Biggles In France Part 18

There was no response to the question.

'That's fine, then: went on Biggles. 'One last thing, though. If we succeed in pus.h.i.+ng these blighters into the ground - and we certainly shall - I suggest that we all go back straight away and strafe their sheds. That will be the finis.h.i.+ng touch - make a clean job of it, so to speak: The C.O. thought for a moment.

I've no objection: he said. 'As a matter of fact, we shall probably profit by it in the end, because if we don't do something of the sort the Huns, by working together, will be certain to cause casualties amongst the small patrols and individual pilots: 'Grand! I feel better now: declared Biggles. 'We'll get out times and rendezvous later on.

We'll start the action tomorrow, Tuesday, which means that this big show will be on Thursday. Now I'm going to have a bath: It was still quite dark when Biggles' batman* called him the following morning. Biggles sat up in bed, gulped down the proffered tea, and s.h.i.+vered.

'Have you called Captain Mahoney and Mr Lacey?' he inquired.

'Yes, sir; they're both dressing?

Biggles crawled out of bed as the batman withdrew.

'The number of times I've said that I'd never volunteer for any more of these c.o.c.k-crow shows - and here I am at it again,' he grumbled. 'Grrrr: He pulled his sheepskin thigh-boots on over his pyjamas, donned a thick, high-necked woollen sweater, and then his leather flying-coat. He adjusted his flying-helmet, leaving the chin-strap flapping, and slipped his goggles over it. Then he walked through to the mess to drink another cup of tea and munch a biscuit while he waited for the others.

* An attendant serving an officer. A position discontinued in today's RAE Mahoney and Algy followed him into the mess almost immediately, and in reply to his terse: 'If you're ready, we'll get off,' followed him to the sheds, whence came the roar of engines being run up.

All was still on the aerodrome. A faint flush was stealing across the eastern sky, and the stars began to lose their brightness.

'You lead,' said Biggles, looking at Mahoney. 'If I were you, I should go straight over, keeping low all the way. When we get there, do three circles to the left, and then hit the breeze for home, rallying on the way. We'll pull our bomb-toggles* for four bombs first time, four the second time, and use our guns the third time. How's that?'

'Sounds all right to me: said Mahoney. 'Come on!'

The three pilots climbed into their seats, ran up their engines to confirm that they were giving their full revs, waved away the chocks, and then took off straight across the aerodrome without troubling to taxi out, for there was not a breath of wind.

Keeping low, they raced across the British trenches at a hundred feet, startling the troops, and made a beeline for their objective. It took them exactly ten minutes to reach it, after crossing the lines. As it came into sight, Mahoney, in the lead, edged a little to the right, and then tore straight at the line of camouflaged canvas hangars.

The aerodrome was deserted. Not a soul or an * The bomb release handles.

aeroplane was to be seen. The only sign of life was a small party of crows just in front of the German sheds.

Biggles followed Mahoney in his downward rush at an interval of perhaps twenty yards.

Algy brought up the rear. As Biggles reached for the bomb toggle he saw several people, obviously in night attire, run out of the huts that stood just behind the hangars and throw themselves flat. He waited until the first hangar came in line with the junction of his starboard wing and fuselage, and then pulled.

He saw Mahoney's bombs burst in quick succession as he zoomed upwards, taking a nasty b.u.mp from his leader's slip-stream as he did so. Banking left, and glancing back over his shoulder, he saw figures running. A great cloud of smoke concealed the buildings, so it was impossible to see what damage had been done.

A long stream of tracer bullets leapt upwards from a point near the edge of the aerodrome, but Biggles only smiled. Still keeping in line, the three Camels swung round into their previous tracks and swooped low over the drifting smokecloud. Mahoney's four remaining bombs swung off the racks, and his own followed. He turned left again as the last one left his machine. This time he did not go entirely unscathed, for several bullet holes had appeared in his wings. He smiled again, and settled himself low in the c.o.c.kpit for the final plunge.

