Graham frowned. “What happens if you don’t?”
“I believe, from my reading of mythology, that your lost soul then wanders in the shadows forever,” replied Capt Conkey. “But in this case I make the trip wet and uncomfortable.”
“So you are the ferryman sir?” Peter asked.
Capt Conkey chuckled. “Yes I am. And I will be wearing this.” He reached into a kitbag and extracted a long black cloak with a hood. He pulled it on. “Courtesy of the Drama Department at school.”
“Holy Mackerel! Those kids are going to freak out,” Peter cried. The thought of meeting a hooded ‘grim reaper’ figure lurking under the bridge at midnight made him come out in goose-bumps, even in broad daylight.
Capt Conkey pointed to another note.
“I say to them: ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT?’ They must reply: ‘WE SEEK THE TRUTH’. If they do that I then say: ‘HERE IS A LETTER ‘A’. I CAN TELL YOU NO MORE. THE FISHERMAN KNOWS SOMETHING. HE IS FISHING AT GRID REFERENCE 409890. TO FIND HIM YOU MUST CROSS THE RIVER. I WILL GUIDE YOU. YOU WILL THEN WALK NORTH ON 340 MAGNETIC FOR 500 PACES. YOU WILL SEE HIS FIRE. USE NO TORCHES LEST THE EVIL ONES SEE YOU. BE VERY QUIET SO AS NOT TO FRIGHTEN THE FISH. YOU MUST SAY TO THE FISHERMAN: ‘How is the fishing?’.”
“Before I take them across I tell them to set their compass and give them a final warning: ‘BE CAREFUL. THE SERVANTS OF DARKNESS ARE ON THE PROWL.’ Then I take them across the river.”
“How will you do that sir? Have you got a boat?” Graham asked.
“Fair go,” Peter snorted. “The river isn’t deep enough for a boat! It is only knee deep at the moment.”
Even as he said the words Peter regretted them. ‘How would I know the river isn’t deep enough?’ he thought. According to the program this was the first time he should have been anywhere near the river.
To his relief neither of the others seemed to notice. Capt Conkey answered in a perfectly normal tone of voice, “They will wade. It is only knee deep. I’ve found a nice narrow bit just up from the bridge where it is only about fifty paces across and has a nice sandy bottom.”
Into Peter’s mind flashed a picture of just such a place a bit further upstream. Images of Kate’s naked body danced in his brain. ‘Kate has a nice bottom too,’ he thought. A wave of hot guilt engulfed him.
Capt Conkey appeared not to notice. He went on with his explanation. “That is the most dangerous part of the exercise. I am really a safety check point and will have the Land Rover parked nearby with a First Aid Kit, stretcher and radio in it. I will take each group across myself, with them holding each other’s webbing.”
Peter indicated the tree covered dunes in the middle of the river bed opposite where he and Kate had swum. “So the fisherman is over there?”
“Yes. That is where the CSM and I have just been.”
“So the fishermen are Bert and the CQ?”
“No,” Capt Conkey replied. “Just Bert on his own.”
“On his own! Bert will love that,” Peter commented. “Where is the CQ?”
“Further up. He is a mule driver. They will stay together until the exercise is under way. Bert will be OK. He will have a fire, and, if he walks about twenty paces up a dune, he will be able to see the fire here. And he has a radio and if it doesn’t work and he calls out I will hear him,” Capt Conkey explained.
“What is his story sir?” Peter asked. He was becoming very interested in the exercise.
Capt Conkey flicked over more pages. “Here. The patrols arrive and should ask: ‘HOW IS THE FISHING?’ Bert should reply: ‘TERRIBLE. SOMETHING HAS SCARED ALL THE FISH.’
“The patrol will probably ask what. In any event Bert will say: ‘I DO NOT KNOW. ALL I KNOW IS THE LETTER ‘S’. I AM ONLY A POOR FISHERMAN WITH TWO WIVES AND TEN STARVING CHILDREN. PERHAPS THE HOBO KNOWS SOMETHING? HE IS CAMPED UNDER THE WESTERN END OF THE HIGHWAY BRIDGE AT GRID REFERENCE 408885. I DO NOT KNOW HIS NAME BUT HE HAS BEEN CAMPED THERE FOR TWO DAYS AND I HAVE SEEN HIM SPEAKING TO TRAVELLERS.’
‘HE IS USUALLY DRUNK. YOU MUST SNEAK UP ON HIM OR HE MAY RUN AWAY, FEARING YOU ARE GOING TO ARREST HIM FOR BEING A VAGRANT. DO NOT USE A TORCH OR MAKE A NOISE.’ They will then be told to work out their magnetic bearing and will be sent here.”
