Kasey’s heart was racing, adrenaline pumping. Had he killed the man? Surely yes. No-one inside that tent could have survived. He rejoiced in the thought. Maxwell was dead and Ant’s death avenged. To Kasey, now in a state of madness, this was war and not for one minute did he regret his actions, nor did he care what the outcome might be for him. A pity the lieutenant had to cop it, he thought, although he could see now that the young man was stirring, not dead. But so what if the guy dies, he told himself, a casualty of war, that’s what he is. And as a show of triumph, Kasey released another round of machine-gun fire into the air.

He was not the only one. Incited by the Thompson’s rat-tat-tat and the sense of battle that surrounded them, others were firing weapons indiscriminately. Not taking aim, not with the intention to kill, but revelling in their power. No longer slave labour, but soldiers with firearms, they were letting loose in every direction, displaying no concern for ricocheting bullets that might cause harm. Particularly Bernie. Bernie was exulting in the sheer might of his Chicago Piano.

And those unarmed, intoxicated by both the liquor and the heightened thrill of the moment, yelled encouragement, urging their buddies on as the trucks drove out of camp and headed for Townsville, leaving behind them utter chaos.

The Commander of the Australian 51st Regiment based at Mount Louisa was alerted immediately, and the militia unit known as the Far North Queensland Regiment was informed it was no longer on ‘standby’, that its young troops, principally national servicemen called up for the defence of the north, were now ordered into action. But against who? Not the Japanese. The heavily anticipated invasion had so far not occurred, yet their orders were ‘shoot to kill’. Kill who? The answer appeared insane. American soldiers. Troops of the US 96th Engineers, a Negro labour battalion camped out at Kelso. Kill them! Why?

‘A mutiny they say, some sort of riot. They’re heading into town.’

‘But why do we have to kill them?’

‘I dunno.’

Two companies of the 51st Battalion were hurriedly deployed to block off the approaches into Townsville and halt the Americans, who were apparently armed. Already awaiting their arrival at the designated rendezvous points would be several units of US Military Police. Should the Negro troops not surrender peaceably upon command, the operational orders were undeniably clear – ‘shoot to kill’.

‘Jeez, who was the prick who came up with the code name Operation Black Buck?’ Private Frank Midgely queried his fellow two-man crew as their Bren Gun Carrier trundled its way to the road-block point. ‘Bit disrespectful, don’t you reckon,’ he said, eyes trained on the dark track ahead, now eerily illuminated by the carrier’s spotlights. ‘Downright bloody rude when you think about it.’