The Cadet Sergeant Major

by Christopher Cummings

  “Can I join you Sgt Bronsky?”

  “Sure. Be my guest.” Peter replied. His heart leapt. ‘She must like me!’

  Kate crossed her legs and sat down. While she lit her stove Peter studied her intently, entranced by her every movement. The flickering light from the hexamine flame seemed to enhance her beauty. She felt his eyes on her and looked up, directly into his.

  For a moment her face held a questioning expression; then she smiled and looked down. Others joined them but Peter barely noticed. He had eyes only for Kate; and she, apparently, only for him. They talked happily; brittle, nervous talk which skirted around the edge of their emotions.

  Graham joined them. He dragged his webbing out and began to make hot Milo. “Whew! That’s that. All sections in,” he said.

  Peter looked at him. “Who was the last section in?”

  “Nine Section. Cpl Fredericks,” Graham replied. He poured water into his mess tin. Peter nodded. He wasn’t really interested. Instead he turned to face Kate and chatted on; unaware that Graham was giving them both a thoughtful look.

  Ten minutes later Graham blew out his stove, drained the last of his Milo and rinsed his cup. “Bedtime in five minutes,” he reminded.

  Peter met Kate’s eyes. To his surprise he found that he wanted to be with her all night; and thought she wanted the same. Regretfully he called out: “Bedtime HQ. Get packed up.”

  He stood up. Kate did also. It was dark except for the distant glow of the officer’s fire and the flicker of torches. Graham tossed his webbing into the hutchie and strode off. Peter stood there, fidgeting with uncertainty. He wanted to speak to Kate but didn’t know what to say.

  Allison saved them. “Come on Kate,” she called, hoisting her webbing over her shoulder and walking towards their hutchie. Kate hesitated, shrugged and turned away. Peter found his mouth dry and his palms sweaty. His heart beat at a rapid rate. He shook his head in disbelief and went to his hutchie.

  After preparing his own bedding he walked around, hastening the others into their beds. “Hurry up Cadet Denton. You don’t have to change into your silk pyjamas. Just take your boots off and get into your sleeping bag.”

  “I don’t wear pyjamas,” Denton replied in a sultry tone. This caused a guffaw of laughter from the next hutchie where two boys, Parnell and Henning, were bunked down.

  “They don’t make them big enough!” Henning cried. “They just roll her in a blanket.”

  “Shut yer face Henning!” Denton snapped. “I wear a nightie; except when it’s hot. Then I don’t wear anything.”

  Peter tried to imagine Denton nude and the thought made him shudder. He was about to speak when Henning’s voice came again, “I hope it’s not hot tonight!”

  Denton snarled in reply. “Shut up! I’ll wear what I like!”

  “No you won’t,” Peter cut in. “You’ll be decent. Remember the unit rules. You have to be dressed so that nobody gets offended or embarrassed. The CSM and officers need to be able to shine torches in on you when you are asleep and we don’t want any complaints.”

  “I won’t complain. It won’t offend me,” Cadet Denton replied.

  “It might offend someone else, so make sure you are decent. Now get to bed,” Peter snapped. Annoyed at the boys he walked over to their hutchie. “And you two stop the teasing. There will be no bullying or harassment in HQ.” In the distance he could hear Graham’s ‘CSM’ voice ordering 3 Platoon to be quiet and to get to bed. Having checked all the others Peter walked back to Kate’s hutchie.

  There was a torch on which revealed Allison sitting on her sleeping bag unlacing her boots; and Kate sitting beside her brushing her hair. In the torchlight Peter could see that Kate had taken off her boots, socks and her trousers. He could see a glimpse of bare thighs below her shirt. For an instant his mind exploded with speculation about what she might- or might not- be wearing under the shirt. His heart seemed to hammer audibly in his ears.

  “Lights out. Bedtime,” he said.

  Kate looked up and smiled. “The OC said you were to put us to bed and tuck us in.”

  Peter’s mind raced at all the possible double meanings and implications. All he could do was grin and stammer for a moment; then lamely say: “So? Get into your sleeping bags.”

  “Yes sergeant,” Allison replied cheerfully. She clicked off the torch and began wriggling into her sleeping bag.

