The Cadet Sergeant Major

by Christopher Cummings

  Graham checked his own small radio then observed, “The only people likely to come here are local lads with their girl friends going for a swim.”

  Costigan gave a crude snicker. “Dunno about a swim. Probably for somethin’ else,” he added.

  Capt Conkey grunted, disapproval clear in his tone. “No need for talk like that. I was worried about Peter’s safety.”

  Bert chuckled. “Fair go Sir. Even deviates have some taste,” he put in.

  They laughed. Capt Conkey went on. “I didn’t expect him to be kidnapped and sold into the white slave trade. It’s just that lots of creepy weirdos travel these lonely inland highways.”

  “Yes,” agreed Graham. “Always bloody ‘Southerners’ up to no good.”

  “OK, let’s move,” Capt Conkey said. He picked up a thick plastic covered ring-binder and led the other three out onto the sand. They trudged off across the soft sand on a diagonal course that aimed for a dry ‘island’ about half a kilometre upstream and in the middle of the river bed. The ‘island’ was made of sand dunes held in position by grass and trees.

  Peter stood in the shade of the bridge and watched them. ‘That must be one of the islands opposite where Kate and I were yesterday,’ he decided. He watched the four figures grow smaller and smaller, then vanish among the trees. For a while he stood and brooded. Then he studied the area. From where he stood a line of massive concrete pylons stretched away to a distant line of trees marking the permanent water. Between where he stood and the water was the huge expanse of clean, white sand, brilliant in the afternoon sun. The glare hurt his eyes and exacerbated his headache.

  Peter fished out his map to check exactly where he was. Just upstream, perhaps fifty paces away, was a fence festooned with grass and debris from the last flood. Beyond it was a jumble of hummocks covered with thorn trees, eucalypts and waist high weeds- thistles and some purple leaved plant mostly. The actual ‘bank’ of the river was between this area and the sand. The bank rose as a steep, eroded bluff of soil.

  The topography puzzled Peter for a moment till he studied the map. “Ah, now I get it. This is the bottom end of the Anabranches.”

  He saw from the map that the Bunyip came down from the North West until about 3km west of where he was standing. Then it curved left, to the North, then around to the right in a huge semi-circle so that by the time it reached the highway bridge it was flowing South. Across the ‘chord’ of the bend were a series of flood overflow channels; three or four parallel stream beds- the Anabranches. The Canning River flowed down from the North East to join the Bunyip on the outside of that huge bend.

  The hummocks Peter could see were the ends of the long parallel ridges between the Anabranches. Between the Anabranches and the sand of the main river bed was a half-moon shaped island about 2km long and half a kilometre wide. It had a ruin marked in its centre. Peter had often noted the area on previous camps, particularly during map reading lessons on his promotion courses, but he had never been there.

  “We were on the other bank last year when we did that raid on the rail bridge,” Peter mused. He turned and faced downstream. Clearly visible about a kilometre away the massive steel girder spans of the rail bridge strode across the river on giant concrete pylons. For many minutes Peter studied the rail bridge, thinking alternately about that raid, those moments of absolute terror when he was hanging by his finger tips from the centre span while trying to stop Carnes committing suicide, and the dreadful predicament he was now in.

  CHAPTER 20

  UNDER BUNYIP BRIDGE

  Peter sat under the bridge and waited. Every few minutes a vehicle would race by overhead, its tyres thumping on the expansion gaps in the concrete decking. He had nothing to do but brood. His conscience tore at him. After nearly an hour he saw two tiny figures appear far up the river bed:- Capt Conkey and Graham.

  As Peter watched them approach he said to himself, “This will be the best chance I will ever get to confess. The OC and the CSM are the two most directly involved with discipline. And it is completely private; nobody else to witness my humiliation.”

  He tried to imagine what it would be like, remembering what Brown had experienced earlier in the day. The memories caused him to burn with shame.

  “I would have to be demoted. But I wouldn’t stay like Brown. I couldn’t bear that. I’d ask to go home. Pay my own way if I had to,” he told himself.

  That led to thinking about the other interviews which would inevitably follow; first with his mother and little brother, later with his father when he returned. “I would have to leave cadets- if I wasn’t chucked out,” he muttered. Cadets was very important to him, a major part of his life and he knew it would really hurt to be chucked out. Saddest of all would be the hurt he would cause Graham. Betraying his best friend’s trust sat very heavily on him.

