The Cadet Sergeant Major

by Christopher Cummings

  “No...no.. I’m not. Sorry.”

  At that moment another person came into the toilet. Peter glanced then blanched in terror. It was Larry; the hard-faced man who had been carrying the gun. He didn’t have one now, Peter noted, realizing how foolish the idea had been. Larry stepped up on Peter’s other side and began fumbling with his trousers. Peter was almost paralysed by fear. ‘What if they recognize me?’ he thought in panic. ‘They might murder me too!’

  With a conscious effort Peter stopped peeing and began to fumble at the zip of his trousers. He stepped down to leave, acutely conscious Morry was still eyeing him with hostility.

  Larry began to pee. “What’s up Morry?” Larry asked as Peter walked behind him towards the door.

  Morry was finished now. “Little queer was peekin’ at me,” he growled, jerking his head towards Peter.

  Larry snorted and laughed. “Can’t imagine what at. The sight of that repulsive thing of yours is enough to make a man ill.”

  “Bite yer arse!” Morry snarled. His eyes had followed Peter to the door and a puzzled frown crossed his face. As Peter went out he heard him say: “I’ve seen that kid before. I wonder...”

  Peter didn’t linger. He stepped out into the sunlight with relief and instantly started to shake.

  “What should I do?” he asked himself. He looked around. There were no officers in sight but Graham still stood on the footpath supervising the throng of cadets. Peter strode over to him.

  Graham turned and said, “Hi Pete. What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I have!” Peter gasped. He swallowed, seized Graham’s sleeve and looked urgently around. “Quick Graham, get the OC. Get the officers- no get the police!”

  “Wh...What! Why?”

  “The murderers! The men who murdered the body Doyle found. They are there, in the toilet.”

  Peter pointed. As he did Morry appeared in the door and looked straight at him. A flash of annoyance which instantly changed to alarm crossed Morry’s face. He called something back into the toilet. Their eyes met and Peter detected a gleam of recognition.

  “Quick Graham! That’s one of them. Get the police!” Peter cried, still staring at Morry. The man chewed his lip and looked very savage. For a moment Peter thought he was going to walk over and confront him but instead he called angrily into the toilet,

  “Hurry up Larry. I was right. It was that kid we seen on the river bank, an’ he’s pointin’ at me.”

  By now half a dozen cadets had joined Peter and Graham, all looking curiously in Morry’s direction. He looked embarrassed as well as worried.

  “What are you bloody kids starin’ at?” Morry snarled.

  None of them answered. Peter stood, trembling in every limb and unsure whether to flee or stand his ground. Graham shook his arm.

  “Peter, are you sure?”

  “Yes. Yes I am. It’s them,” Peter replied. “Go and get the police.”

  At that moment Larry came out of the toilet. He joined Morry and stared at the cadets. He saw Peter and a look of alarm crossed his face. With a jerk of his head he turned and began walking across the street. Morry glared and followed him. As they walked they cast glances over their shoulders and muttered to each other.

  Peter turned to Graham. “Quick Graham! You must believe me. It is the murderers. I’ve just seen the body of the third man in the morgue in Charters Towers, then I described those two men to the police and we went to the river bank where I saw them that day. I know it’s them!”

  Roger was now beside Graham. Stephen had also appeared. Peter kept watching the men. They were headed for a battered old blue panel van parked across the street. ‘The car’s registration number,’ he thought. ‘I must get it.’ He turned to his friends.

  “Graham, phone the police, there, in that public phone box, quick! Roger, go and find the officers. I will get their vehicle number.”

  Before he fully realized what he was doing Peter was half-way across the street. By then the men had reached the blue panel van and were opening its doors. Larry saw him coming and said something to Morry, who stopped and looked. The men exchanged glances.

  Peter realized he wasn’t being either smart or subtle. He changed course slightly to pass behind the car close enough to see its number plate, only to find it was so covered in mud as to be all but illegible. Morry’s eyes followed Peter’s gaze and he became obviously agitated.

  “Hey kid! Whatcha doin’?” he snarled.

  Peter ignored him and turned to walk back around to get a view of the front of the van.

