Free The Cadet Sergeant Major by Christopher Cummings

Group went left along the bed of the Canning towards Scrubby Creek and Costigan led his to the right along the base of Black Knoll so Peter followed Graham’s group who had vanished into the deep, dry creek which joined the Canning just upstream of the causeway. A study of the map showed that this creek was the lower end of a whole network of small creeks and gullies which led all the way up to Sandy Ridge. It seemed to offer the best covered route.
    Peter led the way followed by Kate. LCpl Parnell came next with Leah Allen last. The creekline was narrow and deep. The bed was dry, white sand, marked only by the bootprints of Graham’s group and a few animal tracks. Both banks were a thick tangle of rubber vines. There were several logs which caused some delay while they clambered over them. Peter noted several snake tracks and the footprints of wild pigs.
    The second fallen tree they came to gave Peter a chance to hold Kate’s hand. He clambered over first, then turned and offered his hand to help steady her. She took it and jumped down. As she did she met his eyes and smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Peter returned it. He wanted to keep holding her hand but, fearing the others might notice, he let go.
    By then his mind was in a whirl and his heart was pounding fast. He was also amazed, delighted and appalled to discover that her touch had got him instantly aroused. That had never happened to him before. He glanced down and was relieved to see that it was not obvious because of the loose fitting camouflage uniform and webbing. Still, he was glad that he was in front. They resumed walking and he turned his thoughts back to navigation and fieldcraft.
    The creek wound left, then right. The banks became less steep and there were gaps in the rubber vine. On the slope up to the left were the ugly scars of the disused gravel scrape. Around the next bend they came to a rough vehicle track which ran from the gravel scrape across to the Canning Road. Just beyond it was a creek junction. Both creeks looked of equal size, about five metres wide. Peter studied the sand. Graham’s group had gone right.
    â€œWe will go left,” he said.
    They were now in an area of dry, open scrub. The banks were lower and lined with trees. Up on the left was a wide, timbered ridge which the map showed ran all the way to connect with Sandy Ridge. To the right was a bare, flat area dotted with trees and small bushes but almost devoid of grass. Peter checked his watch. Half an hour; and they had come about half a kilometre. He signalled halt and climbed the bank. Beside the rough, black trunk of a Burdekin Plum Tree he carefully raised his head.
    Almost at once Peter spotted movement- a section of First Years crossing the flat between the two creeks. He screwed his eyes up against the glare. ‘That’s Lofty Ward,’ he muttered. ‘They look like they are following the fence towards the cattle grid on the Canning Road. I hope they don’t blunder into Graham.’
    After a cautious look in all directions Peter moved back down to where the others waited. “There’s a section about a hundred metres away heading away from us. I can’t see any other movement. Let’s get going.”
    They resumed their cautious advance. Peter was now most worried about suddenly meeting a group who might be following the creek. They would only be visible at short range. ‘We will meet them at a bend,’ he mused. He puzzled over what action to take if this happened. ‘We will have to run back and try to hide up on the bank somewhere,’ he decided.
    No sooner had he come to this conclusion than they heard the sound of rapid footsteps- from behind them! They looked around for cover but there was none. ‘If they are First Years we are sunk!’ Peter thought as he crouched in a tiny washout.
    They weren’t. It was Dimbo Doyle and four of his section. They came trampling past. As Dimbo reached