Catching Jill’s eye, Betty gave her a wave, Jill responding with a wave of her own and a radiant smile.

All was clearly going well, so Betty returned to the clubhouse where Kasey, determined not to let her out of his sight, was waiting beside the piano.

Back at Kelso, the half-deserted camp was eerily quiet. The majority of the men were gathered in the huge open-sided mess tent that served both as a canteen and social centre, but the customary sound of a musical instrument here and there, a guitar, a harmonica, a banjo or ukulele, invariably banding together for a singalong, was not evident tonight. Perhaps it was simply the dearth of numbers, or perhaps it was the absence of Rupe and Kasey, the true musicians among them who always led the troops in song, but there were many others who played instruments and many others who could sing. Tonight, for some reason, they chose not to. Instead they’d gathered in groups, playing cards or simply talking. There was no brooding resentment towards those of their buddies who were at the club, but everyone’s thoughts were with them nonetheless. Here at camp there was a definite sense that the men were just biding their time.

Chuck Maxwell found the very quietness of the camp disconcerting. He’d expected some sort of trouble from these niggers who’d been denied the pleasures their friends were experiencing. He’d hoped there would be, for at least that would prove a distraction. Any troublemakers among them would give him a justifiable reason to vent his anger, but as things were he was powerless and growing angrier by the minute.

To Chuck’s mind, the fact that a club exclusively for Negroes was operating right now, right out there in the bush barely ten miles away, was enough to drive any sane man crazy. Why, the very sight would sicken my daddy, he thought. This whole world has turned upside down.

He said as much to Stowers as together they embarked upon their rounds of the camp. He’d taken on the task of patrolling the camp himself, having dismissed young Lieutenant Stanley Hartford, who would normally have carried out the duty. The other three Company C platoon commanders were on supervision duty at the club, and just sitting alone with his thoughts was driving Chuck mad. He simply had to do something.

‘Downright insane,’ he now growled to Stowers as they left the officers’ tent, ‘setting up a social club for niggers. Downright insane! By hell, the 96th is a labour force, our niggers are here to work, not have a goddamned party!’

‘Quite right, sir.’ As always, Stowers was quick to agree. ‘We gotta keep our niggers in line.’

‘We surely do, Sergeant. Give your niggers too much freedom and you’re just begging for trouble.’ There were times when Chuck all but forgot Stowers was a nigger himself. ‘That goddamned club will prove a disaster, I tell you.’

‘Yessir,’ Stowers echoed, ‘a real disaster.’