The Cadet Sergeant Major

by Christopher Cummings

  “No, keep going. It’s only another kilometre,” Peter replied.

  Denton mumbled and looked sulky but kept walking, though with an ostentatious limp.

  All this time they were passing through open forest, mostly Ironbarks and stringy Eucalypts, with an occasional Burdekin Plum tree with its black trunk and dark green leaves. There was almost no grass on the sandy soil and very little deadfall or leaf-litter. A few beef cattle moved off as the cadets approached. The road crossed a small dry creek and went up a low rise. It curved to the right over the low shoulder of a barren, rocky hill which was nicknamed ‘Black Knoll’. The pile of rocks on the summit which earned it this name was just visible up to the left through the trees.

  HQ crossed a cattle grid. Just beyond it a rough vehicle track went off to the left up a spur of Black Knoll. The Canning Road curved left around the base of the hill. It crossed an area which had been scraped bare for gravel. Several dry creeks came together on their right. Beyond them was a low ridge which was just raw, red earth- another gravel pit. Rubber vines became more frequent until they hemmed the road in on both sides. The road straightened out and the low concrete causeway which crossed the Canning River came into sight.

  The Canning was over a hundred metres wide. The bed was nothing but dry sand. Both banks were covered in a dense growth of trees, thorn bushes and rubber vines.

  Peter noted that the ‘Control Group’ was already seated in the shade beside where the road climbed the far bank through a cutting. 4 Platoon were just joining them. Peter made sure that the members of HQ were all in step as they crossed the causeway.

  On the far side he called, “Headquarters.....halt! Fall out.”

  They joined the others under what shade was left. Peter sat down, acutely aware that Kate had settled herself beside him. He tried to pretend he wasn’t interested in her; conscious he was practising a form of deceit, and with deliberate intent- to divert any curiosity or gossip. To this end he joined in the general conversation of those around him.

  After a ten minute wait a Land Rover arrived. Capt Conkey and Graham climbed out.

  Capt Conkey pointed. “Sit in a group here in the shade,” he instructed. Several cadets who were sitting further away moved in. Peter stood up.

  Graham called him. “Help me issue these yellow epaulets Sgt Bronsky. You too Sgt Griffin.”

  Each cadet was given two yellow epaulets. These were just cloth sewn and cut so they could be slipped onto the shoulder straps of their shirts. This was to mark them as ‘the enemy’ for the First Years. That done Peter sat down again.

  Capt Conkey began briefing them. He made them take out their maps and orientated them, then pointed out the boundaries: the Canning River to the north, Scrubby Creek to the east, the Flinders Highway to the south and a fence line to the west.

  “The story is that you are prisoners of war. You were being moved in a truck under guard, back from the battle area to a prison camp. But on the way the truck has crashed. Your guards and the driver were injured. In the confusion you have escaped. Someone else has taken the guard’s guns and they have run off; so you are unarmed and in enemy territory. You know that other enemy vehicles use the road and that as soon as your escape has been reported they will be looking for you. Your aim is to sneak back through hostile territory to you own lines without being seen and recaptured. Is that clear?”

  A chorus of “Yes sir,” answered this. Peter moved into a more comfortable position and his hand touched someone else’s. He pulled it away at once but glanced to see whose it was.

  It was Kate’s.

  Their eyes met; and the look she gave him set him smouldering with desire.

  ‘Holy Moses! If that isn’t a “Come on” look then I’ve never seen one,’ Peter thought. ‘She really must like me!’ He seemed to boil inside and found it hard to sit still and to concentrate on what the OC was saying.

  “Avoid being seen,” Capt Conkey explained. “If you are, then you must decide whether it would be reasonable to run for it, or whether you would be shot. Play fair. If you clearly have no chance of escape then surrender. The First Years will then take your name and one of your yellow epaulets. The epaulets represent a ‘Life’.”

  “What if we lose them both Sir?” asked LCpl Percy Pearson.