  “G.. Good night,” Peter stammered. Hastily he stood up and walked over to his own hutchie, his face aflame with embarrassment and desire.

  For a few minutes he stood watching the area, calling on the cadets to stop talking, to stop turning on their torches, and to go to sleep. Satisfied they had settled down he crawled into his own hutchie. He straightened his bedroll and lay down.

  From Kate’s hutchie came whispers and giggling. Peter was about to call out to tell them to be quiet when Allison spoke. “Peter, you didn’t tuck us in. Kate wants a bedtime story.”

  This caused more giggles. Peter knew he should not allow them to call him by his first name and that he should just call out to them to stop talking; but he seemed to be drawn by the sound of their voices. He crawled back out of his hutchie and moved to kneel at the end of theirs, close to Kate’s head. He could see both their faces as pale blurs. They giggled again.

  “Go to sleep,” he said, but he said it softly, without any bite. They responded with more giggles. Peter didn’t know what to do. To his dismay he was gripped by a powerful urge to reach in and touch Kate, to stroke her, to kiss her. He had never experienced such intense desire in his life. That was his saviour. It frightened him. He battled against the urge, aware that he was encountering powerful new forces.

  To his astonishment Kate reached out and grasped his hand. He nearly snatched it back in shock. He was stunned; frightened; delighted! ‘Thank God it is dark!’ he thought, fearful that others might see. But he was also alive to the sensations of her touch. Her hand was warm and soft. The touch made him tingle like an electric shock. For a minute it rendered him incoherent. He felt his heart begin to pound so that there was a swashing sound in his ears. She squeezed gently. He squeezed back.

  The sound of approaching footsteps brought him back to earth with a jolt. “Here comes the CSM. Go to sleep,” he said. Reluctantly he let go of her hand and stood up.

  As he moved back to his hutchie Peter seemed to float. He barely noticed stumbling on a small anthill. But he was very aware that his body felt as though it was on fire. With something of a shock he realized he had become aroused. He was very glad it was dark.

  Graham strode over. “That you Pete?”

  “Yes,” Peter replied. His throat seemed constricted and dry.

  “HQ all in bed?”

  “Yep.”

  Peter crawled into the hutchie and began unlacing his boots. Graham crawled in next to him and unrolled his bedding. Peter hauled of his boots and socks and stretched out on his sleeping bag fully dressed. Guilt and the proximity of his friend ended Peter’s arousal. For a few moments he trembled with reaction. Then he lay back, thinking hard.

  Graham lay down beside him, still fully dressed. He was listening. The murmur of voices drifted to them on the night air.

  “Bloody Three Platoon!” Graham grumbled. He picked up his torch, crawled out and strode off into the night.

  Peter sighed. His thoughts were overwhelmed by visions of Kate. To his surprise he realized that he had become aroused again. He found that very unsettling. It had never happened to him before unless he had wanted it! Now it just did of its own accord. It caused him a mixture of dismay and pleasure.

  For a time his mind struggled with the conflict between love and lust. He was ashamed of himself for having such a physical reaction to Kate. But the fact that she affected him that way was not to be denied! He began to fantasize that Kate was with him. As his passion mounted his mind struggled to generate romantic images which did not include sex.

  ‘Will she want that? Or will she be repelled and disgust
ed? Do I want her to- or is it true love I want?’ Peter wondered. Then he knew, with a flash of insight, that he was being a hypocrite. “Of course I want her to! Ooooh!” he murmured. He gripped himself firmly as the sexual desire built up. He let out an involuntary groan as he did, the experience heightened by the sharp prickling of his conscience. ‘I’m the sergeant. I shouldn’t be having such thoughts about one of my cadets!’

  Peter struggled to regain control. He berated himself; ‘The wish is father to the deed! Stop! Besides, it won’t happen!’ he told himself. He lay back and wrestled with his conscience and his aroused state.

  Then, to Peter’s intense frustration, he heard Graham returning. Peter lay still and pretended to be asleep. He found himself shaking with emotion. His whole body seemed to writhe with urgent need. With an effort he lay motionless, fearful that Graham would hear his rapid breathing and guess what he had been doing. Shame and guilt swamped him.

  Long after Graham had dropped into a deep sleep Peter lay awake. Kate! What should he do about her?

