Strut Stowers looked warily about the interview room. Was he in some sort of trouble? Hell, these were the big guys seated before him. He’d been told who they were and his eyes flickered from one to the other. The newly arrived congressman, Lieutenant Commander Johnson; the staff officer from HQ, Lieutenant Colonel what’s-his-name – Carter, that’s right; Provost Marshal Major Henry – well, like every other soldier in town, he knew Hank Henry; and his own commanding officer, Captain Samuel Robinson. ‘Just an interview,’ he’d been informed, ‘that’s all.’ Yet seated in the corner was an MP lieutenant poised over his typewriter, ready to note down every word, and two more MPs were standing by the door that led to the cells.

Oh fuck, Strut thought, here I am lined up in front of these top-ranking white guys. What sort of deep shit am I in?

He felt the quickening of his pulse and the beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. This must be about Anthony Hill. Just yesterday afternoon, Maxwell had insisted they go over their story of that night; the ripping up of the book to teach the kid a lesson, how they’d left him in the tent to pick up the pieces and got on with their patrol; Maxwell had wanted to make sure that the times and the details all matched. He hadn’t seemed worried. The congressman had come out to camp and asked him a few questions, he’d said, nothing more than that.

‘We got to get things spot on just in case the guy wants to talk to you, too, Stowers,’ he’d said, ‘no cause for alarm, I can assure you.’

But Chuck Maxwell hadn’t had to face a line-up like this, had he? Strut was feeling distinctly spooked by now, and he cursed his commanding officer. If these guys come at me I’ll make sure you go down right along with me, Maxwell, he thought. I’ll see you in hell, I swear I will.

‘Sergeant Stowers …’ It was the big Texan, the congressman seated opposite him, who opened the proceedings. ‘I’m here to investigate the mutiny that took place on the night of 22nd May and the events that led up to the riot.’

Strut exhaled a huge sigh of relief, although he disguised it with a heartfelt shake of his head that such a shocking and tragic event had occurred. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘a terrible night that was.’ Shit, is that all this is about, he thought. He was off the hook; he’d had nothing to do with the riot.

‘The troops had been supplied with illicit liquor that night,’ Johnson continued, ‘which has been reported as one of the principal factors that led them to mutiny.’