He caught his breath sharply as Biggles's machine suddenly rocked its wings. He knew what the signal meant . Enemy aircraft were in sight. But although he craned his neck this way and that he could not see them. Then Biggles pointed with his gloved hand and he wondered how he could have been so blind. Perhaps a mile away, heading straight towards them at an altitude slightly lower than their own, was a machine which Thirty recognized at once. It was a D.H.4. But it was not alone. Trailing along behind it were six brightly painted aeroplanes. One was blue with yellow stripes, the bright blue nose gleaming in the sun; another was orange, splashed in a bewildering manner with black patches; another was lemon, with a purple zigzag stripe running down the side of the fuselage. The straight wings and V struts told him what they were—Albatros Scouts. One turned sharply, and he saw the black Maltese Cross on its side. There was something so sinister about it that it gave him a queer thrill; it was not exactly fear, but it was something very much like it. Breathless, he watched the running fight draw near. That the D.H.4 was hard pressed was certain, both from the erratic course steered by the pilot and the feverish manner in which the gunner in the back seat handled his weapon, reloading with frantic haste when each drum of ammunition ran out and flinging the empty drums overboard as he snatched them from his gun.
Judging by the way he skidded wildly towards them, it seemed as if at that moment the D.H.4 pilot saw the four Camels for the first time. In an instant—it appeared to. Thirty—
they were in the thick of the enemy scouts, and he gulped as he swerved to avoid them, so inevitable did a collision seem. Never had he been so close to other machines in the air, nor had he seen so many in such a small section of the sky. Wherever he looked he saw an aeroplane. Then, with a gasp of consternation, he realized that Biggles had disappeared. So had Algy. Rip had begun to circle. In a fever of anxiety he looked around hoping to see the wing pennants of his leader, but an instant later the crisp chatter of a machine-gun behind him made him
look back over his tail. For an instant he remained motionless as his horrified eyes fell on a blue nose so close behind him that the whirling propeller appeared likely to smash into his empennage .
He did the first thing that came into his mind. He turned—and then jerked the joystick back convulsively as two machines raced across his nose, the orange Albatros, hotly pursued by a Camel. He recognized Biggles's machine by its pennants, and a wild hope surged through him that he might be able to follow it; but although he banked vertically, by the time he was round it had disappeared. A great plume of black smoke loomed up in front of him; from behind it appeared Bluenose, tiny flecks of orange flame darting from the twin guns on the engine cowling.
Thirty zoomed. His brain was in a whirl. Things were happening faster than he could think. Again came the venomous, fear-inspiring chatter of guns, and looking back in a panic he saw Bluenose again on his tail. In sheer desperation he looped. As he levelled out at the end of it something began to beat a, tattoo on his fuselage; dry-lipped, he looked back, and in a sort of numb horror saw that Bluenose was still on his tail. He whirled round in the tightest turn he had ever made—but Bluenose was still behind him when he flung a lightning glance over his shoulder. Try as he would, he could not shake him off; and all the time came the intermittent tattoo of bullets hitting the machine somewhere behind him. He jumped violently as an unseen hand seemed to jerk at his sleeve; his
altimeter appeared to explode, flinging its glass face into his lap.
From that moment a change came over him. A wave of cold anger surged into his heart as he realized that the other fellow was doing all the hitting. With his lips set in a straight line, he dragged the joystick back into his right thigh and held it there. The Camel banked viciously and remained in the turn. Bluenose appeared on the other side of a narrow circle; Thirty could see the pilot staring at him through his goggles. Enormous goggles they seemed. His head appeared to be all helmet and goggles.
In this position they remained for a good twenty seconds, during which time Thirty racked his brains to think of a manoeuvre that would bring him behind his opponent. In his anger he dragged the Camel round until it was spinning on its wing tip, but the other machine did the same and their relative positions remained unchanged.
