Biggles In France Part 11

Algy waited for no more. He rushed into the lavatory, tore a towel from its peg, then darted back into the open, waving it above his head. High up in the sky he could just make out Biggles' Camel, circling slowly as it awaited the signal.

'By Jingo, he was right!!' he muttered, as b.u.t.ter- worth's machine took off and headed towards the Line, and the topmost Camel swung round to follow it.

Is that b.u.t.terworth taking off?' said a voice at his elbow.

Algy spun round on his heel, and saw that it was Mahoney who had spoken.

'Yes,' he said quickly.

'Bad show about his brother.'

'Whose brother?' Algy asked.

'b.u.t.terworth's brother, of course.'

Algy puckered his forehead.

'b.u.t.terworth's brother?' he repeated foolishly.

'What's the matter with you? Have you gone gaga or something? I said it was a bad show about his brother being shot down yesterday. He told me about it while you and Biggles were up at the sheds.'

Algy staggered.

'What did he tell you?' he gasped.

'He said that his brother, Frank b.u.t.terworth, went West yesterday. They were both in the same squadron. That's his brother's cigarette-case he's got; he borrowed it from him a day or two ago. That's how he came to tell me about it.

'The funny thing was he would have been with his brother but for the fact that he had lent his machine to another fellow just before the show and the fellow went and got himself shot up got a bullet through the leg. He hasn't even had the Camel patched Hi! What's wrong with you?'

But Algy wasn't listening. Understanding of the whole situation flooded his brain like a spotlight, and he ran like a madman towards the hangars, praying that he might be in time to prevent a tragedy.

Biggles, sitting in the cramped c.o.c.kpit of his Camel, eight thousand feet above the aerodrome, stiffened suddenly as he saw Algy's tell-tale signal below, a tiny white spot against the brown earth, and his jaw set grimly as his probing eyes picked out a Camel streaking over the aerodrome at the head of a long trail of dust.

'So b.u.t.terworth's making a bolt for it, is he?' he mused. 'Very well, he's got a shock coming to him!'

He swung round, following the same course as the lower Camel, which was apparently climbing very slowly, although it was heading towards the Lines. The thought suddenly struck him that perhaps b.u.t.terworth did not intend to climb - that he might streak straight across No Man's Land to the German Lines.

A haze was forming under the atmospheric pressure of the advancing storm, and already the lower machine was no more than a blurred grey shadow. If Biggles didn't hurry he might lose him, after all. He pressed his knees against the side of the c.o.c.kpit, and eased the control stick forward, gently at first, but with increasing force.

His nose went down, and the quivering needle of the air-speed indicator swung slowly across the dial -100 - 120 130 - 140 - The wind howled through the straining wires, and plucked at the top of his helmet with hurricane force.

The low drone of his engine became a shrill wail as the whirling propeller bit the air; the ground floated upwards as if impelled by a hidden mechanism.

At three thousand feet Biggles flattened out, about five hundred feet above and behind the other machine. It was still heading towards the Lines, now not more than a couple of miles away.

Biggles could see b.u.t.terworth's helmet clearly; he appeared to be looking at the ground, first over one side of his machine and then the other. Not once did he look about or behind, and Biggles smiled grimly.

If I was a Hun, you'd be a dead man by now!' he muttered. 'You haven't long to live, if that's your idea of war flying!' It occurred to him that possibly the machine was known to German pilots, who had received instructions not to molest it, but after a moment's reflection he scouted the idea. A German pilot could hardly be expected to examine every Camel he encountered for special marks or signs before he attacked.

He pushed the control-stick forward again, and sped down after his quarry, intending to head him off and signal to him to return. If he refused - well - Biggles' fingers closed over the control of his guns.

At that moment b.u.t.terworth looked back over his shoulder.

For one fleeting instant Biggles stared into the goggled face, and then moved like lightning, for the Camel had spun round on its axis, its nose tilted upwards, and a double stream of tracer bullets poured from its guns, making a glittering streak past Biggles' wing-tip.

Biggles kicked out his right foot and flung the control-stick over in a frantic side-slip; for although the attack was utterly unexpected, he did not lose his head, and he was too experienced to take his eyes off his opponent even for a moment. Quick as thought he brought the machine back on to its course, and took the other Camel in his sights.

