He went on to describe the nature of the procedure, which was a live-fire exercise using real ammunition. Richard knew from gossip in the officers’ mess years ago that some of these commando types indulged in very risky training scenarios, like the notorious ‘killing house’ used by the SAS near Hereford.
‘What happened was that man-shaped plywood targets were set up in front of the cabin, near the cockpit. This first exercise was to accustom the trainees to the noise and confusion of an assault, with live-weapon firing and thunderflashes being thrown about.’
The colonel in barrister’s clothing went on to describe what had happened. The two instructors were WO2 Bulmer and Staff Sergeant Leo Squires, with four local trainees in the first batch. They were to burst in through the cabin door with Bulmer in the lead and Squires behind him, immediately letting fly with their weapons at the targets. The other four followed and, after flinging thunderflashes up the fuselage, would also open up with their automatic weapons.
‘How did they avoid shooting each other?’ asked Angela, thinking that this sounded a bit like overgrown boys playing soldiers.
‘Well, they didn’t in this case, I’m afraid. The pre-exercise briefing told the trainees to spread out sideways and keep low. Not much room for that, as this old plane was a Douglas DC3, left over from the war.’
‘So what happened that this man ended up dead?’ asked Richard.
‘There was the expected God-awful noise of weapons and explosives in that confined space. According to the witnesses, the confusion lasted a minute or so while they riddled the targets, then it was seen that WO2 Bulmer was lying in the aisle. When he failed to get up, it was found that he was dead, with a gunshot wound in the back of his head.’
‘So who was behind him?’ asked Angela.
Bannerman explained that the standard ploy was for the leader, Bulmer in this case, to advance up the aisle between the seats, firing as he went, with the second instructor behind him and the trainees spread out on each side of the back row of seats, everyone hammering away at the targets.
‘What about the second trainer, right behind the boss?’ asked Richard.
‘He fires around him when he gets the chance and takes over in a real situation if the leader gets hit by the baddies.’
‘God help any passengers!’ murmured Angela. She noticed a quickly suppressed smile on the face of the secretary, proving that she was human after all.
Bannerman heard her as well and grinned. ‘I don’t think this particular exercise was meant to be a very realistic procedure. It’s really to get the new trainees used to a hell of a lot of noise and confusion.’
Pryor wanted to get back to the actual event. ‘So what happened next, when they saw he was dead?’
Bannerman sighed. ‘It was a first-class cock-up, I’m afraid. Naturally they wanted to get Bulmer out in case he needed medical attention, though the staff sergeant said he knew straight away that he was dead. He said he’d seen enough battle casualties after D-Day to know a corpse when he saw one. They lugged the body out of the fuselage, then someone ran for an airport ambulance.’
‘No photographs were taken of the body in situ, though I suppose that would hardly be the first thought in anyone’s mind,’ said the Crown solicitor. ‘Of course, this was a foreign country. We had no other military presence there to organize things.’
The story unrolled, telling how the ambulance took the dead man to the civilian hospital about five miles away, where Bulmer was pronounced dead and taken to the mortuary. The major in charge of the training unit was called from his office in the British Consulate, a villa in one of the suburbs, and he immediately reported the matter to the civilian police.
‘They don’t have a coroners’ system there, I presume?’ asked Richard.
‘No, the police do it all, in a random sort of way,’ said Bannerman. ‘They took statements from everyone, as did the Al Tallah army people. The police eventually ordered a post-mortem, done next day by an Indian doctor at the hospital. I’m not clear whether he was actually a pathologist, but he was the chap who did the work for the police.’
Bannerman turned over a few pages in his folder and pulled out several black and white photographs, each half-plate size.
‘The police took these, but they’re not of very good quality, I’m afraid.’
Richard looked at the grainy, underexposed and slightly out-of-focus pictures, then handed them over to Angela. One showed the naked body lying on a mortuary table. From the background surroundings, it looked a fairly primitive place, not unlike some of the ones he was familiar with in rural places in Wales and the west. Two others were of the scalp wound and another one showed the interior of the head, with fracture lines across the back of the skull.
‘Later, our major took a few pictures of the inside of the aircraft with his own camera – in fact they are much better than the police photos, as he had a Leica.’
He handed over a couple of smaller prints, which were indeed much sharper than the others. They showed the interior of a battered fuselage, with all the lining stripped out down to the bare metal. Many windows were smashed, and most of the remaining seat frames were devoid of upholstery. At the front, three crude silhouettes of men were leaning drunkenly, punctured by bullet holes.
‘What happened to the body?’ asked Angela.
‘After the post-mortem, it was embalmed for transit and flown home to be buried with military honours in a cemetery near his home in Lewisham.’
‘Was there a further post-mortem here?’ queried Richard.
Bannerman shook his head. ‘No, it was reported to the coroner on arrival, but he accepted the War Office account and declined to hold an inquest, allowing the death to be registered in the normal way.’
‘So what went wrong, to bring you here today?’ asked Pryor rather bluntly.
Gordon Lane leaned forward to explain. ‘Naturally, the widow was awarded his full pension entitlement, and the War Office paid all expenses related to the death. She seemed resigned to the situation, as she was aware of other deaths these days among servicemen in Malaya, Kenya and Cyprus. But a month ago we had a writ served on us for a large negligence claim – and subsequently her solicitor has demanded that Staff Sergeant Leonard Squires be charged with murder.’
Richard’s face showed his astonishment. ‘Murder! I could understand some sort of negligent manslaughter, but murder’s bit steep, isn’t it?’
Bannerman agreed. ‘We think it’s nonsense, added to bolster up their civil claim for large damages. This solicitor is what the Americans would call an ambulance-chaser. He’s got hold of this poor woman and brainwashed her into thinking there’s a pot of money to be made, including him.’
‘But how on earth can they sustain a murder charge?’ asked Angela. ‘The whole affair seems very risky, but I suppose that’s what being in the army can mean. And why should it even be negligence, if that training routine is an accepted part of military practice?’
‘Well said, Dr Bray,’ replied Bannerman. ‘We are naturally contesting the allegations, which is why we’ve come to you to see if there’s anything in the medical aspects that are relevant.’
‘The allegation of murder is based on undoubted bad blood between Herbert Bulmer and Staff Sergeant Squires,’ said the solicitor. ‘The wife has letters to show that her husband wrote home to her several times complaining about Squires.’
He went on to describe how the warrant officer had claimed that Squires was insubordinate and aggressive, even to the point that they came to blows in the accommodation provided for them by the Al Tallah military.
‘It seems that the antagonism began even before they went out to the Gulf, as several of the unit members we interviewed back at their depot near Salisbury said it was well known that the two men didn’t get on, to say the least.’