Biggles Gets Stuck In A Jam

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 landed his Camel carefully and then jumped out of it, whistling cheerfully as he made his way to another machine that had come in to land just minutes before his. “Did you see that Hun scuttle when he saw us?” he chuckled, as Algy’s grinning face emerged from the Camel’s cockpit.

“Didn’t I just! Must have been new.”

Biggles took a cigarette from his cigarette case and lit it thoughtfully as the two of them began walking side by side to the mess. “How about running into town tonight and having a bite at that restaurant we tried last week?”

Algy grinned knowingly. “That waitress did seem to like you. The fair-haired one.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” retorted Biggles, with an air of wounded innocence. “Anyway, what about it?”

Algy shrugged. “All right,” he said carelessly. “As long as we can borrow the tender again tonight, I’m in.”

“Fine!” declared Biggles, pleased. He was just about to push open the door of the mess when a car pulling up to the squadron office caught his eye. A familiar figure was just stepping out of it. Major Raymond, of Air Intelligence.

Biggles grimaced, his eyes meeting Algy’s. For a minute neither of them spoke or moved, simply watching as the senior officer entered the office with brisk strides.

“I don’t suppose he’s here to ask after Mullen’s health,” suggested Algy.

Biggles shook his head without saying anything. He kept his eyes on the door until it opened and Tyler, the radio officer, glanced out. He saw Biggles and Algy almost at once and beckoned. Exchanging a resigned look, the two pilots obeyed the summons.

“There goes that restaurant,” muttered Algy, as they walked.

“Don’t be so cynical,” chided Biggles, although he too was sure that their evening plans would have to be cancelled.

“Ah, Bigglesworth, Lacey,” greeted Major Raymond, as they entered the office. He gestured towards two chairs and the two airmen sat. “I apologize for springing this on short notice, but something rather urgent’s come up and we need a pilot. One of our agents has left a…package that needs to be collected.”

“A package, eh?” said Biggles. “Where is it?”

The senior officer seemed to wince. “About forty miles over the lines, at a guess.”

“Suffering rattlesnakes!” exclaimed Biggles frankly. “What a lovely place to land and pick up a package! Couldn’t he have chosen somewhere slightly more accessible?”

“Another pilot was meant to pick up the package, but there were some complications,” said Raymond gravely.

Biggles did not comment on the complications. He could easily guess what they were. “What about the agent?” he asked, instead. “Where’s he gone?”

“Presumably back to his post,” replied Raymond. “The last correspondence we had with him was a carrier pigeon with the location of the package.”

“I should think seven would be the best time to go across,” broke in Major Mullen. As always when circumstances necessitated him to put one of his pilots in danger, his brow was furrowed with worry. “Algy can go with you, of course, in case you run into any trouble, and then the two of you could come back together.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s wise,” commented Biggles, mulling the situation over. “This mission requires stealth more than anything else, and two of us would attract double the attention, not to mention make double the amount of noise of one lone machine. Algy can wait for me near the lines in case I pick up any trouble on the way home. I’m not likely to run into anything on the way out anyway.”

The two officers exchanged a quick glance. “All right,” concluded Major Raymond. “It’s your show, Bigglesworth. By the way,” he added, “you’d better take a match with you. In case of accidents, make sure to burn the package before you do anything else.”

&&&

“Are you sure you don’t want me to follow you?” asked Algy, for what must have been the third or fourth time in as many minutes. He and Biggles were standing outside the hangers, waiting for their Camels to be brought out. Biggles’ face was grim and expressionless; Algy’s pale and somewhat anxious.

“Quite sure,” replied Biggles. “There’s no point in risking it. Two of us will attract twice as much attention and both of us will probably end up getting it in the neck if either one of us is spotted. It’s easier to go my own. You just hang about Mossyface and wait for me; if I come back in a hurry it probably means someone’s on my tail, in which case you’ll have to do what you can about it. If I’m not back within an hour chances are good that something’s come unstuck, and in that case you’d better come home.”

Algy looked indignant. “Come home?” he repeated, as if he had never heard the words before in his life. “You must be joking.”

“Well, what else could you do? Barge around on the wrong side of the lines in the middle of the night looking for a needle in a haystack? You’d have a much better chance looking around in the daylight. Anyway, it’s always possible that we might miss each other in the dark, so you might as well come home to check whether or not I did get back before getting the Huns out of bed.”

