Fireworks

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.

The freckled, boyish face of the Honorable Algy Lacey bore an expression of excitement as its owner made his way to the mess of 266 Squadron. He flung open the door and asked, “Anyone know what day this is?”

Biggles, playing cards with Mac and Mahoney, did not even bother to look up. “It’s not your birthday again, is it?”

“No,” replied Algy promptly. “It’s Bonfire Night.”

Biggles frowned for a minute, thinking, and then nodded. “So it is. What about it? Do you particularly want us to dress you in old clothes and set you on fire?”

Algy held up the small bag that he was holding. “I thought we could set off some fireworks,” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve just been into Amiens to get some.”

“Fireworks?” cried Biggles, finally looking up from the game he was playing. “You must be out of your mind!”

“They’ll look lovely in the evening sky,” protested Algy.

“Lovely nothing!” sneered Biggles. “You’ll end up setting the hangers on fire, and we’ll be the laughing stock for miles around. The only fireworks that will be going off tonight will be the ones made by my bombs landing on some Hun aerodrome.”

“But—” began Algy.

“No buts. Put the things away, and don’t let me see them again.”

&&&

Biggles, in the act of donning his flying cap and goggles in preparation for his night flight, paused in his movements to observe Algy, who was seated on a chock in a crestfallen attitude of dejection. “Cheer up, laddie,” he said. “You’ll be seeing plenty of fireworks soon.”

“I like fireworks,” was Algy’s rather childish reply.

“Yes, all right; do you know the plan for tonight?”

“Yes. Go up to twenty thousand feet, cut the engine, glide down, lay my eggs, and get out as quickly as possible.”

“That’s right,” said Biggles. “Try to aim for the hangers, though if you happen to hit the squadron office you won’t hear me complaining.”

“Fine,” replied Algy, trying but failing to cover up the sulkiness in his tone as he stood up and went over to his Camel.

&&&

With eight Cooper bombs under their wings, they took off together and headed for the Line. A searchlight accosted them, but Biggles was ready with the color of the night, and the beam quickly faded away behind them as they steadily climbed for height.

Biggles rose to twenty thousand feet, then, following his own advice, cut his engine and began the long glide down towards his destination. Without looking, he knew that Algy had done the same and was holding position at his left wingtip, as planned.

He saw a large bulk just ahead of him, which he soon made out to be a row of buildings, though whether they were hangers or dormitories he had no way of knowing.

“So there you are,” he murmured to himself, smiling faintly, for he had been afraid that he would miss the aerodrome in the dark. “Well, here goes.”

He had just barely touched the bomb toggle when a movement on the ground caught his eye. Frowning, he leaned over the side of his cockpit for a closer look.

What he saw took his breath away, and for a second he was frozen with speechless horror, for the ground below was teaming with soldiers and weaponry--all of them aimed at him and Algy.

A searchlight stabbed at the sky, and he saw Algy's Camel writhing in the beam as the pilot struggled to dodge the bullets that were being fired up at it from all directions.

&&&

Biggles restarted his engines. There was no point in keeping quiet now that the enemy knew he was there.

A plane was just in the act of taking off from the row of buildings Biggles had spotted earlier. He had no doubt that others would soon be joining it, and he anxiously searched for Algy, hoping that they would be able to make their way home before serious injury occurred to either of them.

The searchlight made it easy for him to find Algy’s Camel, twisting and turning in the beam as it jerkily floated over toward the hangers.

Biggles waved frantically at his partner, wondering if Algy had even seen the Hun plane that was now swinging its way towards the two British planes. “He can’t seriously be thinking of laying his eggs in this,” he muttered to himself. “It’s suicide!”

But apparently that was precisely what was on Algy’s mind, for he banked steeply as he passed the row of hangers, and Biggles could see the first bomb as it went whizzing through the air to land just by the first hanger.

The world exploded in a dizzying array of light, and Biggles had to turn away for fear of being blinded by the glare.

A double stream of tracer thudded into his plane from the right side, and he turned to see a Fokker diving down on him. Without thinking, Biggles kicked the stick over, wincing as the Camel reared like a startled horse.

