The Cadet Sergeant Major (36 page)

The pair, both looking very shamefaced, turned and hurried away. Capt Conkey shook his head sadly, his mouth a grim line. He looked at Graham. “CSM. Did you find Costigan and Smart?”

“No sir.”

“Alright, we will have another look in a minute; after I have dealt with this pair,” he nodded his head towards Crane and Ramsey.

Graham raised his eyebrows enquiringly. Capt Conkey answered, “I caught Sgt Crane and Cadet Ramsey up near Two Platoon. They were lying in the darkness kissing- didn't even leave the camp area! I had just shone my torch on them when I heard a girl laugh and water splashing, so I went to look. I found CUO White and Cpl Goltz in the river and with almost nothing on. They had no reasonable explanation.”

Graham was intensely annoyed, but not shocked. ‘Damn! Why do they have to spoil the camp by ending it on such a sour note? Why couldn't they wait twenty four hours?'

Capt Conkey called over a surly and defiant Sgt Crane and a sour faced Cadet Ramsey. Neither denied what they were doing but Crane insisted they were ‘just kissing' and ‘weren't going to do anything'.

Capt Conkey grunted then growled at them. “Maybe not, but that is not the point. It is the same issue as when I demoted Cpl Brown. You, Sergeant Crane, are the older, and the superior in rank, so yours is the greater offence. You job as a sergeant is to maintain discipline, not undermine it.”

“Yes sir,” Crane muttered, eyes lowered but mouth twisted into a defiant sneer.

“Same for you two. Go and get your gear. I will decide what to do tomorrow after I have looked into the matter more closely. Until then you stay at HQ. Go!”

Capt Conkey shook his head angrily. Graham felt sorry for him. He noted cadets hovering nearby. He called to them, “Unless you people want to see one of the officers go back to your platoons.”

Capt Conkey checked his watch. “Let's see if we can find Smart and Costigan. Sandra, you stay here to supervise. Mel, you go up to the top of the river bank to the vehicles and check the third flood channel. Jill, you search the river bank downstream. I will go upstream. CSM, you go over to the Control Group camp and look around there. All be back in half an hour. It will be time to put the troops to bed by then.”

Graham and Lt Maclaren at once headed off into the darkness. Out on the sand they separated. More cadets, singly or in groups were sitting in the dark or strolling around. Graham ordered them back to the campfire. He felt extremely annoyed at the actions of CUO White and the others.

“This could spoil the whole camp,” he muttered as he strode angrily along. As he went his eyes and ears were alert and he occasionally shone his torch into likely areas of shadow under trees. Just as he reached the gap in the dunes a group of four cadets appeared from the direction of the Control Group camp. It was Crane, Brown, Bax and Clyde. Crane was carrying his gear. On reaching Graham they stopped.

Crane called to Graham in a sneering tone, “Checking up on us like a good little toady are we?”

“No, I am looking for someone,” Graham replied. He did not want further trouble and felt some alarm. ‘They could bash me up if they have a mind to,' he thought. ‘That would create even bigger problems for the unit.'

Crane dropped his pack and stepped closer, fists on hips. “You're a bloody sneak Kirk, dobbing us in. I oughta belt ya for that.”

“I didn't dob you in,” Graham replied, trying to sound calm and confident.

“Oh bull! So how did the OC just walk straight over to where we were?”

“Just bad luck on your part,” Graham replied.

“Bad luck! Crap! You or one of your toady mates dobbed us in when they seen us leave the fire,” Crane retorted.

‘More fool you for not being smart enough to leave the fire separately,' Graham thought. “I did not.”

“Bloody did! You make me sick. You are just a boot-licking, brown-nosing crawler,” Crane snarled.

Brown stepped forward and joined in. “And a bloody hypocrite! I just talk to some girls and I lose my bloody stripes. You- you can talk to that little troll of yours anytime and the officers don't say nothin'- not even when you grope that bitch Brassington in front of them.'

Graham's mind whirled. What was Brown getting at? He felt his anger rise. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know bloody well. When were swimming the other day. You got a good handful didn't ya?” Brown replied angrily.

Graham felt instant hot guilt. He had a flashback to the girls pushing him over and ducking him. He was hurt and amazed that the incident could be seen in that way. He denied it hotly. “I did not. It was just a water fight.”

“Water fight!” Brown guffawed. The four all jeered and sniggered.

Crane attacked him again, “Ye'r a gutless turd Kirk; and a hypocrite. You and yer mates can do what they bloody like. Anyone you don't like, you dob in.”

“That's not true!” snapped Graham, stung by the insinuation.

