Before he could Bert’s voice cut loudly across them. “Whadya mean you want another one? There’s twenty five rations plus one for Lt McEwen.”
Graham realized that Roger had unwittingly given the actual number ‘on the ground’. Roger answered: “But we’ve got twenty six.” Even as he said it he realized what he had done. He glanced around, met Graham’s furious gaze and looked as though he hoped the ground would swallow him up. Roger recovered quickly but was flustered. “What’s it matter anyway! You don’t have to pay for the bloody things Bert, just issue them.”
Bert bit back: “Staff Sergeant Lacey to you, thank you Sergeant Dunning, and I do. Rations have to be accounted for you know.”
Barbara now joined in: “I thought you only had twenty five in 4 Platoon. That is the figure I have on the Company Roll, and that’s what I have been reporting to the OC each morning.”
Graham tried to defuse the situation. “Yes, you are right. Sgt Dunning has probably counted Lt McEwen as part of his total, then added her again without thinking.”
Roger heard this and accepted it but Barbara’s frown wrinkled her pretty nose. “I’ve got the Company Roll Book just here. I will check.” She stepped past Falls and took up the roll book from a table in the tent. Quickly she did a count. “Yes, only twenty five,” she said, putting the roll book down again. Graham noted that on the cover in thick black felt pen were the words
CAIRNS CENTRAL CADET UNIT.
Falls looked down at it and asked Lt Maclaren: “Do you cadets come from Cairns?” His voice was quiet and apparently disinterested but to Graham they were like an alarm bell.
‘He knows we are from Cairns! Now they will start putting two and two together! We have to get moving.’ He turned to Capt Conkey. “Sir, how will Lt McEwen join us?”
“I will drive her to the RV in the Land Rover, but she might not get there before lunch time. I can bring the CSM back with me then.”
Graham stood in indecision and saw Falls looking at him with an odd look. ‘He’s suspicious. I’d better go.’ “Come on CSM, let’s move,” he said. He turned and walked over to where Hodgins sat with their gear. Barbara came after them, buckling on her webbing.
Roger’s work party was already moving back down the track laden with boxes of ration packs and three plastic water jerry cans. Graham’s group followed them. His mind raced. What should they do now? Where should they go? ‘Should I go back and tell the OC?’ he wondered.
The upshot of his mental turmoil was that he quite forgot the CSM was with them and he had no plan to keep Elizabeth out of sight. The platoon was seated on the sand in section groups under the shade of the trees lining the bed of the Canning. By what seemed the inevitability of fate the first section they came to was Margaret’s, and the most conspicuous person was Elizabeth, who had her shoe off while Margaret fixed another bandaid on a blister. Before Graham could think of any way to divert her Barbara walked over and asked Margaret what the problem was. A look of alarm swept over Margaret’s honest face as she looked up and saw who it was, but Barbara barely noticed. She was looking open-mouthed at Elizabeth.
“Uh! Well! Uh! Hello Elizabeth. I didn’t know you were a cadet!” Barbara said, obviously dumbfounded. As CSM she prided herself on knowing all the cadets well. She looked around at Graham, who had stopped beside her, then at the silent platoon who had, in many cases, risen to their feet. “You, you are the missing girl!” she said. Then, in a very controlled voice she said: “Yes Sgt Dunning. Twenty six on the ration strength, quite right.”
Graham saw that Barbara was getting angry. He said quietly: “I’ll explain. Wait a moment please.” He turned to Roger. “Sgt Dunning! Get these rations issued and packed, the water distributed, and get the rubbish and jerry cans back up to the Q. Have we got a new radio battery Hodgins? Good. Now get on with it. I want to move as quickly as we can. I think we have been sprung and we need to get out of here fast. Move! Now, CSM.”
Graham led Barbara to one side as the platoon burst into furious activity. Elizabeth began to cry. Margaret gave her no sympathy. “Come on Elizabeth, you got us into this! Now pull yourself together and help get us out!” she snapped. Then she pushed the sandshoe on hard and laced it up tight.