  But even as he watched the two figures trudging over the sand towards him Peter knew that he would have to deny himself the relief of confession.

  “I can’t do it!” he muttered. “It is not just me that is involved. There is also Kate. And the stories that will get around will harm the unit.” But even as he said this he wondered, in the innermost searchings of his heart, if he wasn’t just rationalizing to hide the fact that he was a coward.

  “Perhaps they will never know?” he said to himself. “If Kate hasn’t said anything by this then she is unlikely to.” He thought about this but it gave him little comfort. But he had the uneasy feeling that Kate could well tell one of her friends during some ‘heart to heart’ in the future. He bit his lip as it dawned on him that the whole business could all surface at some later time. With bitter resignation he shrugged. ‘I will just have to live with that fear.’

  At that moment Peter heard a noise behind him. He looked over his shoulder and received a shock. A huge black boar had trotted around the nearest pylon. It was not the same one they had seen earlier. This was even bigger. Its hide was scarred and mangy and it appeared to have lost one of its eyes. The other one stared at Peter with a glint of evil.

  The pig stopped and grunted. Peter froze in fright, then tensed ready to spring up. The pig grunted again and lowered its head. The mean little eye blinked. The curved tusks looked murderously large.

  ‘It is going to charge!’ Peter thought, putting a hand up onto the bull-bar of the Rover, ready to scramble up. The pig was only ten metres away.

  Graham’s voice came to him clearly from two hundred paces away. “Strewth! Look at that bloody pig!”

  The boar heard him, swivelled its head, grunted, then spun on its heels in a cloud of dust. Peter sprang to his feet and scrambled onto the bonnet of the Rover. The pig grunted loudly again then began to run. It dashed into the undergrowth of the Anabranches at a speed that was heart-stopping to watch.

  Peter trembled with reaction. He climbed down and tried to act nonchalant as Graham and the OC completed their slog over the sand. They walked perspiring into the shade of the bridge.

  “Whew!” said Capt Conkey, wiping his brow. “I’m getting too old for that.”

  “Good training for the Foreign Legion,” Graham offered.

  “I wasn’t planning to join them,” Capt Conkey replied in a dry tone.

  ‘I might be,’ Peter thought miserably.

  Graham grinned and pointed into the Anabranches. “Was that your pet Pete?” he joked.

  “Pet! Did you see its tusks?” Peter cried. “I nearly wet myself when it trotted around that pylon.”

  “I see you have been taking lessons from Denton on how to avoid pigs,” Graham grinned.

  Peter snorted, then laughed. “What would you have done?” he retorted.

  Capt Conkey lowered his waterbottle and answered. “That is what I was wondering. You had somewhere to go. We were out there on all that sand and not a tree within a hundred metres. I was wondering how I could trip the CSM to delay the blasted thing while I made my getaway.”

  They all laughed at that. Capt Conkey had another drink then said, “The b
ad news is that we are going where the pig just went.”

  “Into there?” Peter asked, pointing at the tangle of scrub and vines in the Anabranches. “Is that safe Sir?”

  “There is a risk. But I think the thing will just run away. In fact I would like to scare out all the wildlife this afternoon before the cadets come through tonight.”

  “That is your job as CSM Graham. You go first,” Peter said.

  Graham laughed. “It is good to have friends who care about you!” he said to Capt Conkey.

  The OC had another big drink, then flicked open his ring binder on the bonnet of the Rover.

  “OK, the secret can now be revealed. I will explain the exercise to you before we go. But I must ask you not to tell anyone beforehand; and then only the bits you are required to pass on. You two have important parts to play, so I am giving you the whole story. I depend on you to keep it secret.”

  Capt Conkey looked at them both and they nodded. He went on: “This exercise is called ‘Bunyip Ghost’. It is designed with several specific aims. At one level the exercise is a test of the leaders- of their ability to navigate, to carry out detailed instructions, at planning and giving orders, and at minor tactics. But primarily it is a test of their leadership, of motivating their people and keeping them going when things get tough. That is where I particularly want you two to help. You are to carefully observe and later fill in the usual reports- there are some in my briefcase- on how both the leaders and the cadets react.”

