The Machine Gunners Read Online Free PDF Page A

shrapnel!" shouted Boddser in triumph after him.

4
    "Mr. Lidded!"
    Stan Liddell turned back toward the Headmaster's door, wondering what he had done to bring that waspish tone into the Head's voice.
    "Mr. Liddell!" Henry Montgomery turned up his nose distastefully. "We have a policeman in school, apparently wanting to see you. He hasn't seen fit to tell me his business. Top secret, apparently. Anyway, he has asked permission to use my study to interview you. Please see it's empty by the time I get back from break. I have parents coming." He stalked away, black gown quivering with indignation.
    Stan went in. There was a police sergeant standing by the fireplace, staring at Henry Montgomery's imitation-marble bust of Shakespeare. As he turned, Stan saw he had a bad limp.
    "Hello, sir!" It wasn't the way policemen say "sir," it was the way a schoolboy says "sir." Familiar eyes stared out at Stan from an unfamiliar face: a face twisted by a scar that ran from chin to hairline, and tight lines of pain round eyes and mouth.
    "It's... it's... Green, isn't it?"
    "Yessir!" The schoolboy grin was still there, though the man looked forty.
    "But I thought you had a commission in the army?" Stan could have bitten his tongue off the next minute, remembering the limp and scar.
    "I copped it at Dunkirk. They got me in the foot, the face and the nerves. So I was shovelled out as an invalid. Still, I'm trying to make myself useful. Stops me remembering."
    "Sit down, won't you?" said Stan awkwardly.
    "I'd like your advice, sir. We've found something... it's not pretty. The inspector's left it to me... we're short-handed. It's not really important and yet ... it niggles me. Lying awake last night thinking about it, I remembered you, sir, and the way you always knew what to do when I was at school..."
    "Anything I can do..." said Stan. He felt embarrassed.
    "I'd like you to come and look at it, sir. As I said, it's not pretty, but I'd be grateful. I mean, well, you're in the Home Guard, so you'd know about weapons... and I think it's the work of boys. No one knows boys like you do..."
    They drove from school in a police car. Stan hadn't bothered to consult Henry Montgomery; if he didn't like it, he could lump it.
    A way had been beaten into Chirton Wood at last, by the heavy boots of constables. One still remained on guard, looking queasy.
    "We haven't touched anything yet, sir, though it'll have to be cleared up by tonight. And this is confidential... we don't want rumours spreading..."
    The bomber's tail section was still there, but changed. Every piece that could be twisted off for a souvenir had been. Bricks had smashed the last of the perspex, and caved in the aluminium sides. Someone had tried to set the whole thing on fire, and various obscenities had been scrawled on the black sides in chalk.
    "Nasty, isn't it. And I don't think that's dog dirt either."
    "That's not the smell of dog dirt!"
    "No, it was neighbours complaining about the smell that put us onto it. There's a dead man inside. I wouldn't look if I was you, sir. Everything that's been done to the plane's been done to him as well, poor devil. I know they're the enemy, but really..." Sergeant Green was at a loss for words.
    "Why I brought you here, sir... look at this." He pointed to an aluminium spar still sticking out of the wreckage.
    "Sawn through with a hacksaw," said "Stan.
    "Now what would have been attached to that, sir?"
    "Machine gun, I suppose."
    "And there's ammunition missing, too. These planes carry 2000 spare rounds in the rear gun position. I checked with RAF Acklington."
    "But who could have pinched them?"
    "We thought it might be the I.R.A. at first. They've been pinching the odd rifle recently. But whoever heard of the I.R.A. this far north? Lancashire, yes, but... and look at that hacksaw cut. Can you imagine a grownup being that cack-handed? I reckon it's kids, sir."
    "Oh, surely..."
    "What about that then, sir?" Green pointed to the bullet holes in the rudder