The Cadet Sergeant Major (37 page)

‘Do Clayfield good,' he thought, reasoning that the girls were just giving him a bit of mothering. Knowing he was being a hypocrite he looked first into Margaret's eyes and then up to meet Barbara's. “Yes, they are a good section,” he said. He looked back down at Clayfield. “Sweet dreams,” he said. At that Clayfield blushed and looked anxious but Becky gave an impish little smile. ‘Good luck to the poor bugger!' Graham thought. With that he said goodnight and strode off.

He went back past HQ with a curt, “Put that fire out and get to bed.”

A bit further along he noted two people walking side by side in the darkness. The beam of his torch lit up their lower halves and he identified Marcia Denton and Mike Tarrant. They were holding hands. “You two need to go back to your platoons and get to bed,” he said, but without heat. “You can save that till after camp,” he added. They reluctantly let go of each other's hands and parted, their regretful goodnights convincing Graham it was true love, not lust. Feeling slightly happier he strode on.

3 Platoon were in a different mood. Without their commander and minus one section leader they were an unhappy and divided band. On top of the ‘Steele affair' their collective pride and morale was right down. They were moody and disgruntled. Graham located Sgt Rankin, told him to get them bedded down and continued on.

4 Platoon were their usual selves. Almost the whole platoon was still up, seated around their fire. Dimbo Doyle was regaling them with a doubtful story which CUO Bates was trying to censor. It was as though events elsewhere were no concern of theirs.

“Excuse me Ma'am,” Graham said to CUO Bates. He pointed to his watch. “Lights out, Sgt Griffin.”

He didn't stay to see if he was obeyed, or to talk, but walked back to his own gear. Peter lay there but whether he was asleep or not Graham did not check. He felt very weary in body and mixed up in his spirits, but he was wide awake. Sadly he found his webbing and walked over to the officer's fire. He dumped his webbing and sank down with a sigh.

Capt Conkey turned to him. “All in bed CSM?”

“Not yet sir. It shouldn't be long. I've spoken to them all.”

“Good.” Capt Conkey looked behind him at the sound of approaching voices. “Ah! Here come the others. I wonder if they found them?”

They had. Lt Hamilton and Lt McEwen led a very subdued Costigan and Cadet Smart into the firelight. Lt Hamilton shone his torch on them. “They were a hundred metres up Quilp Creek.”

Capt Conkey stood up. He seemed to expand and to bristle with anger. “Where have you two been? What have you been doing? Why did you leave the campfire?”

“We were only talking sir,” Costigan bleated.

“Only talking!” the OC exploded. He turned on the unhappy girl: “Button your shirt up properly girly! Why couldn't you talk beside the fire like everyone else? Don't answer. I know!”

There was an awkward silence while everyone looked. Graham noted that the girl had obviously buttoned her shirt up in a hurry, missing one button and getting the remainder matched to the wrong holes so that the front gaped open. He could just see the gleam of bulging flesh in the firelight. The girl fumbled with the front of her shirt, plainly embarrassed.

“Not here girl!” Capt Conkey cried. He turned to the two lady OOCs. “Mrs Standish, Miss McEwen, would you please speak to this girl?”

They nodded and led Cadet Smart away into the darkness.

“Now, what's the story Staff Sergeant? I want the truth.” Capt Conkey growled.

Costigan tried to bluff and bluster. His eyes went to each male officer in turn, and then to Graham's. Capt Conkey persisted. “Were you playing up out there?”

“No sir. We were only talking. She was telling me about the problems she has at home and she didn't want anyone to overhear,” Costigan replied.

“Is that true Lt Hamilton?”

“They were only talking when we found them,” Lt Hamilton replied. “Was there any evidence that they may have been doing anything else?” Capt Conkey asked. Clearly he disliked the whole business.

“She was buttoning up her shirt, but otherwise no.”

“We didn't do anything sir,” Costigan cried in a panicky voice.

“Be silent! Speak when you are spoken to Staff Sergeant,” Capt Conkey snapped. His voice was low but his tone icy. He stood close to Costigan and locked eyes. “From appearances your story is weak. The circumstantial evidence is against you. Now, let us hope, for your sake particularly, that the girl corroborates your story. Do you know why?”

“No sir,” Costigan replied, swallowing nervously.

“Well I will tell you why. Because the girl is only in Year Nine and I would guess she is only fourteen or fifteen. In other words she is under age. The legal minimum age for girls to give consent in this state is sixteen. Did you know that?”

“Y...Y.es...S..S..Sir.”