“It bloody well is!” Crane cried. Then he drove in a verbal dagger that, for a minute, left Graham stunned. “What about yer mate Bronsky? He's done more than either of us, yet nothin' happens to him!”

Peter! What had Peter done? Graham's mind raced with possibilities and probabilities. With a ghastly feeling of apprehension welling up he heard himself ask,

“What has he done?”

“Who yer mean,” Crane snarled. “Him and that O'Brien bitch. They've been off together half a dozen times.”

“Yeah,” Brown agreed. “Parnell told us he overheard her tellin' Broadfoot how the two of ‘em snuck down the river one day and had a swim in the nuddy.” He paused then added with an insulting jeer, “An' she reckoned he wasn't game when the time came. He's like you, a coward.”

Graham's senses reeled. The shock overrode the insult but still he trembled with passion and had difficulty restraining himself. Peter! With Kate! It couldn't be true! Yet he knew with a sick certainty it was. Suddenly all the little clues fell into place.

“I know nothing of this,” he said.

Crane now added to his dismay. “Yeah, well that ain't all. We seen ‘em the night before last havin' a bit of a pash just over there.”

“That's right,” Bax added. “And I saw them only an hour ago sneak off from the campfire.”

Graham bit his lip in silent agony.

Peter! His best friend! What could he do?

What should he do?

But Graham knew with sickening certainty what he must do. ‘I must first take Peter to task. Then I must report him to the OC.'

Even as he formed these thoughts another thrust from Crane made him burn with anger and indignation. “If you're as good as you reckon you are you'll dob him in.”

For a moment Graham could not think of a suitable reply. Then he muttered, “Appropriate action will be taken.”

“Appropriate action! Cover-up you mean. You just leave us alone and stop picking on us,” Crane retorted.

“I'll do my duty,” Graham answered as coolly as he could. “In both regards. Now go the HQ.”

For a moment it seemed they would continue to argue and threaten. Crane gave a disbelieving snort before picking up his pack and stalking off. His cronies followed him.

Graham was left standing alone in the starlight. He was shaken to the core by the revelations and equally appalled at how other people perceived justice in the unit.

Peter! His best friend! How could he?

But he had. He had betrayed him and let him down.

It really hurt.

Graham stood for several minutes while strong emotions and bitter thoughts melded in a confused maelstrom.

Then another thought came to him. Were the accusations true? Or was it just a vicious slander; an act of cruel spite?

“I've got to know,” Graham said aloud. He turned and headed back towards the company. ‘I must speak to Peter.' The idea put lead in his stomach and sickness in his heart. ‘If the accusations are true I will have to report it to the OC.'

But did he have to?

‘I could probably keep it quiet somehow,' he considered. His mind ranged over options and consequences. ‘Pete was listed by the OC as his Number 2 choice for promotion to CUO. This will destroy that. How can I do that to my best friend?' For a hundred paces Graham mulled the concept over and agonized with himself in a crisis of conscience.

Whichever way he looked at it his mouth puckered with distaste. The only ways to cover it up were dishonourable: and potentially disastrous. ‘I would have to do a deal with Crane and his mates; and then they would have a hold over me.' Worse still he knew he would despise himself for life. ‘And there is no guarantee they won't bring it all out in the future. Besides, how many people know? I don't have any easy option; and only one honourable one!'

Knowing that what he was determined to do might end his most valued friendship caused him such intense upset he almost burst into tears. But he kept walking. By the time he had trudged the 200 metres back to the bivouac area Graham felt almost physically sick. He hated what he saw to be his clear duty- but was also increasingly annoyed at Peter for letting him down; and could feel the beginnings of a deep, smouldering anger at his betrayal.

Finding Peter was easier than Graham expected. He was standing in the shadows under the trees just near the officer's fire. Graham halted and peered closely to check it was him, and to see who else was near. He noted the officers, now including Lt Hamilton, seated around their fire in earnest discussion. The platoons were dispersing back to their bivouac areas in a noisy and good-natured throng.

“Peter?” Graham asked, unsure what to say, or how to say it.

“Yes, it's me,” Peter replied. He stood quite still with his face in shadow. A file of cadets tramped past and Graham waited till they were out of earshot. He licked his lips and clenched and unclenched his hands before taking the plunge.

“Pete, I've just been told that you and Kate O'Brien have been playing up. Is it true?”

There was a moment's strained silence. Even in the starlight Graham could see Peter hang his head. His fragile hopes plummeted with the movement.

“Yes,” Peter replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. He lifted his head and half turned it. In the glow of the fire Graham saw tears coursing down Peter's cheeks.

