The Cadet Sergeant Major Read online

  Stephen was the platoon sergeant of No 1 Platoon. He was in the same class as Graham and was a few months younger. Graham looked along the line at his friend. Stephen wore glasses. He was slighter in build and a few centimetres shorter. He had black hair, blue eyes and freckles. Yes, Graham conceded, he was a bit worried about Stephen. There had been problems before; even disagreements and ill-will. Graham knew that Stephen had been involved in some activities of questionable legality. It had badly strained their friendship. He also knew that Stephen, for all his gawky appearance, had a way with the girls; which he had been known to use to his advantage.

  ‘I hope Steve won’t let me down,’ Graham thought, remembering previous incidents. To his own regret he couldn’t shake off niggling doubts about Stephen. Graham knew that Stephen had not been entirely honest with him in the past. But Graham shrugged. He wanted to believe in his friend.

  ‘Roger? No worries there,’ he felt sure. ‘Good old Roger; chubby, cheerful and loyal!’ Roger was a year behind at school and in the Cadets, although almost the same age as Stephen. Stephen had turned 15 in November, Roger in January. Thus Roger was a rank lower. As a corporal he was section commander of No 6 Section in 2 Platoon.

  ‘At least I don’t need to worry about Roger and girls. Anyway there are none in his section,’ Graham thought. Then he was ashamed at a disloyal innuendo which had crept into his mind. There were rumours about Roger and boys. Graham shook his head. ‘No, Roger likes girls. I’ve seen him with them. He’s just shy. Anyway, he can be trusted.’

  The sergeant of 2 Platoon was a girl, a very attractive girl, Sgt Gwen Copeland. Graham ran his eyes over her, enjoying what he saw: lovely blue eyes, blonde hair and a nice curvy figure. ‘She’s a honey- very classy!’ was his summing up. He admired Gwen but felt no great attraction to her.

  ‘Shouldn’t be any problems there with the girls,’ Graham thought. He knew from previous camps that Gwen kept a very close eye on her cadets. His gaze moved on.

  ‘Ah! 3 Platoon’s sergeant, Lance Brown. Now there is a problem,’ Graham thought, sucking his teeth with concern. Sgt Brown was the same age as him and also in Year 11. He was muscular, fit and had what Graham privately considered was a thug’s face under his close-cropped brown hair:-nose a bit misshapen; and a hard, sneering expression. ‘As though he’s got a permanent chip on his shoulder.’ Graham considered him to be a bit odd; a fanatic on things military; of the ‘gun-nut’ type.

  That was where he and Graham did not see eye to eye. Philosophically they did not meet. Graham was consciously steeped in the ‘British’ traditions of the Australian Army whereas Brown aped the American approach ; or at least his version of it; copied from movies and videos:- the ruthless tough-guy; the one-man army; the lone hero who sets out to prove to his dumb superiors that he is right; with little respect for authority or discipline.

  Neither liked the other and they had clashed on a number of occasions. Graham considered that the OC had made a mistake in promoting Brown. ‘He will bear watching,’ he told himself.

  So would the sergeant of No 4 Platoon, Allan Griffin, but for completely different reasons. Poor old Allan! He tried so hard but he was just a bumbling drongo. He just couldn’t seem to make things work. It took all of the platoon commander’s efforts to keep the platoon- the ‘senior’ rifle platoon- functioning even moderately efficiently. Allan had a huge nose and was the butt of endless jokes and jibes. ‘No worry over girls there! Poor old Al. He doesn’t know about them yet- and couldn’t get one if he tried.’

  The last sergeant was Sgt Mike Crane, the ‘Control Group’ commander. He was a surly, bad-tempered lout with a brutal streak in him. ‘Another one with a chip on his shoulder,’ Graham mused. Crane was a Year 12, 17 years old, in his second year as a sergeant. He made no secret of the fact that he thought he should have been promoted to CSM. He openly resented the fact that Graham had been promoted from a ‘Second Year’ corporal to WO2 over him. There was much ill-will and no co-operation.

  ‘Capt Conkey is too soft,’ Graham thought. ‘He gives all the stray dogs and misfits too many chances. He should have gotten rid of Crane after that last incident when he openly defied me,’ he told himself. Then he felt guilty for his own hypocrisy and disloyalty. Hadn’t Capt Conkey done exactly the same for him:- picked him up when he was in real trouble and given him help, guidance and direction?

