghosts Graham groaned inwardly and said, “Rubbish! Now stop talking and let’s go home.”

  “That’s where I want to go, home,” Mils
on agreed.

  Graham ignored him and tramped on along the sandy bed under the trees. By then his leg muscles were feeling really strained and his feet felt hot. To hear voices ahead was an enormous relief and then a sentry challenged. It was a cadet from 3 Platoon.

  ‘Thank God! Made it!’ Graham thought. After giving the password he trudged on past where 3 Platoon’s packs were but there was no sign of the platoon. At 2 Platoon’s area there were voices and movement and Graham was met by Sgt Grenfell.

  “Ah Cpl Kirk. Good! Your patrol can stop here and you report to Capt Conkey.”

  “I’ve lost a few,” Graham replied, wishing to get it over quickly.

  “Lost them! How many? Where? Who?” Sgt Grenfell cried.

  “Captured. They aren’t out in the bush,” Graham answered.

  “Phew! That’s OK. Off you go,” Sgt Grenfell replied.

  Graham told Carnes and Slim to go back to HQ and the others to stop and go to bed, then he walked on along past where 1 Platoon was settling down for the night, lying in their sleeping bags under the overhanging branches. Ahead he saw the glow of a fire and smelt the wood smoke. In the flickering firelight he saw some of the officers and CSM Cleland sitting there. Swallowing with anxiety, Graham trudged wearily over the sand to make his report to Capt Conkey.

  Judging by his face Capt Conkey was obviously not happy and as Graham drew closer he heard him say, “A whole platoon captured twice! How humiliating! If Sgt Yeldham had stayed with them they might have had a bit of leadership.”

  “Might have,” Lt Hamilton replied doubtfully.

  By then Graham had reached the edge of the circle and he noted that CUO Masters was there, busily writing. Lt Standish and CUO McAlistair were there as well. Capt Conkey opened his mouth to answer then saw Graham. “Yes Cpl Kirk, what do you want?”

  “I am reporting back sir. My patrol has returned,” Graham answered.

  “How did you go?” Capt Conkey asked.

  A dozen perceived mistakes flashed through Graham’s mind. He opted to get the worst out straight away. “I lost four of my patrol sir. They were captured.”

  “I know that,” Capt Conkey replied with a scowl. “I was at the defender’s HQ and they delighted in rubbing it in every time some of our cadets were captured. They are on their way back now. But did you make it to the bridge?”

  “Yes sir,” Graham answered hastily, wishing to redeem himself. At that Capt Conkey’s face turned to a smile. “You did? Can you prove it?”

  Graham nodded. “Yes sir. Cadet Halyday said he wrote our names in felt pen on the concrete wall at the end of the bridge, just above where he buried the bomb.”

  “Good! That is something at least.” Capt Conkey replied, his tone much more friendly. Then he gestured at Graham’s clothes. “What happened to you? Did you fall in the river?”

  “Yes sir. I slipped getting back across,” explained Graham. As he did he felt very foolish. Also his mind raced. ‘Do I mention the radio or not?’ he wondered. Carnes had gone off back to HQ carrying it. He decided to wait and find out if the radio still worked or not before reporting that.

  Capt Conkey grunted, then dug in his brief case and held up a printed form. “Here is a Patrol Report. Sit here and fill it in and then tell us about it.”

  Graham moved over and took the form, then seated himself to one side. CUO Masters gave him a smile and nodded, then returned to writing his own report. Graham took out a pen and held the paper so that he could see what he was writing by the light of the fire. Filling out the first part of the report was easy. The headings told him quite clearly what information was required. He found there was insufficient space to describe in detail the route he had followed and even less when he had to cover comments on the enemy and on the results of clashes with them.

  For a while he puzzled over how to explain why he had split his patrol but then just kept it brief. That made him give a wry smile, remembering a history lesson with Mr Conkey in which the teacher had explained how people wrote history by leaving out the bits that made them look bad. ‘He will understand,’ Graham thought. All he wrote was: ‘After leaving the Bunyip I sent a party under the 2ic in a decoy role. They played a major part in the success of the raid by drawing away defenders at critical moments. Unfortunately four of this group were captured during these encounters.’

  He had a few qualms about that because it suggested that Bragg had been with the decoys. ‘I hope Capt Conkey doesn’t ask for details,’ he thought anxiously. Then he worried over whether to mention Carnes and his odd behaviour or not. In the end he did not. ‘I will just explain that,’ he thought.

  However when Capt Conkey read the report and then questioned him Graham made no mention of Carnes, thinking to tell him at the right moment. Somehow this did not seem to come up and then 4 Platoon came tramping along the bed of the Canning and the moment was lost. To Graham’s relief Capt Conkey said, “That will be all Cpl Kirk. You can go and get out of those wet clothes and go to bed thank you.”

