Kiwi Wars by Garry Douglas Kilworth Page A

this sergeant of yours – what’s his name?’
    ‘King? Sergeant King?’
    ‘Yes, the farrier chappie. How long has he been lost? I was going to do a short piece on him too, when I knew I was coming to see you.’
    Once again, Jack sat up. ‘Lost?’
    ‘Why, yes, went off into the bush to do some mapping and never came back. He’s been in there two weeks now. Shouldn’t think he’s alive, would you?’
    Jack was stunned. Why had no one told him about this? Where was Corporal Gwilliams? This was monstrous!
    ‘Ah,’ said Strawn, ‘you look shocked – didn’t know about it, eh? Sorry to be the bearer. I’ll leave you now.’
    The newspaperman left without another backward glance, having got what he came for.
    Jack rose from his bed and dressed, before going on a search for his men. He found Gwilliams in the sickbay, laid low by some fever or other contracted (they thought) through drinking water from a stream where sheep had been wading. Gwilliams was aware enough to tell Jack what had happened. When Jack finally tracked down the last member of the group, Private Wynter, he found him still half-drunk from the night before, sleeping in a ditch. On being roused and doused with cold water, Wynter admitted he knew that Sergeant King was lost.
    ‘I din’t come an’ tell you, ’cause I knew you was sick and din’t want to make you worse,’ said the private, indignantly.
    Jack was blazingly angry.
    ‘That’s not the reason – me being sick – is it, Wynter? The fact is you hate Sergeant King and you couldn’t give a damn whether he’s found or not? Tell me the truth, that’s it, isn’t it?’
    Wynter shrugged, knowing it was useless to deny it.
    ‘Gwilliams, your NCO, gave you an order, to report the matter to me – you disobeyed that order, Wynter.’
    Wynter looked up, sharply, the wake-up water still dripping from his mean-looking face. Disobeying an order was a serious crime. The punishment could be just as serious. Wynter did not want a flogging. He had had several such punishments in his army career, but he was not as strong has he had once been. The venom he had once had in him had provided enough backbone to metaphorically spit in the eye of the man who wielded the lash. Lately though, such vitriolic energy had been drained from him. He was haggard, half-blind, grey-haired and old before his time. Even though only in his thirties he looked fifty.
    ‘I was tryin’ to save the captain bother. Me bein’ the only rank what wasn’t sick, the decision was up to me, I thought. So I give an order to Ta Moko to go look for the sergeant. He come back this mornin’, sayin’ he couldn’t find the bleeding . . . couldn’t find the sergeant. You was sick, sir. I made me decision an’ I stick by it.’
    Jack realized Wynter had a point. Although he was at the end of the command chain, the private had been the only man who was not ill and therefore however bizarre the situation he was nominally in charge of matters to do with the group. Jack was relieved to know that he had sent out the Maori to look for King, but concerned to learn that Ta Moko was back without finding the sergeant.
    ‘You get cleaned up, Wynter. Be ready to leave for the bush. I’m going to speak to Ta Moko.’
    Another hunt and he was rewarded with the Maori, who was just sitting down to a meal of pork and beans in an eatery.
    ‘Sir, I did not find the sergeant. I think he must have strayed into Waikato country. If I go in there I will be killed. The Waikato tribes are very fierce and they do not like my tribe. I will go in if we take soldiers with us, but you will need to find another guide if you go in alone.’
    ‘Thank you, Ta Moko. I like a plain-speaking man.’
    Jack went in search of a senior officer. He found a major, who told him there were no troops to spare. Everyone was on alert, either guarding the town, out on patrol or fighting.
    ‘The sergeant’s probably dead by now, Captain. You need more than just a patrol if