  Larry snapped at Morry, “Hey Morry, that kid’s tryin’ ter get our rego number. Get in and let’s get outa here.”

  Morry swore and stepped forward to intercept Peter. “Piss orf kid! Mind yer own business or I’ll pulp yer!” He began flexing his large hands.

  Peter swerved and broke into a run, circling to get to the front of the vehicle. Morry swore again and broke into a lumbering trot. Larry screamed at him to ‘get in the bloody car!’

  Peter reached the footpath in front of the vehicle and he tried to dodge Morry and read the number plate at the same time.

  ‘O..A..T.. Is that a 1 or a 7?’ Peter puzzled. He swerved and jumped back as Morry lunged at him. Peter’s haste was his undoing. His foot caught the concrete gutter and he fell heavily on his back. Morry pounced, seizing him by the shirt front with both hands. Peter realized he had made a potentially fatal blunder. As terror swamped his consciousness he yelled in fear, “Help! Help! Stop him! Leave me alone.”

  Morry hauled Peter to his feet and shook him, ripping his uniform in the process.

  “What gives kid? What’s this all about? Are you the kid we seen on the river bank?” he snarled. Peter could smell his breath and see the yellow of his teeth. Black eyes glittered only centimetres from his own. He struggled and looked frantically around for help.

  It was coming. Cadets were running across the road and others were jumping out of the back of the truck.

  “Help!” Peter screamed. “These are the murderers! Get the police!”

  There was a moment’s stunned silence then Morry went berserk. He shook Peter, let go with his right hand and first slapped Peter’s face very hard, then back-handed him, then punched him; all so fast it was just a stunning blur. Peter’s senses reeled. He struggled to defend himself and was punched twice more. His vision went red and black and he sagged at the knees.

  At that moment someone sprang onto Morry’s back and tried to haul him off: Stephen! As Peter fell he saw Morry grab Stephen. He hauled him around and back-handed him so that Stephen’s glasses went flying. Stephen kicked and punched at him. Morry struck him again, then swung him around and struck him very hard in the face. Stephen crumpled at the knees and was only held up by Morry’s grip. Blood began streaming down Stephen’s face.

  “Morry! Hold him! We need a hostage. These kids are onto us,” Larry yelled. He ducked into the car and emerged holding the rifle.

  Peter lay on the footpath half-stunned. Next to him stood Morry, now holding Stephen by one arm in a ‘Half Nelson’, and by the throat with his other hand. A few paces away, with his back to him, was Larry. He was holding the rifle on his hip, pointing it towards about fifty cadets who stood in a horrified semi-circle across the road and footpath.

  “Back off you kids or someone will get shot!” Larry threatened. He cocked the rifle to give emphasis to his words.

  “Move back cadets,” That was Graham’s voice. Peter turned his head and blinked to clear the dancing black dots from his vision. Graham stood ten metres off, feet apart, hands on hips, his cane gripped in his right hand. He kept his eyes on Larry but addressed the cadets in his best ‘parade ground’ voice.

  “Move back cadets; right back to the other side of the street. Sergeants! Move them back.”

  The cadets began to shuffle back. Gwen Copeland’s voice rang out clear urging them to move. She pushed to the front. Larry fidgeted and swivelled the rifle th
reateningly. Peter looked. There were more cadets and some civilians coming from all directions so that the crowd was growing larger by the minute, even as it edged back. He saw the OC running from half way along the block, followed by the other officers and CUOs.

  Larry made a threatening gesture with the rifle. “Back off or I will shoot someone!” he screamed. “Morry, get him in the car.”

  Graham did not back away but turned and pointed with his cane and roared, “All you cadets, move back inside the shops. Move! Now! That includes you people near the truck. Sergeants, help me.”

  Peter rolled his eyes as a wave of nausea engulfed him. He had trouble breathing as blood clogged his nose and trickled into his throat. When he tried to get up he only managed to roll on his front. He got a series of flashes: Barbara’s angry face as red as her hair, Margaret looking anxious, Kate gaping, CUO White and Staff Costigan walking away.

  The crowd were moving back faster now. Apart from Morry, Stephen and Larry the only people still standing on their side of the road were Graham, then a few paces further back Roger, Sgt Crane and Cpl Brown, and nearer the crowd: Sgt Copeland, Sgt Rankin, Barbara and Margaret.

