The Cadet Under-Officer

by Christopher Cummings

  The SMG went off pointing down and four bullets smashed into the ground. Berzinski fell, grabbed at a rock for support, dropped the weapon and heaved himself half upright, swaying and moaning. Then he pitched forward and lay sprawled on the rocky slope.

  Directly beyond Berzinski, further down the hill, was the security man with the rifle. Graham recognized him as the man they’d taken the M16 off at Bunyip Bend. The man had watched Berzinski’s fall, his mouth open in horror. Now he raised his eyes and saw Graham move his rifle. The man went down fast, rolled and fired a wild, un-aimed shot. Then he began yelling to the other man that Berzinski had been shot.

  Graham saw the man’s boot sticking out and carefully sighted on it and fired. A hit! No doubt! The man jerked and yelled in fear and pain. Then he rolled down behind another boulder, the heel of his boot flapping loose. A pistol cracked and Graham saw the other man over to his right and he snapped a shot at him.

  That bullet must have gone close as the man suddenly turned and began running down the slope, slipping and falling in his haste. ‘He’s had enough,’ Graham thought.

  The man with the rifle called on him to wait and to cover him but the other man paid no heed and went on scrambling and jumping down the rugged slope in desperate flight. The rifleman fired a quick shot and rolled and scrambled down until he had the large rock pile between himself and Graham. Graham fired as he went but it was a snap shot and the bullet just smacked the rocks. Then Graham got up and began scrambling up the slope. He only went ten paces, then turned and took cover.

  The head of the man with the pistol could be seen bobbing up and down as he continued on down the hill. Graham readied himself in case the rifleman appeared at the rocks. He also kept glancing at where Berzinski lay. Without looking Graham groped in the bandolier and took out the last 5 round clip then lay behind the rock and quickly removed the magazine, leaving the bolt closed on one round. One by one he removed the bullets from the clip and placed them in the magazine.

  This forced him to look down to ensure the old fashioned cartridges, with their rim around the base, didn’t go in wrong. That would cause a jam. As he did he glanced up and saw the rifleman. The man was much further down the hill, going down from rock to rock but still facing up hill. The man saw Graham’s head, took quick aim and fired.

  It was the closest Graham came to death that day. The bullet went so close to his head the shock wave made his ears ring. His reaction was to drop the magazine and return fire. But the man had already leapt aside. Graham then had to grope down between the rocks to retrieve the magazine, blow leaves and sand off it, insert it and cock the weapon. By the time he looked around the side of the boulder the man was near the bottom of the hill.

  Better still the man with the pistol was off the hill and running towards Mast Hill. Graham took aim to one side of the rifleman and fired. The bullet kicked up sand and the man swerved violently and dived behind some rocks. He was shouting and swearing at his mate but the other man ignored him and ran down into Dry Creek.

  Another shot smacked into the rocks near Graham, causing him to flinch. Then the riflemman sprang into view and began a zig-zagging run back towards the creek as well. ‘They are beaten!’ Graham thought exultantly. ‘They are running away!’

  Graham fired one last shot to speed them on their way. He felt certain they wouldn’t be back. As soon as the man reached Dry Creek, Graham got up and, after reloading, walked quickly over and picked up the .22 and shotgun, then edged his way back behind some boulders, before walking up onto the flat cliff top.

  His thoughts now turned to finding Margaret and helping her. He hurried across the flat rocks to the edge of the hollow.

  There he stopped in horror.

  Bargheese!

  He had forgotten Bargheese. The Indian must have climbed the steep side of the hill behind him - up some cleft beside the cliff. And there he was, with a pistol pointed at Margaret’s head!

  Margaret had carried Walsh to there and had put him down to examine his wounds. As she had done so Bargheese had climbed up onto the hill top. He had shoved the gun into her face and grabbed her arm, his teeth bared in a savage grin of triumph. Then he turned to see the Cadet Under-Officer walk into view.

  “Drop the guns Kirk, or the girl dies!”

  Graham’s mind and emotions surged in turmoil. Was he beaten at the last moment? He felt a cold chill of fear for Margaret and sought desperately for a way to save her. He had no faith Bargheese would release her, even if he complied with the man’s demands.