His lips set in his famous fighting smile as he spun the plane round to face his attacker. The Fokker had taken up position near his tail and was hot in pursuit, but with a graceful Immelmann turn the attacker became the attacked and Biggles’ teeth set in a mirthless grin as he took the hapless Fokker in his sights and fired relentlessly.

The fight was over before it had even begun. The Fokker teetered mid-air for the fraction of a second, then fell on its wing and started a helpless spin earthwards. Biggles watched on in horrified fascination as the plane reached the ground and collapsed in on itself like a house of cards.

Feeling slightly sick, Biggles turned away to look for Algy.

The smoke from the first bomb had cleared, and he could see that at least one of the hangers had caught fire. Whether this was the work of additional bombs, or a side result of the original one, he neither knew nor cared.

The searchlight was still following Algy, and it was a wonder that none of the gunners on the ground had hit him yet. Biggles knew that it could only be a matter of time before a lucky shot brought Algy, or himself, down.

A row of bullet holes appeared like magic along his left wing, and he grimaced. He waved to Algy, indicating that they should go home while the going was good, but Algy shook his head, holding up four fingers in reply, to show that he still had four bombs to drop.

“Fine!” snapped Biggles, turning his Camel around to set a course for home. “You can stay if you want, I’m going home.”

He had not flown for more than a second on his new course, when he was cut off by two Fokkers coming from the opposite direction. Biggles swerved, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guns on the ground.

The Huns had got him where they wanted him, and they weren’t about to let him leave without a fight.

&&&

Biggles’ lips set in a cold hard line, and his eyes narrowed as he took the nearest Fokker in his sights and pressed his thumb over the firing button. His guns chattered a challenge as the double stream of tracer bore into the enemy plane.

He turned, and was just coming back when something caught his eye. “What the dickens—?” he muttered. A round green object was rolling its way comically across the dark sky, and, as Biggles watched, it abruptly exploded into a dazzling display of light.

Biggles’ first thought was that it was a signal fired from a Very light, but as yet more colourful balls rolled their way over the sky, he suddenly realized what it was. “By gosh!” he exclaimed. “It’s Algy’s fireworks!”

&&&

Algy, hunched down in his Camel, was having the time of his life. He had only meant to set the fireworks off over the British side of the lines after the mission had been concluded, and he never dreamt that his acquisitions were proving to be so useful in combat.

The first firework did not deter the Huns too much; they probably assumed that it a signal of some sort, fired perhaps from a Very pistol or some such device, but when the Catherine Wheel barrelled out, there was no ignoring it.

The Huns scattered in horror as the firework buzzed towards them, and Algy threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was simply all too wizard to be true. He reached out and set the Roman candle free, watching as it drifted lazily down. The Huns below forgot all about their guns as they dashed for cover, and Algy had a perfect opportunity to lay the rest of his eggs.

He felt his plane lighten as he released the last bomb, and as he turned to look for Biggles, he noticed that the fireworks had set the dormitory roof on fire.

All in all, it wasn’t bad going for a night raid.

Hovering at two thousand feet, Algy Immelmanned and reached down for the last item in the bag. A couple of quick passes with the sparkler, and the words “Happy Guy Fawkes Night” were written in foot high letters that hung in the sky over the ruined aerodrome.

Algy smiled.

&&&

“What,” demanded Biggles, “was that back there?”

Algy raised his eyebrows innocently. “What was what?”

“You know what! Those fireworks!”

“They came in very useful, didn’t they?” murmured Algy cheerfully. “Scared the Huns right off!”

“Are you insane? Lighting fireworks in your Camel? You could have killed yourself. You could have killed me!”

“But I didn’t, did I?” protested Algy. “Look, I’ve got some more here if you want to—”

Biggles made a noise of frustration and threw up his hands. He walked off in the direction of the squadron office to write out his report.

“No?” said Algy, glancing disappointedly after Biggles. “Oh, well. Just me then.” He lit the first Roman candle, and watched it soar skywards.

THE END