Graham knew that Barbara was a bit ‘sweet’ on him and he admired her a lot. If it wasn’t for their positions in the cadets he would have asked her for a date. Because of several shared adventures over the past couple of years he was sure she trusted him so now he related the story yet again, shortening it for the sake of speed. At the end he showed her the brown notebook and pistol.
“I’ve got a packet of evidence in my pack for the OC but we haven’t had a chance to tell him yet,” he explained. He dropped his webbing and took out the envelope. “Could you give this to him? Miss McEwen went last night to get the Federal Police and she took the briefcase and more evidence. We are expecting her back at any time,” he explained.
Barbara listened to the story in amazement. She slid the envelope into her map pocket and shook her head in wonder. She believed the story alright. It was too fantastic to have been made up. Besides, there was Elizabeth as further proof. She knew Graham wouldn’t make it up. It was too serious.
Roger joined them. “Ready to move sir.”
“Right, packs on! CSM, can you show us this track through the rubber vines? I’m not going to waste any time carrying out a pretend search. We will just move to our new bivouac site and find a place to hide.”
Barbara nodded. She was pleased Graham hadn’t asked her whether she would tell or not as it showed he trusted her. She set off, followed by Cpl Sheehan’s section. Pl HQ went next, then Margaret’s section, then Cpl Kenny’s, with Roger at the rear. Hodgins radioed HQ to report they were moving.
They trudged across fifty metres of dry sand, then up over a small ridge covered with bent over trees which formed an awkward tangle. There was still no breeze and it was very hot. On the other side of the low ridge was another 25 metre wide river channel, but this one contained water which had backed up from the Bunyip. Graham overheard the comments from the lead section before he saw the water:- LCpl Halyday joking: “Hey Livingstone, more water! It’s OK though, it’s only ankle deep!”
The river bed was soft mud which clung to their boots for a while, doubling their weight. There was some slipping and sliding and Cactus fell flat on his bum with a splash. He was hauled up, muttering and grumbling. By then they were in under overhanging trees and it was quite gloomy. Graham noted numerous wild pig tracks.
Barbara led them straight across into the dry bed of Dingo Creek. This had steep, almost vertical banks covered by a great tangle of rubber vines. The bed was crisp dry mud which had cracked into thousands of hard, irregular shapes which broke loudly when the cadets walked on them.
Dingo Creek twisted and turned; left, then right, then left. Each part was only a hundred paces but the bottom changed to soft sand. There was no breeze and the air was stifling. Sweat poured out of the cadets. Graham heard several mumbles that ‘the bloody sand was ankle deep too!’ It was tiring walking for young people not used to carrying packs. It was a place they all knew well from patrol exercises the previous year.
They came to a dead tree which had fallen across the creek. This was easy to duck under but a bit further on was another all festooned with vines which they had to clamber over. Barbara stopped and Graham agreed to a halt while they had a drink. Most of the cadets sat against the steep bank to take the weight of their packs off their shoulders while others leaned forward to ease tired muscles. Cadet Woodhouse leaned forward, her face a mask of unhappiness.
All the while Graham’s mind was in turmoil. What should he do now? He was sure discovery was imminent. ‘Should we try to hide in the rubber vines,’ he wondered, ‘or split into small groups? Should I take Elizabeth and send the rest of the platoon back?’ There seemed to be so many options! He had a long drink and wiped sweat from his face.
Then he got them moving. They were still
only 700 metres from Coy HQ; only a few minutes walk for an unladen man. ‘And a child could follow our tracks!’ They crawled under another fallen log, followed another twist of the creek around to the right and passed under a barbed wire fence. This took a few minutes as the wires were low and they had to hold the strands up for each other.
Fifty paces further on they turned left and went up the steep bank along an animal pad. Barbara’s work party had cut most of the rubber vines so it was relatively easy going. The platoon came out on a flat tongue of land with a dense jungle of rubber vines on three sides of them. Off to the right could be seen open country and ahead, across the river, they could get glimpses of the red soil bluffs of Ruin Island.
The track dipped down into the tangled mass of rubber vines. It was only a foot pad with numerous uncut vines to snag boots and webbing. Muttered curses mingled with the shrill whine of cicadas. From the rear came loud crashing and swearing. Word came along to stop. They stopped, chest heaving and sweat dripping.
