Someone was coming!
Peter froze. A cold stab of panic held him rigid. He tried to look around but Kate held him tight, her arms locked around his neck. She moaned and tried to kiss him.
“Ssssh!” Peter hissed. “There are people coming.”
Men’s voices sounded clearly. They were behind Peter, coming from the direction of the highway bridge. Peter felt extraordinarily vulnerable. He turned his head and glimpsed movement through the trees. Not cadets. Thank God! But Kate kept squirming and she murmured in frustration. Her eyes appeared glazed.
“Sssh!” Peter whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
Kate gave him an irritated frown but did not let go. The men’s voices drew closer. They were walking along the cattle pad. Three men Peter noted. He wanted to move, to get under cover, but Kate tightened her grip. The men walked past just on the other side of the tree the pair were under. They were not five paces away.
Peter’s heart hammered frantically. His mouth went dry. What would the men do if they saw them? Would they just ignore them? Or go away embarrassed? Or make crude comments and leer? Or would they bash him and do horrible things to Kate?
Then Peter got a clear view of them through a gap between two tree trunks. What he saw made his speculation change to real alarm. The men looked very unpleasant types: uncouth yobbos.
To Peter’s dismay the men stopped less than ten paces past them and began to talk. He could see them clearly now. ‘Surely they can see us?’ he thought. Fear caused him to break into a cold sweat. He did not dare move. To his relief Kate lay still.
A thin man with pale skin asked the men with him, “Why do we have to go there now?” He wore a black T-shirt and old jeans and had straggly fair hair and a wispy ‘goatee’ beard. Two small earrings adorned his left ear. But his most noticeable feature was the tattoo of a snake on his left forearm; a cobra poised to strike.
Another man, a big solid brute; black hair curly hair, black eyes, hairy chest, and with several day’s stubble on puffy cheeks, answered. “Because I bloody well want to see for myself, that’s why.”
The big brute wore a sleeveless denim jacket and jeans tucked into motorcycle boots. He had a single large earring in his right ear and was also tattooed- a naked woman on his right bicep and some sort of winged dragon on his left. He was clearly the leader and obviously in a bad mood. His thumbs were hooked belligerently into a broad leather belt studded with silver studs. A vicious looking sheath knife hung from the belt.
The thin man persisted. “But why now? It’s risky in daylight,” he whined.
The third man moved forward into Peter’s vision. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, sun-tanned, fit, black hair in a pony tail, brown eyes set in a hard looking face. He wore an old blue work shirt, jeans and riding boots. A sheath knife also hung from his belt. In his left hand he carried a .22 rifle. He snarled at the thin man, “Don’t argue ‘Prawn’. Just do what Morry says, or else!”
The Brute-‘Morry’- turned to face ‘Prawn’ and flexed his muscles while scowling. He snapped. “Now get a move on, you little turd, and show us where it is; and no more argument.”
Suddenly the Brute’s eyes met Peter’s. Astonishment crossed his face, to be replaced by an evil grin. “Well, whad’ya know!” he cried. “Look what I see!”
The men turned to gape at them. The man with the pony tail snorted angrily.
“Huh, just two kids havin’ a root.”
‘Prawn’ looked scared and embarrassed. The Brute leered and said, “I could do with one meself!”
A stab of pure terror went through Peter. He blinked and swallowed. Kate let go and swivelled to look at the men. Peter rose to his hands and knees. Something about the way the men looked, especially the Brute, warned him they could be in desperate trouble.
‘They might rape Kate !’ he thought. Then a worse idea flashed into his brain. What would they do to him while they did? And what might they do to both of them afterwards? Kill them? He felt sheer terror grip him.
The man with the pony tail had spun round to point the rifle at Peter. Their eyes met. Peter swallowed. The man’s eyes looked like dull marbles. Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Fear coursed through him like ice-water.
The Brute sniggered and took a pace forward. “She looks like a good one! Let’s have some fun.”
Peter rose to a crouch, ready to run or fight. Kate just lay watching. The man with the pony tail sneered and put out his left hand to stop the Brute.
“Not now Morry. We got enough problems.”
“But..”
“No! Let’s go! Get moving Prawn and show us the way,” Pony Tail snarled. Prawn licked his lips, looked at Peter like a scared rabbit, then turned and continued walking along the cattle pad. The Brute hesitated but Pony Tail held the rifle up and waved his left arm. “No Morry. Get goin’.”
Reluctantly Morry turned and began walking. He kept looking back and snickering. Pony Tail sneered. “You kids forget yer seen us or I’ll come back an’ git ya. An’ I won’t just screw ya either.”