“All right,” agreed Algy, although his tone remained doubtful. “I don’t like it, but it’s your show, I suppose.”

&&&

All was dark and silent as the two Camels headed for the lines. A searchlight stabbed at the sky in front of them but Biggles was ready with the color of the night and the light swept away and faded into the background as the two pilots crossed the lines, Algy as always in position at Biggles’ right wingtip.

They flew on for perhaps another quarter of an hour and then Biggles spotted the dark mass of Mossyfaced Wood looming ahead. He blipped his engine and glanced over in Algy’s direction.

There was a momentary hesitation before Algy throttled back, and then Biggles found himself alone as he continued on towards his destination.

&&&

Biggles’ heart was heavy with misgivings as he consulted his map for perhaps the third or fourth time since he had parted from Algy. He had kept an eye out for enemy planes as he flew, but so far the flight had been quiet and uneventful, although he had a nasty feeling that it would not remain so for long.

It was with no small relief that he realized he was now nearing his destination. “About time,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. Assuming that nothing went wrong on the ground or with his take-off, he should be able to meet Algy back at Mossyfaced Wood well within the hour’s time limit he had given himself. So far so good.

He cut the engine and commenced the slow glide towards the field he was bound for. It came into sight a few minutes later. Quickly he cast another glance about him, searching the night sky for signs of danger. There seemed to be none, so he turned his attention back to the ground and began making preparations for landing.

The moment his wheels touched the ground he knew instinctively that something was wrong. He had a second to wonder at his own feelings of foreboding, and then he was flung violently forward and the world seemed to spin on its axis.

It took a few minutes for things to settle down, and when they finally did, Biggles found himself hanging upside-down, dangling over the ground, held in by his straps.

It took him some time to free himself, but at last he managed to wriggle out from underneath the bulk of his Camel and was able to see for himself what had happened. The field he had landed in was trapped with wires, and when his wheels had run into them, it had caused the Camel to summersault into its current position.

“The dirty skunks!” he growled, under his breath, as he eyed what had once been his Camel. It was obvious that the machine was a write-off and would never fly again, so he had no qualms about lighting a match and burning it.

He considered his options. The first thing to do, he decided, was to find the package that he had been sent to collect. That had to come first above all else. How to get it back behind the British lines was another matter altogether.

“Algy will be out looking for me when I don’t come back,” he mused to himself, as he made his way towards the location of the package.

Biggles knew that the earliest he could expect Algy to come by was at dawn. Indeed, he was worried that Algy would risk a night flight and fall into the same trap while attempting to land near his now burnt-out machine. At all costs he would have to ensure that that did not happen, as it would mean that neither of them would have a way to get home.

This, however, meant that he would have to devise some method of telling Algy not to land, and then further find some way of communicating an alternate landing ground where Algy could pick him up.

“Strewth!” he muttered to himself. “What a kettle of fish! Well, well, this should be interesting.”

He had by now reached the spot where Major Raymond had told him the package would be. Looking around, he saw what appeared to be a rabbit hole near at hand. It was the work of a moment to reach his hand inside and bring out the package, which was small and brown and covered with a layer of oilskin, presumably to keep out the damp.

He thrust this into his jacket pocket, and, satisfied with his handiwork, turned his mind to the now more pressing question of how to get himself back home.

Biggles debated whether he should stay close to his ruined machine and attempt to warn Algy off when he arrived, but this plan struck him as too risky. There was always the chance that Algy would land without seeing him, or whatever signal he had arranged.

“Perhaps it would be better if I went off and found another landing ground and signaled to him from there,” he mused to himself, continuing on away from the ruined machine. “Although it’s awfully risky. The Huns might see me before Algy does, and he might miss me anyway. He wouldn’t be likely to look on the ground unless he was near the field—oh!” The involuntary exclamation burst out of his lips as his foot came down on empty air where he had expected solid ground to be. He tripped over his own feet and went tumbling forward, throwing out his hands to break his fall, muttering an expletive as he went.

He skinned his palms but other than that did not suffer too much damage, and a few seconds later was able to sit up and see the reason for his fall: the ground nearby was riddled with rabbit holes.