All three Camels had zoomed to a thousand feet over the edge of the aerodrome, and now, as one machine, they banked steeply again and screamed down on the Boche sheds. Biggles could see Mahoney's tracer bullets pouring into the smoke, for the target was no longer visible, and his hand groped for the gun lever.

A double stream of tracer bullets poured from the muzzles of his guns. He held the burst until his wheels were actually in the smoke, and then soared up in a climbing turn.

Algy roared up beside him, goggles pushed up, laughing. Mahoney was some distance ahead, but he throttled back to enable them to catch up, and in a tight arrow-head formation they made for home.

The return trip was an uneventful journey, although they came in for a good deal of attention from troops on the ground, as was only to be expected. Mahoney left the formation for a few moments to chase a staff car, returning after the panic-stricken driver had turned the vehicle over at the first bend. They reached Maranique just before six, having been in the air for under an hour.

'How did it go?' called Wat Tyler from the squadron office as they pa.s.sed it on the way down to breakfast.

'Finer replied Biggles. 'We just left our cards and came home!'

23.

'WRITTEN OFF'.

On Thursday morning, at a quarter to five, Major Mullen addressed eight other pilots in front of A. Flight shed. A short distance away, nine Camels stood in readiness for the impending 'show'.

I'll just run over everything once more, so that there can be no possibility of mistake. As you all know, one flight has already made two raids on the German aerodrome at Seclin.

The second raid, made yesterday morning, was carried out at exactly the same time and in the same way as the first one.

'Yesterday the enemy were ready - or perhaps it would be more correct to say nearly ready. They had their machines lined up on the tarmac, but were unable to get off in time to catch ours. It is hoped that they will actually be in the air this morning, awaiting a recurrence of the attack.

'Mahoney, Bigglesworth and Lacey will fly low and raid the aerodrome as usual - at least, they will behave as if they are going to. Whether they do it or not depends upon circ.u.mstances. It is the riskiest part of the show, but they insist on doing it, and as they are best qualified for the job, knowing the layout of the aerodrome intimately, I have agreed.

'I shall lead the remaining six Camels at six thousand feet. If the Huns are not in the air, we shall remain where we are, acting as escort to the lower formation. If, however, the Huns are in the air, they will attack the lower formation first, and we shall go to their a.s.sistance. The S.E.'s, which will be flying above us, will immediately join issue.

'I want every officer to stand by and do his level best to destroy at least one enemy machine.

'You all know the reason of this attack, so I need not go into it again. Our ultimate object is the complete write-off of this particular German group. A red light will be my signal to rally. That's all. Start up!'

Biggles threw his half-smoked cigarette aside and climbed into his seat. A savage exultation surged through him, for the next half-hour would see the culmination of his plan. Whether it would result in failure or success remained, to be seen. The urge to fight was on him. More than anything else he wanted to see the machine with the green streamers!

The sudden bellow of an engine warned him that his leader was taking off. He waved away his chocks, and the three Camels roared into the still air. They circled the aerodrome once to allow the other six machines to gain alt.i.tude, and then swung east on the course they had followed the two previous mornings.

They escaped the usual front line archie, for it concentrated on the higher machines, which offered an easier target, but they came in for a certain amount of trouble from rifles and machine-guns on the ground.

Biggles took a final glance round to see that all was in order. Twenty yards to the right he could see Algy's m.u.f.fled profile, and, to the front, the back of Mahoney's head.

Looking backwards and upwards over his shoulder, he could see the other six Camels following on, but of the S.E.5's there was no sign, due, possibly, to the slight haze that still hung in the sky.

The objective aerodrome loomed up in the near distance, and Biggles, leaning far out of his c.o.c.kpit, stared long and earnestly upwards. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushed up his goggles, and looked again, and a muttered exclamation broke from his lips as he saw what he had hoped to see the entire German circus!

His plan for getting them into the air had worked, but a sudden feeling of anxiety a.s.sailed him as he counted their numbers. He made it twenty-nine the first time and twenty-eight the second. They were flying on a westerly course, and changed direction as he watched them.

'They've spotted us: he muttered.

