Stan Mitty. Kevin Colbran

are 90% likely to position a bridgehead force in the north within the next six months,” Stan began the brief, “They can pick and choose their arrival point whereas we have to cover about a thousand kilometres. Norforce has recce units patrolling but has a high vulnerability if ambushed. If they find traces, Norforce will withdraw, and we can inspect with the force required.”

      “Should relieve the boredom, are we going to do much more drill?” She asked, “We don’t have too many cakky footers, and most are up to speed with weapons and equipment.”

      “As soon as the rest of my company arrives; a couple of familiarising parades should satisfy the Brass," Stan grimaced. "Then we start positioning North at the beginning of the Dry, I afraid being a peacetime squaddie is why I am often in strife. That goes for the rest of the present company.”

      'Noticed that, of course just setting up my new job will get me out of that, won’t it?' Wendy asked rhetorically.

      'Once I point you at the job, it is your oyster subject to the Colonel and me,' Stan promised.

      “Done, when do I start?” Wendy stood shook hands and grinned.

      “When you walk out the door, trundle over to HQ; announce who you are and say Stan sent you. The quartermaster has everything you need in a box marked Corporal Travis,” Stan directed.

      “Sure aren’t you?” Wendy asked with a raised eyebrow.

      “When I picked myself up after reading your ‘authorised eyes only’ dossier I trotted over and wrote your name myself,” Stan laughed.

      After Travis had marched out, Sergeant Samuels walked in, and Stan asked, “Have you worked out who Travis is?”

      Bob shook his head.

      “Remember Senoia?” Stan's next question.

      Bob nodded.

      “Those two Israeli lieutenants, Travis was one,” Stan said.

      Bob still looked blank.

      “Wendell aka Wendy.” Stan finished the questions.

      “What? Hell, we have been in the showers together. Don’t you think I would notice a little detail like that?” Bob said incredulously.

      “Marvellous little attachment, eh? Fooled me too, not that I take too much notice of other blokes,” Stan said, “Now I know why ‘he’ offered free Brazilians with a blunt knife if anyone got too friendly. The blokes involved were transferred when they complained. Not that I wouldn’t have sent them packing myself.”

      “Yep, so what do you have ‘him’ doing?” Bob asked shaking his head still unconvinced.

      “Radio operator for now and later intelligence officer,” Stan said, “The boss hinted that I would find that combo amongst my men. You could have knocked me over with a feather; it seems we have a Machiavellian running the show. This information goes no further.”

      “No drama there, I remember the knife work we did, stretched me more than you do,” Bob marvelled.

      Stan snorted, “Hey I take it easy on an old fellow, I‘ll stretch you twice around the block next time.”

      “Ha, in your dreams; start the next group?” Bob said.

      “Yep, wheel them in should be no surprises for the rest,” Stan directed, “By their records; a motley bunch of talent that is covering the whole army for trades.”

      As predicted the rest of the interviews concluded with no dramas and Stan now had a good idea of his platoon and hoped there would be no more surprises when the rest of the battalion arrived.

      Still, by the end of the month, the remainder trickled in, to bring the company up to strength. Five officers and two serjeants had arrived, so Stan was able to assume the CSM position with a sigh of relief; as he had been dreading a note arriving congratulating him on a promotion with all the responsibility and drama that entailed. The new additions were experienced Infantry types with the usual run of training associated with that.

      HQ contingent included an RSM, 2 IC and all the other battalion personnel. Some noses were out of joint when a lowly CSM had the ear of the Colonel.

      “CSM, come into my office,” Captain Reynolds ordered.

      Stan did as he was ordered thinking ‘what now?’

      “I have just been reviewing your file; it seems your total experience as a CSM is five weeks. And most of that as an acting platoon commander,” Stan nodded, and Reynolds continued, “You may have convinced the board that you knew what you were doing at Canungra, before assuming your position of WO Artificer aircraft with your squadron. After which, you completed a pilot’s course and subsequently had a short-term commission.”

      “Yes sir,” Stan confirmed.

      “I left a good CSM behind with five years’ experience; one thing he never did was advise all and sundry including the battalion commander. When I want advice from you, I will ask for it, mister. For your information, your job is to listen, then pass on proper orders to your SNCOs. You also provide training and guidance to just those; otherwise, carry out my orders,” Reynolds stated loudly. And then asked, “Was it necessary to hospitalise Sergeant Taylor?”

      “We were demonstrating unarmed combat, he became over-enthusiastic with the demonstration, and the only move was to dump him. This result would happen on the field if he applied that technique to a hostile opponent,” Stan explained.

      “He is the senior instructor in unarmed combat for the regiment so why would he make that mistake?” Reynolds snapped.

      “Wouldn't tell me, sir,” Stan said, “Perhaps he was just testing me?”

      “Humph, well if you step over the line again, I will see you returned to rank and employment where you can learn at someone else’s expense,” Reynolds stated, “Dismiss.”

      “Sir,” Stan did a parade about turn and marched out rattling the floorboards.

      ‘My,’ Stan thought as he returned to his desk, ‘someone’s knickers are in a knot.’

      The next day a red-faced Reynolds directed Stan to follow him to a quiet spot.

      Seething Reynolds said, “I have just had a bollocking from Col Roberts, as did the other commanders. It seems that you are the army’s golden-haired boy and that there is a quartermaster’s desk in Hobart with the name ‘Mud’ on it which will be my new address if I stuff up.”

      “I will work hard to ensure that doesn’t happen as my next job would be your tea boy,” Stan said stifling a grin.

      “You wouldn’t be related to Colonel Mitty, by any chance?” Reynolds asked suspiciously.

      “My father,” Stan admitted.

      Probing a bit more, “No, Rhodesia couple of years back.”

      “That was me,” Stan conceded.

      “OK,” Reynolds digested this, “Samuels related to General Samuels?”

      “His Father, Robert Samuels was Staff Sergeant Royal Engineer I.E.D. expert before joining me in Rhodesia.”

      “This Corporal Travis; not going to come out of the cupboard and go all ‘girlie’ on me?” Reynolds asked.

      “Not likely, ex-Israeli army captain; expert comms and Intelligence,” Stan said.

      “Would it be too much to guess that the extra crew including myself are just there for camouflage?” Reynolds asked.

      “I was starting to think that myself otherwise it would look very smelly for a re-entry to go straight to captain.” Stan conceded, “Set all types of bells ringing.”

      “Hmm, so this exercise may be rather more full-on than rumoured?” Reynolds asked.

      “80% come July, all the nines within two years