Sheer impotence took Thirty in its grip; it was followed by a sort of savage desperation as he realized that so far he had not fired a single shot. He knew that the instant he straightened out Bluenose would be on his tail again, but he decided that it was a risk he would have to take; for the tail chasing could not go on indefinitely, with the wind blowing him farther and farther over the enemy lines.
He began his next move by shooting out of the circle. Bluenose flashed out behind him—
as he knew he would; he heard the guns start their monotonous tacataca-taca-taca. But before a dozen shots had been fired he had dragged his nose down in a spin. Five times he allowed the Camel to turn on its vertical axle before he pulled out, then looked swiftly around for Bluenose. He saw him at once, just pulling out of a spin, and he managed to get in a quick burst before the other saw him. Bluenose turned away like lightning, but Thirty for the first time had got him where he wanted him—in his sights. His hand closed on the Bowden lever and he gripped it with a fierce exultation. His guns poured out a stream of lead. Bluenose turned, but Thirty, now exuberant, hung on to his tail, firing every time the other showed in his sights. Then a shadow fell across him, and he shrank as though expecting a blow. A Camel roared past just over his head. When he looked back for Bluenose the Albatros had disappeared.
Wondering where he had gone he flattened out and looked about him. To his utter amazement he could not see a single machine. The Albatroses had gone. The D.H.4, too, had disappeared. But as he watched, shaken by this phenomenon, a Camel swam slowly into view, pennants fluttering on its struts. It was Biggles. But where was Rip—and Algy? A cold hand seemed to settle over his heart as he looked down and saw a cloud of smoke rising from something that lay on the ground. Sick with apprehension he looked back at Biggles, who had now come very close to him. He had pushed up his goggles and was beckoning. Thirty looked at his face, and noted that he looked annoyed. Turning in the direction indicated by his flight-commander, he closed up behind him and followed him to the west.
Archie bursts appeared again, but a few minutes later the lines came into view, and shortly afterwards,
the aerodrome. The nose of the leading Camel tilted down and he followed it, noting with amazement that in some extraordinary way another Camel had appeared and was gliding down near his wing tip. He recognized Algy's machine by its number.
Five minutes later he was standing on the tarmac wondering if the fight had really happened; everything seemed so quiet and peaceful. His knees felt strangely weak, and he noticed—not without annoyance—that his fingers were trembling. Algy had lighted a cigarette and was slowly taking off his helmet and goggles. Biggles was walking towards the place where Thirty was standing.
`What's the idea?' he asked coolly. 'Did you want to stay over there all day?'
`Well, I—I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing,' stammered Thirty.
Ì told you to stick close to me if we ran into trouble,' answered Biggles curtly. 'Instead of which you went off and fooled around with that bluenosed shark.'
`Fooled around—' muttered Thirty incredulously. `Why, I couldn't get away from him.'
Biggles's face broke into a smile. 'I'm not surprised,' he said cheerfully. 'I've seen that blighter before, and he's hot stuff. You were either pretty cunning or jolly lucky, I'm not quite sure which. He pushed off when he saw me coming back.'
Thirty was conscious of a feeling of vague disappointment; it seemed that he had not made Bluenose run for home, after all. Biggles had done it. 'What do you mean—when you came back?' he asked.
Ì saw the "Four" nearly back to the lines, where I handed it over to Algy and then came back to collect you,' Biggles told him.
`Did you see wh
at happened to Rip?'
Biggles nodded towards the aerodrome boundary. `Here he comes,' he said. 'Didn't you see him as we came in? He landed in the next field. He must have got his engine shot up, or else had his tank holed.'
Rip joined them. He was slightly pale, but smiling. Ì'm afraid I've bust my undercarriage,' he announced ruefully.
Ì shouldn't worry about that,' returned Biggles evenly. 'You did well to get back, both of you. That was a pretty hot lot we ran into.'
`What was that machine I saw on fire on the ground?' asked Thirty.
`That was the fellow with the purple stripe. He was careless enough to give me a nice easy shot. I'll get you to confirm my combat report. Come on into the flight office; I want a word with you both.'
