The Cadet Sergeant Major (3 page)

As they parted Stephen turned. “Will you be OK on your own?” he asked.

“Of course!” Peter replied. “I'm on the road aren't I? And I've got a radio. Besides, I'm not like you. I don't need anyone to hold my hand because I'm scared of the dark!”

Stephen and CUO Sherry both hooted derision and they all laughed. At a couple of checkpoints- all on roads- there was only one staff member- a male (in case undesirables came driving along). All the other checkpoints, which were in the bush, had two people at them. No girl was on her own.

“Don't get lost you two,” Peter quipped. Stephen laughed and CUO Sherry snorted. They angled away into the darkness, the murmur of their voices growing fainter. Peter walked on alone. He was happy and relaxed. Although he had the feeling he was the only living thing in the area he knew that there were three other checkpoints within easy hailing distance.

‘It's a lovely night,' Peter thought, breathing deeply and relishing the experience. Up on the open crestline he had a glorious view in three directions. He could see a vast distance. From horizon to horizon millions of stars twinkled brilliantly. In spite of a gentle cool breeze the exertion of walking made him perspire. The most obvious sound he could hear was the scrunching of his boots on the sandy road surface but as he moved further along the ridge he became aware of vehicle noises from the highway.

Then Peter realised he could see the vehicles. The flicker of a car's headlights came into view from behind the trees on the low ridge which ran parallel to Bare Ridge. This ridge went south from the camp to the highway. The car came into view about a kilometre away. It raced across the lower end of the gentle, open valley between the two ridges, to vanish behind the lower end of Bare Ridge. A few seconds later it reappeared on his right front. Peter watched it cross the kilometre of open ground before it ran onto the long concrete bridge which spanned the Bunyip River.

Peter stared in the starlight at the dark area that indicated the trees along the banks of the Bunyip. He liked the Bunyip River. It is a big river, similar to the Burdekin. From one tree-lined bank to the other is about 500 metres of open, sandy river bed, interspersed in places by ‘islands' of trees and clumps of rocks.

The car, its headlights cutting a swathe through the night, raced off the far end of the bridge. It went up a long, rolling hill to vanish over the crest. In the far distance the lights of Charters Towers could just be seen. They provided a cheery, beckoning glow. The only other lights visible were at a couple of farmhouses.

Dark shapes loomed up beside the road- beef cattle. Peter ignored them and kept walking. The beasts suddenly snorted and fled off down the slope with a flurry of hooves. Peter was momentarily alarmed but was used to cattle and knew that, unless there was an angry old bull, he had nothing to fear. They were frightened of humans.

He walked on until he reached a large tree which stood alone beside the road. It was a Burdekin Plum tree, its thick mass of leaves forming a dark blob against the stars. This was his checkpoint. He radioed Capt Conkey (Call Sign ‘Sunray') to report he was in position; then took off his webbing, had a drink of water, and sat down to wait.

For over half an hour Peter sat there alone, occupied by his thoughts. It was something of a relief when he at last heard the murmur of approaching voices, then the dull thudding and scuff of boots. A section appeared as black shapes in the night. They reached the road about twenty metres away and stood in a group talking.

“Over here,” Peter called. They moved towards him. “What section is that?” he asked.

“Number Two, Cpl Ward Sergeant.”

“OK. Sit down.” Peter turned on his pencil torch, crossed off 2 Sect on his control sheet; then gave Cpl Ward the next Grid Reference he had to head for. Cpl Ward sat and pulled out his notebpook and map. As he did his section 2ic, Lance Corporal Wendy Werribee, took out a torch and knelt to help him by shining the beam on his map. While doing this Wendy leaned on Cpl Ward's shoulder. The section commander seemed not to notice this as he plotted the position on the map, ruled a pencil line from one check point to the other, measured the angle with a protractor; and converted it from a ‘Grid Bearing' to ‘Magnetic'.

Peter watched, checking to see that he made no errors. But seeing the way Wendy was leaning on Lofty Ward, obviously pressing her breasts against his shoulder got Peter thinking. Part of him thought he should tell her not to do that but the other half was just jealous. ‘I wish a girl would do that to me,' he thought, adding ‘Kate' to the idea. But he said nothing, merely noting that it confirmed some of the rumours that had been circulating for some time about Lofty and his busty 2ic.

When Cpl Ward had completed his calculations he held them up for Peter to check. Peter then wrote down the bearing on the control sheet.

“That is correct Cpl Ward. Now, calculate the distance in paces and get going.”