  “Then you are dead,” Capt Conkey replied. There was a ripple of laughter. “In that case go with your captors. Now, usual rules: No physical contact. No fighting, punching, tackling, rock throwing or any other idiot act which might hurt anyone. Do not split up. I will say that again. For safety sake stay in the groups in which I put you. Don’t split up! I do not want individuals lost or injured out in the bush. If one is caught then the whole group is caught.”

  Capt Conkey paused and looked hard at the ‘Control Group’ to make sure they got the message; then went on, “There is a time limit. You will all be back at camp by 1200 hours. That gives you just over three hours. You have about three kilometres to go so take your time. Good fieldcraft is the aim, not speed. Your objective is to reach the Flinders Highway. Wait there till I drive along and tell you what to do next. Any questions?”

  After answering a few queries Capt Conkey divided the cadets into groups of four or five. Graham was allocated the signallers and Cadet Denton. Costigan had Bert Lacey, Kellie Jones and Cadet Bax. Peter was given the two Intelligence NCOs and Leah Allen. As soon as he realized Kate was in his group Peter looked at her and smiled.

  ‘Good!’ he thought. ‘Couldn’t be better if I’d organized it myself.’

  Capt Conkey began sending them off, a group at a time with two minutes between groups. The Control Group went first, followed by Graham’s group, then Costigan’s and then Peter’s. 4 Platoon was to follow them in five groups. Each group was to select its own route.

  The Control Group went left along the bed of the Canning towards Scrubby Creek and Costigan led his to the right along the base of Black Knoll so Peter followed Graham’s group who had vanished into the deep, dry creek which joined the Canning just upstream of the causeway. A study of the map showed that this creek was the lower end of a whole network of small creeks and gullies which led all the way up to Sandy Ridge. It seemed to offer the best covered route.

  Peter led the way followed by Kate. LCpl Parnell came next with Leah Allen last. The creekline was narrow and deep. The bed was dry, white sand, marked only by the bootprints of Graham’s group and a few animal tracks. Both banks were a thick tangle of rubber vines. There were several logs which caused some delay while they clambered over them. Peter noted several snake tracks and the footprints of wild pigs.

  The second fallen tree they came to gave Peter a chance to hold Kate’s hand. He clambered over first, then turned and offered his hand to help steady her. She took it and jumped down. As she did she met his eyes and smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Peter returned it. He wanted to keep holding her hand but, fearing the others might notice, he let go.

  By then his mind was in a whirl and his heart was pounding fast. He was also amazed, delighted and appalled to discover that her touch had got him instantly aroused. That had never happened to him before. He glanced down and was relieved to see that it was not obvious because of the loose fitting camouflage uniform and webbing. Still, he was glad that he was in front. They resumed walking and he turned his thoughts back to navigation and fieldcraft.

  The creek wound left, then right. The banks became less steep and there were gaps in the rubber vine. On the slope up to the left were the ugly scars of the disused gravel scrape. Around the next bend they came to a rough vehicle track which ran from the gravel scrape across to the Canning Road. Just beyond it was a creek junction. Both creeks looked of equal size, about five metres wide. Peter studied the sand. Graham’s group had gone right.

  “We will go left,” he said.

  They were now in an area of dry, open scrub. The banks were lower and lined with trees. Up on the left was a wide, timbered ridge which the map showed ran all the way to co
nnect with Sandy Ridge. To the right was a bare, flat area dotted with trees and small bushes but almost devoid of grass. Peter checked his watch. Half an hour; and they had come about half a kilometre. He signalled halt and climbed the bank. Beside the rough, black trunk of a Burdekin Plum Tree he carefully raised his head.

  Almost at once Peter spotted movement- a section of First Years crossing the flat between the two creeks. He screwed his eyes up against the glare. ‘That’s Lofty Ward,’ he muttered. ‘They look like they are following the fence towards the cattle grid on the Canning Road. I hope they don’t blunder into Graham.’

  After a cautious look in all directions Peter moved back down to where the others waited. “There’s a section about a hundred metres away heading away from us. I can’t see any other movement. Let’s get going.”