Wondering how he was to keep his eyes on his flight-commander in a dog-fight, Thirty, with Rip beside him, followed Biggles to the flight office. They found Algy already there.
Biggles closed the door and then faced the two junior members of his flight. He eyed them reflectively before he spoke. 'Just what do you two fellows think you're doing here?
' he asked quietly.
Thirty felt the blood drain from his face. 'Doing here —' he echoed foolishly.
`Yes. Who gave you permission to wear those uniforms?'
Thirty felt something inside him go down like a lift; he looked at Rip hopelessly, and then back at Biggles,
who was unfolding a small piece of paper which he had taken from his pocket.
Chapter 5
A Discussion in Confidence
Biggles, with the ghost of a smile playing round the corners of his mouth, smoothed out the paper, which the others now saw was a newspaper clipping, and handed it to Thirty without a word.
Thirty stared at the piece of newsprint with the dumb fascination of a bird under the influence of a snake, for in the centre of it was a head-and-shoulders portrait of himself, in his school clothes. Above it, in heavy type, appeared these words:
`MYSTERY OF TWO SCHOOLBOYS
Lord Forbore Disappears With Friend from
Well-known Public School'
With sinking heart Thirty read what he already knew well enough—the story of his and Rip's disappearance from school following immediately upon the appearance of his brother's name in a casualty list. Various suggestions were then put forward as to where the two truants might have gone, concluding—rather shrewdly—by advancing the theory that they had run away to join up.
Thirty handed the paper back to Biggles, who tore it into small pieces and dropped it on the floor. For a moment or two he could think of nothing to say.
`How did you come to get hold of that paper?' he asked at last, haltingly.
Ìt was the merest fluke,' replied Biggles. 'The paper was sent to me from England because it happened to contain an account of a raid I took part in. Turning over the pages last night before throwing it away, I was not a little surprised—as you may imagine—to see your photograph. It was a bit difficult to see how you could have got a commission in such a short time, so I formed my own conclusions. Come on, you'd better tell me the truth.'
`Yes, I shall have to,' confessed Thirty miserably, and thereupon described the events from the time the Head had broken the sad news about his brother up to the time he and Rip arrived at the squadron.
Biggles's eyes grew round with wonder as he listened. `Well, I never heard anything quite like that before,' he observed, as Thirty concluded his story. 'You two fellows certainly have got a cheek. But let me get this clear. Am I to understand that your real purpose in rushing out here is in the hope that you might, by some crazy scheme, rescue your brother—assuming that he is still alive?'
`That was the idea,' admitted Thirty firmly.
Biggles looked at Algy helplessly for a moment or two; then the expression gradually gave way to one of thoughtfulness. 'On the face of it, this seems to be the daftest, most hair-brained show I have ever heard suggested, and I've heard some fool plans expounded since I came out here. And yet . . . I don't know. Sometimes these crazy schemes come off. Tell me more about this idea of your brother's for rescuing prisoners.'
Thirty complied, going into the matter with some detail.
Biggles nodded when he had finished. 'I seem to
have heard something about this,' he said quietly. `Somebody may have spoken about it in the mess.'
`The most important thing is, what are you going to do about us?' murmured Thirty nervously.
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. 'What do you suppose I'm going to do? What can I do? If I did my duty I should call the guard and put you both under arrest; and you had better understand that if I fail to do that I become an accessory after the fact—as they say in police courts —liable to pretty severe punishment myself.'
`Well—are you going to do that?'
Biggles smiled. `No,' he said. 'There is a war on, and to my way of thinking that excuses a lot of indiscretions. Frankly, the part that concerns me most is this: if either of you two get killed I shall feel responsible. Really, you know, you are not old enough to be out here.'