There were more voices and another section arrived. It was No 4 Sect., Cpl Barbara Brassington. Peter made them sit on the other side of the tree. As soon as he was sure Cpl Ward was ready he sent 2 Section on its way and then sat next to Barbara. He didn't particularly like her. To his mind she was a bit too pushy and aggressive; and she had joined the cadets with a reputation for being a bit of a tart.

‘She is very capable though,' he conceded as he watched her deftly plot the bearing on her map. ‘And she is attractive- but not as attractive as Kate.'

4 Section tramped off into the night. Peter stood and stretched. It had been a long day and he was tired. The sound of a train attracted his attention. From where he stood he could not see it as the curve of the crest hid it from view. ‘It will cross the rail bridge,' he thought. He had a sudden desire to watch that so he walked quickly across the road and stood on the highest point to look South West. That rail bridge had been the scene of the most dramatic event of his life and he often thought of it.

The rail bridge was nearly two kilometres away, south beyond the highway. On the previous year's annual camp the unit had done a ‘Commando' type exercise to raid the bridge. After the bridge over the Burdekin at Macrossan this was the largest bridge in the area; a massive steel girder construction nearly a kilometre long. Peter had been the leader of a patrol which had infiltrated the defences to do a ‘close reconnaissance' of the bridge and to note the deployment of the defending cadet units. He was particularly proud of that patrol. It had taken a day and a night and covered 20km. They had avoided several patrols of defenders and he had been able to make detailed field sketches and sketch maps.

While his patrol had done this the unit had been hiding in the close country at the junction of the Canning River and the Bunyip, two kilometres north of the highway bridge. At the end of the patrol Peter had helped the Intelligence Section make a large sand model of the rail bridge and the surrounding area. This had been used to brief the section and platoon commanders during the OC's ‘Orders Group' before the raid.

‘Kate was a cadet in the Intelligence Section then,' Peter remembered. ‘She was on that patrol. How come I never noticed her then?'

By then the train was rumbling onto the far end of the rail bridge, the sounds a loud roar even where he stood, nearly three kilometres away. ‘It's the ‘Inlander' on its way from Mount Isa to Townsville,' he decided, seeing the lighted windows of passenger carriages. As he watched the train Peter's thoughts turned back to the raid. The Heatley Cadet unit from Townsville and St Michaels from Broadsound had been the defenders. They had saturated the area with a dozen patrols, as well as platoons at each end of the bridge. The exercise had taken two days and two nights. Peter had led a raiding party along the bed of the river on the second night but they had been seen and driven off.

‘In fact the only Cairns patrol to reach its objective was Graham's,' he mused. Out of 6 raiding parties his was a good effort. ‘And Graham's was the only patrol on the far side of the river.' Peter had heard that it was largely because of his handling of that patrol that Graham had earned himself the step in rank over the other corporals to be CSM. Peter didn't mind. He thought Graham was just right for the job. ‘Graham is a real soldier,' he thought.

As he stood there watching the flicker of the train's headlights as it travelled through the tunnel of steel girders Peter experienced an even more intense flashback: running along that bridge in the dark, his heart filled with dread. He had stopped a cadet from committing suicide but had been knocked off the bridge. For several agonizing minutes he had dangled by the fingers of one hand from a cross girder. Below had been fifty metres of thin air before the sand of the river bed. His screams had been drowned by the roar of a passing train. It had been Graham who had saved him. Those minutes of terror often returned to him in nightmares and even as he watched he shivered with apprehension.

With a conscious effort Peter thrust the memories aside and focused on the ‘raid'. ‘It was a good exercise,' he mused. ‘I hope this year's is just as interesting. Ah! Here comes another section.'

Peter quickly walked back to his checkpoint. It was HQ. As soon as he realised that Peter's heart quickened. His eyes sought out Kate in the darkness. When he knelt to use his torch on the map Kate crouched on his left. She was so close their arms touched. The other three corporals in HQ also sat down but Peter barely noticed them. All he was aware of was the touch of Kate's skin.

The HQ corporals were taking it in turn to navigate. It was Kellie Jones' turn so the others watched and chatted while Kellie worked out the bearing. Peter noted that Kate kept lightly pressing against his arm. ‘Is she doing that deliberately- or is it just accidental?' he wondered. He decided it must be intentional. ‘She could easily move away if she wanted to.'

Peter turned to look at Kate. Even in the dim reflected glow from the pencil torch she looked lovely. He felt his emotions catch in his throat and squeeze his chest. He was close enough to smell her and the fragrance made his senses swim. Their eyes met.

She smiled.