  Slowly and carefully he put down the .22 and the shotgun he had been holding in his left hand but he kept gripping the stock of the .303.

  Bargheese gestured with the pistol. “Put down the rifle boy,” he snarled.

  The cold menace in the hissing accent made Graham’s hair stand on end. Gripped by near paralysing apprehension he looked into Margaret’s eyes and saw defiance as well as fear.

  She shook her head. “Don’t Graham. Don’t trust him,” she cried.

  “Silence girl!” Bargheese screamed. “I’ve had enough of girls and their meddling.” His temper flared. With the speed of a striking cobra he let go of Margaret’s arm and gave her a stinging slap on the face then gripped her around the throat.

  Graham suddenly felt a cold, terrible fury grow in him. With icy deliberation he brought the rifle up until it aimed directly at Bargheese’s right eye. “Let her go Bargheese or I will kill you,” he warned.

  Bargheese moved behind Margaret so that Graham could only see half his face. The pistol was pushed up under Margaret’s right ear. He cast a quick glance around.

  Graham gave a mirthless smile. “Don’t keep looking behind me for help Bargheese. There won’t be any. I’ve just shot Berzinski, and his two cronies have run for it. They’re back at your camp by now. You are all on your own. Now, believe me. I mean what I say. Let her go or I will kill you.”

  Bargheese licked his lips. He could tell that the boy was telling the truth and that he meant every word. ‘Does this boy think he can shoot me before I can pull the trigger?’ he wondered. He could feel the death emanating from the boy’s eyes and from the black bore of the rifle aiming at his right eye. The weapon was held in such an unwavering grip he knew the bullet would not miss. Terror began to grip him until he was almost paralysed. Perspiration broke out all over his skin as he desperately tried to think of a plan.

  Graham spoke again, trying to ease the potentially fatal tension. “You don’t want to die Bargheese. You want to get away. Let her go and I will let you.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t. You will have to take my word for it,” Graham replied, his tone grim and uncompromising.

  “Give me the brown notebook first. Then I will let her go.”

  “Same problem. I don’t trust you,” Graham replied. Then he glanced at Walsh who had stirred and turned a bloodstained face towards them from near Bargheese’s feet. The Indian followed the glance then gave a crafty chuckle. “Yes. I have two hostages Mister Cadet Under-Officer. You put down your rifle or I will kill this one here.” He pointed the pistol at Walsh’s head. Graham felt his stomach turn over. ‘He isn’t bluffing,’ he thought with sick dismay. There was no doubt in his mind that Bargheese was desperate.

  Bargheese squeezed Margaret’s throat. “Come on boy. Put down the rifle or I shoot. Then bring me the brown notebook.”

  Graham felt an awful sense of defeat. He knew he was still leaving the others at risk as well as placing himself in grave danger but he decided he had to break the deadlock. He lowered the rifle to his hip.

  Margaret shook her head. “Don’t Graham....ugh!” she gurgled as the arm around her throat tightened. The pistol came up and was pressed against her skull again.

  Graham agreed. “I’ll put my rifle down if you let him go. Can you crawl or walk Walshy?”

  The lance corporal nodded. He had split his lip and blood dripped from his nose and there was a wound in his lowe
r back.

  Bargheese agreed. He was becoming impatient. He wanted to be gone. “Hurry!” he snapped.

  Slowly Graham lowered the rifle, then knelt and laid it on the ground. Then he stood up and waited. Pointing with his left hand he said, “That way Walshy.”

  LCpl Walsh got up on all fours and began crawling, dragging his right leg and moaning. Graham and Bargheese kept their eyes locked until Walsh was behind some rocks twenty paces away. Bargheese then gestured with his pistol. “Now the notebook. Bring it to me.”

  Graham took it out of his map pocket and held it up. Bargheese’s eyes glittered in such a way that Graham wondered if the man was sane. Slowly he began to walk forward across the hollow. When he was ten paces from Bargheese he stopped. “Let her go and I’ll leave it here and back off,” he said.

  As Graham spoke something snapped in Bargheese’s mind. ‘This boy! He has wrecked all my plans!’ Barhgeese got a picture of all the stunning blows the CUO had struck in the last 24 hours, blows that had broken years of planning and organization to pieces. Hate and a desire for revenge welled up in a red rage. He brought the pistol up and aimed.