“In other words she is what my dear old dad used to call ‘Jail Bait'. I know you are seventeen. That means you wouldn't be dealt with by a Juvenile Court. You would go before an adult court. If the police, or her parents, press charges it could be Stuart Prison for you.”

The bravado and bluster drained out of Costigan. Even in the firelight he looked pale under his freckles. The corners of his mouth turned down and his upper lip began to tremble. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Capt Conkey gave him a hard stare then said, “I am so angry at your actions, at breaking your word to me, that I can't give you a fair hearing at the moment. So I will get Lt Maclaren to question you and I will decide what to do in the morning. In the meantime you are relieved of your duties. Get your gear and sleep with those other people who can't be trusted.”

Capt Conkey pointed to a row of sleeping bags just visible in the shadows over at HQ. “Go on. Get your gear then report to the 2ic. Don't go anywhere else, and don't talk to anyone.”

Costigan walked off. Capt Conkey sighed and looked at his officers and Graham.

Graham spoke first. “Kellie Jones.”

“Yes,” Lt Maclaren agreed. “Just what I was going to ask. Where is she?”

“Find her,” Capt Conkey ordered. “Get the platoon sergeants to check every person. They don't have to get them out of bed or wake them up, just identify them. Damn! What platoon is that Smart girl in?”

“Four Platoon sir. Cpl Frederick's section, sir,” Graham replied. He was angry with himself for not getting the sergeants to do a check while he was going round.

“Give Sgt Griffin a verbal kick in the bum for not knowing she was missing CSM,” Capt Conkey said.

“Yes sir. I'll go there first,” Graham replied. He headed off into the darkness. It took him twenty minutes to get around the company. The CUOs and sergeants were all appalled at the story and quickly checked their people. None were missing.

HQ was the last group Graham checked. He used his torch to find Allison. He shook her awake. “You are acting sergeant for HQ,” he explained. “Check they are all here. Look in the sleeping bags to see who they are.”

She did this. While he waited Graham pondered whether to walk all the way up to the Control Group bivouac.

“All here sir,” she reported.

“Kellie Jones?”

“Yes sir,” Allison replied. She pointed to one of five full sleeping bags up under the trees.

“When did she come back?” Graham asked.

“When we came back from the campfire. She was with us. She was there most of the time,” Allison replied.

“You sure?”

“Yes I'm sure!” Allison answered, obviously offended that her word should be doubted. “She was sitting with One Platoon for most of the campfire, at the back. Ask Sgt Bell if you don't believe me. She was sitting next to him.”

Stephen!

Graham's mind crawled with ugly thoughts. Had his other friend betrayed him too? He had to admit he didn't entirely trust Stephen. There had been times in the past when Stephen had not told him the truth, or had withheld it. And he was certainly one for sneaking off with the girls. Memories of half a dozen incidents- several of which he had shared in- immediately sprang to mind.

A twinge of guilt replaced these. ‘I shouldn't be suspicious,' he thought. ‘I'll end up paranoid.' He said, “Thanks Cpl Broadfoot. You will act as HQ sergeant for check parade and until further notice.”

“Yes sir. Is Peter in much trouble?”

“I can't really say. Sorry. Go back to bed,” Graham replied. He then returned to the officer's fire and reported to the OC. The two ladies were there and said that Cadet Smart insisted nothing had happened between her and Costigan.

“So why go nearly a kilometre away in the dark?” Lt Maclaren asked in a tone of heavy scepticism.

“I know it looks suspicious,” Capt Conkey said. “But it could have been worse. Remember that camp a few years ago up on Speed Creek when that boy allegedly molested a girl on the first night?”

They discussed this for a while. It was before Graham had joined. The discussion came back to Smart.

“Poor girl,” Mrs Standish said. “Her home life sounds a terrible mess.”

“And she was absolutely mortified when she realized she had done her shirt up wrong,” Miss McEwen added.

Capt Conkey steered them back to the present. “We need to do some re-organizing for tomorrow. To start with we must contact the police as early as we can. I will probably have to go into Charters Towers. That is if Peter Bronsky is willing to try to identify this body.”

“What do we do with all this lot?” Lt Maclaren asked, indicating the cadets who had been suspended from duty. “There are enough to form a bloody chain gang!”

Capt Conkey made a face. “I don't want to make any hasty decisions. We have the makings of a Scale A disaster here. At the moment I feel like chucking the damned lot out on their ear.”

Graham listened to this with growing concern. Poor Pete!

Lt McEwen made a suggestion. “I think they should be kept separate from the other cadets tomorrow. At least until we decide what to do.”

The next day was the last day of camp. It would mostly consist of travel back to Cairns- seven hours on the road- then admin: the return of stores and dismissal.