  Graham sighed. ‘Oh well! I will do the best I can,’ he vowed.

  The OC had finished the ‘Promise’ ceremony so Graham marched over and stood near him.

  “CSM!”

  “Sir!”

  “Your company. Carry on!”

  “Sir!”

  They faced each other and braced up, then stepped around each other. The OC walked away with the officers and CUOs. Graham faced the company. “Platoon sergeants, move your people back to their areas. Set up camp and get ready to eat. Carry on!”

  CHAPTER 2

  KATE

  As the HQ platoon walked back to their bivouac area Sgt Peter Bronsky found himself walking beside Kate O’Brien, the Intelligence Corporal. Peter had known her for two years but until now had never taken much notice of her. Girls did not interest him much. He thought them silly creatures who just made life complicated.

  This view had been reinforced by all the emotional upheavals they seemed to have caused his friend Graham over the last few years. ‘Poor Graham,’ he thought. ‘There was Glenda, then that bitch Deslie, and golden-haired Jennifer in the Navy Cadets, and Moira, and that horrible Caroline, and Margaret, and Ailsa, and Rowena and God only knows how many others!’ It seemed to Peter that Graham fell in love at the wink of an eye; and with the most desperate earnestness and passionate intensity.

  ‘Well, not me!’ Peter vowed. ‘Give me sensible things to think about; like radios and computers. Time enough for girls when I get older.’

  Peter was very keen on electronics. It was why he had been Signals Corporal the previous year; and was HQ Sgt this year. The thought made him glance at the present Sig Cpl, Allison Broadfoot. ‘She’s just an “airhead”. She’s not interested in radios at all. It’s just as well I’m here. She doesn’t have a clue really!’ he told himself.

  Peter was aware that Graham was attracted to Allison; and he did concede she was pretty- he was not that blind to girls.

  ‘In fact all the corporals in HQ are pretty,’ Peter considered. Then he grinned. ‘Except Bert Lacey!’ Bert was the ‘Q’ Cpl. Peter wasn’t that way inclined. ‘Kellie Jones is the most attractive,’ he decided. Kellie was a Year 11 and in the same class at school. She had lovely long legs and a delightfully prominent bosom. But she was a bit of a tart- or so it was rumoured. Peter didn’t approve of that.

  ‘And Kate is pretty too,’ Peter noticed. He glanced sideways at her. She met his eyes and smiled. Peter smiled back and felt himself blush hot. ‘Yes she is!’

  The shock of realising just how attractive Kate was put Peter into a bit of emotional turmoil. In spite of his attitudes to girls he found himself glancing at her. As they walked he studied her covertly and he liked what he saw: silken black hair; sparkling hazel eyes- more green than brown- beautiful smooth skin. He had never seriously looked at Kate before. Now he found his eyes straying to her continually. When he realized what he was doing he snorted in exasperation and turned his back to concentrate on putting up the ‘hutchie’ he was to share with Graham.

  But erecting a hutchie took minimal mental effort. It was just two plastic sheets- ‘Shelters Individual’- clipped together with press-studs and tied between two trees the right distance apart. The four corners were then pegged down with thin wire tent pegs to make an ‘A’ shaped tent. Peter found his gaze wandering back to Kate.

  Even with her dressed in the relatively shapeless camouflage uniform he noted hints of the well rounded figure within. Kate was ‘just right’ Peter decided. She was neither fat nor thin. Her legs were trim. She had a well shaped bum and narrow waist and was pleasantly rounded up top.
Her hands and wrists were slim and she moved gracefully.

  Kate looked up from pushing in a tent peg and met Peter’s gaze. Again she smiled. Peter looked away in embarrassed confusion. ‘I shouldn’t be looking at the girls,’ he chided himself. ‘It’s my job to supervise them.’

  Feeling annoyed with himself Peter stood up and looked around. The HQ group were setting up camp among a stand of small trees about fifty paces from where the officers were camped. Nearest to the vehicle track along the top of ‘Sandy Ridge’ were the two ‘Queys’: Costigan and Bert Lacey. The other members of HQ were grouped with the girls about 25 metres away and with their hutchies aligned so as to give them privacy. The girls were on the side furthest from the centre. The males were scattered with no real pattern to them except that the Costigan and Bert Lacey had a second hutchie as their ‘Q’ Store and the medics would maintain an extra hutchie as the Company Aid Post- the CAP.