  Margaret saw it come up out of the corner of her eye. She tried to cry out but only managed a strangled gasp. At the same time she grabbed at it and jumped backwards. The whiplash of the pistol going off exploded in her ear but the shot missed. She had hold of Bargheese’s right arm and clung on with all her strength. Graham had jumped aside and now knew his only chance was to close, unarmed, with his enemy. He began running forward.

  Margaret screamed and writhed and somehow got her teeth into Bargheese’s wrist. He hit her hard and yelled in pain. He tried to aim the pistol again as the CUO ran towards him but the bullet went wide. Then he and the girl went down in a struggling heap and his arm struck a rock, knocking the gun from his grasp. Margaret’s temple struck the rock, stunning her.

  Margaret released her grip momentarily and lay dazed. But it had been enough. Graham leapt on the Indian and the two began wrestling on the ground. It was a fearful struggle such as Graham had never dreamed of. He knew it was ‘to the death’ and he had the sweating flesh of his enemy in his grip and could smell his breath and feel his hate. But he also felt his strength. To Graham’s dismay he realized that Bargheese was stronger, and more desperate. Graham was already exhausted from the exertions of the last 24 hours and as they rolled and punched and tried to kick and gouge eyes out he knew in his heart he lacked the strength.

  Bargheese slipped a hand free and seized Graham’s throat and began to squeeze. Graham tried to break the grip but couldn’t get a proper hold. He heaved but couldn’t roll him off and he began to see red and black and knew death was close. In desperation he jabbed at the Indian’s eyes, then smashed up on the bottom of his nose with the palm of his hand.

  It hurt and Bargheese felt the stinging pain and his eyes watered but he kept his grip. Graham could feel his strength going as he choked and began to black out. In desperation he got hold of Bargheese’s little finger on his left hand and pulled hard, twisting it savagely and breaking it. That released one hand for a moment but it wasn’t enough. It was Margaret who saved him. She had picked herself up and now kicked Bargheese hard in the face with her army boot.

  Bargheese let go and sprang up to grapple with her, hitting her hard on the nose. Then he punched her viciously in the stomach and kicked her in the ribs as she fell. For a few moments Bargheese stood glaring around, spitting blood and teeth and hate. Both cadets were down and there was the brown notebook. In his madness he snatched it up and turned. Then he saw the pistol. He ran to it as the CUO began struggling to get up. Bargheese snatched up the pistol and aimed at the CUO.

  Margaret saw this through eyes red with pain. Frantically she groped for a weapon and her hand felt a rock. She flung it with all her strength. The rock struck Bargheese on the ribs just as he fired. But this time the bullet smacked Graham down, spinning him round. Bargheese then turned towards Margaret but she hurled another rock. He jumped aside, firing as he did. The bullet creased her cheekbone like a red-hot flame.

  Suddenly Bargheese let out a gurgling yell. He had landed on loose rocks which gave way. His arms waved frantically as he tried to get his balance but then he fell heavily. A moment later he was gone, over the edge of the cliff. Margaret heard him crash through tree branches and land with a thud somewhere out of sight.

  She ignored him and rushed to Graham, her own injuries forgotten. To her immense relief he was rolling himself over. He was alive! She knelt to look and he shook his head and pointed to his left basic pouch. The pistol bullet had struck it and after punching through a layer of canvas, a tin of corned beef, a roll of toilet paper in a plastic bag and the back of the pouch had not penetrated his shirt. The force of it had knocked him down.

  Margaret let out a sob of relief and clasped his head to her breast, kissing him for joy. In this mixture of pleasure and pain Graham still kept his wits about him. He wriggled free and held her for a moment.

  “Where is he?”

  “He fell over the cliff,” Margaret said.

  Graham ran to the spot and looked down. Bargheese was there, about five metres down on a rock ledge, scrabbling for the brown notebook in a mass of dead leaves. He grabbed it and looked up. Seeing Graham he raised his pistol and fired.

