Biggles In France Part 9

A broad smile spread over his face as his eyes fell on his machine, to which a party of weary mechanics, who had evidently been up all night, were just putting the finishing touches.

Every spot of oil and every speck of dust had been removed from wings and fuselage, while the propeller gleamed like a mirror; but it was not that that made him smile. It was the extensions, for the top planes now overlapped the lower ones by a good eighteen inches.

It looks pretty ghastly, I must say,' he confessed to the flight-sergeant, who was superintending his handiwork with grim satisfaction. 'Any of our lads who happen to see me in the air are likely to throw a fit.'

Smyth nodded.

'Yes, sir,' was all he said, but it was as well that Biggles did not know what was pa.s.sing in his mind.

'Well, let's get her out on to the tarmac ready to take off,' ordered Biggles.

Are you going to test her, sir?'

I most certainly am not; there's no sense in taking risks for nothing. I can do all the testing I need when I'm actually on the job.'

After a swift glance around to make sure no one was about, they wheeled the modified Camel out on to the tarmac. A mechanic took his place by the propeller ready to start up, and Biggles donned his flying kit.

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly as the sky grew gradually lighter, and Biggles began to fear that the enemy machine was not going to put in an appearance. Just as he had given up hope, Wat Tyler, the recording officer, appeared, running, with a strip of paper in his hand. He stopped dead and recoiled as his eyes fell on the Camel's wing-tips, conspicuous in their incongruity 'What the - what the - ' he gasped.

'She's all right - don't worry,' Biggles told him. 'Her wings have sprouted a bit in the night, that's all. Is that message for me?'

'Yes. The German machine crossed the Lines about four minutes ago, between Bethune and Annoeulin, following the Bethune-Treizennes road. Wing have discovered that it is attached to the Fleiger Abteilung at Seclin.'

'Thanks!' replied Biggles, and climbed into his seat. He waved the chocks away after the engine had been run up, and taxied slowly out into position to take-off. 'Well, here goes!'

he muttered, as he opened the throttle.

The lightness of the loading was instantly apparent, for the machine came off the ground like a feather - so easily that he was off the ground before he was aware of it.

For some minutes he watched his new wing-tips anxiously, but except for a little vibration they seemed to be functioning perfectly, although a dive would no doubt take them off - and perhaps the wings as well.

Grinning with satisfaction he made for the course of the photograph plane, and, as he had done the previous morning, first picked it out by the line of archie smoke that was expending itself uselessly far below it.

A D.H.4 that was presumably under test came up and looked at him as he pa.s.sed over the aerodrome of Chocques, the pilot shaking his head as if he could not believe his eyes.

'He thinks he's seeing things!' smiled Biggles. 'He's going home now to tell the boys about it.' Three S.E.'s were converging on his course some distance ahead, and they all banked sharply to get a clearer view of the apparition. Biggles waved them away, for he had no wish to be compelled to make a steep turn that might spell disaster.

He reached nineteen thousand feet in effortless style, and from the way the machine was behaving he felt that it would make the three or four thousand feet necessary to reach the enemy machine without difficulty.

Progress became slower as he climbed, and the German began to draw away from him, for it was flying level, so he edged his way between it and the Lines and watched for it to make the first move on its return journey.

A joyful song broke from his lips as the Camel climbed higher and higher, for whether he managed to bag the Hun or not he was at least getting a new thrill for his trouble! But soon afterwards he began to feel the effects of the rarefied air, which he had forgotten to take into consideration, so he stopped singing and concentrated his attention on the enemy aircraft, which was, he guessed, probably equipped with oxygen apparatus.

What his own exact alt.i.tude was he did not know, for the altimeter had been removed with the other instruments, but he felt that it must be between twenty-two and twenty-three thousand feet. He was still slightly below the Hun, but he felt that he could close the distance when he wished. The other was now flying up and down in regular lines as it had done before, with both members of the crew seemingly intent on their work.

Once, the observer stood up to glance below at where the three British S.E.'s were still circling, and then resumed his task without once glancing in Biggles' direction, and obviously considering himself quite safe from attack.

Slowly but surely Biggles crept up under the enemy's tail, a quiver of excitement running through him as the moment for action drew near.

To force the German machine to land without causing any damage to the camera was a problem for which he had still found no solution unless it was possible for him to hit its propeller, although he had some doubt as to his ability to do that.

He was now within a hundred yards, and still neither of the Germans had seen him. He was tempted to shoot at once, for the machine presented a fairly easy target, but, following his plan of trying to hit the propeller, he put his nose down in order to overtake the big machine and attack it from the front.

Unfortunately, at that moment the German pilot, who had reached the end of his beat, turned; the observer spotted him and jumped for his gun, but he was just too late.

Biggles was already turning to bring his sights to bear; his hand found and pressed the gun lever. Rattat-tat-tat!