  Peter studied the medics. His gaze lighted on the fat bum of Marcia Denton. She had her back to him and was bending over so that all Peter could see were two massive legs and a huge backside. The cloth of her trousers strained at its seams. ‘Like a bloody elephant!’ he thought. He quickly shifted his gaze onto a black haired girl who was crawling out of that hutchie: Leah Allan. ‘Now there is an attractive and desirable girl!’ he thought. Leah was another classmate and had the reputation around the school of being a real ‘goer’:- warm and willing. ‘She certainly looks like she has a smouldering fire behind those black eyes,’ Peter mused.

  His eyes wandered back to Kate. Kate was sharing a hutchie with Allison. They were about 15 paces to one side of his shelter. Again their eyes met; and again she smiled. Peter managed to smile back; then bent down to hide his confusion by hauling his gear into the hutchie.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he told himself; aware that his heart had begun beating rapidly.

  But when they sat in a group to prepare their evening meal Peter found himself beside Kate. He wasn’t sure if she moved or if he had, but it happened. The cadets had two 5 man 24 hour Ration Packs for their food. This had to be shared out and was Peter’s responsibility. He made them sit in a circle on their packs, or on the ground, and the plastic packets were passed around. Each cadet took their share. Those who wanted to heat the food, or to make coffee or tea, lit Hexamine stoves.

  The uneven number in HQ was solved by SSgt Costigan going off to eat with the ‘Control Group’. Peter shrugged. He didn’t care. He didn’t particularly like Costigan. So that Graham would not miss out on food while he was moving from platoon to platoon organizing work parties to dig latrines Peter made sure one meal was left for him.

  Then Peter got a shock. Kate passed him a tin of peaches and as she did their eyes met and their fingers touched. Peter felt himself tingle with a sensation like a mild electric shock. Another smile from her left him churning inside. And she spoke to him! ‘She actually wants to talk to me!’ he thought. He found it hard to believe. He responded shyly at first, then with more confidence.

  ‘Does she like me?’ he wondered. It was a new sensation altogether and left him feeling both worried and breathless. He realized with some amazement that he wanted her to like him; that he hoped she did. After the meal he made a special point of cleaning his teeth carefully. ‘I wouldn’t want to put her off with bad breath if she talks to me again.’

  Darkness set in. The evening was cool and dry. The clear, starry sky promised a further drop in temperature. A Night Navigation Exercise was the first training activity. In preparation Peter filled his waterbottles from a plastic jerrycan, checked his torch and pulled on his field jacket. He then began to hurry the others to complete their preparations. Over at the big tree he could see Graham assembling the company for a briefing and he didn’t want HQ to be late.

  “Come on HQ! Form up in two ranks,” Peter ordered. “Hurry up Cadet Denton. Leave that! You can pack it up later!”

  Denton mumbled under her breath and grumpily joined the others. Peter called them to attention and marched them over to the spot indicated by Graham. Peter halted them and then fell them out, to sit in a line at the left end of the company. In the darkness sergeants shouted, lost cadets called out, people milled around, torches flashed.

  “Silence!”

  The CSM’s voice cut through the hubbub. The noise ceased.

  “Now sit behind your section commanders in straight lines and don’t talk. Section commanders and platoon sergeants, check that all your people are here.”

  Graham waited until the cadets were all seated and silent; then checked with each Pl Sgt in turn. Using a pencil torch he looked at his watch, then said, “Cpl Doyle, go and tell the OC we are ready - and don’t grumble or I’ll find you a latrine to dig.”

  Doyle hurried off. Graham faced the company. “Which reminds me, there are only two latrines dug so far. One for boys over there,” he said. To point the direction he shone the beam of his large torch on a stand of ironbarks on the north side of the ridge; “And one for girls. It is over there beyond Two Platoon.” He swung the torch the other way. “We will dig two more tomorrow; and I will be looking for ‘volunteers’.”

  This brought a smile to Peter’s lips and a chuckle from the troops. Graham let them talk quietly until the OC and the other officers arrived. Capt Conkey took over. He reminded the cadets of the topography, the boundaries and the safety rules. Then he got them all to check they had what they needed.

  “Map, matches, waterbottle, spare meal. NCOs make sure you have a radio, compass, protractor, torch, notebook, pencil. OK. CUOs and sergeants go to Lt Maclaren. Corporals come out to me.”