He spun on his heel, hefted the rifle to his other hand and strode after the other two. Peter felt relief wash over him. He watched as the men vanished from sight in the direction of Canning Junction. Then he looked down at Kate, aware that he was trembling with shock and suppressed passion.
She lay on her back, lips slightly parted, face still flushed with desire.
“Never mind them,” she said, her voice hoarse. She reached up to put her arms around his neck.
Peter shook his head and swallowed. Desire had quite left him. “No Kate,” he croaked. He moved into a kneeling position, freeing himself from her grasp. She lay there, a hurt look on her face.
Now Peter was not only afraid but guilt was coursing through him like boiling water. And he was mortally embarrassed. His manhood had shrivelled. “No. Let’s get dressed and get out of here. Those men might come back,” he said.
Kate shook her head and reached up for him. “It will be alright. Come on Peter,” she said, desire and frustration evident in her voice.
Peter shook his head and stood up.
“Sorry. No. We shouldn’t even be here. We are breaking our promise.”
“Please Peter!... Anyway, who is going to know?” Kate retorted. She levered herself up onto one elbow.
“I will,” Peter replied wretchedly. Now he was gripped by shame and remorse. He turned and began collecting his clothes.
Kate rolled over and got up. “Well f… you then!” she cried angrily.
“Please Kate! Be fair! After camp is over I will take you out,” Peter said. He struggled into his underpants. He was shaking so much he had trouble pulling on his trousers and buttoning them up.
Kate sniffed. Angrily she turned her back on him and began to dress. Peter felt wretched and helpless. He did not know what to do or say. Quickly he dressed himself without further comment. As he finished he glanced at her. She had her back to him, head down while she buttoned her shirt. He saw her shoulders quiver and heard a sniffle.
He stepped over and put a hand on her shoulder. She trembled and shrugged him off. In an attempt to make up he said, “Kate, please. I’m sorry. I love you, but it’s not right.”
She stepped away, still struggling with a button. She half-turned, her face red and tear lined. Her lip quivered and she sniffled. More tears came. Their eyes met. Peter felt awful.
Suddenly she stepped over to him. She put her head on his shoulder and began to cry. Peter hugged her and patted her back. He kissed her gently, tasting the salt of her tears. His emotions were in a struggling mess: glad and sad, happy and frightened, unsure but definite.
“I do love you,” he said.
She murmured and clung to him. Slowly her tears dried and the emotional storm subsided. Peter remembered the men. He couldn’t bear anything to happen to Kate. Then he had another awful thought. What was the time?
He glanced at his watch.
1535. They had to be back by 1610!
“Look at the time!” he cried. “We’d better get going. We’ve only about half an hour to get back.”
Kate nodded, sniffled, hugged him then stepped back. He could tell she was hurt and disappointed. And he was very ashamed of his behaviour; and of his performance. But now he was glad they hadn’t done it, feeling that what they had done was bad enough. He sighed with regret. ‘Another time maybe!’ he thought. Then he sighed again and began walking.
Peter walked along the cattle pad, noting the men’s boot prints and hoping they would not meet them coming back. Kate followed. Thankfully not to meet the men Peter turned off up the gully. They walked along it back to the fence without exchanging a single word. Peter paused at the fence but could neither see nor hear anyone. They rolled under the fence and continued on up the gully.
At the Canning Road Peter halted again and looked cautiously both ways. No-one in sight. He turned to Kate. She looked fed up and did not meet his eye.
“We had better separate here,” he said. “I will go straight over the ridge. You circle to the left and go back to camp along the Sandy Ridge Track, OK?”
She nodded. Peter looked at her intently and struggled to think of the right thing to say.
“Be fair please Kate. It was the wrong time and the wrong place. I am sorry about what happened but I do love you.”
She nodded and met his eye briefly, then started walking along the road. Peter watched her go, cursing himself for being so inept.
“I am a weak fool!” he told himself bitterly.
He waited till Kate reached the Sandy Track turnoff then strode across the road and angled right over the crestline. By then he was sweating with worry. As he reached the top of the low rise he mentally prepared his story.
But there was no-one to be seen. ‘They must be hidden by this low ridge with the rocks on it,’ he surmised. But when he reached the lower end of the hollow and saw that the whole valley was deserted a real stab of alarm struck him.
“They have all gone! Oh no! Our absence will have been noted. What will I say?”