  The two boys nodded. They were familiar with the unit’s Personal Qualities Reports. Capt Conkey went on, “At another level the exercise is a test of the cadets:- their character, fitness and fieldcraft. It is a bit of an endurance test. There are also activities to test their personality. Half of it is at night so there will be an element of fear: fear of snakes, of bulls- there is a big Brahmin-cross in there somewhere- and of course, of wild pigs.”

  Peter made a face. “It won’t be just the cadets being tested then,” he observed dryly. “Not if we are going in there.”

  They laughed. Graham pointed to the Anabranches. “Is that where Peter and I will be sir?”

  “Yes, and at night.”

  “I thought the exercise would be out on the sand,” Graham said.

  “Most of it is. But there have to be a few hard bits,” Capt Conkey replied.

  “Walking on that sand isn’t hard?” Graham answered.

  Capt Conkey chuckled and went on: “Just good healthy exercise. Now, this is how the exercise works. The ‘Seniors: that is HQ and Four Platoon, are the ‘friendlies’. They are still back on Sandy Ridge and will stay there until quite late tonight. After dark I will brief them then send them off in five groups. They will all follow the same route but will be half an hour apart in time. You people are the controllers who tell them where to go next. You are also the safety check points and radio relay stations.”

  They nodded. The OC continued: “The exercise has a story to it of course. The plot is this: It is a hundred years ago and we are in Mexico. The Seniors are the Mexican Army and are hunting a notorious bandit chief named ‘Pancho the Fat’.”

  “Is that you sir?” Graham asked.

  Capt Conkey chuckled and patted his middle. “How did you guess CSM? Anyway, that is no way to win promotion. You should snivel, crawl and flatter your superiors.”

  “Yes Sir,” Graham said. The two boys grinned at each other. On most exercises Capt Conkey cast either himself or Lt Hamilton as the arch-villain. They also knew that the last thing that would gain anyone in the unit promotion was ‘crawling’. Ability and suitability were the criteria.

  “The exercise will begin after my briefing. The ‘soldiers’ will wait around the fire while I move with this Land Rover to the other end of the bridge. As soon as I leave, a frightened shepherd, who has wife and ten starving children, will appear out of the night. Sgt Crane will play the shepherd. He will say that he knows nothing... but that he saw horsemen pin a note to a tree at the junction of Sandy Ridge and the Canning Road.”

  Capt Conkey flipped over a page in his folder. In a plastic sleeve was a photocopy of the note. “I’ve got duplicates of everything here,” he explained. “So Lt McEwen will send the first group off to walk to the note. That will be the Platoon Commander’s group. She has to go first to have time to do any recces or planning before the rest arrive. They are not allowed to use torches, except to copy the note.”

  He showed them the note. It read:

  GO SOUTH TO THE HIGHWAY. CROSS IT AND FOLLOW THE

  DIRT ROAD

  WHICH LEADS TO THE RAIL BRIDGE. YOU WILL CROSS A

  CONCRETE FLOODWAY OVER A SMALL DRY CREEK. WALK

  FOR ANOTHER 150 PACES ALONG THE ROAD.

  THEN WALK 110 PACES on 300 MAGNETIC.

  LET THE GRAVE GIVE UP ITS SECRET.

  LET NO-ONE SEE OR HEAR YOU.

  ‘R’

  (Leave the note. Make a copy)

  “Grave?” Graham queried.

  “Yes. A real one. Some old pioneer. He is buried over there in the middle of nowhere,” Capt Conkey replied.

  Peter nodded. “We passed it last year during that exercise when we raided the rail bridge. The cadets were all scared of it. It will spook the ‘seniors’ right out sir. What do they have to do when they get there?”

  “The grave has a tall marble headstone and is surrounded by a rusty old wrought-iron fence. I’ve stuck another note on the back of the tombstone,” Capt Conkey replied.

  Peter shivered involuntarily. “Sir! The kids will freak out; particularly in the middle of the night.”

  The OC chuckled. “As I said, the exercise is a test of character and leadership. They either go to the grave or they go back to the start.”

  “What time do they get there sir?” Graham asked.

  Capt Conkey consulted a table. “The first group should arrive at about twenty one thirty. The last group at midnight. I will give you all the timings in a minute.”

  “But sir,” Peter began. He frowned and did not want to admit to superstitious fears; ones he hadn’t even realized he had. “What...what if someone objects? What if the... the man in the grave doesn’t like it and...”