‘She likes me!' Peter's heart leapt and bounded. He didn't dare to hope. He looked away, hoping that the others hadn't noticed; and that he wasn't sweating or smelling too much.

Another patrol arrived and the spell was broken. It was 6 Section; Roger's. Peter reluctantly left Kate's side and moved over to them. A shiver ran down him.

“G'day Roger. You lot lost yet?” he said.

“Bite your bum!” Roger snorted indignantly. “More to the point, are you in the right place?”

They both laughed. “Where do I go next?” Roger asked.

By the time Peter had given Roger the information the HQ patrol was ready to leave. Peter felt an urge to speak to Kate but could not think of any excuse to do so. He watched them walk off into the darkness with a pang of such intensity it surprised him. It was like a physical pain.

‘I'm in love!' he told himself with astonishment. ‘And it hurts!'

It did hurt! It seemed to physically ache. Peter felt as though he wanted to squirm and wriggle. And he longed to see her. ‘I wish this exercise was over,' he thought. ‘Then I can hurry back to camp and be with her.' Silently he cursed the other sections. “Get a move on!” he grumbled.

They came at last, two from different directions at the same time: Anne Hopewell's No 1 Section and Erika Goltz's No 7. Peter gave them their information and stood back to watch.

‘Talk about chalk and cheese,' he thought. Both were blondes with blue eyes, but Anne had a roundish, cheerful face and was a really happy, jolly girl- a ‘Nice girl'. In contrast Erika Goltz had a hard face and a rough personality. Stories about her and what she had done with boys at school and at parties were legion. He couldn't understand how the OC, if he knew, could allow her to stay in the unit.

Once they were gone Peter checked his list. Only one to go: 3 Section. Cpl ‘Big Charlie' Cox. Peter paced up and down in a fever of impatience. Every few minutes he checked his watch. ‘Still ten minutes to go. Why don't they hurry up? I hope they aren't lost. How could they be? The country around here is so open; and you can see or hear the highway traffic the whole time,' Peter reasoned.

The section arrived with a minute to spare. As soon as they were on their way Peter informed Capt Conkey by radio and set off along the road on his way back to camp. It only took him seven minutes. He walked so fast he was perspiring inside his jacket by the time he arrived; only to find he need not have bothered- HQ was not back! He dropped his webbing at his hutchie, peeled off the jacket and walked over to the officer's fire

The OC and Graham were there, plus Lt Standish, a pleasant, middle-aged lady teacher, as well a few other CUOs and Sgts. Capt Conkey finished calling 11 Section on the radio then gave Peter a smile as he reported in.

“Sgt Bronsky. Good! Another lost sheep returned to the fold. One less to spend the night searching for!” He chuckled at his own humour and went on. “When HQ gets back tell them to report here. They can have a brew; and warn the medics they will undoubtedly have a few customers.”

“Sir.”

Peter moved over to chat with the other cadets. CUO Sherry and Stephen arrived.

“Any problems?” Capt Conkey queried.

“Possibly sir,” CUO Sherry replied. “Dimbo Doyle's section was supposed to come through our checkpoint but it hadn't arrived by our cut-off time. We waited an extra ten minutes before leaving.”

There was a unanimous groan. Dimbo Doyle! ‘Bloody typical!' Peter thought. ‘Now we will waste half the night looking for them.'

Capt Conkey checked his control sheet. “I was just talking to them on the radio but they weren't sure where they were. They should have come to you from Checkpoint ‘D'. That was you CUO Grenfell. Did they reach you?”

CUO Grenfell checked his control sheet in the firelight. “Yes sir. They left us about an hour ago, and they were heading the right way. I've got their bearing written here.”

“Then they probably went the opposite way,” Graham said. They all laughed. This was exactly what Dimbo had done the previous year- gone off on the ‘Back Bearing'-for five kilometres!

“They were heading the right way when they left me,” CUO Grenfell insisted.

Peter saw people approaching. “Here comes another section,” he called. A group of cadets tramped into the firelight- 10 Section reporting in. Graham ticked them off on his sheet. As CSM he was also keeping tabs on who had returned.

A vehicle drove in and parked. Lt Maclaren and Lt Sandra McEwen, a pretty lady teacher in her twenties, climbed out and joined them.

The OC turned to them and asked, “Did Dimbo Doyle's group come past you?”

“No, he wasn't supposed to,” Lt Maclaren replied.

“I know that,” Capt Conkey said with a dry smile. Again the group laughed.