Biggles may have been lucky, for the result was instantaneous. Splinters flew off the big machine, and it plunged earthwards. As it pa.s.sed below him Biggles saw the pilot hanging limply forward on his safety-belt, and the observer frantically trying to recover control.

Biggles throttled back and followed it down, and as it came out into a glide he half expected to see the observer make a last attempt to reach the Lines, but either his courage failed him or he was too occupied in controlling the machine, for he made no such attempt.

Biggles waved his arm furiously as the waiting S.E.'s closed in, but they stood aside as victor and vanquished sped through them, with Biggles so close that he could see the German observer's white face.

At a thousand feet from the ground Biggles saw him bend forward and struggle with something on the floor of the c.o.c.kpit, and guessed that he was endeavouring to release the camera, about which he had no doubt had special instructions.

But the warning rattle of Biggles' guns made him spring up again. In his anxiety he tried to land in a field that was really much too small for such a big machine, with the inevitable result, and it crashed into the trees on the far side.

Biggles was also feeling anxious, for he knew that as soon as he was on the ground the German's first action would be to destroy or hide the camera, so he took a risk that in the ordinary way he would have avoided. He put the machine into a steep side slip and tried to get into the same field.

As he flattened out he knew he had made a mistake, for the machine did not drop as it would normally have done, but continued to glide over the surface of the ground without losing height. The modifications that had been so advantageous a few minutes before were now his undoing, and although he fish-tailed* hard to lose height, he could not get his wheels on to the turf.

At a speed at which the machine would normally have stalled, he was still gliding smoothly two feet above the ground, straight towards his victim. There was no question of turning, and to have forced the machine down would have meant a nasty somersault.

Seeing that a crash was inevitable, Biggles switched off and covered his face with his left arm, and in that position piled his Camel on to the wreckage of its victim.

He disengaged himself with the alacrity of long experience, and leapt clear for the horror of fire is never far from an airman's mind and looking round for the observer, he saw him standing a short distance away as if undecided whether to make a bolt for it or submit to capture.

Biggles shouted to him to return, and without waiting to see if he obeyed, set to work to liberate the unfortunate German pilot, who was groaning in his seat.

Biggles derived some satisfaction from the knowledge that he was still alive, and with the a.s.sistance of the German observer who came running up when he saw what was happening, they succeeded in getting him clear.

* A quick side to side movement of the rudder used when landing to slow the machine down by creating extra wind resistance.

Wilkinson and another pilot came running down the hedge, having landed in the nearest suitable field when they saw the Camel crash.

I thought you'd done it that time!' panted Wilkinson, as he came up.

'So did I!' admitted Biggles. 'But I've bust my beautiful aeroplane; I'm afraid I shall never get another one like it.'

'What - Hallo, here comes Major Raymond,' said Wilkinson. 'He must have been watching the show from the ground; and here's the ambulance coming down the road.

The sooner that German pilot is in hospital the better; he's got a nasty one through the shoulder.'

Is the camera there?' cried Major Raymond, as he ran up, accompanied by two staff officers.

'Camera, sir? By Jove, I'd forgotten it!' replied Biggles. And it was true; in the excitement of the last few minutes all thoughts of the special object of his mission had been forgotten.

'Yes, here it is,' almost shouted the major, tugging at something amongst the debris, regardless of the oil that splashed over his clean whipcord breeches. 'That's lucky - '

He stopped abruptly as several pieces of thick gla.s.s fell out of the wide muzzle of the instrument and tinkled amongst the splintered struts. He turned the heavy camera over and pointed accusingly at a round bullet-hole in the metal case, just opposite the lens.

'You've put a bullet right through it!' he cried.

Biggles stared at the hole as if fascinated.

'Well, now, would you believe that?' he muttered disgustedly. 'And they took five years to make it!'

14.

SUSPICIONS.

Biggles turned the nose of his Camel plane towards the ghastly ruins of Ypres, still being pounded by bursting sh.e.l.ls. He took a final glance at that pulverised strip of Belgium, over which tiny puffs of shrapnel were appearing and fading continuously, then floated away towards the western side of No Man's Land.

His patrol was not yet over, but the deep, pulsating drone of his engine had lost its rhythm as it misfired on one cylinder, and Captain Bigglesworth (his promotion dated from his meritorious work in bringing down the camera-plane) had no desire to become involved in a fight whilst thus handicapped.

Several machines were in the sky, mostly British bombers, for the great battle for possession of the Ypres Salient* was still in progress. But they did not interest him, and he was about to turn his back on the scene when a tiny speck, moving swiftly through the blue, caught his eve.

* A much fought over section of the front line which bulged, sometimes by up to five miles, into German-held territory. It was to the east of the town of Ypres. Over three quarters of a million men on both sides died struggling over possession of this piece of land.

