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The Trial of Charlie Windsor

by Brian Meadley

328 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0264; ISBN 1-4120-2436-6; US$27.50, C$31.50, EUR22.50, £16.00

Charlie is on trial because he executed the Prime Minister for treason. His defence that the country was at war is difficult to prove until...

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About the Book In A Question of Duty, a novel by the same author, Charlie Windsor comes to the conclusion that the prime minister, in handing over control of the nation to foreigners (the EU) is committing treason. He holds a court martial, sentences him to death, and carries out the sentence himself. In this sequel, 'The Trial of Charlie Windsor', he is on trial for murder, and his defence is that he was carrying out an act of war against the Queen's enemies. His problem is to prove that the nation was at war. The parallel plot concerns the exploits of a Russian agent who devoted his life to the Russians' secret war against the United Kingdom. He comes forward at the trial and gives dramatic and controversial evidence...

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About the Author Brian Meadley served as a fighter pilot and flying instructor in the peace time Royal Air Force. During his service he attended courts martial as a member and as defending officer. He then enjoyed a second career as an airline pilot. His hobby is private flying, and instructing, and he takes a keen interest in current affairs. He lives in happy retirement with his wife Sylvia in Spain.

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Sample Excerpts

CHAPTER 1 Charlie had never known indecision before. He paced slowly up and down his den trying to make up his mind, frustrated by his diffi culty, and angry with himself for his weakness.

He was by nature and by training used to making quick, correct decisions, and acting upon them promptly. There was the time when his engine had failed just after take off; a moment of doubt then would have been fatal. Or the mid air collision during the mock dog fight when half his tail was sliced off; slowness then would have cost him his life. Then there was the time when he had lost his electrics, and so most of his instruments, when above 8/8 cloud; the night when he was being talked down through the weather and his radio failed; the time he could not get his undercarriage down, the time when...

But this was different.

He stopped pacing in front of his Commissioning Parchment, neatly framed and hanging in pride of place on the wall. It was signed 'George R', and thus dated Charlie. It began: 'We, reposing especial trust and confi dence in your loyalty, courage, and good conduct....'

'Loyalty to whom exactly?' Charlie asked himself. 'And if I fi nd the courage to do what I should, could that be called good conduct? I wish someone was here to give me a direct order. I could obey that without question.'

Then he saw his faint refl ection in the glass. Running his hand through his greying hair, he said to himself: 'pull yourself together, Charlie. If you had dithered about like this in the cockpit, you would have killed yourself years ago, a dozen times over.' His gaze meandered across to the window.

Through it, he could see the trees in the garden. They were coming into leaf nicely, signalling that the summer of 1997 promised to be a good one.

'English trees', he thought. 'Trees of the land I'm sworn to defend against its enemies'.

But not like this.

He looked back to his desk and to the old, fading photograph in the silver frame standing in the centre. It showed his father in World War 11 flying kit, standing beside his Hurricane. He picked it up and studied it closely as he had done many times before. A broad grin covered his father's face, but his determined character showed through too. Suddenly Charlie's misgivings left him.

'You would have come to the same conclusion as me, Dad, but you wouldn't have had any self-doubts. You would have just got on with it,' Charlie said to himself. 'Thanks, Dad. I can see my way now.'

His mind made up, Charlie knew that he would not now change it, and that he would go through with his plan regardless of the consequences.

With a feeling of relief, he opened the study door, and walked briskly across the hall, and into the living room. He poured two glasses of sherry, then looked at his watch again, anxious to get on with his plan. His wife Mary came into the room and Charlie held out a glass to her. Holding up his own glass, he nodded slightly and sipped it, saying: "Down the hatch. We better get going, we don't want to be late for my dear sister and her wretched husband."

Mary sighed. "You're supposed to be coming along to give Cecil some company while I'm out with Jean. A free evening for him is very rare, so I hope you're not going to start an argument with him again, especially over the business of the European Union."

"No, Mary", Charlie replied, "I think it*s too late now for argument."

As they drove through the gates of the Sneed house, they noticed a man in the trees speaking into a walkie-talkie.

Inspector Taylor met them at the front door. "Good evening, Captain Windsor, Mrs. Windsor." "Good Evening, Inspector. Is that one of your men in the trees over there using a radio?"