“What a place!” he growled to himself. “Tripped with wires and covered with rabbit holes. And I’m the poor boob right in the middle of all of it,” he added bitterly, as he got cautiously to his feet.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold in his veins.

Near at hand, someone coughed.

&&&

Instinctively, Biggles froze, ears straining to find the source of the noise.

The cough came again, and this time was followed by a word. “Hullo?”

It was an English voice.

As Biggles was considering his options, the voice came again, sounding somewhat weak and strained. “Is anyone there?”

Throwing caution to the winds, Biggles replied. “Hullo?” he inquired, peering into the darkness and heading in the general direction the voice had come from. “Where are you?”

“Here,” said the voice, and Biggles started as he realized that it was now much closer than before.

It was a good thing he watched his step, or he might have stepped on the man lying on the ground behind some trees. It was easy to see at a glance that he was in a bad way, his face pale and his breathing labored.

Biggles did not bother asking whether the man was all right. Instead, he dropped to his knees and asked, “What happened?”

“Twisted my foot on one of these confounded rabbit holes,” returned the other, attempting to smile. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t be sure. Are you the pilot of that machine that just came down?”

Biggles acknowledged this.

“Bad luck,” said the stranger. “If the wires had been up when I’d put the papers here I wouldn’t have used this field.”

“Are you the sp—the man who sent the carrier pigeon asking for the package to be collected then?” cried Biggles, much surprised by this turn of events.

“Yes. That was two days ago, I think. I fell over a rabbit hole just as I was leaving, and I’ve been here ever since. They put the wires up yesterday; I kept jolly quiet so they wouldn’t see me. But I’d sent my carrier pigeon already, so there was no way to get word to anyone.”

“Two days ago!” exclaimed Biggles. “Strewth! You must be hungry!”

“I had some chocolate and a flask on me, so I’ve not done too badly,” replied the other, with a wan smile. “Could be a lot worse, I suppose. How are you planning to get out?”

“I’m not sure yet,” confessed Biggles. “A friend of mine should be out looking for me at dawn, but I’m not sure what he can do. He’ll see my machine, of course, and hopefully know not to land, but that won’t help us much.”

“Ten to one the place will be swarming with Huns anyway once someone finds your machine and raises the alarm,” said the spy.

“That’s true,” agreed Biggles thoughtfully. “Is there any other place nearby big enough to land an aeroplane?”

The spy considered. “There’s a field a few miles away, but it’s a bit too close to the Huns for my liking.”

“How long would it take to walk there?”

“I’m not sure. An hour, perhaps?”

“Splendid,” said Biggles brightly. “That should give us plenty of time.”

“Us?” echoed the spy.

“Well, you’re coming with me, aren’t you?” Biggles spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I realize you’re not really in condition for a trek at the moment, but we should manage between us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the spy. “I’d only slow you down and get both of us shot. You’d have a better chance on your own. Don’t mind me; I’ve got a gun in my pocket that I can use.”

“Don’t talk rot!” snapped Biggles. “Either we go together or no one goes at all, so you might as well do what you can to help me.”

It was too dark to do much for the man’s foot. A tightly bound strip torn from Biggles’ shirt served to alleviate the spy’s pain a little, although not enough to allow him to walk. However, by leaning on Biggles and hopping on one foot, he could move forward a few paces at a time.

Unfortunately, this state of affairs meant that progress was slow, often made slower by the need to sit down and rest, or to hide by the side of the road to avoid discovery whenever a car went past.

Afterward, Biggles could never remember much about that long walk, save for the utter weariness he felt and his determination to keep going. He did not know how he managed it, but somehow he did, although the first rays of dawn were just beginning to break when they finally arrived at their destination.

And not a moment too soon. Biggles had just collapsed with grateful relief into a clump of bushes edging the field when he heard the sound of an approaching engine. Glancing up, he saw the sight that he had been waiting for: a tiny black speck in the distance that grew and gradually blossomed into a Camel.

Biggles broke cover and dashed into the middle of the field, using shaking hands to light a fire using some paper from his notebook. The smoke that he produced was thin, but would do for his purposes.

If only Algy didn’t miss it—!

Algy didn’t miss it. He changed course almost immediately and circled cautiously overhead for perhaps half a minute before he landed.