“Cactus tripped. He’s OK,” came the message. The line began moving again.
Livingstone looked anxiously into the tangle of greenery. “Hope we don’t meet a bloody big boar in here,” he said, voicing one of Graham’s fears.
“Or a bloody great snake,” Tully added. “I seen tracks back there in the sand where on slithered across and boy! He musta been a whopper!”
There was more swearing from behind and the line stopped again. “Cpl Kenny’s hurt,” came the word. Graham swore and set off back, his temper fraying as his ankles and gear caught in vines. The cadets pushed back into the vines to make way for him.
Cpl Kenny had his right trouser leg pulled up and blood was flowing freely from a deep cut about three centimetres long. Rebecca Robinson arrived with her First Aid Kit. Graham ordered packs off and rest. They looked around to try to determine what had caused the cut but finally surmised it had been done by the sharp edge of a small tree which had been lopped off by a machete. Cpl Kenny assured Graham that it did not hurt, only stung when antiseptic was applied. Barbara came back to investigate the delay.
Roger came up the line. He had more bad news. “Roberts has twisted his ankle again, or so he says. He claims he can hardly walk.”
Graham looked at his watch. It was 0920, and they hadn’t even walked a kilometre- were only about 500 metres from HQ in a straight line. “How far to the river bank CSM?”
“Your forward section is nearly there now,” Barbara replied.
“Will we have any difficulty following the bank?”
“No, the track is pretty obvious. We cut most of the bushes and vines clear.”
“I’d like you to go back and give that envelope to the OC. I can hear that helicopter and I’ve got a bad feeling that we have been discovered. We will go on to the new bivouac area and then I’ll decide what to do next. I’ll send someone back with you.” He did not like the idea of Barbara walking back along Dingo Creek on her own. He had Cpl Kenny in mind, but equally did not want to lose a section commander. “Does Cpl Kenny need stitches in that Rebecca? He can go with the CSM if he does.”
The medic looked up from applying the plaster. “I’ve stopped the bleeding sir and closed it up pretty well. I suppose he can go back if he wants to.”
Cpl Kenny looked anxious and shook his head. “I’ll be alright sir. It’s nothing much, just a scratch.”
He obviously did not want to leave. Graham hesitated, then decided. “I need you, if you can walk.” At the back of his mind was a plan to split the platoon into five or six groups to confuse any pursuit. ‘And I need NCOs to lead each group.’
Cpl Kenny nodded vigorously. “I’ll be fine sir.”
“OK, CSM, take Cadet Roberts. His ankle is giving up. He can join us when Capt Conkey visits this afternoon. Oh, and CSM, if that fellow Bargheese arrives and it looks like the NORMAC people are on to us, see if you can radio us a warning. Use a code word- say ‘Black Pig’, and if you can’t talk because they are listening say ‘Browns Cows’. If they ask what it means tell them it means carry on as ordered or something, OK?”
Barbara nodded, wished them luck and set off back.
CHAPTER 22
THE TIGER GETS THE SCENT
Something nagged inside Bargheese’s memory.
‘Where have I seen that woman?’
He rolled over, then sat up and cursed. It was daylight! He looked at his watch. Ten past six! He had fallen asleep without remembering to set his alarm. Time was being wasted! He cursed again. His head ached and he felt drained. As quickly as he could he washed and shaved, changed his clothes then went out into the small ‘street’.
The place seemed deserted. Bargheese walked to the dining hall. It was empty. There was on-one in the kitchen either. He walked over to the prefab hut the cook lived in and knocked and as he did he remembered Amos. Where was Amos? He should have reported back by this. In answer to the knocking a bleary-eyed and surly cook appeared, scratching his hairy chest over a holed and dirty singlet. Bargheese looked away in distaste and told the man to organize breakfast, including three meals to the airfield shed. The cook knew what that meant as he fed the ‘illegals’ when required.
Bargheese then went to the office. Vyajana was still asleep and was rudely roused by the toe of a shoe in his ribs. Bargheese telephoned the manager’s house again. Still no answer, even though he let it ring for several minutes. ‘The dog has fled!’ Bargheese swore, then went to the radio. It was turned on and within one call he got an answer. ‘At least someone is still doing their job!’