  ‘Oh, I love her! And I want to be with her!’ Peter sighed. But he didn’t know what to do next. He wasn’t very experienced with girls. In all his 16 years he had only taken two out on ‘dates’; and only had one real ‘crush’. There had never been anything more physical than a couple of fumbled kisses. It wasn’t much help. Fantasizing again he at last slipped into sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  MORNING ROUTINE

  Graham opened his eyes. It was still dark. He knew that sub-conscious worry had woken him. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he groped for the pencil torch he had placed on the groundsheet. Using it he checked the time: 0520. Good.

  The air was cold enough to be chilly but he made himself get out of the sleeping bag at once. He felt stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground. He hadn’t slept well; and Peter had done a lot of tossing and turning which hadn’t helped. As quickly as he could Graham pulled on socks and boots. He had a drink of water and dabbed some on his eyes to ungum them.

  Next Graham rolled up his bedding, strapping it into the bottom of his pack. It was a unit ‘Standing Operating Procedure’- for safety in case a snake, scorpion or centipede decided to crawl in. It was also good for efficiency and discipline. As a matter of routine Graham liked to get it out of the way first thing. Then he crawled out of the hutchie and stretched.

  “Hat,” he mumbled. His slouch hat was located and jammed on his head. With rapid strides he made his way to the latrine. From painful experience he knew that if he did not go now he would not get another chance for a while. The camp and surrounding bush were very quiet. To the east there was a greying through the trees.

  “Not even a Kookaburra awake. I’m the only silly bugger out of bed,” he told himself as he strode along. Then another thought came to him: ‘Unless a snake is up and about!’ Graham hated and feared snakes. He had been bitten by a ‘King Brown’ when he was eleven and knew he was lucky to be alive. During the safety brief the OC had warned them. It was springtime. The snakes were coming out of their hibernation and would be both hungry and looking for mates; and that would make them bad tempered and aggressive.

  Fear slowed Graham down. He clicked on his torch to scan ahead. ‘Be a bit cold for them this morning,’ he told himself hopefully. ‘Reptiles are cold-blooded. They need the sun to warm them up.’

  As he walked back to his hutchie later Graham noticed a flare of sparks over at the officer’s fire. He saw that Lt Standish was sitting there. ‘She must be the officer on duty,’ he decided. He knew that the OOCs were rostered so that one of them was always awake, for safety and supervision. She raised her head and looked in his direction so he raised a hand and she waved back. ‘This unit has good officers,’ he thought. ‘They try very hard.’

  By 0540 Graham was back at his hutchie. He shook Peter. “Time to get up Pete. Check Parade in fifteen minutes.” As soon as he was sure Peter was awake Graham strode off to wake the other sergeants. As he did he noted that it was already noticeably lighter and there was a distinct pink tinge on the horizon.

  The platoons were bivouacked in their own areas in a rough circle around HQ. They were located in stands of trees which suited the erection of hutchies. Each platoon area was separated by about 50 metres from its neighbour so there was no doubt about whose responsibility it was for cleaning up; and to develop platoon Esprit d’ Corps. Graham walked around the area anti-clockwise.

  1 Platoon. No problem. Stephen was awake and they exchanged ‘Good mornings’. Graham checked his watch and walked quickly. Ten minutes to go. ‘Will I make it in time?’ he worried. 2 Pl. ‘Which hutchie?’ he wondered. He threaded his way through them in the half-light until he found the one he wanted. ‘This one.’ He bent down and shook the sleeping bag at what he judged to be the shoulder. It writhed like a giant pupa. There was a stifled groan. An arm came out then a head covered with tousled fair hair- Gwen Copeland.

  “Time to get up,” Graham said. As he knelt there he smelt a waft of warm ‘woman in bed’ scent. It caused him to experience a strong urge to stroke her cheek, which he sternly suppressed. It also surprised and worried him by the intensity of it. While berating himself for being a weakling he marched briskly over to 3 Platoon.

  He had trouble waking Sgt Brown. “Get up Lance! Five minutes to check parade.”

  “Humfff. Uh!. Mmmm.... Bugger check parade,” came Sgt Brown’s voice from the sleeping bag. He rolled over with his back to Graham.