Peter began walking towards camp, his stomach churning with sick apprehension. He concocted an explanation of where he had been but then found his mouth sucked into an expression of sour distaste. Just thinking of the lies made him despise himself. Through his mind raced images of humiliation and public disgrace. He cast desperately around for some way out; even of running away. ‘Oh well, I’d better face up to it,’ he told himself sadly. With an effort of will he kept walking, prepared for the worst.
As he came out of the re-entrant between 1 Platoon and 2 Platoon Peter saw movement in both areas. There were also cadets at HQ. At a glance Peter saw that Graham was collecting them, seating them in section lines. ‘For a briefing for tonight’s activities,’ Peter surmised. He saw the Control Group filing across to join them. The OC and other officers were wandering across from their area.
Peter was sweating by the time he joined them. He walked straight over to Graham ready to confess.
Graham glanced at him. “Hurry up Sgt Bronsky,” he said. Then, as Peter halted next to him he looked harder. Peter hoped his guilt wasn’t too obvious. “Are you OK Pete? You don’t look well.”
“I feel sick in the guts,” Peter replied truthfully.
“Probably something you ate,” Graham suggested. Peter was relieved when Graham did not ask where he had been. His conscience squirmed at his friend’s implicit trust.
“Are all of HQ here?” Graham asked.
Peter wasn’t sure. He counted them, avoiding their eyes and wondering if they knew. One missing: Kate. Peter was surprised. He thought she would have been back before him.
Before he could report this Allison spoke. “Kate isn’t here.”
“Where is she? Has anyone seen her?” Peter asked, nearly gagging on the hypocrisy of it.
Denton pointed over to his left, towards 3 Platoon. “Here she comes.”
“All here now CSM,” Peter reported to Graham. He moved to the rear, wiped sweaty palms and put his hands behind his back as they began to shake. For over a minute Peter suffered an uncontrollable spasm of trembling and shivering. He thought he was going to faint so he sat down. Nobody noticed as Capt Conkey was taking over. Kate arrived and sat down nearby. She did not even glance in Peter’s direction. She was clearly in a bad mood. Peter began to worry that she would tell people. He felt nauseous.
Capt Conkey began the briefing. Their task was simple enough. The exercise was to introduce the First Years to night patrolling. At dusk the four platoons would move out on foot to RVs. From there each section would navigate to a designated place beside the Canning Road. The patrols would then lie and watch for an hour and a half. At the end of that time the sections would return to their platoon RV; where their Pl Commander and Pl Sgt would be waiting. The platoons would then return to camp.
To give the patrols something to report on an ‘Opposing Force’ group, comprising the OOCs, HQ and Control Group, would do some play acting along the road. The exercise had several definite aims: It was an opportunity for the corporals to carry out a task on their own, where they had to navigate, provide leadership, maintain control, take notes, and fill out a Patrol Report (on their return). For the First Year cadets it was first and foremost an exercise in self-discipline. They would have to lie still and silent for 90 minutes (and stay awake!). It was also training in fieldcraft and patrolling.
While the OC spoke Peter could see the section corporals giving their patrol ‘Verbal Orders’ to their cadets. During the previous lesson (While he and Kate had been down at the river!) the CUOs had given their orders to their Pl ‘O’ Groups (To the platoon sergeant and the three corporals). At the same time the OC had lectured the cadets on ‘Night Patrolling’, aided by Graham and his Demo Squad.
As soon as the briefing was concluded Graham dismissed them. As they rose to go Cpl Parnell called to Peter, “Where did you get to Sarge? I had to bring HQ back.”
Peter swallowed. He felt sick again. “I went over the ridge for a crap,” he lied, adding, “I’ve got an upset stomach.”
Parnell gave him an odd look, nodded and turned away. Peter’s guilty conscience gripped him again. Did Parnell suspect something? Had he seen him follow Kate? Feeling utterly miserable Peter walked to his hutchie and lay down.
Graham joined him. “You OK mate? Is there anything I can get you? Do you want the medics?”
“No thanks. I just feel a bit upset in the stomach.”
“I could send Cadet Denton over. She would make you throw up. You’d feel better then,” Graham offered.
Peter laughed weakly but he wasn’t in the mood. He was relieved when Graham left him. He lay there unhappily for half an hour, being nagged not only by fear that Kate might talk but by the knowledge he had duties to perform and chores to do. To restore some normality he made himself get up and wash some socks. Kate avoided him and did not look at him. While he worked Peter fretted about how to retrieve the situation.
* * * *
Graham had the opposite problem. He was very aware that Allison was giving him the glad eye. He could feel the pressure. It massaged his ego; for he fancied himself as a bit of a lad when it came to the girls (and compared to Peter he was vastly more experienced). Her glances started fantasies which made him very randy. He was so happy he walked around humming and smiling while he organized the evening mess parade.