Graham sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I'll have to tell the OC.”

Peter shook his head. “No. You don't have to. I've already done it; just then.”

The strain and misery were plain in Peter's voice. Graham stood silent, torn by conflicting emotions of despair, anger and sympathy. He tried to absorb what he had just been told. Pity for his friend's evident anguish began to displace the anger and resentment.

“Why Pete? What happened?” Graham asked.

To his surprise Peter replied: “The dead body. Kate and I snuck down the river one day- oh you know why! We saw three men. One of them fits the description of the dead man.”

“When was that?”

“Three or four days ago,” Peter replied. “Graham, please don't tell the OC it was Kate. I promised her she would not be implicated, so I didn't tell the OC.”

“But...but I've got to. Besides, others know.”

“Please. Her friends won't talk. I will take the blame- and I can identify the body and describe the murderers. I know I've let you down badly; and I don't deserve any favours but I'm asking for one now- Please!”

Graham bit his lip. What should he do? He asked: “When did you tell the OC and why?”

“A few minutes ago. I just had to. I'm not proud of what I've done and I wasn't prepared to have that murder business on my conscience as well. So I told him. He was very hurt. I suppose you are too. I'm sorry.”

There was silence for a minute. Graham struggled with more strong emotions and with his conscience. Thinking it sounded silly, but feeling the need to say something he asked: “Were you in love?”

“Yes,” Peter replied. He sounded all choked up and Graham could see he was crying.

Poor Pete!

Graham thought he knew all about falling in love. He also had observed how difficult it seemed for Peter to relate to girls. His heart went out to his friend.

“And does she love you?”

“Not anymore,” Peter replied brokenly. Graham felt a surge of sympathy which largely erased the sharp hurt he had earlier felt. Poor old Pete! And bugger Kate O'Brien! ‘She is just a scheming bitch!' He said, “Did you know that the OC had just caught CUO White and Cpl Goltz swimming? And Crane and Cadet Ramsey having a pash?”

“Yes. I was standing here trying to pluck up courage. I waited till you had gone.” Peter replied. Then he went on, his voice trembling with emotion. “Graham, I'm sorry. I know I've done the wrong thing and I deserve to lose my stripes, but what really hurts is that I've let you down.”

Graham was filled with admiration. Peter had seen the others being dealt with and had still voluntarily come forward to confess. ‘That must have taken some guts!' he marvelled. He asked, “Is that why you've been so miserable and depressed for the last few days?”

Peter nodded. “Yes,” he replied, his chest heaving with sobs which he struggled to hide.

Graham stepped forward and put his hand on Peter's shoulder.

“Thanks for telling me. Wait here while I have a word to the OC.” Peter nodded. Graham knew he was crying and quickly moved away to spare his friend the extra burden of humiliation. He made a wry face. ‘Snuck down the river to have a swim with a girl, eh? I can understand that.'

As Graham approached the fire the officers looked around and stopped talking. Graham met the OC's eyes. Captain Conkey's face was grim; grimmer than Graham had ever seen it; but he thought he detected more than anger. Sadness? Unhappiness? There was a moment's strained silence.

Graham spoke first. “I know sir. Peter has just told me.”

Capt Conkey nodded then sighed. He appeared to struggle with strong emotions, then spoke: “I'm sorry for you. He was your friend.”

“He still is my friend, Sir,” Graham replied firmly.

Capt Conkey nodded slowly. His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Good. I admire you for that. I'm sorry for him too.” He paused then changed the subject. “Anyway, we can discuss it later. Did you find those other two: Costigan and Smart?”

“No sir,” Graham replied. That gave him a guilty shock. He had quite forgotten. “When I found out about Peter I came straight back here.”

“Did you look up Quilp Creek and along the far flood channel?”

“No sir. Just along the river bank as far as the Control Group camp.”

“Hmmm.” The OC tugged at his jaw and turned to the other officers. “Try looking there then. CSM, you sit down. Have a cup of coffee. You look like you need one.”

Graham nodded. He certainly felt stunned. Lt Hamilton and Lt McEwen rose and headed off into the night. Graham checked his watch. Twenty minutes to ‘lights out'. He noted cadets huddled over at the HQ fire and a row of gear on the sand under the trees.

“What do you want me to tell Peter, I mean Sgt Bronsky, Sir?”

“Send him to sit at the HQ fire. Then you come back here. I need a bit of time to think, and to take all this on board. It has not been a good night,” Capt Conkey replied, anger and regret evident in his voice.

