The Dare

By Sopwith

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline. 

Biggles tipped back his chair, yawned, and stood up. "I'm up ten francs," he observed, "and now I'm going to roost. Gosh, I'm tired! Who's on the early show tomorrow?"

"Me," replied Mahoney briefly, his eyes fixed on the cards in front of him.

"Good!" declared Biggles.

"Why don't you stay up a bit?" inquired Algy Lacey, a long-haired, freckled-faced youth who was leaning carelessly against the door of the mess. "Ripton, of 287, is bringing over a bottle of English wine."

"A taste of English wine hardly seems something to stay up for," Biggles said, with a grin. "No thanks, I'm asleep on my feet."

"Suit yourself."

As the door closed behind Biggles, Peterson of 331 turned to Algy and said casually, "I hear you got a Fokker today, over Mossyface?"

"Yes," replied Algy, surprised. "What about it?"

"I saw you," said Peterson, who had a reputation for being something of a boast. "And I say it was sheer luck you got him at all, the way you fly."

Algy flushed, and started forward.

"Steady, lad." Mac, one of the Flight-Commanders, caught his arm.

Algy shook him off and said to Peterson, "And I suppose you know all about it?"

"More than you do, that's for sure!" sneered the other.

"Is that so?" Algy returned, icily. "In that case, I'll have to prove that I know more about this game than you do."

"Shut up, Algy, he was only joking," Wilks, of 287, said easily. "Come and have a game of bridge."

Algy shrugged, but acquiesced.

"I hear Wing's been shouting for photos of Aerodrome 31," Mahoney remarked to Wilks, as the cards were being dealt out.

"Don't I know it! I've lost Parks, and Wilson. That place is suicide!" declared Wilks.

"I've lost Ryan," agreed Mac, dealing out the cards. "No sane man would go within two miles of that hole!"

"Where's 31?" asked Algy, who had only been in France for a few days.

"About twenty miles over, on the other-" began Wilks.

Peterson gave a scornful laugh. "Hark at the boy! 'Where's 31'!!"

Algy flushed a dark red. "I'll show you where 31 is, you skunk!" he ground out through clenched teeth, as he tossed the cards onto the table and slammed out of the mess.

&&&

Biggles was rudely awakened by the sound of a plane taking off. Sleepily, he groped for his watch. It was 3:30. "What the--?" he muttered, jumping to his feet and making his way outside.

Spotting a pajama-ed ack-emma, he hurried over. "Who's that just gone off?" he asked.

"Mr. Lacey, sir. He took four Coopers with 'im."

Biggles groaned. "Did he say where he was going?"

"31, sir."

Biggles groaned again. "Er, Thompson-you haven't seen Mr. Lacey planting any flowers lately, have you?"

"No, sir."

Biggles heaved a sigh. "I see. Just get my plane out, will you?" He turned and hurried back to his room.

A few minutes later, dressed in a sidcot suit, he went out to the tarmac to find Mahoney, seated on a chock, drinking a cup of tea. "Hello, laddie!" he cried, in surprise. "I thought I told you I was on the early show."

"It's not that, Algy's gone off to shoot 31 alone!"

"Has he, by James?" Mahoney said thoughtfully.

"I wonder what he's up to?" groaned Biggles.

"I'll tell you, if you like," returned Mahoney, and proceeded to explain the matter.

Biggles leaned limply against his Camel as the story came to an end. "My gosh! Now I suppose I'll have to go after him," he muttered, pulling on his goggles. "Why can't the young fool stay home on a dud day?"

Mahoney looked at him sympathetically.

"I don't suppose you'd like to come with me and watch my back?" pleaded Biggles.

Mahoney stared at him, aghast. "I wouldn't go within ten miles of that place!" he growled. "It's suicide!"

"Well, from the way you put it, Algy's on his own defending the honor of 266," Biggles pointed out. "We've got to help him."

Mahoney chewed his lip with indecision. Put that way, he could hardly refuse. "All right, lad." He sighed. "Let me talk to Brown and Cowley."

&&&

Algy flew toward Aerodrome 31, wondering what he should do. The sensible thing would be to lay his eggs and streak for home, but such a course did not appeal to him. “By gosh, I’ve got it!” he exclaimed to himself. “I’ll give ‘em the once-over!”

It was the custom at the time for a British pilot passing over a British aerodrome to leave his calling card by doing a show of tricks. Few people would have thought of doing such a thing over a German aerodrome, and even if they had wanted to, they would not have chosen Aerodrome 31 to do so.

Algy put his nose down and swept over the mess, his wheels almost taking the roof off. Ignoring the bullets that flew around him, he calmly started to do his show.

&&&

Biggles, followed by three Camels, headed for Aerodrome 31 with feeling of foreboding. Why did Peterson have to talk about 31, of all places? 31 had a hard-earned reputation as the most dangerous aerodrome in France. “The young fool’ll never get back alive,” he muttered to himself.

Aerodrome 31 came into view, and he put his nose down toward it, warming his guns as he went. The sight that met his eyes almost made him stall. “What does the young idiot think he’s doing?”

Biggles’ first thought was that Algy had been hit and was trying to get down. A closer glance showed him that Algy was having no trouble at all. Slow rolls followed by fast ones and Immelmann turns followed by loops…Biggles stared as Algy flew low over a group of gunners and scattered them, almost running them over.

Biggles watched open-mouthed. Algy, he decided, should be posted to HE as soon as possible.

&&&

Algy made his final turn over the aerodrome. Things were getting a bit too hot, and he had no wish to stay longer. Looping over a hanger, he jerked the bomb toggle and felt the plane lighten. Two more turns, and his bomb rack was empty.

He twisted, clutching the joystick in his right hand as he reached for the camera he’d brought with his free hand. He made a slow turn, used up his six plates, and turned for home. “I’ll show you where 31 is, you skunk!” he muttered to himself savagely.

&&&

Biggles landed at 266, then got out to meet Algy. “What in the world did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

“Upholding the traditions of 266,” grunted Algy.

Biggles sighed. “Listen, laddie,” he began, “you really mustn’t do things like that. If you want to commit suicide, there’re much better ways of doing it.”

“You wouldn’t have thought so if you’d heard what Peterson said,” retorted Algy. “You’d have been dashing for your Camel.” He took the camera from the floor of his Camel and held it out to the flight sergeant, who had come hurrying up towards him.

Biggles eyed the camera. “What’s that?” he asked, lecture forgotten.

“A camera.”

“I know it’s a camera. What’s in it?”

“Photos of 31. Why?”

“Photos of--by James, Algy! You’ve got the thing every pilot in France has been trying to get for the past week! Good work, lad. I’ll mention that to Mullen if he says anything about this.”

&&&

Peterson seated himself across from Biggles and helped himself to a drink. “I say, Biggles, have you heard about that Camel giving 31 the once-over?”

“Yes. I saw it.”

“Really? Who was it? I’ll stand him a drink.”

All eyes turned to Algy.

“Well?” demanded Peterson, impatiently.

“Me,” said Algy.

THE END