He was further disappointed as they passed by the general mess tent for rank and file, where he’d hoped that by now there might be some unrest demanding of attention. But no, the mess tent, where well over a hundred men were gathered, remained unusually quiet. All was in order.

They passed by the other mess tents, one for white officers, the other for black non-commissioned officers, or NCOs, closer to the border of the camp where slit trenches had been dug in preparation for attack from the air, and they came to the armoury where two troops stood on guard. Apart from the four makeshift electrical huts, the quonset hut housing the armoury was the only solid structure in the camp. All else was a sea of tents.

The two guards saluted. The captain returned the salute. All was in order.

They continued on to the next block of four-man tents, walking up and down between the rows that looked for all the world like streets in a town of khaki canvas, which indeed they were. The rows appeared deserted in the gloomy overhead-generated light. There were no men going back and forth as was customary, and the tents themselves appeared in total darkness, the single light that dangled from the central pole inside obviously not in use.

Then Maxwell halted abruptly, a signal to Stowers beside him who also halted. Up ahead towards the end of the row was a tent with a light inside. But it was not the overhead light. Someone was using a torch.

Chuck Maxwell drew his Colt semi-automatic pistol. He’d been right, some thieving nigger was at work. He couldn’t wait to make an example of the bastard.

With a quick nod to his sergeant, Maxwell crept quietly towards the tent, Stowers obeying orders and following in silence.

When he reached the front flap he threw it aside and stepped briskly into the tent, handgun at the ready, Stowers right behind him.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Ant dropped his torch, which fell to the ground, shining directly on the boots of Captain Maxwell. He jumped from his bunk where he’d been reading by the torchlight and stood to attention. He must have been doing something wrong, but he couldn’t think what. One thing he was sure of, though. He was about to pay the price.

With the torch still shining on his boots and the tent now in virtual darkness, Chuck didn’t know the identity of the man he’d sprung. ‘What you doing in here, nigger,’ he demanded, ‘you stealing from your buddies?’

‘No, sir, no,’ Ant protested.

Maxwell bent down and picked up the torch. ‘Then why’re you here in the dark?’ he asked. Pistol still threateningly in hand, he shone the torch’s beam on Ant’s face. My, my, he thought with a sense of satisfaction, just look who we have. He tossed the torch onto the bunk. ‘Why didn’t you turn on this here light?’ he said, pulling the string that turned on the central overhead, illuminating the tent in a dull yellow glow. ‘You got to be up to no good not doing that, creeping around in the dark like you were.’