  Reluctantly Graham stood up. Tired as he was he really wanted to stay and hear how the other platoons had got on. He lingered, watching as the line of dark figures went tramping past. CUO Grey and Peter came into the firelight and Graham noted that both were minus one of their green epaulets.

  “How did it go CUO Grey?” Capt Conkey asked.

  “Not too well sir,” CUO Grey replied. “We got ambushed twice on the way there and then got held off and trapped by some sort of mobile reserve when we tried to cross the railway. A platoon arrived in trucks and surrounded us.”

  “They were probably the same platoon that nearly caught us,” Graham said.

  Capt Conkey and CUO Grey both looked at him. Capt Conkey frowned and said, “Thank you Cpl Kirk. You can go now.”

  “Yes sir,” Graham replied. ‘Idiot!’ he called himself. ‘If you had kept your mouth shut you might have learned more.’ He caught Peter’s eye but then shrugged and turned to walk away. As he did he heard Capt Conkey ask, “Did you reach the bridge?”

  CUO Grey replied, “No sir. We got blocked down in the river bed by a platoon then taken from behind by another which had been hiding among the trees.”

  That was all Graham heard. As he made his way slowly along the river bed past the remains of the sand model where 4 Platoon were now unpacking bedding he thought about what he had heard. ‘It looks like the defenders really had their act together alright. It sounds like we haven’t done very well as a unit.’

  That was galling to the pride and he wished he had done better. ‘We didn’t even fight the enemy, just snuck in and away,’ he mused. As he walked back in the darkness to where 2 Platoon was now settling down his spirits began to slump again. True Capt Conkey had said a qualified ‘good’ but he had not seemed very happy.

  ‘And I didn’t do very well,’ Graham thought unhappily.

  By the time he reached his pack almost everyone else had settled down and he had to find a patch of bare sand to unroll his sleeping bag on. Next he washed his face and wiped off as much of the camouflage cream as he could. In the process he winced with pain. The memory of Pigsy punching him flooded back but that gave Graham a sharp feeling of success. Ignoring the pain he kept wiping.

  That done, he unlaced his boots and tugged off the boots and wet socks, then dug out a dry shirt from his pack. He didn’t have a spare pair of trousers so he could only shrug and leave them on. After changing his shirt he slid into his sleeping bag and lay back, staring at the dapple of leaves and stars overhead.

  For some time he lay awake brooding over the exercise and how he might have done better. Thoughts of what might happen when Capt Conkey found out about all the things he had done wrong swirled round in his head, depressing and tormenting him.

  CHAPTER 33

  LEADERSHIP EVALUATION

  What really depressed Graham and gnawed at his self-esteem was the thought that he had been given a section of trouble makers who were the rejects of their own platoons. ‘Does that me
an I am a reject too? Is that what CUO Masters thinks of me?’ he worried. ‘And we were the decoys and didn’t even manage to do that properly!’

  The mournful dirges of the curlews fitted right into his mood of gloomy introspection. Then another thought crossed his mind. ‘And there were no girls in my patrol either. Does that mean Capt Conkey knows about Kirsty?’

  And where was Kirsty? She was one of the dark forms sleeping on the sand around him but he suddenly didn’t care. He was too tired and down to be interested in girls. He went back to minutely analysing every part of the patrol. The only incident that gave him any satisfaction was how he had stood up to Pigsy. That gave him a good feeling, a sort of glow of certainty deep inside. Instinctively he knew he had passed some sort of fundamental test of character and that he would never be afraid of such people again.

  ‘Better to take the bashing,’ he told himself, gingerly pressing at his sore cheek as he did. ‘Dad was right. Physical pain only lasts for a little while but mental pain lasts a lot longer.’ He knew he would have despised himself if he had backed down and now he hugged that success to himself.

  There were noises and talking and then more people came tramping past in the night. By his watch Graham saw that it was nearly 0100. The new arrivals were a very disgruntled 3 Platoon. They settled down to camp but with a lot of grumbling and bickering. It was plain that they had not reached their objectives, and had been captured as well.

  ‘A whole platoon taken prisoner!’ Graham marvelled. ‘How did that happen?’ The Great Raid on the rail bridge certainly looked less like a success all the time.

  Then more people came trudging into the area. Graham groaned and tried to block the noises out so he could get to sleep. That idea was banished when he identified the voices: Pigsy and Co. Bragg was with them.

  “Where’s my bloody pack!” snarled Pigsy.

  Graham sat up, groped in his webbing for his torch then stood up with it. “Your packs are over here,” he said, shining the beam on them. “Get to bed quietly so you don’t wake everyone else up.”