‘Nah, just some clown of an officer trying to be funny,’ his gunner mate Paddy Sullivan assured him, ‘probably didn’t mean to offend. Anyway, they’ve shortened the code name to Buck, so no harm done.’

‘Yeah, don’t lose any sleep over it, Midge,’ Ron Kibbey, the third team member said. Midge, although undoubtedly the leader of the three, was a bit of a softie, always aware of other people’s feelings, which was why his mates liked him.

‘Buck’s still rude though,’ Midge wasn’t budging from his argument, ‘kind of patronising, you know? Sort of putting them down. I’ve met quite a few of these Negroes in town and they’re really nice blokes.’

‘Too right they are,’ Paddy agreed, ‘a helluva lot nicer than the white Yankees, I’ll give them that much.’

‘Yeah,’ Ron agreed once more and this time with a grin to Paddy. ‘Pity we haven’t been ordered to shoot them instead,’ and both young men laughed.

‘You’re just jealous, that’s your problem,’ Midge said, not unpleasantly, simply stating a fact. ‘All the Aussies are jealous of the Yanks, and that’s understandable, but jeez, it’s not the Yanks’ fault they get paid more than we do.’

Ron and Paddy exchanged a look. Sometimes Midge could be too nice for his own good. Besides, Midge had it easier than most. From a well-off, middle-class family and with a steady girlfriend, Midge had extra money and no desire to compete with the Yanks for women. Despite this seeming advantage, though, neither Ron nor Paddy bore Midge any form of true grudge. To the contrary they respected him. All three privates were twenty-year-old ‘nashos’ from North Queensland – ‘chocolate soldiers’ to the enlisted men who didn’t hold them in high regard, a term which most found galling. Ron and Paddy reckoned that, as such, you really had to give it to Midge. Midge had been two years into his university course in Brisbane when he’d been called up, and as a uni student he could easily have deferred his national service. But he hadn’t. Born and bred in Cairns, he’d headed home to defend the north, believing it his bounden duty to do so. Midge didn’t give a shit about being called a ‘choc’. Midge had his principles.

The radio crackled. The password Buck sounded. Orders were coming through. They were on the Ross River Road now and had reached the junction where the road block had been formed. Armed troops were already there waiting, along with a unit of US Military Police. They must now take up position, their Bren machine gun and the carrier’s spotlights trained steadily upon the road ahead awaiting the arrival of the mutineers.