More men started raising their hands, urging their buddies to do the same, calling them into action. Numbers were growing. The next stop, it was agreed, would be the armoury.

As many of the troops – angry, defiant – continued muttering rebelliously, others – perhaps those who were not so very drunk or at least had sense enough to recognise the danger – cleared off to their tents, wanting no part of an action that would surely spell disaster.

There was no holding back those bent on rebellion, however, and barely ten minutes later there must have been well over a hundred men approaching the armoury. No-one counted, so no-one could be sure. Most were drunk, some angry and feeling justifiably so, and some perhaps joining in for the adventure, not altogether sure of what they were doing apart from defying orders and going into town.

But the leaders were committed, and none more so than Kasey Davis.

‘We’d ask you guys to step aside if you wouldn’t mind,’ Amos Cole said to the two men on guard outside the armoury, ‘after you’ve opened up the doors for us that is.’ He sounded very polite and appeared not in the least drunk, but then it took a lot of liquor, even of the rotgut-whisky variety, to render big Amos Cole noticeably intoxicated.

The two guards cast a brief, uncertain look at one another.

‘There’s a lot of us here,’ Amos said, ‘and we got no beef with you guys, we don’t want to do you no harm.’

The guards downed arms, opened the doors and stepped to one side.

The majority hung back, awaiting further orders as they were accustomed to do, while the ringleaders and a dozen or so more adventurous men entered the armoury in order to select their weapons of choice.

‘Go fetch the Jimmy’s,’ Amos instructed several men, ‘I’d say we’ll need three in all.’

‘Sure, Amos.’ The men left on the double for the camp’s transport area where the GMC trucks were housed, and Amos joined the others in the armoury.

Their selection of weapons was varied. Many chose M1 Garand carbines, the standard US Army Infantry–issue rifles, while several others armed themselves with Browning 9mm handguns, but tough little Bernie’s choice was far more exciting.

‘Well, look what I got me here,’ he said, picking up a Thompson .45 calibre machine gun. ‘I got me a real-live Chicago Piano.’ Bernie felt extra tough brandishing the machine gun, which he knew to have been the favoured weapon of Chicago gangsters. ‘This’ll sure as hell frighten the shit out of them.’

‘That’s not a bad idea, Bernie,’ big Amos said, selecting a machine gun of his own, ‘we’ll put on a show, give them a real scare. They won’t open fire on us if we’re carrying a couple of these.’