“Put them all in one of the Land Rovers,” Lt Hamilton suggested.

“Yes. Good idea. Now, let's get some sleep. We have to be up early,” Capt Conkey said.

They made their preparations for sleep with some reluctance. The incidents had so upset them that there was an urge to talk it through. The OC firmly stopped this. Graham unrolled his sleeping bag next to Peter. He lay back and tried to compose himself for sleep. It was hopeless. His mind was in turmoil. Every incident during the whole camp paraded across his memory unbidden.

Several times he rolled over to try a more comfortable position. The fire died down. Midnight passed. Graham sighed and shifted. A movement at the fire drew his attention.

It was Capt Conkey sitting hunched and staring into the coals. Graham felt a surge of sympathy, tinged with guilt. He knew the OC cared a lot about them as people and tried to give kids a chance. ‘It must hurt when they throw it back in his face like that,' he mused. ‘He gives up so much of his spare time to organize things. He must wonder if it is all worth it. Instead of a good camp we have a terrible ending.' That made him review what he might have done to have prevented this. His conclusions made his own anger rise. ‘Bloody sergeants! The very people he was most relying on to do the right thing! First Brown, then Crane, then White (well, he was a CUO- which was worse), then Peter (mixed feelings there), then Costigan. And maybe Stephen? Four out of eight anyway. And damn Costigan. He only got his promotion because the previous CQ was thrown out for similar behaviour!'

Graham mulled over this for a time, dimly perceiving that sex might be a more powerful force than he had thought. He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Peter lay awake far into the night. He was soaked in misery and regret. Like Graham he observed Capt Conkey brooding at the fire and that deeply distressed him. The knowledge of his betrayal of his best friend added extra weight and drove him down to the depths of despair.

For hours he agonized over what he had done, and tried to prepare himself for the humiliations and shame yet to come. He imagined his mother's face when she was told of his misbehaviour. He began to mentally brace himself to face the disgrace of being demoted.

‘I might even be dismissed from Cadets altogether,' he thought, edging his dejection down another notch. Being lumped together with people like Crane and Costigan, whom he despised, dealt another blow to his morale. Remembered dreams of becoming a Cadet Under-Officer made him pucker his lips in sour regret.

Movement nearby roused him from a fitful slumber. It was still dark but someone was up and about. Peter rolled over to look and saw that it was Graham rolling up his bedding. Neither spoke. Graham padded off into the night. When he was gone Peter checked the time with his torch.

0445. Reveille was at 0500. Peter groaned. He felt emotionally and physically exhausted. And he was scared. With the daylight would come more pain. ‘I know how people in the condemned cell feel now,' he thought. He pondered death. For a moment the idea of suicide as a way of escaping crossed his mind. Then came terrifying thoughts of dead bodies. ‘The police want me to view the corpse,' he thought. Could he nerve himself to do that? He shuddered and tried to brace himself for what the day might bring.

Graham returned. Peter heard him wake Allison and remind her she was to act as HQ sergeant on check parade. That caused Peter to flush with shame. The humiliations had begun. Peter lay back in his sleeping bag and felt tears prickle. Then Graham came over to where Peter and the other suspended cadets lay. He shone his torch on them.

“Right you lot. Wake up and pack up. Do not go on check parade. Stay here.”

A second humiliation: ‘We are pariahs now. To be treated like lepers!' Peter thought miserably. In the glow of the torch Peter met Graham's eyes. ‘He looks grim,' he thought. For a moment they held each other's gaze before Graham strode off, calling the sergeants for check parade.

As HQ walked past on their way to check parade Peter picked out Kate in the gloom. She looked stony faced and did not even glance in his direction. That hurt too.

He forced himself to get up although some of the others lay back muttering about what ‘the Cadets' could do with themselves. Peter quickly dressed and rolled up his bedding so that by the time check parade was over he was ready to march. He did not speak to the other ‘outcasts' and they did not speak to him. Their mood was one of surly discontent and rebellion. They muttered amongst themselves.

By then it was starting to get light. Peter saw Graham report to the OC and ask, “What about these people sir? Do they move with the company?”

Capt Conkey shook his head. “No CSM. They will go in the 2ic's Land Rover. They can move all their gear up to the vehicles now, then come back and act as a work party. Put CUO White in charge.”

Peter bit his lip and almost wept. ‘More humiliation! Menials now.'

Graham came over and relayed this information to CUO White. He did not look at Peter. Then he strode off to collect his own pack. There was some muttering from Costigan and Crane but under the scrutiny of the OOCs they began to pack. Peter did not wait for them. He pulled on his webbing and pack, checked that he had everything, then picked up two empty water jerrycans and trudged off towards the vehicles.