  “Haunts us? A ghost you mean?” Graham suggested with a laugh.

  “It is Exercise ‘Bunyip Ghost’,” Capt Conkey commented. “But if you are worried about desecration then I am not. The poor bugger probably hasn’t had a visitor for years. Besides, what patriot would object to helping train the nation’s youth? To set your mind at rest I happen to know that it is the grave of a man who fought in the First World War. He worked as a drover after the war and was found dead there- murdered. He was probably a cadet when he was young. It used to be compulsory in those days.”

  Peter nodded. He was half-reassured. He hid his doubts and pointed to the first note. “What about that big letter ‘R’ sir? What is it?”

  “That is a clue. They will collect a letter at each location but they will be just a random jumble which they must decode.”

  “What do they say?”

  The OC chuckled. “I won’t tell you. You can work it out for yourself.”

  Peter nodded and relished the challenge. He asked, “What does the note on the grave say sir?” He was still trying to deny to himself his irrational disquiet.

  Capt Conkey turned to the next page. The note read:

  ‘E’

  JOSE THE WOODCUTTER KNOWS SOMETHING. HE LIVES IN THE DEEP

  GULLY AT GR413882. TO FIND HIM WALK ON 320

  MAGNETIC FOR 150 PACES UNTIL YOU REACH THE CREEK.

  WALK WEST ALONG THE BED OF THE CREEK TOWARDS THE

  BUNYIP RIVER. FOR SAFETY YOU MAY USE A TORCH ONCE

  YOU ARE IN THE CREEK BED. JOSE IS SCARED OF PANCHO.

  HE WILL ONLY GIVE YOU INFORMATION IF YOU ASK HIM HOW

  ROSIE IS.

  “Who is Jose sir?” Peter asked, moving his thumb along the route marked on a map.

  Graham answered him, saying, “The twin so
n of the Spanish firefighter.”

  Capt Conkey looked puzzled. “Eh?”

  “It’s a joke sir,” Graham explained. “What did the Spanish fireman name his twin sons?”

  “No idea. What?”

  “Hose A and Hose B,” Graham replied with a chuckle.

  It was a feeble joke but helped ease Peter’s concerns. He said, “Very funny Graham. But I meant which cadet is playing the part of Jose the Woodcutter.”

  “Cpl Bax.” Capt Conkey replied.

  “Bax!” Peter cried. “He will cack himself. Is he there now sir?”

  “No. Not yet. The Control Group are all hiding in the gully near the Canning Causeway, watching the First Years. I will put him in position when I move. Besides, he will have a fire and I won’t be far away,” Capt Conkey explained.

  “What does Bax, I mean Jose the Woodcutter, tell them sir?” Graham asked.

  “Here.” Capt Conkey pointed to the folder. It was two pages of detailed instructions telling Bax to sit beside his fire and wait, listing timings for each group and telling him that, after the last group had passed he was to put out the fire and move to join Capt Conkey under the east end of the Highway Bridge. He would then become a ‘Bandit’ in the Bandit’s Camp. He was to open by telling each group he was just a poor woodcutter with a wife and ten starving children. Then he was to read his story:

  ALL I KNOW IS THE LETTER ‘E’.

  YOU SHOULD ASK CHARON. HE IS THE FERRYMAN WHO TAKES THE DEAD OVER THE RIVER OF DARKNESS. YOU WILL FIND HIM AT GRID REFERENCE 412885 UNDER THE HIGHWAY BRIDGE. IF HE IS NOT THERE THEN WAIT. HE MAY BE BUSY TAKING OTHER LOST SOULS ACROSS THE RIVER.

  YOU MAY USE TORCHES WHILE FOLLOWING THIS GULLY BUT ONCE YOU ARE ON THE RIVER BANK DO NOT USE TORCHES. MOVE QUIETLY.

  CHARON, THE FERRYMAN OF THE DEAD, WILL ASK YOU:- “WHO ARE THESE LOST SOULS SEEKING TO CROSS UNTO THE DARK NETHER REGIONS OF THE UNKNOWN?”

  YOU ARE TO ANSWER:-“BRAVE SOLDIERS DOING THEIR DUTY.” THEN PAY HIM WITH A SILVER COIN.

  Peter shook his head. “Silver coin!” he cried.

  “Of course!” Capt Conkey replied. “One must pay the ferryman.”