It was Berzinski. “Yes boss?”
“Is Falls awake? Get him.”
When Falls answered Bargheese questioned him. No. He hadn’t seen Amos. No, no-one had told him about anything unusual during the night. He was with the cadets at Canning Junction and by his stilted answers could not speak plainly for fear of being overheard.
Bargheese looked at his watch. “Meet me up on the Bare Ridge at....let’s see... in an hour’s time - seven forty five,” he instructed.
Bargheese signed off. Then he turned to Vyajana. “Get Hurst the storeman to stay at the radio. You drive to town and check if Watton is home. Meet me at the Charters Towers airport at eight.”
Bargheese next went to wake the helicopter pilot and his mechanic. After warning Randall to be ready in 45 minutes Bargheese crossed to the kitchen. He was so scared that he could hardly face food but he forced himself to push down some toast and coffee and then went to get his own car. The briefcase was put onto the front seat. He drove to the airfield. It was ten past seven when he arrived. The sun was up and he was sweating already, from worry as much as the heat. Time was slipping away and with it Bargheese felt his own chances of survival.
Murphy was sitting on guard. Evans and the woman were both asleep.
“Has she woken up?” Bargheese asked.
“Nope. Bin out like a light all night,” Murphy said. Bargheese walked over and roughly kicked Sandra till she writhed and opened her eyes. Her alarm was rapidly succeeded by a feeling of dogged determination to stay silent and it showed in the set of her jaw. Bargheese slapped her viciously and bombarded her with rapid, angry questions. Evans woke and got up to watch.
The woman infuriated Bargheese and he struck her several more times. Evans laughed and appeared to be enjoying the situation. The sight of the men filled Sandra with fear and loathing. She cringed and she cried and the blood started trickling again but still she wouldn’t talk.
Goaded by her stubborn refusal, and by his growing desperation Bargheese lost his temper. He pulled out his gun and pressed the muzzle against her head. “Talk woman! Talk or I will blow your brains out!” he threatened.
Sandra gave him a sneer in return. “That won’t help you,” she muttered.
Fury seethed in Bargheese. He was close to panic and fear was making him shake. In a fit of rage he drew the gun back and smashed it into Sandra’s face. “Talk! Where is the brown notebook? Tell me!” he screamed. As he did
he struck her again and again, savage blows to the face and skull. Sandra crumpled onto the concrete.
Murphy saved her from worse treatment by yelling out and running over to grab Bargheese by the arm. “Jesus man! Stop it! Ye’ll kill her!”
“Stay out of it Murphy,” Bargheese screamed back, but he stopped hitting and stood up. For a moment he shuddered with emotion, then wiped his face and mouth.
Evans knelt and felt Sandra’s pulse. “She’s still alive,” he said.
Murphy had withdrawn to the door in fear but he now returned. “The pilots and their mechanic have arrived. They’ve gone to the hangar.”
The hangar was a large corrugated iron shed. It was only fifty paces away and they would hear. Bargheese ground his teeth in frustration. “Keep her here. Evans, you stay and question her if she wakes up, but keep your hands off her till I get back. Murphy, you come with me,” he ordered. He led the way out.
Bargheese and Murphy climbed into the helicopter. Randall insisted on doing his full pre-flight check and radioing Flight Service in Townsville with his flight plan. Bargheese told him to hurry and just got a cold look in return. It took a good five minutes and the air inside the plastic bubble rapidly heated in the sun until they were all sweating freely.
It was a relief when the engine was started and with it the air conditioning. The machine rose up and headed directly for Bare Ridge. Randall didn’t waste time climbing. He just skimmed over the tree tops and shaved so close past the sides of the big Whaleback Ridge that Bargheese saw rock wallabies hopping amongst the boulders. The helicopter climbed just enough to be safely clear of the flocks of white cockatoos which rose in alarm as they passed. Within minutes the helicopter was over the big bend in the river. Then it came down with the odd sensation of sinking, peculiar to helicopters, to settle near the NORMAC vehicles on Bare Ridge.
The Cadet Under-Officer Page 22