At that moment b.u.t.terworth was within an ace of death. But Biggles did not fire. As his hand squeezed the gun lever for the fatal burst, his head jerked up as something flashed across his sights, between him and his target - a green, shark-like body, from which poured a long streamer of orange flame - a blazing Albatross.

For the next three seconds events moved far more swiftly than they can be described; they moved just as swiftly as Biggles' brain could act and adjust itself to a new set of conditions - conditions that completely revolutionized his preconceived ideas.

After the first shock of seeing the blazing Albatross - for there was no mistaking the German machine -he looked up in the direction whence it had come, and saw five more machines of the same type pouring down in a ragged formation.

He realized instantly that b.u.t.terworth had not fired at him, as he had at first supposed, but at the leader of the German planes, and had got him with a piece of brilliant shooting at the first burst. b.u.t.terworth had shot down a Hun!

It meant that something was wrong somewhere, but there was no time to work it out now. Where was b.u.t.terworth? Ah, there he was - actually in front of him, nose tilted upwards, taking the diving Huns head-on!

Biggles roared up to him, peering through his centre section, and his lips parted in a smile as he saw something else. Roaring down behind the rearmost Albatross, at a speed that threatened to take its wings off, was another Camel.

For perhaps three seconds the machines held their relative positions - the two lower Camels side by side, facing the five diving Huns, and the other Camel dropping like a stone behind them.

Then, in a flash, the whole thing collapsed into a whirling dog-fight,* as the Albatrosses pulled out of their dive; that is, all except the last one, which continued its dive straight into the ground. Four against three!

It is almost impossible to recall the actual moves made in an aerial dog-fight; the whole thing afterwards resolves itself into a series of disjointed impressions. Biggles took a dark green machine in his sights, fired, and swerved as he heard bullets. .h.i.tting his own machine.

He felt, rather than saw, the wheels of another * An aerial battle rather than a hit-and-run attack.

machine whiz past his head, but whether friend or foe he did not know. An Albatross, with a Camel apparently tied to its tail by an invisible cord, tore across his nose; another Camel was going down in a steep side-slip, with a cloud of white vapour streaming from its engine.

Another Albatross floated into his sights; he fired again, and saw it jerk upwards to a whip-stall. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a swift glance over his shoulder for danger, but the sky was empty. He looked around. The air was clear. Turning, he was just in time to see two straight-winged aeroplanes vanis.h.i.+ng into the haze.

Below, two ghastly bonfires, towards which people were running, poured dense clouds of black smoke into the air. Near them was a Camel, c.o.c.ked up on to its nose; some troops were helping the pilot from his seat. Another Camel was climbing up towards him, so he went down to meet it, and saw, as he had already half suspected, that it was Algy's machine.

So it was b.u.t.terworth on the ground. What the d.i.c.kens was he doing, fighting Huns?

There was something wrong somewhere, and the sooner he Biggles got back to the aerodrome and found out all about it the better it would be!

Algy was waving, signalling frantically, obviously trying to tell him something. Biggles waved back impatiently, and signalled that he was returning to the aerodrome, where he landed a few minutes later and ran down to the squadron office.

'Have you had any phone messages?' he asked the recording officer.

Was that you in the mix-up behind Vricourt?' the recording officer wanted to know.

'Yes, me and Algy and b.u.t.terworth - you know, the fellow who dropped in to lunch.

He's down. Is he hurt?'

'No. Shaken a bit, that's all.

'Has he gone to hospital?'

'No; he's on his way back here in a tender.'

Biggles went outside and met Algy who had just clambered out of his machine.

Algy looked worried.

Is he all right?' he called.

If you mean b.u.t.terworth - yes.'

'Thank goodness! My word, Biggles, you nearly b.o.o.bed that time!'

'So it seems. But what do you know about it?'

It's b.u.t.terworth's brother. I mean this fellow is the brother of the fellow you know'

'Brother?' gasped Biggles.

'Yes. I'll tell you all about it - '

'Shut up - here he comes! Don't, for goodness'

sake, say anything about this spy business!' b.u.t.terworth climbed out of the tender that had pulled up on the road, and hurried towards them. 'Say, I guess I've got to thank you for helping me to get that Hun!' b.u.t.terworth cried.

'Don't thank me,' replied Biggles - 'thank your lucky star. By the way, what made you push off the way you did, without waiting for me to come back?'

b.u.t.terworth jerked his thumb upwards towards the darkening sky.