“Who is here sir, Graham or me?” Peter asked.
“Neither. Lt Hamilton will be here with another safety vehicle and radio.”
“What is his line sir? Another ten starving kids?” Graham asked with a grin.
“Yes. His story is that he is a waiter name Manuel. He has been sacked because he is an incompetent alcoholic. He is tired of being nagged by his wife about being a useless no-hoper so he has taken to the road as a hobo,” Capt Conkey explained.
“He is to act frightened when he sees the soldiers and will say things like:-‘I am innocent. I did not do it. I was not there. I did not see it.’ If the patrol ask him if he has seen Pancho the Fat and his gang he is to act terrified. He will fall to his knees and plead: ‘I AM NOT PANCHO. I HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM. I AM NOT A THIEF. PLEASE DO NOT ARREST ME. I DID NOT MEAN TO DO IT. I ONLY STOLE SOME EGGS- ONLY A DOZEN OR SO- AND ONE TINY CHICKEN- THE ONE THAT LAID THE EGGS- BUT ONLY A TINY, SCRAWNY ONE. PLEASE DO NOT HANG ME. MY WIFE WILL PAY FOR THEM.’
“He will jibber and carry on for a while and clutch at his wine bottle, then say: ‘I KNOW NOTHING EXCEPT THE LETTER ‘U’. I AM AN IGGERENT MAN. I CANNOT READ AND WRITE. I TELL WHICH WINE TO GET BY THE PICTURES ON THE LABEL.’ He will then ask them if they have any wine. He will whine and plead and beg, then ask for money to feed his starving children. Then he will say: ‘I CANNOT HELP YOU. BUT MAYBE THE COWBOY CAN. I SAW HIM TALKING TO A GROUP OF HORSEMEN WITH GUNS THIS AFTERNOON.’.”
“The patrol should then ask where to find the Cowboy. The Hobo will say: ‘THE COWBOY HAS A CAMP IN THERE (pointing into the Anabranches) 150 PACES ON 325 MAGNETIC. FOLLOW THE MAIN FLOOD CHANNEL.’ They will then be told to use a torch for safety, to mind the barbed wire fence and to guard their eyes from the thorn bushes. I will warn you two about them now,” Capt Conkey said.
Peter had been getting a mounting sense of apprehension. He gestured to the Anabranches. “And Graham and I are going in there sir?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER 21
THE ANABRANCHES
Capt Conkey walked to the back of the Land Rover. He peeled off the black cape and stuffed it back into his kitbag, then called, “Help me with these stores.” Three kitbags were hauled out.
“Are we just going to leave the vehicle unattended sir?” Graham asked.
“No. The CQ and Bert should be back any minute. They only had to collect enough firewood. In the meantime we have two dummies to make,” Capt Conkey replied.
Graham snorted. “Why make more? We have plenty of dummies in the company already,” he quipped.
Capt Conkey laughed. “Now, now CSM! Don’t get too cynical. We need one dummy to represent a dead body. The other is to be a man who has been hanged.”
“Sir! This is a bit ghoulish,” Peter cried.
“It is Exercise ‘Bunyip Ghost’,” Capt Conkey replied. “I do want to test people’s character. They need something for their imaginations to feed on. Now tie the legs of those trousers with this string. Then pin this shirt to their waistband with these safety pins.”
They set to work. Short sticks were placed in the trouser legs and old boots tied at the bottom. The shirt was attached and then shirt and trousers were stuffed with dry grass. A head made from a carved pumpkin stuck on a stick was then inserted in the collar.
“No hands sir,” Peter said, pointing to the cuffs which had been tied off with string.
“We can get by without hands,” Capt Conkey laughed. “They only need to look like bodies in the dark. Now let us put Hernando together.”
“Who sir?”
“Hernando. Peter will get to know him well.”
They set to work on the second dummy. He needed to be stronger and was given a broomstick as a backbone. Ropes were use
d to connect the boots to the head. While they were busy with this task Staff Costigan and Bert rejoined them.
Bert nudged the first dummy with his boot. “Wake up CSM! Oh! Sorry CSM. I thought this was you.”
Graham laughed. He liked Bert. He was always cheerful, and a willing worker.
The hand held radios were then tested by Capt Conkey. He then said to Bert and Staff Costigan, “You two stay here and guard the vehicle. Now, CSM, you and Peter grab a dummy each and one of those kitbags and follow me- and wear your webbing. You know the safety rules.”