  Capt Conkey pushed his way to the front of the crowd and halted, a look of horror on his face.

  Larry snarled at him, “Back off! All of you!”

  ‘Crack !’

  The rifle went off. Peter flinched, as did most of the others. The bullet struck the truck with a loud, metallic ‘whack!’

  Larry snarled and shook the rifle. “Back off I said. I won’t miss next time.”

  “Move back out of sight,” Graham roared, but he remained where he was himself. “Sgt Copeland! Cpl Brassington! Cadet Lake! Get back out of sight.”

  By now some people were running away and the bulk of the crowd began to ebb quickly. Peter saw with relief that the girls had begun to reluctantly back away. ‘Thank God!’ he thought. ‘We don’t want one of the girls taken hostage.’

  Capt Conkey and the officers began to urge everyone to move under cover. Morry started dragging Stephen towards the car. Stephen struggled gamely. Morry released his grip on Stephen’s throat and gave him a savage belt over the ear.

  “Stop wrigglin’ kid or I’ll break yer bloody neck,” he snarled.

  “Let him go,” Graham ordered. He stood and faced the two men, hands on hips again.

  “Clear orf kid or I’ll shoot you,” Larry replied, reloading the rifle.

  In answer Graham half-turned. “You sergeants move back.”

  Peter noted that Sgt Rankin had joined Crane and Brown, and that Gwen Copeland was still in the middle of the road.

  Larry pointed the rifle at them. “You heard what yer boss said. Back off!”

  “No,” Crane replied. “You wouldn’t be game to shoot us.”

  “Don’t tempt me kid,” Larry snarled. “Come on Morry, get that kid in the car.”

  Graham called out as Morry moved. “Sgt Crane, move back. He will shoot. These are the men who murdered the man Cpl Doyle found. Peter saw them on the river bank.”

  Morry was close to Peter then. He lashed out with his boot, landing a savage kick on Peter’s ribs.

  “Little turd! That’s for dobbin’ on us. We’ll get you one day.”

  Peter tried to get up. He rose painfully to his hands and knees. Larry turned to look at him, his face a mask of hate. “I’ll give it to him right now while I got the chance,” he snarled. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at Peter’s head.

  Peter rose to a crouch, his eyes riveted on the tiny black bore of the rifle. ‘I am dead!’ he thought. ‘I don’t want to die! Yes I do. I don’t care. I’ve made a mess of everything.’ The thoughts flashed through his mind, along with calculations: ‘Five paces. Can I cover them before he shoots? No. Will the shot be fatal. Yes, if I stand still, then he will get me right between the eyes. But it’s only a .22. If I’m moving I’ve got a chance.’

  He tensed to spring, saw Larry’s eye line up the sight and his finger tighten on the trigger.

  Graham flung his cane with all its force. The sharp bullet-head of the cane struck Larry hard on the temple.

  ‘Crack !’

  Peter lunged even as the rifle went off. He felt the bullet pluck at the collar of his shirt. Larry reeled and struggled frantically to re-cock the rifle. Peter raced forward and grappled with him as he did. The rifle ended up wedged between them, its barrel pointing up. Peter hung on desperately, knowing he was dead if he let go.

  Larry snarled and wrestled frantically, both arms pinned. He kicked and spat. His hard, hate-filled eyes were only centimetres from Peter’s. He stamped on Peter’s insteps and tried to knee him in the groin. In desperation he head-butted Peter. The blow smashed into Peter’s nose and he reeled on the edge of unconsciousness.

  ‘Bang!’

  The rifle discharged right next to Peter’s ear. There were shouts and running figures. An arm appeared around Larry’s neck: Crane’s. Brown punched at Larry’s head.

  “Hold him! Hold him!” Graham yelled, grabbing Larry by an arm.

  They fell over in a struggling heap. Peter clung on with all his strength, aware that he was weakening and frightened by Larry’s desperate struggles. He thought he was going to be crushed as more cadets flung themselves into the fight. His left arm felt as though it must snap at any moment. He couldn’t even yell out or breathe properly. Frantically he screwed his head the other way. Grass and dirt were ground onto his battered face. He glimpsed a furious struggle as Sgt Rankin, Stephen, Gwen Copeland and the OC wrestled Morry to the ground.