Even before the machine had come to a complete halt, the pilot was clambering down from the cockpit with feverish haste. “What’s happened?” demanded Algy. “What are you doing here? Did you get the package?”

In a few words Biggles explained the situation at hand. “You’ll have to go back and get hold of a Fee or something somehow,” he said. “It’ll be a tight fit, but we should manage it at a pinch.”

“You must be off your rocker,” declared Algy, but he obediently turned back to his machine. “Where’s that package, then? I might as well take it with me.”

Biggles handed it over. “Try and be quick about it,” he said. “The fellow’s in a bad way, and we’ll have Huns out before long; there’s a squadron nearby, I think. I saw the hangers on our way here.”

“All right,” said Algy. “I don’t like it, but all right. Take care of yourself.”

&&&

Biggles was so tired that he accidentally fell asleep for several minutes. It was only when he heard the sound of voices, accompanied by barking, that he was jolted into wakefulness. “What’s happening?” he demanded.

“Dogs,” said the spy, who was sitting propped up against a tree trunk. “They’re out looking for us, or, rather, for you. They found your machine, and they’re searching the entire countryside.”

Biggles paled. He glanced at his watch. It would, he estimated, take Algy at least a quarter of an hour more to arrive.

“I can create a diversion for you, if you like,” offered the spy. “Head them off. They won’t mind much who they catch, as long as they catch someone.”

“No,” said Biggles. He peered through the bushes. The dogs would be on to them in ten, perhaps, five more minutes.

Biggles drew his gun. Beside him, the spy did the same.

They waited.

Several minutes later they heard excited barking, and a dog ran straight for the clump of bushes where Biggles and his companion were hiding. Biggles couldn’t bring himself to shoot the dog, so he merely feinted lashing out at it with his gun. The dog retreated but almost instantly was joined by another.

“They’re on to us!” cried Biggles, as men began rushing to the scene. Biggles’ gun spat again and again and he held on grimly to the hope that Algy would soon be arriving and the certainty that he would be shot as a spy if any of the men caught him.

Inevitably he ran out of bullets and had to resort to throwing stones and sticks—anything to keep the Huns at bay as he waited desperately for the sound of an aero engine.

And then, suddenly, he did.

&&&

But it was not one solitary engine, but several, that sang in his ears.

Biggles froze, glancing skyward, to see five Camels bearing down on them.

Chaos ensued. Streams of tracer flashed. A man screamed. Dogs yelped and scattered, barking madly as they went. Some men attempted to run while a handful of others stood their ground and shot at the planes.

And into the middle of all this, a battered FE came gliding in to land.

Biggles could almost feel the pilot’s strain as the machine dodged bullets and men and dogs. He never knew how Algy made it down without causing fatal damage to the FE; it must have been some sort of miracle.

Even before the wheels had touched the ground he was half-dragging, half-carrying the spy to where he knew the machine would come in to land. The exertions of the night before and the accumulated strain had left him running on nothing but pure willpower, but determinedly he hung on. All his thoughts were focused on getting to the FE. Everything else was blurry and faded by comparison.

He reached the machine at last and it was the work of a minute to get the spy into the gunner’s seat, with Algy’s help, before climbing up into it himself. He was content to let Algy fly. With his nerves in pieces, he knew that he was in no condition to manage the take-off.

The machine swerved, rocked violently, and then the wheels lifted. Near at hand, someone shouted. Biggles caught Algy’s eye, and his friend raised a thumb and grinned in reply.

&&&

The spy was rushed to hospital immediately after the FE landed at 266. Biggles neither saw nor heard from him again.

The MO patched up various cuts and bruises and insisted that Biggles go to bed. Biggles did not argue; he felt that bed was the best place for him, and he was grateful that Algy and Mahoney carried him on a stretcher rather than allow him to walk.

“Wasn’t it lucky I got the idea of sending the others on ahead while I fetched the FE?” asked Algy, as they went.

“Very lucky,” replied Biggles emphatically. “Thanks, laddie.”

“That’s Major Raymond’s car coming up,” observed Mahoney. “He’s waving at us. Should we stop?”

“Maybe he has another mission for you,” suggested Algy brightly.

“I hope not,” groaned Biggles. “That was one of the nastiest jams I’ve ever been stuck in, and I’m not in any hurry to get in another one.”

THE END