Capt Conkey swung on his own webbing, scooped up the plastic ring binder and the third kitbag and walked towards the Anabranches. The group followed a faint pad through knee high grass, waist high thistles and some sort of spiky bush with purple leaves to the fence. This was easily crossed where flood debris had weighed it down. Capt Conkey then led them through a thicket of small paperbarks and a few thorn trees to an open dry stream bed. This was about 15 metres wide, the banks being blackish earth and the bed of sand and water-rounded pebbles. Both banks were an almost impenetrable tangle of thorn bushes and rubber vines.
“Here,” Capt Conkey indicated. “Between these two trees. CSM, there is a hutchie in that kitbag. You put it up. Peter, help me collect firewood.”
They spent ten minutes preparing the ‘Cowboy’s camp’. A groundsheet was laid out in the hutchie and a pack placed on it. A towel was draped over a clothes line. Peter could just see part of the highway bridge through the trees. He did not like the place. The Anabranches were worse than he had imagined them to be. Even in daylight the place felt gloomy and spooky.
“What happens here sir? Is it one of us?” he asked as he arranged kindling ready to light.
“No. You two are further in. There won’t be anyone here. Just a note,” Capt Conkey replied. He opened the folder and extracted the note. This was pinned to the pack. It read:
‘R’
DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. BUT THE CORPSE BESIDE THE WILD BOAR WALLOW HAS A MESSAGE FOR ALL WHO SEEK.
TO FIND THE WILD BOAR WALLOW, WHICH IS AT GRID REFERENCE 405888, WALK ALONG THE FLOOD CHANNEL IN A NORTHERLY DIRECTION FOR 500 PACES.
YOU MAY USE A TORCH FOR SAFETY. COPY THIS NOTE. LEAVE THE NOTE. DO NOT STAY HERE. MOVE AT ONCE. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT IS WATCHING FROM THE SHADOWS.
As Peter read this the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He had to resist the impulse to scan the surrounding undergrowth. Capt Conkey bent down and picked up his kitbag.
“Come on, let’s go. Bring the dummies and kitbags.”
He strode off along the bed of the flood channel. After fifty metres it widened out. A rough vehicle track came down the bank through the thicket of thorn trees. These formed a forest so dense that their crowns were intertwined in many places. The track went off towards the river bed through the tangle of rubber vines.
The channel was littered with both cattle and pig droppings. Peter noted these and shifted his grip on the dummy. He scanned the dark hollows under the clumps of rubber vine. The flood channel narrowed to a deep, gloomy cleft with a steep bank on the left. It curved right then left into another dismal glade.
Just as they were walking out into this clearing there was a commotion in the rubber vines to their right. The ferocious grunting of a wild pig sounded. Peter jumped in fright and turned for flight. The rubber vines shook only ten metres from them and a large black sow lumbered out. She was followed by four wiry piglets, all squeaking and snuffling.
Peter knew that a female protecting its young would be far more likely to attack than a grumpy old boar. He dropped the kitbag and dummy and looked for a tree to climb. Graham and Capt Conkey did likewise. The sow glowered at them and snorted, then turned and set off along the muddy hollow at a lumbering trot, followed by the piglets. In a few seconds the whole litter had scampered up a dusty pad under a thorn tree and vanished over the top of the bank.
“Phew!” Graham cried, wiping his brow theatrically. “Just as well you are here sir.”
“Why is that?” Capt Conkey asked. “I couldn’t stop a monster like that.”
“No sir. But I think I can outrun you,” Graham replied.
For a moment Peter thought Graham had overstepped himself. Then Capt Conkey bellowed with laughter. They all joined in.
Peter added a rueful comment. “I was looking for a tree to climb but they all look too big.” He indicated the tall ghost gums growing on top of the bank.
“Plenty of thorn trees,” Graham offered.
Peter snorted but Capt Conkey agreed. “What are a few scratches when the option is being ripped to shreds?”
They picked up their discarded loads and resumed walking, with many wary glances into the surrounding undergrowth. The bottom of the hollow was soft mud which was deeply churned up by pig rootings. The three skirted the edge of this on a cattle pad.
After a hundred paces the flood channel forked. The obvious route was a sharp right turn through a deep, but clear passage. The cattle pad forked but the left fork plunged through a thicket of tall weeds and rubber vines. They went right.
Another fifty paces brought them to a large open area bordered by thick scrub. The clearing was about 25 metres wide and 100 long. Most of the bottom was black mud churned up by pigs. In the centre was a pool of filthy stagnant water which was coated by a green, slimy scum. The place had a depressing, forbidding feeling about it.
“The Wild Boar Wallow,” Capt Conkey said. He led them around the far side along the cattle pad. Near the far end he stopped.
“Drop that dummy there Peter.”