  There was a surge of movement, accompanied by a babble of talk. Graham moved to keep the cadets under control now that their leaders were gone. As CSM he would be with the OC. He called firmly, “Calm down you mob! Lance corporals keep your sections under control. You can talk quietly. Sit down Cadet Arthur.”

  “But sir, I forgot me waterbottle,” the cadet whined.

  Graham replied in an exasperated voice, “Go and get it. Don’t run! You know the safety rules. We don’t want any accidents in the dark.”

  Peter joined the CUOs and sergeants. They and the officers would form the checkpoints. Lt Maclaren, the unit 2ic, a tall, sandy-haired man with a moustache, stood beside a lantern. He handed each a photocopy map which showed the checkpoints and the route each of the 15 sections would follow. On another photocopy were listed the checkpoints, each named after a letter, with its Grid Reference and the name of the staff allotted to it. Another table listed the sequence of checkpoints that each section should go through.

  “As you can see, each checkpoint is called a letter,” Lt McLaren explained. “Next to it is the Grid Reference and the names of who is at each one. The diagram shows the sequence of checkpoints each section should pass through. Take No 1 Section as an example. It will start here at Checkpoint ‘A’, which is where Lt Standish will be. One Section will then go to Checkpoint ‘L’, then to ‘M’, ‘D’, ‘N’, ‘C’, ‘B’ and back to ‘A’. That is seven ‘legs’ in all. Each leg is between 400 and 500 metres, so the total distance is about three point five kilometres.”

  Lt Maclaren paused and looked at the group. “Now, when a section turns up, check that they have arrived at the correct checkpoint. If not, send them back to the previous one on a Back Bearing. Remind them not to follow other groups as they all go different ways and the routes zig zag all over the place.”

  “When they arrive, note who they are and tell them where to go next. The corporal is to calculate the Magnetic Bearing from the Grid Reference you give them. You are to check their calculations. Do not let them leave until you are happy they are going the right way. And note down the bearing they march on. That way, if they get lost, we at least know where they were last seen, and which way they went.”

  Lt Maclaren paused again. “And keep the lights to a minimum. Not like last year when half the checkpoints had cosy little fires! The dozy corporals didn’t need t
o use their compasses at all. Heavens, even ‘Dimbo’ Doyle nearly made it around!”

  This caused a ripple of laughter. Cpl David ‘Dimbo’ Doyle had got spectacularly lost on a weekend exercise the previous year- luckily ending up in a place where help was urgently needed. He had not been promoted and was now a section commander in the senior platoon.

  ‘The OC should have sacked the silly bugger,’ Peter thought sourly.

  Lt Maclaren went on, “So the sections can use a shielded torch to do their calculations and map work, but they are not to use them while they are actually walking along. If you see them doing it yell out. Also, make sure it is a cadet who has the compass, not the corporal; and a different cadet on every leg. The aim of this exercise is to teach the cadets how to use a compass at night. The corporal should know how. Alright, just check you know where the safety vehicles will be. They are marked on the map. Now, any questions? None? Good! Do your radio checks and off you go.”

  All the Officers, CUOs and NCOs had small hand-held radios. They now began calling in turn. After answering the radio checks as Call Sign ‘Hotel’ (Headquarters) Peter began walking with CUO Sheila Sherry, the Year 12 girl who was 1 Pl Commander, Stephen, who was her sergeant, Sgt Crane and Cpl Rankin. As he walked Peter hitched his basic webbing around to settle it more comfortably on his shoulders and hips. It had been a month since he had last worn it and he found it heavy and uncomfortable.

  As he walked Peter thought about Kate. Those thoughts also made him feel uncomfortable. He could feel a definite pain around the heart which he recognised as yearning; and, more worrying, the distinct stirrings of desire. He knew he should not be having such thoughts. ‘I’m a sergeant and she’s only a corporal,’ he told himself. ‘No fraternizing across the rank levels the OC says. And it’s my job to maintain discipline.’

  The group were walking along a vehicle track- two wheel tracks in the dry grass. This led them, after 500 paces, to a gravel road which ran north from the Flinders Highway and on to the Canning River and beyond. At the junction with the Canning Road Crane and Rankin stopped. The junction was Checkpoint ‘B’. The others turned left and walked south. After a hundred paces the Canning Road dipped across the head of a small gully. On the south side the road ran along the crest of a wide, sandy ridge.