The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) by Justin Richards Read Free Book Online

into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
    Guy was instantly awake as the car pulled up at Maryhill Barracks. A corporal was waiting. He introduced himself as Matthews and looked about nineteen. His accent was from closer to London than Glasgow.
    Corporal Matthews led the way to what looked like an admin block. The first light of dawn was yellowing the sky, and there was a chill in the air that made Guy shiver.
    ‘Plane crashed, apparently. Bad weather.’ CorporalMatthews gestured for Guy to enter an office. ‘Farmer found the pilot. Apprehended him with a pitchfork.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s what they say, anyway. It’ll be in the report.’
    Matthews nodded at the single desk in the middle of the room, where a plain folder lay. There was a chair either side of the desk. Another stood against the blank white wall. The room was lit by a single bare bulb.
    ‘You need a few minutes, sir? Or shall I send in the prisoner?’
    ‘Send him in,’ Guy decided. ‘I doubt this will take long, then you can cart him off to whatever internment centre or POW camp is nearest.’
    Sitting at the desk, Guy found that the folder contained a single sheet of paper. It was a carbon-copy of a typed report.
    At 22:08 hours on May 10 th (1941) Station Ouston north of Newcastle detected a RADAR (formerly RDF) trace 70 miles from the coast and heading for Lindisfarne. The sighting was designated HOSTILE RAID 42J. Since such a course makes no strategic sense, the base commander initially listed the craft as an ‘Unknown Detected Trace’ in line with standard operating procedure, and Station Z was informed.
    However, unlike previous UDTs, this trace continued on a straight path at a speed consistent with standard aircraft. Ouston continued to track it, and the craft lost altitude as it crossed the coast.
    It was next sighted visually by a Royal Observer Corps position near Chatton at 22:35 hours, and identified as an enemy Bf110flying at approximately 50 feet. This is well below the safety margin. Having identified the craft as a Hostile rather than an Unknown, two Spitfires from 602 Squadron were scrambled. A Defiant was also sent from RAF Prestwick, but all three aircraft failed to intercept RAID 42.
    Contact was lost, until the Operations Room at RAF Turnhouse reported a crash south of Glasgow at 23:09 hours. The remains of a Bf110D were duly discovered, although the pilot had parachuted to safety before the crash.
    The pilot was subsequently apprehended by a farmer near Eaglesham. He had sustained an ankle injury and identified himself as Hauptmann Alfred Horn. He claimed to have vital information for the Duke of Hamilton, whom he demanded to see.
    The prisoner was handed over to the Home Guard, and is now being held at Maryhill Barracks in Glasgow pending interrogation by an FO Translator Officer.
    Guy was amused to see his description as a ‘Translator Officer’. The report seemed very full, and right up to date, but perhaps such efficiency was normal. Guy recalled hearing ‘Station Z’ mentioned when he was at Uxbridge, down in the RAF bunker with Keith Park. ‘Unknown Detected Trace’ as well, although it seemed to be a term that just meant the observers didn’t know what they were looking at…
    He didn’t have time to ponder further because, while Guy had been reading, Corporal Matthews had returned with the prisoner. The man was tall and broad, dark-haired and with a heavy forehead and prominent eyebrows. He limped across to sit on the other side of the desk, waiting while Guy finished reading the report and returned it to the folder.
    When Guy looked up, he saw the man’s dark eyes staring intently at him.
    ‘You are not the Duke of Hamilton,’ the man said in German.
    From the report, Guy knew that the man had asked for Hamilton before. ‘You know the Duke?’ he replied, also in German.
    ‘We have met, just the once. A few years ago.’ The man leaned back in the chair, elbows on the armrests, tapping the tips of his