It was full light by then and he had to pass 1 Platoon as they formed up in the flood channel in three ranks. There were many curious stares and some whispering which made Peter's stomach turn over. He burned with shame.

Stephen was there and while he said nothing he did meet his eye and give a sympathetic shrug. Peter nodded and walked on, glad he was past them and alone before the tears began to stream down his face. He couldn't help himself. He just sobbed and the hot tears ran. Then he checked himself. Two girl cadets were coming back along the animal pad from the toilet. Peter avoided their eyes and they said nothing but he knew they stared at him and were discussing him after they passed.

That made the shame worse but dried the tears up. By the time he had puffed his way up the steep bank to the vehicles he had himself under control again. Before he had time to do more than dump his gear Crane and Costigan arrived. Peter had no desire to associate with them so he immediately made his way back down to the river bed.

Luckily by the time he got there the company was gone. They were walking back along the river bank to an embussing point at Canning Junction, a slog of about 2km which would take over half an hour. Breakfast would be eaten there.

Lt Maclaren and Lt Hamilton were both waiting at the abandoned bivouac site. Peter was set to work at once; sent with a shovel to fill in the boy's latrine. More humiliation! It suited him however as he could work alone. “I deserve it too,” he muttered as he shovelled sand into the hole.

As soon as he was finished he was sent to wait at the vehicles where Lt Hamilton was busy organizing stowing. After a final inspection to check there was no litter Lt Maclaren arrived and ordered them aboard; boys into his vehicle and girls into Lt Hamilton's. Peter had to sit next to Crane and facing CUO White. He avoided their eyes and took no part in their conversation.

It was a strained and unpleasant twenty minutes of dusty, bumpy driving before they reached Canning Junction. Here they were ordered out. Lt Hamilton directed them to help Cpl Lacey to unload some water jerries from the trailer. “And then you mob go and sit over there and have breakfast. Don't go over to the company.”

They drifted into two groups, separated by uneasy suspicions and mutual dislike. Peter was left on his own. Hating every moment of it he collected his webbing and moved to the far side of the road to begin his breakfast.

At that moment the head of the company came into view, a long, perspiring single file led by the OC and Graham. As platoons arrived they were directed to areas across the road where they were carry out their morning routine. Peter could tell that morale was down throughout the whole company. The previous night's events had cast a pall over them. HQ came into view at the tail of the column. Peter's eyes sought out Kate and then followed her all the way to where they sat down to eat. Not once did she look in his direction. He twisted his lips with sour regret.

It was just on 0700 and the first rays of the sun peeked over Black Knoll to dispel the morning chill. Capt Conkey walked across to where Peter had begun to unpack his mess gear.

“No time for that Sgt Bronsky. Hop in the back of that Rover with all your gear. Sgt Crane, you too.”

Peter did as he was told, receiving a sympathetic but worried look from Graham. Crane sat opposite him but neither met the other's eyes or spoke. Lt Hamilton climbed into the front beside the OC and they set off. It was another awkward drive. Capt Conkey and the QM exchanged few words, and those only about admin. Nor did Peter or Crane speak. From the gist of the officer's conversation Peter gathered that he and the OC would be staying to talk to the police while the 2ic moved the unit home. Lt Hamilton was only a passenger across to the army camp so that he could retrieve the truck and its load of kitbags. Peter knew the Cadet Policy Manual well enough to understand that Crane was only there so that he would not be alone with an adult during the drive.

At the Guardhouse of the camp they dismounted. Capt Conkey told Peter and Crane to get out as well. All was quiet except for a few crows. The only person around was the civilian caretaker. Capt Conkey spoke to him then rummaged in his briefcase for a minute.

“What is your parent's telephone number Peter?” he asked. He had his notebook open and pencil ready.

Peter told him.

“Will your father be awake yet?” Capt Conkey asked, looking at his watch. 0725 Peter noted.

“He's away sir. He's a surveyor making maps out in Central Australia. My mother will be home,” Peter replied. He felt so sick he thought he was going to throw up. Now that the terrible moment had arrived it took all his self-discipline to control himself. Capt Conkey gave him a hard, penetrating look.

“I am going to ask your mother for permission for you to help the police. That will mean, I suspect, a visit to the morgue to examine the dead body. Do you feel up to that?”

Peter swallowed. “Yes sir.” The answer came out as a croak. The memory of the dead man they had hauled out of Lake Tinaroo in June swam before his eyes. He felt the OC grab his arm.