"Yes Sir. He was warning me that you had arrived. I understand the ladies are going out to a function, and that you will be keeping the Prime Minister company, here at home?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm sending one offi cer and a driver to the meeting with Mrs. Sneed, so my protection squad will be a little short handed till they get back. I'll either be round the grounds checking my men, or in the 'granny' flat. Don't hesitate to call me, if you need me."

"Thank you, Inspector, I won't."

Charlie and Cecil saw their wives off, then went back into the house and to the living room.

"What would you like to do Charlie? Watch TV, or perhaps a game of chess? How about a drink?"

"No thanks. I'd just like to talk."

"Very well," Cecil replied, hesitantly, "what would you like to talk about? Not about me and my cabinet handing over control of the nation to Brussels, I hope? We've already been over that, and more than once."

"No, as a matter of fact I would like to talk about courts-martial. Did you know that there are three types? A general court-martial for serious cases, a district court-martial for the less serious, and a drum head court-martial for use on active service in the field, which can try any case."

"No, I didn't know that. But military matters never did interest me much."

"I'm well aware of that. But to continue, the first requires five officers, the second three, and a drumhead two, though in exceptional circumstances, one officer is sufficient. It was called a drum head because, in the field, the army used to set up a regimental drum in place of a bench."

"I hope we are coming to the point."

"I'm going to use this table instead of a drum."

Cecil smiled. "Now I see. We're going to play a game of court-martial. I suppose I*m the accused. What am I charged with?"

"This is no game. Cecil Sneed, you are charged with treason and sedition, in that you are plotting to overthrow our Sovereign, in that you are plotting to overthrow our elected parliament, in that you are plotting to hand the armed forces of the Crown over to a foreign power, namely the EU, thus destroying the means for the defence of the realm, and in that you are conspiring with foreigners, namely the EU, to pass the governance of the Kingdom over to them. And if there were a law that covered it, I would also charge you with conducting yourself in such a way as to make it necessary for a service officer, namely me, to take action against an elected politician, namely you, and thereby reducing this great nation to the status of a banana republic. How do you plead?"

"Really, this is absurd."

"I will take that as a plea of guilty. Have you anything you wish to say in your defence?"

"Stop this nonsense!"

"I will take it that you offer no defence. I find you guilty as charged. Have you anything to say in mitigation before I pronounce sentence?"

"No. For goodness sake. Enough of his charade!"

"I hereby sentence you to death, sentence to be carried out immediately."

"I suppose you're going to send me to the Tower to be beheaded?"

"I very much regret that I can't. I'm going to have to shoot you myself. Here. Now".

Cecil stopped smiling. "This joke has gone far enough."

"It's no joke, Cecil."

Charlie reached into his inside pocket for his pistol. As he felt it, he thought for a moment of the RAF Regiment Sergeant on the range at Cranwell all those years ago. 'If you shoot, gentlemen, shoot to kill. Aim at the chest; it's a bigger target than the head'. He pulled the gun out.

"My God! You're serious. Don't do it, please!"

Charlie pointed the gun at Cecil.

"Charlie, please don't!"

He went forward on to his knees, and put his hands together as if in prayer. "I beg you, I implore you, I beseech you!"

"I knew you wouldn't die like a man. You're the same rotten little weed you were at school!"

"Charlie, please!"

"Have you anything to say before the sentence of the court is carried out?"

"For God's sake! If you won't think of me, think of Jean!"

"I have thought of her and that makes my job easier. I'd rather see my sister a widow than married to a traitor like you!"

Charlie fired once. The bullet entered Cecil's chest. A look of dismay crossed his face, then he pitched forward, dead, on the carpet.

Charlie heard the sound of running footsteps on the gravel outside. The front door opened and slammed shut. The footsteps echoed in the hall, and were followed by banging on the door.

"Prime Minister, Sir! Are you all right?"

"Come in, Inspector. It's not locked."

Inspector Taylor came into the room.

"I thought I heard a.. My God.."

He quickly went to the Prime Minister and felt his carotid artery.

"He's dead! I don't understand, no one has come in or gone out. What...is that your gun, Sir?"

"Yes."

The inspector picked the gun up and sniffed it.

"It's been fired recently. But you couldn't have... wouldn't have... Captain Windsor, Sir, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to come with me."

Charlie straightened his shoulders and stood at attention.

"Don't be sorry, Inspector. I've done my duty; now you must do yours."

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Catalogue Information

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