Mahoney shook his wings, and Biggles smiled. 'All right, old son I can see 'em: he murmured. 'Here they come!'

The Huns were corning there was no doubt of that and to an inexperienced pilot the sight would have been an unnerving one. Like a cloud of locusts they poured through the sky, plunging downwards in a ragged formation towards the approaching Camels.

'Well, I hope those peris.h.i.+ng S.E.'s are on time!' was Biggles' last thought as he swung out a little to allow Mahoney and Algy to manoeuvre without risk of collision. 'What a mob! This looks like being a show and a-half! I shouldn't be surprised if somebody gets hurt!'

If the Huns felt any surprise that the three Camels should continue on their way in spite of the inspiring reception prepared for them, they did not show it. Straight down, at a terrific angle they roared; in fact, so steeply did they dive that Biggles felt a thrill of apprehension lest they should ram them before they could pull out.

He stared at the Hun leader to see if he was wearing streamers, but from the angle at which he was approaching it was impossible to see if his wing struts carried them or not.

Where were the rest of the Camels and the S.E.5's? Good! There were the Camels cutting across at terrific speed to intercept the Huns, but there was no sign of the S.E.'s. If they were late, even although it was only two minutes Biggles thrust the thought aside, put down his nose a trifle for speed, and then zoomed up to meet the attack. It was no use trying to keep in formation now.

The first casualty occurred before a shot had been fired. A Camel pilot of the top layer, seeing that he was in danger of colliding with a Hun, swerved to avoid him, and struck another that he had evidently not seen square in the side of the fuselage. Both machines disintegrated in a mighty cloud of flying debris.

A second Hun who was close behind swerved wildly to avoid them, but failed to do so.

His wing struck the remains of his comrade's machine; it broke in halves near the centre section, and he too, plunged earthwards. Three machines - two Huns and a Camel -were hurtling down to oblivion before the fight commenced.

As the first two collided, Biggles shuddered involuntarily; he could almost sense the shock of the impact. But there was no time for contemplation.

From such a cloud of machines it was hard to single one out for individual attack, but he saw an Albatross firing at him, and accepted the challenge. For a full minute they spun dizzily round each other, neither gaining an advantage, and then the Hun burst into flames.

Biggles was not shooting at the time, nor did he see the machine from which the shots had come to send the Boche to his doom. He turned sharply to the right and caught his breath, for it almost looked as if fighting was out of the question. The air was stiff with machines, diving, half rolling, and whirling around in indescribable confusion. It would need all the pilots' wits to avoid collision, much less take aim.

Another Hun was in flames, but still under control, with the pilot on his lower plane sideslipping downwards.

It seemed to Biggles that no one could hope to escape collision in such hopeless chaos.

Machines of both sides hurtled past him at frenzied speed, sometimes missing him by inches. It was dodge and dodge again. Shooting was of the wildest snapshot variety.

Then, suddenly, the air seemed to clear, as if there were less machines than there had been. A Camel tore across his nose with an orange-and-black Hun on its tail. Biggles made a lightning turn to follow, saw the Camel burst into flames, fired, and saw the Hun pilot sag forward in the c.o.c.kpit. An orange wing spun upwards, and the torpedo-shaped fuselage dropped like a bomb.

A burst of bullets struck Biggles' machine somewhere just behind him, and he jerked the control-stick back into his stomach. A Hun shot past his wing-tip, so close that Biggles flinched.

'That's too close!' he muttered. 'Where the d.i.c.kens are the S.E's?'

He could see some of the Albatrosses turning away, as if they had had enough, and then out of the blue a cloud of brightly coloured Fokker triplanes tore into the fight. The fleeing Albatrosses turned again and headed back to the fight.

Biggles stared.

'My hat!' he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. 'It's the Richthofen crowd - and the blinking baron himself.' he added, as his eyes fell on a blood-red triplane.

His mouth set grimly and he twisted to bring his sights to bear, but was forced to turn away as an orange Albatross shot across his path. It was followed by another with green streamers fluttering from its V-shaped interplane struts. He jerked his machine round spasmodically to follow, and saw that an S.E. was already pursuing it.