“Here, sit down.”

“Sir.” Peter slumped onto a chair. His head spun and he felt nauseated, disoriented, and scared.

Capt Conkey picked up the phone and dialled. After a moment he answered. “Mrs Bronsky? This is Capt Conkey. I'm phoning about Peter....... No...No.... He's alright. He isn't sick or hurt or anything. No. It is because he may have seen something which could help the police in a murder investigation. You heard in the news about the body we found?”

There was a pause while Peter's mother spoke. Capt Conkey went on. “Yes.... No.... Yes. Peter may have seen the men.”

Peter sat half-dazed while he listened to the OC describe how the body was found and to ask permission for Peter to be interviewed by the police, and, if necessary, to view the body. It was only after Capt Conkey had said “Thank you.” and hung up that Peter realized that he had said nothing to his mother about him being in trouble.

‘Was that just an oversight because he is too busy...or...or can I dare to hope things might not be as bad as I thought?' he wondered.

Capt Conkey did not enlighten him. Instead he phoned an army staff officer in Townsville. A ten minute explanation followed. Then a third phone call, this time to the police in Charters Towers. Peter had been hoping the police would not need him, or not be interested but it became quickly apparent from the trend of the conversation that they were. He was dreading having to view that corpse.

Capt Conkey hung up. “Well, they want us there at eight thirty. That gives us about an hour. Time for a shower and a quick breakfast.”

Peter felt bilious at the mention of food but the shower appealed. He collected his pack and made his way to a shower room at the rear of the guardhouse. Crane used the adjoining shower and Peter was doubly embarrassed as there was little privacy and no conversation. Once they were both out Capt Conkey used the shower.

Outside on the veranda, washed and changed Capt Conkey fingered his freshly shaved chin and said, “Now eat. I suppose you don't feel much like it Peter but you need energy. You look a wreck.”

Peter could only mumble and nod. He forced himself to heat coffee and then a tin of ‘Steak and Mushrooms'. Capt Conkey hurried him along with frequent glances at his watch. As they ate the truck drove back into the camp with a load of cadets. 2 Platoon Peter noted before looking away. The cadets stared curiously but did not call out. The truck returned empty a few minutes later. It was shuttling the unit over to the army camp so they could have a shower and change into clean uniforms before the coaches arrived to take them home. Capt Conkey spoke briefly to Lt Hamilton then walked back to the veranda.

“Ten past eight. Let's move.”

They placed their gear in the back of the Land Rover and climbed in. To Peter it seemed as though every part of his body, including his eyelids, was made of lead. He could think of no way to escape the coming ordeal other than passing out, which seemed a distinct possibility. He sat very quiet, shivering from nervous exhaustion, as they drove back out to the highway.

At the highway they stopped while Capt Conkey spoke to the 2ic in the other Rover. He had a load of cadets as well.

“How many more to go?” Capt Conkey called.

“One more trip each and that's the lot,” Lt Maclaren answered. Capt Conkey looked at his watch and grunted with satisfaction.

“Good. I don't know how long we will be but I will try to catch you up. I would like to be there when they are dismissed; but if I'm not then don't wait for me. In that case we will have to decide on these disciplinary matters after camp.”

The 2ic nodded and engaged first gear. The OC did likewise and turned left onto the highway. Peter sat silently mulling over what he had just heard. He had hoped to get a chance to speak to Graham before the end of camp but that now looked unlikely. It deepened his depression.

As the Rover crossed the long concrete bridge over the Bunyip Peter looked out and marvelled at how much had happened along that stretch of river. He had the feeling that the camp had gone on for weeks. Seeing the place where he and Kate had swum caused his stomach to swirl in sour regret. Then the thought of having to see the dead body almost caused him to throw up.

It was a half-hour drive through mostly deserted bush to Charters Towers. Capt Conkey said almost nothing. He had a hard look on his face. Peter felt very uncomfortable and ashamed. He was also frightened. He wondered when and how to apologize but decided it wasn't the right time.

They drove to the Hospital and were met by two hard-eyed, middle-aged, plain-clothes detectives. One introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Fox. Peter didn't catch the other man's name, only the rank of Detective. All he felt was mounting panic. The DS turned to him.

“So you say you saw three men on the east bank of the Bunyip a few days ago. When exactly was that?”

Peter was prepared for this. “Five days age sir. On Thursday, thirteenth of September, at about fifteen hundred hours.”

“What did they look like?”

A frown of concentration creased Peter's brow. “There was a big solid bloke. He was the boss I think. He was called Morris or Morry. When the men came walking along the river bank he stopped just near... just near me, and said…”