The Negro troops sang as they drove their tanks down the dusty roads of mid-Tennessee. Never had they been entrusted with so much expensive and noisy machinery.
A Negro tenant farmer named Walter Bailey and his hands were up before the mist cleared from the valleys, but they had not turned to in the fields. They stood on the porch watching the procession. "Must be fun," Bailey sighed, admiring the clanking machines.
Then he saw the white infantry. The foot soldiers were coming up through the long grass toward the road. Bailey waved his arms at the tank column and shouted, pointing...
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