  Graham jumped back and the bullet whistled into space. Fearing that Bargheese would climb up Graham raced back to his rifle and picked it up. Then he advanced warily, rifle at the ready, to a different place. “Look after Walshy, Margaret, in case Bargheese comes up again.”

  Cautiously he risked a glance. The Indian was further down, lowering himself between two boulders. Graham called out: “Give up Bargheese. I’ve got you covered.”

  The man dropped out of sight then bobbed out and fired. Graham fired too. The bullet smacked off the rock next to Bargheese, stone chips striking him hard. He ducked and vanished from sight. From the sound of rolling stones and trampled leaves he was making his way rapidly below the line of boulders and a steep granite cliff.

  Deciding Bargheese that was no immediate threat Graham turned and went over to Margaret and Walsh. He gently placed his fingers on the scorch mark on her cheek. “You OK Margaret?”

  Their eyes met and both wanted to forget the world.

  “Bit bruised. I’m alright.”

  Graham put an arm around her and gave her a hug. She sucked in her breath with pain. Frowning with concern he let go and looked at her. “I might have a broken rib,” she said.

  “You saved my life,” he said lamely, wanting to say more. To save his embarrassment he turned to Walsh who was holding a handkerchief to his nose. “How are you Walshy?”

  “Loosened a coupla teeth sir and me nose is sore and me back hurts.”

  “Bad? Where are you hit?”

  “Aw. It’s nothing much sir.”

  “Let’s have a look,” Graham said. He and Margaret gently rolled the protesting NCO over. Then Graham chuckled with relief. “He got you in the bum Walshy! You’ll survive.” They all laughed with relief.

  Graham stood up. “Marg., you fix Walshy up then get your guns and wait up here under cover. I’m going to see how the rest of the platoon is.”

  Margaret nodded, not wanting him to leave but also not wanting to hold him from his duty. “Be careful of that man,” she said, her eyes anxious and tearful.

  Graham kissed her gently on her cheek, tasting salt and blood from her split lip. “Love you,” he whispered. Then he turned and set off. Careful not to be silhouetted he went to the edge of the hill and looked out. First he spotted Roger’s group at the RV. They stood out because of the blue shirts of his prisoners. They were a hundred metres the other side of the gravel road and deployed in all round defence among the trees, rocks and bushes near the river bank. They were alright.

  Then Graham’s eye caught sight of Lt McEwen’s white dress. ‘She should have been at the platoon RV by this,’ he thought. But she was with a group of cadets w
hich must have included Cpl Sheehan’s group and was only just crossing the Canning Track near the junction with the Gravel Road. They were carrying someone. Hodgins?

  Another flicker of white, caught Graham’s eye down near the bottom of the hill: Bargheese! The Indian was hobbling down the rocky slope and heading straight towards Lt McEwen’s group. They were only 300 metres away. Fearful for their safety Graham yelled and then fired a shot. “Bargheese!”

  Bargheese scrambled into cover and his pistol cracked in reply. He was nearly 200 metres away and Graham didn’t even hear the bullet but he stepped back off the skyline and began moving quickly down the sloping rock ledge. As he did he tried to keep his eye on the rocks where his enemy had gone to ground. He hadn’t set out to hunt the man but as another bullet thwacked off the rocks he saw red.

  Graham moved rapidly to a new fire position and fired. Bargheese fired back. Both fired again, changing position as they did. Graham easily made his way down the broad ledge in safety but it led him away from the Indian.

  This time Graham knew he had the upper hand. He dominated the situation with his rifle and could bide his time. Quickly he moved carefully from cover to cover.

  For Bargheese it was the final nightmare. He got glimpses of the CUO moving from rock to cover above him and he relived the shocks of the past day and night: the rescue of Lt McEwen, the missing weapons, the smashed aircraft, the exploding fuel drums, the broken water supply, the roadblock, the fires and blackout and the taunting from all directions all night long. The CUO had become his nemesis. His nerve cracked.

  Graham saw him stand up and shout and then fire his pistol - still a hundred metres away. He also saw the Indian pull the trigger again but it did not fire. Bargheese looked at the empty pistol in disbelief, then hurled it uselessly up the slope in fury. Graham could easily have shot him there and then but instead he stood up and began walking calmly down the slope, his aching leg muscles crying out at each step.