Another section checked in- Fiona Davies'. Peter sat down on a log beside Graham and stretched out his legs. He stared into the fire and pondered how he felt about Kate, and what he could do. Time passed. The exercise was due to end at 2100 hours. Peter fretted. He checked his watch. 2115. Still three sections missing; and two checkpoints had not returned. One of these was HQ. Radio calls elicited the information that they were on their way but even so Peter began to worry.

Lt Hamish Hamilton and the CQ arrived, followed by a section.

“Hello QM. Which section is that?” Capt Conkey asked.

Lt Hamilton replied, “Eleven sir. Cpl Doyle. I found them blundering around the gullies as we were walking back, so I roped them in.”

Capt Conkey studied the route plan. “They weren't supposed to be anywhere near you. Not even on your side of Sandy Ridge! Cpl Doyle, put your section to bed then report back here.”

“Yes sir,” Cpl Doyle replied. He made a wry face and led his grumbling squad away. Peter looked at his watch again and began to fret. If HQ didn't arrive soon there would be no chance to see Kate before bed. He was amazed at how anxious he was.

More people arrived. Not HQ. Only CUO White and Sgt Brown from 3 Pl. Peter fidgeted. Graham nudged him. “You OK Pete?”

Peter looked at him blankly. “Yes. Why?”

“Because I just spoke to you and you ignored me.”

“Oh! Sorry. Just tired I guess; and hoping we don't have to spend half the night stumbling over logs looking for HQ,” Peter replied.

Even as he said this Peter felt a sharp little pang of guilt. When he thought about it later he was hot with shame. He was being less than honest with his best friend- and it hurt. All because he was in love! ‘But am I?' he wondered. ‘Or am I just tired and being silly?'

Another group walked out of the darkness: HQ. Peter felt relief wash over him. He quickly scanned the faces on the other side of the fire. There was Kate- and she was smiling at him.

Cpl Broadfoot did the explaining. “Sorry sir. We missed a checkpoint when Cadet Denton was navigating and we had to go back. When we got there the staff had left. So we came home.”

It sounded a bit lame. Capt Conkey grunted; then said, “You could have radioed. OK. Sgt Bronsky put them to bed. They can have a brew first; then tuck them in. CSM; make sure everyone is in bed by 2200.”

Peter stood up and led HQ back to their bivouac. The others dispersed to their hutchies. Peter carried his pack over to a tree and sat on it, his back against the trunk. As he lit his stove someone dropped their webbing close to him. It was Kate.

“Can I join you Sgt Bronsky?”

“Sure. Be my guest.” Peter replied. His heart leapt. ‘She must like me!'

Kate crossed her legs and sat down. While she lit her stove Peter studied her intently, entranced by her every movement. The flickering light from the hexamine flame seemed to enhance her beauty. She felt his eyes on her and looked up, directly into his.

For a moment her face held a questioning expression; then she smiled and looked down. Others joined them but Peter barely noticed. He had eyes only for Kate; and she, apparently, only for him. They talked happily; brittle, nervous talk which skirted around the edge of their emotions.

Graham joined them. He dragged his webbing out and began to make hot Milo. “Whew! That's that. All sections in,” he said.

Peter looked at him. “Who was the last section in?”

“Nine Section. Cpl Fredericks,” Graham replied. He poured water into his mess tin. Peter nodded. He wasn't really interested. Instead he turned to face Kate and chatted on; unaware that Graham was giving them both a thoughtful look.

Ten minutes later Graham blew out his stove, drained the last of his Milo and rinsed his cup. “Bedtime in five minutes,” he reminded.

Peter met Kate's eyes. To his surprise he found that he wanted to be with her all night; and thought she wanted the same. Regretfully he called out: “Bedtime HQ. Get packed up.”

He stood up. Kate did also. It was dark except for the distant glow of the officer's fire and the flicker of torches. Graham tossed his webbing into the hutchie and strode off. Peter stood there, fidgeting with uncertainty. He wanted to speak to Kate but didn't know what to say.

Allison saved them. “Come on Kate,” she called, hoisting her webbing over her shoulder and walking towards their hutchie. Kate hesitated, shrugged and turned away. Peter found his mouth dry and his palms sweaty. His heart beat at a rapid rate. He shook his head in disbelief and went to his hutchie.

After preparing his own bedding he walked around, hastening the others into their beds. “Hurry up Cadet Denton. You don't have to change into your silk pyjamas. Just take your boots off and get into your sleeping bag.”

“I don't wear pyjamas,” Denton replied in a sultry tone. This caused a guffaw of laughter from the next hutchie where two boys, Parnell and Henning, were bunked down.

“They don't make them big enough!” Henning cried. “They just roll her in a blanket.”

