‘We’re going into town,’ Kasey yelled, and several of the mutineers, big Amos Cole and Bernie in particular, gave a cheer of support just by way of bravado.

‘We’ll give you the weapons,’ Kasey yelled, ‘but let us pass.’

The murderous madness had left Kasey and, bizarre as it seemed, he was actually trying to reason. He considered he was the one who should do so. Having killed Maxwell as had been his plan, it was he who would suffer the full wrath of the military. God only knew what they’d do to him – firing squad maybe? He didn’t care, although he’d like to have let Betty know why he’d done this. But the others shouldn’t be made to pay. The others should be granted their liberty and allowed into town.

‘Give us back our rights,’ he yelled. ‘Let us go into town —’

He got no further than that.

‘You will consider this an order of the Provost Marshal General of the United States Army,’ the voice of the unseen Lieutenant Stanwick continued. ‘Failure to comply forthwith will result in your immediate arrest and —’

A sudden rush of anger consumed Kasey. ‘Let us pass!’ he screamed, and raising his Thompson machine gun, he released a burst into the air.

That was the moment all hell broke loose. The moment when the stillness of the night was rent asunder by a cacophony of gunfire.

The first casualty was Kasey Davis. He’d been a dead man from the moment he’d opened his mouth; nervous young soldiers and seasoned MPs alike setting their sights on him. Nobody talked back or attempted to negotiate with the US military. One brief burst from the Thompson was all it took; war had been declared and the orders were ‘shoot to kill’.

Kasey fell from the truck, hitting the ground heavily. But he felt no pain. His body riddled with bullets, he was already dead.

Bernie was next. Bernie, another mutineer in control of a machine gun, had also been targeted, despite the fact he hadn’t aimed his Chicago Piano at his assailants. He hadn’t aimed it anywhere; it hung limply by his side. Whether he would have fired the weapon no-one would ever know, because he hadn’t had the time. Bernie too felt no pain.

Others about him did though. As men jumped from the trucks and fought to flee, the hail of bullets intensified, smacking into human flesh and bone.

In the third truck, big Amos Cole was the obvious target, even as he threw his Thompson machine gun to the ground. Amos had no intention of doing battle. Like the others, he would happily have surrendered, but as he leaped from the vehicle he was hit in the shoulder. The bullet didn’t stop him though. For a giant of a man, and a wounded one at that, he moved with great speed, fleeing into the shadows of the surrounding bush.