Graham went back to where Peter waited in the darkness and told him. He wanted to say more but was so mixed up in his own emotions that he could think of nothing. Peter did not reply. He merely nodded and made his way through the trees. Nor did Graham wish to sit with the officers at that moment. He returned to their fire and said to the OC, “I will just go around the platoons and start putting them to bed sir.”

“Yes, alright CSM,” Capt Conkey replied.

Back in the darkness Graham felt bitterness and anger well up. He felt tears prickle in his own eyes and stopped for a few minutes to master his surging emotions.

Betrayed by his best friend!

Poor old Pete!

“Damn it all! Bugger everything!” he swore. Uncertain how he felt he detoured around 2 Platoon and made his way to 1 Platoon. Most of them were seated around their fire and Hodgins was telling a joke.

‘They seem happy enough,' Graham thought. ‘Perhaps they haven't heard?'

But they clearly had. On his arrival a tense silence settled. Graham caught Stephen's eye. “Sgt Bell. A word please.”

Stephen rose and joined him. The others muttered and exchanged glances. Graham led Stephen out of earshot.

“You've heard?” he asked.

“About White and Erika Goltz? Sure.”

“No, about Peter.”

“Peter! What's happened?”

Graham told him what he knew, omitting the name of the girl Peter was with. The two friends stood in silence for a couple of minutes.

Stephen spoke first, “Poor old Pete. Is the OC angry?”

Graham nodded. “I actually think he is stunned- and very hurt. He badly wanted this to be a successful camp. Now it's ending in disaster.”

“Who was the girl?” Stephen asked.

Graham shook his head. “I can't say.”

To his relief Stephen did not press the question. Instead he asked, “Do you reckon Pete will be demoted?”

“Yes I do. It was a worse offence than Brown's. Tomorrow is going to be a rotten day. It will be like that thing we learned about in history, ‘the Bloody Assizes'. This is going to really spoil the end of camp,” Graham replied.

“It might cruel Pete's chances of becoming an Under-Officer too,” Stephen suggested. Graham had thought of that. He could only agree. He felt sharp regret, which changed to anger at Stephen's next words.

“Oh well, I guess that improves our chances.”

“You are a selfish bastard Steve!” Graham snapped.

“Maybe, but I'm being realistic too. ‘Ill wind' and all that.”

“Put your platoon to bed and I'll see you in the morning,” Graham replied. He was angered by Stephen's apparent indifference and stalked off, his emotions even more jangled.

At 2 Platoon his reception was quite different. Many of them were already in bed and Gwen Copeland was busy urging the rest to go. On Graham's arrival she, CUO Grenfell, Barbara, Fiona Davies and Roger all crowded round.

“Is it true?” Roger asked anxiously, “About Peter being demoted?”

“He is in trouble,” Graham replied.

“Who was it? Was it that Kellie Jones?” Fiona asked.

“I can't say,” Graham answered. He saw Margaret's anxious face peering from her sleeping bag.

Barbara snorted and said, “I'll bet it was Kate O'Brien.”

“I can't say.”

“Mob of bloody mischief makers, all those HQ girls,” Gwen added.

“Not all of them,” Graham countered.

“Yes, all of them!” Barbara insisted fiercely, her eyes flashing in the firelight.

‘God, she is pretty!' Graham thought. Then he revised his opinion upwards. ‘No. Beautiful. She has got real fire in her character.' He shook his head, mostly at the uneasy thought that he might not be good enough to handle her. Then another thought crossed his mind. If it was a choice between a girl and cadets, which would he choose?

“Bed time,” he said, as the answer came to him. “We will see what happens in the morning.” He turned and walked over to Margaret. It came to him that he wanted to kiss her; to hold her. ‘I'd choose this girl, rather than cadets,' he thought, taking hold of her hand.

For a moment they looked into each others eyes. Both smiled. He bent down and gently kissed her hand then stood up. Fiona let out an audible sigh and the girls all beamed. Margaret squirmed in her sleeping bag and blushed with happiness.

Then Graham noticed Clayfield's face peeking out of the sleeping bag nearby. Beside Margaret was an empty sleeping bag and Graham noted Barbara's pack at the head of it. Clayfield was beside that and he appeared to be snuggled against Becky Robinson, who was also looking at him with big brown eyes.

“You alright Cadet Clayfield?” Graham asked.

Clayfield nodded and said, “Yes thanks. I like being in this section.”

Graham nodded but his mind raced. Of all people he was aware that one of the unit's rules was that boys and girls did not sleep next to each other but it was obvious that both Barbara and Gwen had made this arrangement. ‘Barbara!' he thought. A tiny stab of jealousy made him wish he was sleeping between Barbara and Becky but then he smiled.