It was Wilkinson's.

Out of my way, Wilks!' yelled Biggles, completely carried away.

He saw the S.E. slip sideways to escape a bunt of fire directed at it by the red triplane, and it left the way clear. He crouched forward, peering through his gun-sights, saw the green streamers, and fired. The Albatross turned over and spun.

'No, you don't!' snarled Biggles. 'You can't get away with that!'

His suspicion that the Hun was shamming was well founded, for after two or three spins the Boche recovered control and dived away.

But Biggles had followed him down. The Hun made a bad turn that almost caused him to stall, and for a couple of seconds Biggles had a 'sitter'. Tacataca-taca-taca! sang his guns.

The Hun turned slowly over on to its back, and, with the tell-tale streamers still fluttering in the slipstream, roared earthwards, black smoke pouring from its engine.

Biggles suddenly remembered the Richthofen circus.

'This looks like being a bad business: he thought.

'The Huns outnumber us now by at least two to one'

He looked up, and a yell broke from his lips. A Bristol Fighter, with its gunner crouched like a monkey behind the rear gun, cut clean through the dog-fight. Another and another followed it - the air was full of Bristols.

'Gos.h.!.+ It's Benson and his crowd! He heard us discussing it, and decided to b.u.t.t in at the death: was the thought that flashed through his mind.

Then he started and stared incredulously as an R.E.8 swam into view, heading for the thickest of the fighting, and three D.H.4's suddenly appeared on the right.

'What the d.i.c.kens is happening?' he muttered. 'If this goes on much longer the whole blinking Flying Corps will be here!'

It was almost true. Machines of all types, two-seaters and scouts, seeing the fight from afar, decided to take a hand, but it was unquestionably the arrival of the Bristol Fighters at the crucial moment that saved the day. Shortly after their arrival there must have been at least a hundred machines engaged, and the Huns began to disappear like magic.

Presently all the machines that Biggles could see were British; the Huns had had enough.

Turning slowly, he looked around and saw a red Very light flare sinking earthward; it was Major Mullen's signal to rally. Looking up, Biggles saw him circling above, and climbed up to join him. The major did not wait, but set off towards the lines, several Camels following in loose order.

Biggles landed and joined the C.O. on the tarmac. 'Did you ever see anything like that in your life, sir?' he cried as he ran up. 'If anybody ever asks me if I've been in a dog-fight I shall now be able to say "Yes"!'

Within ten minutes several Camels had landed, and he knew there would be no more.

'What about this bombing trip?' he asked the C.O.

'Yes, we're going to do it,' replied the major. 'All three squadrons are going to rendezvous over the aerodrome in half an hour. Get filled up as fast as you can, everybody - petrol and ammunition: Thirty minutes later a mixed formation of Camels, S.E.5's and Bristol Fighters headed once more toward the scene of the great air battle.

The formation reached the aerodrome without opposition, and, diving low, laid their eggs. The Seclin aerodrome became a blazing inferno, although just how frightful was the damage inflicted was not revealed until a reconnaissance machine returned with photographs the following morning. Seclin aerodrome had been written off, as Biggles had planned!

'Well, that's a bonnie picture!' observed Biggles next morning as he examined the photograph of the stricken aerodrome. 'We said we'd wipe 'em out, and, by gosh, we have. Wilks agrees that we have settled Parker's account for him!'

24.

UNDER OPEN ARREST!.

Algy Lacey, of No. 266 squadron had no intention of landing at Ca.s.sel when he took off on a short test flight. But after wandering aimlessly through the blue for some minutes and finding himself within easy distance of the aerodrome he decided he would drop in and leave his card at the mess of the new squadron No. 301 that had recently arrived in France from England with its Bristol Fighters.

In accordance with the custom at the time, he did not land immediately. For the honour and glory of the squadron to which he belonged he first treated any casual spectators of his arrival to a short performance in the art of stunting.

He pushed his nose down and roared low over the mess so low that his wheels almost touched the roof, in order to indicate his show was about to commence.