Peter did so. Capt Conkey adjusted it so that it lay beside the animal pad. Then he pinned a note to its chest. The note read:
MY NAME WAS DON SEBASTIAN. I WAS A CABALLERO. PANCHO DID THIS TO ME. I DO NOT KNOW WHERE HE HAS GONE. ALL I KNOW IS THE LETTER ‘T’.
PERHAPS THE PIG HUNTER KNOWS SOMETHING? TO FIND HIM GO ON ALONG THE FLOOD CHANNEL IN A NORTHERLY DIRECTION UNTIL YOU COME TO THE WATER OF THE BUNYIPS BILLABONG. THEN GO UP ONTO THE RIGHT BANK (EAST SIDE). FOLLOW THE TRACK ON TOP OF THE BANK NORTH WEST FOR 300 PACES. YOU WILL SEE A FIRE. THAT IS THE PIGHUNTERS CAMP. IT IS AT GRID REFERENCE 403890.
PLEASE SAY FAREWELL TO MY LOVELY CONCHITA AND MY TEN KIDS. THEY WILL NOW STARVE BECAUSE OF PANCHO’s EVIL DEED. USE A TORCH FOR SAFETY. GUARD YOU EYES AGAINST THORN TREES. DO NOT WAIT HERE. MOVE ON AT ONCE. BE VERY QUIET. DEATH IS CLOSE.
“Sir!” Peter cried. “These kids will crap themselves.” He looked around the hollow trying to imagine it in the middle of the night. Even in daylight he thought it looked sinister and gloomy. He shivered- then jumped in fright.
Thirty metres ahead another wild pig had burst from the undergrowth on their right. It was a boar. It snorted and grunted as it ran across the top end of the wallow away from them. Peter was appalled at the speed of the creature.
“Holy Mackerel!” Graham cried. “Look at him go!”
“Hmmm,” Capt Conkey grunted, clearly worried. They watched the pig go up the steep bank at the speed of an express train. It vanished into the tangle.
Capt Conkey then led them on past where the pig had vanished. This brought them to a dense mass of the purple prickles. Beyond these stretched a sheet of water which curved out of sight into the distance. The water was black and still, with lilies and green slime around the edges. Trees festooned with vines overhung the water from the steep bank on the left. The whole effect was sinister and forbidding.
“The Bunyip’s Billabong,” Capt Conkey said. Peter hated the place. Even though he had not believed in the mythical monsters since he was a little child he still felt a tremor of doubt.
Graham did not help when he said, “Well! If bloody bunyips live anywhere, this is the spot. Talk about the creature from the Black Lagoon!”
Capt Conkey led them up the cattle pad to the right. They moved at a shuffle as Capt Conkey led the way. As he walked slowly along he used a machete to trim off all thorn bushes at eye height. The ground on the
right hand side of the waterhole was more open; a gently rising slope covered with a forest of thorn tree and short grass which barely hid the sandy soil. The cattle pad led them along the top of the bank beside the waterhole. After about half a kilometre they came to a grassy clearing right beside the steep bank.
Capt Conkey stopped. “CSM, this is where you will be. You are the ‘Pig Hunter’.”
Graham looked uneasily down the eroded bank into what was obviously deep water. As they watched several small bubbles rose silently to float for a few moments before bursting.
“There aren’t any crocs here are there sir?” he asked.
“Never been known to be. Those bubbles are only marsh gas or something.”
Graham looked dubious. “Or something! I suppose I will hear it slithering up the bank when it comes to get me,” he replied.
“Graham! Stop it!” Peter cried.
Graham grinned. “I am allowed to have a fire aren’t I sir?”
“Yes.”
“Good. What about a gun? Pig Hunters usually have one.”
“Sorry. No. You are a primitive. You wrestle with them and kill them with a knife. You can have a machete,” Capt Conkey replied with a grin.
“Machete!” Graham cried in mock horror. He was clearly enjoying himself.
“Primitive is right sir,” Peter added. Then he asked the question that had been gnawing at him for some time. “Where do I go sir?”
“Up there.” Capt Conkey pointed up the gentle slope through the thorn trees. He dropped his bundles and opened the folder at a map. They crowded round to look. The Bunyip Billabong was clearly marked. It was in the main Anabranch channel which cut-off the big curve of the river to form the dry half-moon shaped ‘island’. The island was about 2km long and 500 metres wide at its widest point, which was where they stood.
“You will be at this ruin in the middle of the island. I will take you there in a minute. We will set Graham up first. Put all that stuff down and collect as much firewood as you can.”
The three set to work with a will. There was plenty of deadfall and ten minutes work produced a stack of logs which would burn all night. Capt Conkey then opened his folder.
The Cadet Sergeant Major Page 24