The Map Of Honour. Max Carmichael
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those same “differences” that existed back in Australia and elsewhere. He could not afford the luxury of basking in the reflected glory of acceptance by the men he had fought beside. There was always some young Digger newly arrived from home, who would object to taking orders from a black man, always another officer with similar attitudes as Major Cook’s. Still, he revelled in the friendships the war had provided him, and he knew he would be sad to leave this particular loud and boisterous group of men who he was proud to call his mates.
The party became a little rough and a game of “Mess Rugby” began. In the general mayhem that ensued, the walls of the building seemed to bulge under the impact of the opposing scrums. Numerous bloodied noses, some loosened teeth, and a broken table spoke volumes of the success of the game. At one stage, the Duty Officer arrived and pleaded with the RSM to quieten them down, but after a few well-chosen words from the RSM, the Duty Officer went away, and the party continued unabated. Green joined in all of these activities with almost exaggerated zeal, but in the end, the amount of beer he had consumed claimed him and he fell asleep at a table. With shouts of triumph, his mates carried him to his room and unceremoniously dumped him upon his bed. He woke briefly and attempted to make a speech to thank them, but the words were slurred and crazy and so he gave up. They cheered him heartily and then he fell asleep again. The party was over.
Morning found Green tired and irritable, and in the throes of a massive hangover. He was too ill to eat any breakfast; the very smell of the fried bacon wafting from the kitchen was enough to make him retch. He smiled ruefully, grateful he would at least avoid a day of range practice with the associated constant brain piercing noise of rifle fire.
The promised car arrived, and he threw his few possessions on to its rear seat and climbed into the vehicle beside the driver. ‘You know where to go?’ he asked the driver.
‘Yep.’
‘Okay, then let’s go.’
As the car passed the Guard House, the Old Guard, which consisted of Private Ellis and his mates, were about to go off duty and the next platoon rostered for guard duty were ready to take over. Military tradition demanded due ceremony accompany such an occasion, and the two formations, the Old Guard and the New Guard, were paraded on a cleared space in front of the Guard House to handover duties. The RSM was inspecting the New Guard, and as Green’s car passed by, he paused in his inspection and waved.
Overcome with a feeling of great loss, Green waved back.
Chapter 4
The car journey to Headquarters 3rd Division was slower than anticipated. There was an unscheduled stop when the car’s right rear tyre was punctured, necessitating the driver to replace it with the spare. Then a little further on, the journey was again temporarily halted for Green to be violently sick onto the road verge. However, in spite of these intermissions, Green was still able to present himself on time at the Headquarters’ main reception area, where he was received by an overly officious sergeant of military police.
The military policeman looked Green up and down, and was clearly unimpressed by what he saw. ‘Name?’ he asked curtly.
Green pushed the posting order across the desk.
The policeman glanced at the order. ‘Oh, so you’re Sergeant Green,’ he smirked, as if Green’s somewhat dishevelled appearance was now explained. ‘You’re expected. You’re the special one, you are.’
‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about,’ replied Green haughtily.
‘Then I imagine you’ll find out soon enough, sergeant,’ returned the policeman equally as haughtily. He stamped a card which he pushed back across the desk to Green. ‘Keep this with you at all times. If anyone challenges you while you are in the headquarters, show them this card. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ agreed Green, placing the card in the breast pocket of his tunic.
‘Lieutenant Colonel Law’s office is down that passage. You are a bit early, so you’ll find a brew room about halfway down on your right. Help yourself. Someone will come and get you in about five or ten minutes.’
‘Thanks,’ Green said and hefted his echelon bag and pack on to his shoulders.
The policeman relaxed a little and held up a restraining hand. ‘Ah, shit. No, mate! Don’t take that lot down there! Pile your stuff over there in the corner. I’ll keep an eye on it for you.’
In the wake of this friendlier atmosphere, Green smiled and put his baggage where the policeman indicated. ‘Thanks again, mate.’
‘All part of the service cobber.’
The brew room was a busy place with people of various ranks visiting, filling a cup or a mug with tea, then hurrying away to some hidden destination within the building. Green helped himself to a spare cup and leaned against a wall, quietly sipping the scalding liquid. His hangover was beginning to pass, and he able to give more serious thought as to why he had been sent to the Headquarters. It occurred to him that the most likely job he might be destined for was Headquarters Defence Platoon, probably as the platoon sergeant. ‘Playing bum boy to some young prick of a lieutenant who had never heard a shot fired in anger,’ he muttered despondently. He glared angrily into his teacup. Platoon sergeant under such circumstances would be bad enough, but he determined if they tried to make him a clerk, or a cook, he’d bloody well desert.
A tall Lieutenant Colonel entered the brew room. ‘Sergeant Green?’ he inquired politely.
Green set his brew aside and stepped away from the wall. ‘Yes, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Law?’
‘That’s correct. Leave your brew. I’ve tea and cakes in my office. Please, follow me.’
Law led the way along a passage to arrive at a door which bore his name. He stood aside and ushered Green inside. ‘In here, and take a seat…now, tea?’ A tray holding a china tea pot, three cups and saucers, and a plate of cupcakes was positioned at one end of a large desk.
‘Thank you, sir. Black, no sugar,’ Green replied as he settled into one of the chairs.
Law poured the tea and passed Green a cup. ‘Help yourself to a cake when you’re ready,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ Green sipped his tea. Then, impatient to learn his fate, he added, ‘Look here sir, I’m a bit puzzled. What’s all this about?’
Law smiled. ‘Can’t tell you just yet; let’s just say this is an initial job interview.’
Green reached for a cake. His hangover induced fasting had gone and he found he was ravenously hungry. ‘So long as it’s not for a cook, or a clerk’s job,’ he said meaningfully as he bit into the cake.
Law chuckled. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not that kind of job, but you will just have to wait a few more minutes yet.’
Law seated himself behind the desk and glanced briefly at a file detailing Green’s particulars before pushing it aside. He was used to interviewing interesting characters, but Green was particularly thought-provoking. In his pre-interview research, Law had discovered that Green was the youngest son of a white man, a South Australian pastoralist and entrepreneur who lived and worked in the South East of that state near the township of Penola. Green senior had shocked and horrified polite society by marrying an Aboriginal woman. Inter-racial marriage was common enough among the working classes, and while on occasion, an upper-class gentleman might indulge in a little bit of black velvet, they never married one of them! However, in spite of the gossip and snide innuendo, the Greens’ marriage was indeed a love match and the two had no compunction in turning their backs on both the white and black societies in order to be together. Unusually, the children resulting from this union had remained with their parents. Government policy was to remove half-caste children from their parents and to make the children wards of the state and to place them in institutions, there to be trained as domestic servants. However, this had not happened with any of the Greens’ offspring. Law guessed that Green senior had used his power and money to isolate his children from the practise. Law