During the meal Graham sat beside Allison. She frequently met his eyes and smiled. He marvelled how bright her eyes were. They seemed to sparkle. He returned her glances and smiled. Life was good.
As soon as the meal was over HQ was involved in a bustle of activities to clean up. Lt Hamilton and the two Q ‘Wallahs’ headed off in their Rover with the empties. HQ returned to its hutchies. The platoons formed up, some sections well camouflaged with blackened faces and hands. They filed quietly off into the gathering dusk.
Graham collected his webbing and a jacket, filled his waterbottles, then called HQ and the Control Group together. Lt Maclaren squashed half of the group into his Land Rover and drove off to the Canning Causeway. Capt Conkey and Graham joined Peter’s group and they set off on foot along the Sandy Ridge track. Lt Standish was left at the officer’s fire with three sick cadets. Graham had suggested Peter could stay with them but he had insisted he wasn’t that sick.
Once again it was a clear, star-studded night. There was the hint of a chill in the air but the walking kept them warm. They walked in silence out to the Canning Road. Once there they turned left and proceeded in the direction of the highway. Peter came last, as the sergeant should. He noted that Kate was up the front. As they passed the top of The Gully his stomach churned again.
Fifteen minutes brisk walk brought them to the cattle grid near the Highway. The OC told them to sit and allowed them to talk quietly. Graham remained standing and talked to Peter. Peter found it very hard to relax and to carry on a normal conversation. The whole time he was being racked by guilt. He was also wondering what Kate was thinking and feeling. He could just see her in the starlight sitting with the other girls.
Time dragged slowly. The patrols had until 1930 to get into position. All the ‘enemy’ were grouped clear of the area well before then.
A Land Rover turned off the highway and stopped. Lt Hamilton climbed out along with Costigan and Bert Lacey. The QM’s Rover would remain there as Safety vehicle at this end of the exercise area. He reported to Capt Conkey. “Has Cadet Dibble gone sir? Has his father picked him up?”
Capt Conkey grunted. “Hummpf! Yes. He phoned me about an hour ago.”
“Did the father say anything?”
Capt Conkey shook his head. “Not really; just apologized. I think he was pretty embarrassed. I know I would be if I had a son who let me down like that.”
“Yes,” Lt Hamilton agreed.
They stood in silence for a minute. Graham wondered how he might feel if he ever became a father. ‘And I really hope I do,’ he thought. For a fleeting second he has an image of a mother and baby in his mind- but it was not Allison’s face in the image but Margaret’s. Graham sighed.
The radio crackled. The other groups were ready at the Canning Causeway. Capt Conkey checked his watch. Ten minutes yet. They gossiped. Graham fantasized. Peter writhed with remorse. Several large road-trains roared past along the highway. A cool breeze sprang up.
Graham turned to Peter. “How are you feeling now mate? Any better?”
“Yeah. I’m OK,” Peter muttered.
Obviously he wasn’t but Graham didn’t probe further. ‘If it’s important he will tell me,’ he reasoned, well aware that Peter wasn’t his normal self.
Capt Conkey checked his watch. “OK. Act One. ‘The wounded soldier and the medics’. Off you go.”
The three girls stood up and began walking towards the Canning, Denton in the middle pretending to be wounded. She uttered loud groans while the others re-assured her.
Graham smiled. “Denton does that well,” he whispered to Peter.
“She should!” Peter replied. “She does enough moaning the rest of the time!”
The officers overheard this and chuckled. Capt Conkey used his pencil torch to check his notebook. Someone bumped into Graham. He glanced and saw that it was Allison. She was talking to Kate.
‘Was that accidental?’ Graham wondered. Then Allison gently pressed her elbow against his. ‘No it isn’t!’ he thought. ‘Holy Mackerel, I’m glad it is dark!’
Capt Conkey spoke. Graham gave a guilty start.
“Next act. The two runners. That’s you CQ and Corporal Storeman. Off you go.”
Five minutes passed. Allison nudged Graham twice more. He nudged her in return. She flashed a smile, visible in the lights of a car on the highway. There was no traffic on the Canning Road.
“Next group,” Capt Conkey ordered.
That was Lt McEwen, Kate, Allison and LCpl Henning with an army backpack radio. They were to represent a patrol with the radio chattering while they walked. As the group formed up Allison bumped against Graham again. He nudged her back. Then she moved on after the others. They vanished into the darkness, four shapes slightly blacker than the dirt road.