`Fellows no older than us have come out. Captain Rhys-Davids was Captain of Eton when he—'
`Yes, that's all very well,' demurred Biggles. 'There's no getting away from it, it's all a pretty kettle of fish. I'm dashed if I know what to do, and that's a fact. And this business about your brother. You are in my flight; do you suppose I can just sit back and do nothing, knowing that you are only waiting for an opportunity to tear off to somewhere in the middle of Germany with two of my machines? After what happened just now I don't doubt your courage, but, frankly, I doubt your ability to get away with such a show.
If you two went
off I think it is extremely unlikely that we should ever see you again.'
`You needn't know anything about it,' suggested Thirty hopefully.
`But I do know.' Biggles turned to Algy. can't help feeling that there may be something in this rescue idea,' he said seriously. 'I am not necessarily thinking about Thirty's brother; if the thing were properly organized there seems to be no reason why we shouldn't get quite a lot of fellows back. I've met several escaped prisoners, and they all say the same thing; it isn't anything like so difficult to get out of the actual prison camp as it is to get across the frontier.'
`That's right,' put in Thirty eagerly.
Biggles stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring at the wooden floor. Algy caught Thirty's eye and winked. Biggles looked up. 'How far away from here is this
place where you think your brother might be?' `Just over a hundred miles.'
`That's the deuce of a long way. Few people, even old hands, care to go more than ten or twelve miles into enemy country. Don't misunderstand me. It's easy enough to get there; it's the getting back that takes some doing. I doubt if anybody has ever been a hundred miles over.'
Ìt's that very fact that makes it possible,' declared Thirty. 'The enemy will hardly expect to find us there.'
Biggles laughed aloud. 'Upon my life! You certainly know all the answers,' he said cheerfully. 'I'm bound to admit that there is something in what you say. Let us try to work the thing out. First of all, it wouldn't be much use your going in a single-seater like a Camel-I mean, you wouldn't be able to bring your brother back even if you found him. You'd need a two-seater.' Òf course,' agreed Thirty.
`Where did you reckon you were going to get one from?'
`Well, I . . . I don't exactly know. I had an idea I might borrow one from a two-seater squadron.'
`Great Scott! You've already taken two machines that don't belong to you. If you're going to punctuate your tour of service in France by going round pinching other fellows'
machines, you're likely to become highly unpopular. But let us waive that for a moment.
Let us assume that we can get a two-seater—a Bristol Fighter , for instance; that would be the ideal machine because it can be thrown about like a scout. Suppose a two-seater went over—but wait a minute. I don't like t
he idea of a two-seater going over so far alone. It would be a prey for every Hun in the sky. An escort would be bound to brighten the chances of success. But even so . . . of course, if the job was done under cover of darkness it would be easier. If it were done in broad daylight thousands of people would spot the machines, and any attempt to land would instantly be telephoned to the Hun staffels , who, if they didn't catch the machines on the ground, would cut them off on the way home.'
`Machines—how many?' queried Algy.
`Well, I was thinking of a two-seater and escort,' continued Biggles. 'They could take off about an hour
before dawn so as to arrive at the objective at the first streak of daylight. It need only be light enough to see to land. I, personally, don't relish the idea of trying to put a Camel down in the dark on a strange landing-ground. In the dark nobody would see the machines on the outward journey; they could climb up to, say, sixteen or eighteen thousand feet, and throttle back the moment it began to get light. If they did that, they might get down without being spotted. The biggest risk seems to be the delay on the ground. It isn't like having a definite appointment with somebody who we know is there; we should have to go and look for Thirty's brother.'
The use of the word 'we' did not escape Thirty's notice, and his eyes brightened at what it inferred.
`You say the only place where we could land is the best part of a mile from the hut?'
Biggles asked him.
`Yes, but it doesn't necessarily follow that Forty would be in the hut; he might keep a look-out and run to the landing-ground when he saw us.'
Ìt doesn't follow that your brother is there at all, if it comes to that,' Biggles reminded him seriously. 'You should not overlook that point. I'm not trying to throw cold water on your hopes, but I think it would be foolish to buoy yourself up with illusions which may not materialize.'
17 Biggles And The Rescue Flight Page 4