“Shut yer face Henning!” Denton snapped. “I wear a nightie; except when it's hot. Then I don't wear anything.”

Peter tried to imagine Denton nude and the thought made him shudder. He was about to speak when Henning's voice came again, “I hope it's not hot tonight!”

Denton snarled in reply. “Shut up! I'll wear what I like!”

“No you won't,” Peter cut in. “You'll be decent. Remember the unit rules. You have to be dressed so that nobody gets offended or embarrassed. The CSM and officers need to be able to shine torches in on you when you are asleep and we don't want any complaints.”

“I won't complain. It won't offend me,” Cadet Denton replied.

“It might offend someone else, so make sure you are decent. Now get to bed,” Peter snapped. Annoyed at the boys he walked over to their hutchie. “And you two stop the teasing. There will be no bullying or harassment in HQ.” In the distance he could hear Graham's ‘CSM' voice ordering 3 Platoon to be quiet and to get to bed. Having checked all the others Peter walked back to Kate's hutchie.

There was a torch on which revealed Allison sitting on her sleeping bag unlacing her boots; and Kate sitting beside her brushing her hair. In the torchlight Peter could see that Kate had taken off her boots, socks and her trousers. He could see a glimpse of bare thighs below her shirt. For an instant his mind exploded with speculation about what she might- or might not- be wearing under the shirt. His heart seemed to hammer audibly in his ears.

“Lights out. Bedtime,” he said.

Kate looked up and smiled. “The OC said you were to put us to bed and tuck us in.”

Peter's mind raced at all the possible double meanings and implications. All he could do was grin and stammer for a moment; then lamely say: “So? Get into your sleeping bags.”

“Yes sergeant,” Allison replied cheerfully. She clicked off the torch and began wriggling into her sleeping bag.

“G.. Good night,” Peter stammered. Hastily he stood up and walked over to his own hutchie, his face aflame with embarrassment and desire.

For a few minutes he stood watching the area, calling on the cadets to stop talking, to stop turning on their torches, and to go to sleep. Satisfied they had settled down he crawled into his own hutchie. He straightened his bedroll and lay down.

From Kate's hutchie came whispers and giggling. Peter was about to call out to tell them to be quiet when Allison spoke. “Peter, you didn't tuck us in. Kate wants a bedtime story.”

This caused more giggles. Peter knew he should not allow them to call him by his first name and that he should just call out to them to stop talking; but he seemed to be drawn by the sound of their voices. He crawled back out of his hutchie and moved to kneel at the end of theirs, close to Kate's head. He could see both their faces as pale blurs. They giggled again.

“Go to sleep,” he said, but he said it softly, without any bite. They responded with more giggles. Peter didn't know what to do. To his dismay he was gripped by a powerful urge to reach in and touch Kate, to stroke her, to kiss her. He had never experienced such intense desire in his life. That was his saviour. It frightened him. He battled against the urge, aware that he was encountering powerful new forces.

To his astonishment Kate reached out and grasped his hand. He nearly snatched it back in shock. He was stunned; frightened; delighted! ‘Thank God it is dark!' he thought, fearful that others might see. But he was also alive to the sensations of her touch. Her hand was warm and soft. The touch made him tingle like an electric shock. For a minute it rendered him incoherent. He felt his heart begin to pound so that there was a swashing sound in his ears. She squeezed gently. He squeezed back.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought him back to earth with a jolt. “Here comes the CSM. Go to sleep,” he said. Reluctantly he let go of her hand and stood up.

As he moved back to his hutchie Peter seemed to float. He barely noticed stumbling on a small anthill. But he was very aware that his body felt as though it was on fire. With something of a shock he realized he had become aroused. He was very glad it was dark.

Graham strode over. “That you Pete?”

“Yes,” Peter replied. His throat seemed constricted and dry.

“HQ all in bed?”

“Yep.”

Peter crawled into the hutchie and began unlacing his boots. Graham crawled in next to him and unrolled his bedding. Peter hauled of his boots and socks and stretched out on his sleeping bag fully dressed. Guilt and the proximity of his friend ended Peter's arousal. For a few moments he trembled with reaction. Then he lay back, thinking hard.

Graham lay down beside him, still fully dressed. He was listening. The murmur of voices drifted to them on the night air.

“Bloody Three Platoon!” Graham grumbled. He picked up his torch, crawled out and strode off into the night.

Peter sighed. His thoughts were overwhelmed by visions of Kate. To his surprise he realized that he had become aroused again. He found that very unsettling. It had never happened to him before unless he had wanted it! Now it just did of its own accord. It caused him a mixture of dismay and pleasure.