The National Archives has "lost" the files on the Rendlesham Incident - Good: some knowledge is dangerous.

http://www.consciousape.com/discussion-topics/rendlesham-forest-ufo-cover-up/

BBC News has reported that the National Archives has "lost" the intelligence papers and witness statements recording the details of the UFO sighting known as "The Rendlesham Incident." 

My novel, ENCOUNTERS – finished in January – hypothesises about the significance of this incident.

Neither short-sighted, elderly alcoholics nor wild-haired, attention-seeking anarchists observed the incident: a group of servicemen reported seeing strange lights and investigated the scene almost immediately and found marks on the ground and damage to vegetation.

An extensive search for the lost files has unearthed only a series of notes. Officials speculate the files could have been taken home by “someone” and that "it could be interpreted to mean that a deliberate attempt had been made to eradicate the records covering this incident."

Among intelligence papers released in 2009, was a letter from the former Admiral of the Fleet Lord Hill-Norton who wrote to the defence secretary about the incident in 1985. He speculated that an unauthorised “aircraft” may have entered and left UK airspace at the time. Which was exactly what the witnesses who were asked to record their impressions said too ;)

If I need to write another query letter, do you think I ought to include a little of this information in it?

ENCOUNTERS

She wedged her feet against the rail but it didn’t stop her sliding. With her forehead pressed against her knees, something wet trickled down the side of her nose.

 “Brace yourself,” her Dad hissed through clenched teeth, “and keep your head down!”

When she wanted to look up she pulled her hair, fingers curled into the back of her head. The first violent swerve sent her crashing against the steel ledge. It fractured her skull above her ear. She lost consciousness. In the sleeping compartment of the cream and maroon van they had converted into a home she rolled like a marble when they veered across the white lines painted down the centre of the road. The choice was not if they would die, only how it would happen. There was a wall of rock; the petrol tanker lying more like a victim than an assassin and the steep, rocky, drop to the wide river.