  There were more running figures. “Hold that leg!” cried Lt Hamilton. Larry continued to heave and struggle. More cries and running feet: Barbara and Margaret. Lt Maclaren yelling, “Here’s a rope. Tie that ankle.”

  Peter was underneath the heap of squirming bodies and worrying now that his neck or back would be broken. He was having trouble breathing and began to experience real alarm. He heard Lt Maclaren order: “Hold his arms. Got them? Good, tie that wrist. Now, roll him on his back. Let go Peter.”

  Peter did so. The weight suddenly came off. He was left lying on the footpath, bruised and winded. Beside him Sgt Rankin and Sgt Copeland knelt on Larry’s left arm.

  “Take the rifle off him Cpl Brown,” Lt Maclaren ordered. “Pull his little finger. Break it if you have to. That will make him let go. Don’t let him cock it.”

  There was another furious struggle. Brown hauled the rifle clear. The siren of a police car sounded. The vehicle screeched to a halt. A policeman leapt out and ran across to them. Graham struggled up from where he had been knocked flat. He picked up his slouch hat and dusted it, put it on, then scooped up his cane and put it under his arm. Larry’s other arm was tied securely by Sgt Crane.

  Peter lay back, gasping and still half stunned. Graham knelt beside him, his face a picture of concern.

  “Are you OK mate?”

  “Yeah. Bit bruised that’s all. Thanks for that. I reckoned I was dead then.”

  Graham held up his cane and smiled. “So did I!”

  Capt Conkey knelt with him. “How are you Peter?”

  “OK sir. Bit battered,” Peter replied. In fact he felt like passing out. He began to tremble in reaction.

  “Well done both of you,” Capt Conkey said, gripping them both by the shoulder. An ambulance arrived with a wail of sirens.

  CHAPTER 38

  THE RECKONING

  Six hours later Graham stood watching a line of cadets returning stores to the ‘Q’ Store at their school. It was already dark and the lights were on under the buildings. Behind him sat the remainder of the unit in platoon groups, waiting for dismissal. Over to one side were hundreds of parents and a gaggle of media people. They comprised an impatient, irritated, even angry crowd because the unit was three hours behind schedule.

  And what a three hours! Police interviews, TV interviews, medical treatment (they had wanted to take both Peter and Stephen to Hospital for ‘Observation’ but
both had refused), then 3 hours travel followed by the checking and handing back of stores, radios and compasses. The company had arrived back to a blaze of publicity and more TV and Newspaper interviews and a lot of worried and annoyed parents.

  Capt Conkey, the School Principal and an army staff officer were over with them now. The parents had been informed of the delay by telephone, but sensational and inaccurate media reports had aggravated their temper. Graham had overheard several hostile parents abuse the OC and accuse him of being ‘incapable’ and ‘irresponsible’ and other things of a similar vein. It made Graham boil with anger at the injustice.

  ‘They could at least get the facts right first, before making such harsh judgements,’ he muttered. ‘Poor old Capt Conkey. He goes out of his way to try to keep things safe and he gets landed with this.’

  Graham shook his head in disgust and turned away- only to face the group of suspended cadets. Peter was prominent among them because of the sticking plaster and antiseptic on his face. ‘At least the parents don’t know about this lot yet. That will just about put the cap on things properly,’ he thought bitterly.

  Graham looked at Peter and didn’t know how he felt about him. ‘I thought he was my best friend- but he let me down badly- and all because of a girl!’ For a few seconds he mulled over unkind thoughts about Kate O’Brien. Then he mused how things could get easily twisted and go badly wrong. ‘Pete tried to do the right thing and the next we know there are guns being fired in the street!’ He shook his head and shuddered when he considered by what a narrow margin tragedy had been avoided.

  For a moment he relived that dreadful moment when the man had aimed the rifle at Peter’s head. ‘I thought I would be too late; or miss,’ he thought.

  Graham was diverted from these unpleasant thoughts by the OC, who left the parents and walked across under the building.

  “How is it going CSM ?”