I thought I'd better try to get home before the storm broke.'

'You pinched the map out of the map-room,' Algy accused him.

'Yes, I know I did,' replied b.u.t.terworth. 'I thought I'd take it to make sure of finding my way home. I would have brought it back in a day or two - it would have been an excuse to come. I like you fellows.

'By the way, did I hear you say something to Algy about a spy? I thought I just caught the word.' 'Yes,' replied Biggles. 'But it was only a rumour!'

16.

TURKEY HUNTING.

Biggles stood by the ante-mom window of the officers' mess with a coffee cup in his hand and regarded the ever-threatening sky disconsolately.

It was Christmas-time, and winter had long since displaced with its fogs and rains the white, piled clouds of summer, and perfect flying weather was now merely a memory of the past. Nor did the change of season oblige by providing anything more attractive or seasonable than dismal conditions. A good fall of snow would have brightened up both the landscape and the spirits of those who thought that snow and Yuletide ought always to go together; but the outlook from the officers' mess of No. 266 Squadron was the very opposite of what the designers of Christmas cards imagine as an appropriate setting for the season.

'Well,' observed Biggles, as he looked at it, 'I think this is a pretty rotten war!

Everything's rotten! The weather's rotten. This coffee's rotten - to say nothing of it being half-cold. That record that Mahoney keeps playing on the gramophone is rotten. And our half-baked mess caterer is rotten - putrid, in fact!'

'Why, what's the matter with him?' asked Wat Tyler, the recording officer, from the table, helping himself to more bacon.

'Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and he tells me he hasn't got a turkey for dinner: 'He can't produce turkeys out of a hat. What do you think he is - a magician? How can - '

'Oh, shut up, Wat. I don't know how he can get a turkey. That's his affair: 'You expect too much. You may not have realised it yet, but there's a war on!'

Biggles, otherwise Captain Bigglesworth, eyed the recording officer sarcastically.

'Oh, there's a war on, is there?' he said. 'And you'd make that an excuse for not having turkey for Christmas dinner? I say it's all the more reason why we should have one. I'll bet every squadron on each side of the Line has got turkey for dinner - except us!'

'Well, you're a bright boy: returned Wat, 'why don't you go and get one, if it is so easy?'

'For two pins I'd do it!' snorted Biggles. 'Fiddlesticks!'

Biggles swung round on his heel.

'Fiddlesticks, my grandmother!' he snapped. 'Are you suggesting I couldn't get a turkey if I tried?'

'I am: returned Wat. 'I know for a fact that Martin has ransacked every roost, shop and warehouse for a radius of fifty miles, and there isn't one to be had for love or money: 'Oh!' Biggles said. 'Then in that case I shall have to see about getting one: Algy caught his eye and frowned.

'Don't make rash promises,' he said warningly 'Well, when I do get one you'll be one of the first to line up with your plate, I'll be bound,'

Biggles retorted. 'Look here, if I get the bird, will you all line up very respectfully and ask for a portion - and will somebody do my dawn patrols for a week?'

There was silence for a moment. Then: 'Yes, I will: declared Mahoney 'Good! You can be getting a stock of combat reports ready, then: declared Biggles, turning towards the door.

'Where are you off to?' called Wat.

'Turkey hunting,' replied Biggles shortly.

'And where do you imagine you are going to find one?'

'You don't suppose I'm going to stand here and wait for one to come and give itself up, do you? And you don't suppose I'm going to wander about this frostbitten piece of landscape looking for one?' inquired Biggles coldly.

'But I tell you, you won't find a turkey within fifty miles!'

'That's all you know about it!' grunted Biggles, and went out and slammed the door.

Now, when that conversation had commenced, Biggles had not the remotest idea of where he was going to start his quest for a turkey. But presently something awakened in his memory. He had a clear recollection of seeing a large flock of turkeys below him on an occasion when he had been flying very low, and as he left the room to fulfil his rash promise he suddenly recalled where he had seen them.

He was half-way to the sheds when he called to mind the actual spot, and realised with dismay that it was over the other side of the Lines!

He paused in his stride and eyed the sky meditatively. The clouds were low, making reconnaissance-flying quite useless, but there were breaks through which a pilot who was willing to take chances might make his way to the 'sunny side'.