‘I did wrong, sir, I admit I did wrong, but I meant no harm, I swear. You see, when the servicemen’s club that Captain Robinson tried so hard to get going was closed after just one night, the men were unhappy, they were sorely unhappy, sir. And I thought —’

‘You thought it might cheer them up just a little if they could get their hands on some liquor, is that what you’re saying?’

Strut registered the Texan’s ominous tone, but he persevered nonetheless. ‘Yes, sir, I —’

‘That’s a mighty altruistic motive you have there, Sergeant, but I don’t believe you for one second.’

Strut hadn’t really expected he would, but he wondered why the guy was coming on so strong. Was it just because he was a Texan and hated blacks, or was something else going on here? What was the term the congressman himself had come up with? Something ‘more sinister’. Strut was confused, and panic was starting to set in.

His eyes darted about the gathering of officers before him, none of them saying a word, all of them appearing to await an answer, all of them complicit in the trap that was being set for him. Of course they would be, wouldn’t they, he thought, fucking white dogs.

‘I’ve been making some enquiries about you, Stowers,’ Johnson said, no longer observing the courtesy of rank. ‘Your men don’t like you, do they?’

‘I’m a sergeant, sir …’ Seated though he was, Strut’s attitude signalled he was standing to attention, at least this was his aim as he fought to retain his dignity. ‘My men are not expected to like me.’

‘But they’re expected to respect you, surely, isn’t that the duty of a sergeant?’ Here was the sort of man Lyndon Johnson despised. A man, black or white no matter, in a position of power over others who abused that position and betrayed his men as Strut Stowers had, and as he apparently had been doing on a regular basis. Johnson had listened very carefully to the views of Amos Cole and Willie Parker.

‘You don’t give a shit about your men, do you, Stowers?’ The question was rhetorical, Johnson charging on relentlessly. ‘You’d sell your own men down the river if there was a buck to be had in it.’

This guy’s out to get me, Strut thought, his panic now turning to fear.

‘Your motive in supplying the troops with liquor was anything but altruistic,’ Johnson sneered. ‘It was a downright low act. You deliberately set out to cause trouble for the men you bullied and betrayed on a regular basis, while also reaping a profit for yourself.’

Trouble? Set out to cause trouble? Strut’s brow was once again beaded with sweat, his mind juggling accusations he couldn’t comprehend. What sort of trouble?