  “Get up Sgt Brown!” Graham shook him again.

  “Bugger off! Hmmm. Mmmm. Grumble!” Brown replied. Graham shook him firmly. With groans and obvious reluctance Sgt Brown rolled on his back, opened his eyes and sat up.

  Graham looked at his watch. Only two minutes! ‘I’ve miscalculated!’ he thought with a mixture of shame and dismay. He walked quickly to 4 Pl. ‘I need to start earlier and go faster,’ he berated himself angrily.

  Luckily Sgt Griffin was up, stretching and yawning. He said ‘Good morning’ and yawned again. Graham checked the time. 0600. He stopped and called out in a loud clear voice, “OK Platoon sergeants; get them up.”

  At once the morning stillness was shattered by the sergeants bawling at their cadets. Graham strode over to the clump of twisted Mulga trees where the Control Group were camped and started to shake them. He was annoyed with himself because he didn’t know exactly where Sgt Crane slept. ‘And I haven’t shown the sergeants where to line their platoons up for parade.’ He bit his lip; then shouted at the sleeping cadets, “Get up Control Group! Check parade.”

  The noise had woken the birds. Kookaburras began chortling. Graham marched quickly back to the clearing on the vehicle track along the centre of the ridge. There was an area of about a 100 paces extent clear of trees.

  “This will have to do,” he told himself. He began pacing along, making boot marks in the sand to show the sergeants where to put their Right Markers. It was dawn by this and he could see figures moving in all the platoon areas. The sergeants were still rousing sleepy cadets out of bed. Graham heard Stephen bellow, “Out you get! Boots and hat and NCOs make sure you have your radios. And make sure you have your sticks.”

  “Arthur’s got a stick!” a voice called.

  Stephen at once snapped back, “Don’t be crude Cadet James. Just get moving. Hat and boots.”

  “What about clothes sergeant?” another voice called.

  “Don’t be a smart-arse Hodgins! Just get a move on!” Stephen yelled.

  Graham grinned. He called out, “Sergeants! Move your platoons over here! Now!”

  He looked around and saw that cadets were lining up in most areas, preparatory to marching over. Only at 4 Pl were they still milling around. Then he heard Peter’s angry voice.

  “Get out of bed Cadet Denton!”

  “I’m not ready yet,” came Denton’s muffled reply.

  “Just come as you are!” Peter cried in exasperation.

  “But I’m not dressed yet!” Denton wailed.

  �
�Don’t come!” cried LCpl Henning. “Spare us Sergeant! Spare us!”

  Peter scowled. “Be quiet Headquarters! Get in line. Hurry up Cadet Denton! You were told to sleep dressed, now get a move on!” he snapped.

  Graham had to grin. The thought of Denton, ‘The Human Hippo’, as Henning had once unkindly called her, appearing on parade without clothes was too horrible to contemplate.

  The platoons were formed up in shivering ‘threes’ and then marched across to where Graham waited. He directed them to where he wanted them but it was still a bit of a muddle as some sergeants had trouble manoeuvring them into position.

  Sgt Griffin made the worst hash. 4 Platoon was last. They marched over looking like a shambling rabble, half out of step. Griffin got flustered trying to get them back in step; then misjudged the distance and had to ‘about turn’ them and move them back. He then wheeled them the wrong way while trying to avoid HQ. Then he ordered them to continue the wheel. The result was that the platoon did a complete circle and still did not end up in the right place. Under the snickering of the rest of the company, who stood in three ranks waiting, Griffin got more and more flustered.

  Graham gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. He did not want to criticize a sergeant in front of the troops; but was embarrassed that one of the sergeants was making such a fool of himself. Finally Griffin fell them out and reformed the platoon in the gap between 3 Platoon and HQ.

  The company was then formed up ‘In line’; the platoons lined side by side along the track in three ranks with a gap between each platoon and its neighbour. Graham stood 50 paces out in front facing them. He checked his watch. It was now light enough to see.

  “Not good enough! It took you nearly ten minutes just to get out of bed and on parade. Tomorrow we will halve that. I want the whole parade over in ten minutes. Company, Attennnn...shun! Company, Right...dress! Wake up! Get the timings right! As you were.”