  They resumed their cautious advance. Peter was now most worried about suddenly meeting a group who might be following the creek. They would only be visible at short range. ‘We will meet them at a bend,’ he mused. He puzzled over what action to take if this happened. ‘We will have to run back and try to hide up on the bank somewhere,’ he decided.

  No sooner had he come to this conclusion than they heard the sound of rapid footsteps- from behind them! They looked around for cover but there was none. ‘If they are First Years we are sunk!’ Peter thought as he crouched in a tiny washout.

  They weren’t. It was Dimbo Doyle and four of his section. They came trampling past. As Dimbo reached them he said, “Wotcher doin’?”

  “There’s a First Year section ahead. Slow down Dimbo,” Peter replied.

  “She’ll be right. We seen ‘em,” Dimbo answered. He led his section on at a fast walk.

  Peter stood up and shrugged. “Oh well, they will break the ice for us if nothing else,” he said. He began following Dimbo’s group who had already vanished from view around the next bend.

  For five minutes they walked slowly along, still following the creek bed. The creek had a dozen small bends in it. After about two hundred metres they came to a sharp bend to the right. Just as Peter peeked cautiously round this there were yells and shouts from further up the creek.

  “What is it?” Kate asked from close behind.

  “Dimbo Doyle. His section has run into some more First Years. Roger Dunning’s section I think. Yes it is. I can hear Roger,” Peter replied. He gave a chuckle. “They are taking a ‘Life’ off each of Dimbo’s cadets. Get ready to run back down the creek if they come this way. Sean, you go up to the top of the bank and keep watch out to either side.”

  LCpl Parnell nodded and crawled up so he could just see over the top of the bank from behind a small, prickly bush. The others crouched waiting. There was no breeze in the gully and the sun blazed down so that they began to sweat.

  Peter kept watch up the creek. After a few minutes, during which the two sections stood and swapped stories, Dimbo’s section continued up the creek bed. Peter tensed, ready to run. To his relief he saw Roger lead his section off to the left, up onto the top of the bank beside the fence which crossed the creek at that point. For a moment Peter wondered if there might be a checkpoint where the fence crossed the creek. Then he decided there wouldn’t be. ‘The OC wouldn’t plan it that way or the exercise would be impossible. He said that if we did the right thing we should have a fair chance of sneaking through.’

  Peter signalled the others to follow as soon as the last of Roger’s cadets was out of sight. He continued up the creek bed, scouting as he went. On reaching the barbed wire fence he crawled under it and waited till all the others were through.

  “Have a drink,” he ordered. “Sean, have another look up on the bank.”

  LCpl Parnell walked up a well-worn cattle pad beside the fence. No sooner had he reached the top than he turned and came scuttling back down. “Quick! Run! Another section is coming: Brassington’s. They are coming down the fence from the east.”

  Peter had just taken out his waterbottle. He swore; then said, “This way!” At the run he set off up the creek. The others followed, Leah spilling water from her open canteen. Luckily it was only fifty paces to the next bend. Even as they rounded it Peter remembered their boot prints. ‘We shouldn’t have run in the sand,’ he berated himself. ‘Never mind. Too late now.’

  Once all were around the bend he slowed down but kept on walking. The creek had changed again. It had narrowed to only one or two meters of sand in a steep, V-sided gully with bare, eroded banks. There was almost no grass and only a few bushes. A few scraggly trees gave almost no shade and even less cover. Outcrops of rocks stood between small washouts. It felt very hot.

  After creeping along for another five minutes Peter pointed up a small side gully. He led the way up it to a clump of rocks near the top. He sat so that he could just see over the top of the bank and indicated the others should also sit. Kate sat beside him. The rocks were so hot they hurt to touch. The cadets were all perspiring freely and Peter was worried about heat exhaustion. After cautiously raising his head he looked around the surrounding bush but could see no sign of movement. He did not think that Barbara’s section was following but still posted Leah to watch the rear.

  “We will have a break. Make sure you all have a big drink,” he instructed.

  Peter still had his waterbottle in his hand so he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. He had just returned his waterbottle to its cover when he detected movement through the trees out to his left. It was a section of First Years and they seemed to be heading directly towards them.