'That's a Camel! I wonder if it's one of our crowd?' he ruminated as he watched it. 'By James! He's in a hurry, whoever it is!'

The pilot of the approaching Camel was certainly losing no time. With nose well down and tail c.o.c.ked high, the machine sped through the air like a bullet, straight towards the other Camel.

As it drew near, Biggles saw that it was not one of his own squadron - No. 266 - nor did he recognise the device, which took the form of two white bands, just aft of the ring-markings on the fuselage.

'There must be a new squadron over: he thought, as he headed for Maranique, headquarters of his own squadron, noting with surprise that the new arrival changed its course to follow him. It drew still nearer, and finally flew up alongside, the pilot waving a cheerful greeting.

Biggles raised his hand in reply, and a slow smile crept over his face as he examined his companion's machine more closely. At least a dozen neat round holes had been punched in an irregular pattern on the metal engine cowling; there was another straggling group just behind the pilot's seat, and at least twenty more through the tail.

'Gosh, no wonder he was in a hurry!' Biggles muttered.

Presently the aerodrome loomed up ahead and he glided down towards it and slipped in between the hangars. The other machine landed beside him, and side by side they taxied up to the sheds. Biggles pushed up his goggles, threw a leg over the 'hump'

of his Camel, slid lightly to the ground, and walked over to the other machine, from which the pilot was just alighting.

"Morning!' he said cheerfully. 'Pity you didn't make a better job of it!'

The stranger looked at him, frowning.

'How so?' he asked.

I mean, if you could have got a few more holes through your cowling it would have made a sieve; as it is, it's neither one thing nor the other.'

'Never mind, I'll give it to the cook for a colander,' replied the other, smiling. He removed his flying helmet carefully, and looked ruefully at a jagged rent in the ear-flap.

Biggles whistled.

'My word, if that one had been any closer it would have given you a nasty headache!' he exclaimed.

It would have given my old mother a heartache!' answered the stranger, feeling the side of his head gingerly, where a red weal,' just below the ear, told its own story.

'Well, come across to the mess: invited Biggles. 'By the way, my name's Bigglesworth, of Squadron 266'

'Mine's b.u.t.terworth, of 298.'

'Where do you hang out?' asked Biggles. 'I can't remember seeing any of your fellows in these parts!'

'No,' was the reply. 'We're up on the coast, at Teteghen, doing special escort duty with the day bombers who are operating against the seaplane shed at Ostend. We haven't been over very long.'

Ostend! Then how did you get right down here?' Biggles wanted to know.

'Just plain curiosity, I guess. I'm not on a "show" today, as a matter of fact, I went up to do a test, and while I was up I thought I'd like to have a look at the Lines. We do most of our flying over the sea, just off the coast, y'know!'

Biggles was still surveying the holes in the machine with a professional eye.

'Quite,' he said slowly. 'But how did you get in this mess?'

b.u.t.terworth laughed.

'Serves me right, I suppose,' he said. 'I haven't got a Hun yet, so I thought I'd try to get one. I found one, as you can see - and that's what he did to me!'

Not too good,' commented Biggles. 'You'll have to fly with Squadron 266 for a bit and learn how to do it. But come along; I expect you can do with some lunch.'

'Sure! I can do with a bite!'

'You're a Canadian, aren't you?' went on Biggles, as they walked in the direction of the officers' mess. 'Yes. What made you think that?'

Biggles laughed.

'People who say "sure" and "I guess" are usually Canadians or Americans, and as you aren't in American uniform - well - Hallo, here comes young Algy Lacey! He's a good scout. You'll like him. What cheer, laddie!' he went on as they met. 'This is b.u.t.terworth, of Squadron 298.'

Algy nodded.

'Glad to know you!' he said. 'How did you get on, Biggles?'

'Nothing doing. I didn't see a Hun, and had to pack up after an hour, with a missing engine. b.u.t.terworth here kept all the Huns to himself; his kite's got as many holes in it as a petrol-filter. What happened, b.u.t.terworth?'

On the mess veranda b.u.t.terworth told his story: After I left the aerodrome this morning I headed due east for a time, following the Line between Bixshoote and Langemarck. I didn't see a soul, which got a bit boring, so when I got to Wieltje I turned off a bit to the left to see if those German Fokkers and Albatrosses are as common as you fellows pretend.

'For some time I didn't see anyone, except one or two British R.E.8's doing artillery observation duty, and then I suddenly saw five or six Albatrosses on the right of me. I was only about a mile over the Lines which didn't seem far from home but I guess the Huns spotted me just as I spotted them, and as I turned they turned.

I shan't forget the next five minutes in a hurry. At first I put my nose down and streaked straight down the Lines, trying to out-distance them rather than face them. In other words, I ran away, and I don't mind admitting it. You fellows might think it's good fun taking on half a dozen Huns at once. But not yours truly. I know my limitations.