  “Here comes a section. Hide, quickly!” he hissed. He lay flat in the washout with his head between two rocks. To his surprise Kate squeezed in beside him and pressed against him. Peter looked around but could not see the other two. That was a relief. He was very conscious of Kate’s touch and realized he could smell her. ‘I hope I don’t smell,’ he thought, very aware that he had been sweating a lot.

  Peter looked at Kate and noted with wonderment that her eyes seemed to have a dreamy look to them and that her lips were slightly parted. Her head was only a few centimetres from his and she was looking directly at him. In a sort of trance he studied her. Those lips! So soft and kissable! ‘Nice teeth too,’ he noted. He felt confusion and something like panic well up in him. ‘Does she want me to kiss her?’ he wondered. But he was too frightened to do anything in case he had mistaken her signals; in case it was just his rapidly mounting desire.

  The approaching section now drew his attention. It was Anne Hopewell’s and she was obviously having trouble with them. By the grumbling they must have taken a wrong bearing and now had to walk extra distance to get back on course. Most of the cadets were plodding along with heads down while Anne and the lead cadet were concentrating on the compass.

  “They haven’t seen us,” Peter whispered to Kate, his eyes noting the delicate shape of her ear. “I don’t think they will find us.”

  Peter watched the First Years closely as they trudged past twenty paces away. He was enjoying both the mild thrill of the fieldcraft; and the more intense sensation created by Kate’s closeness.

  The First Year section straggled past, the cadets muttering and grumbling. They went down into the creek, up the far bank and headed off across the flat beyond.

  Peter watched until they were out of sight. “OK. Let’s go,” he said. He stood and helped Kate up. Once again he was thrilled by the touch of her hand and he continued to hold it longer than he needed to. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “Hssst!” Parnell hissed. He pointed back down the creek and slid back into cover. They all crouched amongst the rocks again.

  A cadet had come into view moving up the creek. For a moment Peter thought he must be from Barbara’s section. Then he noted the yellow epaulets. It was CUO Coralie Bates of 4 Platoon. She was followed by three of her cadets.

  Peter stood up, making them jump with fright. He grinned. “This is our gully, find your own,” he said. He walked down to join them. They had a quiet laugh and exchanged stories
for a few minutes. This allowed Peter to regain his composure. CUO Bates then led her group on along the creek. Peter made his group have another drink, very conscious that Kate was continually meeting his eyes and smiling. It made him all hot and confused and he began getting aroused again. Feeling a little flustered and stressed he turned and led them on up the creek.

  About two hundred metres further on the group came to the head of the gully. This got smaller until it was just a rill on the flat ridge top. There was no option but to walk from tree to tree. The group crossed the vehicle track that led from Sandy Ridge to the gravel scrape near the Canning. The area was dry, open bush with visibility for several hundred metres. The tree trunks were all too thin to provide effective cover.

  Peter halted to assess the best option. CUO Bates’ group could be seen in the distance. They were just walking quickly down the long, gentle slope. As they vanished into a fold in the ground Peter made up his mind.

  “We will spread out and crawl slowly from tree to tree. Keep looking in all directions and if you see anything just freeze,” he ordered. The others nodded and they began moving.

  CHAPTER 6

  PROBLEMS FOR THE CSM

  When Graham led his group up the right hand creek he was acutely aware that Allison was following close behind. Every time he looked back their eyes met. He found it very disconcerting. They were the most beautiful eyes:-a lustrous grey-green that seemed to sparkle. He knew, from frequent past experiences, that she was signalling an invitation.

  Normally Graham would have leapt at the chance. He loved girls; and flattered himself that they loved him. Certainly he had no difficulty in meeting them or talking to them; and he always seemed to be in love.

  ‘But not now,’ he told himself. ‘I am the CSM. No fraternizing across the rank levels; that is the OC’s policy. Be strong Kirk. Don’t weaken. Your job is to maintain discipline!’

  But Oh, it was so easy to weaken! Especially now when Allison was crawling along the creek bed on hands and knees so that the front of her camouflage jacket has sagged open and he could see inside. The sight made his heart pound and his mouth go dry.