The Boob

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. 

"Bye, Mother," Second Lieutenant the Honorable Algernon Montgomery Lacey, of No.8 School of Fighting said cheerfully, as he swung his kit into the waiting tender. "Try not to worry too much about me."

"Do be careful," wept Lady Lacey, dabbing at her eyes and sniffing. "I do wish your father could see you now, he'd be so proud...." (Algernon's father was away on Important Business) "Do remember to get your hair cut and your shoes cleaned, and don't drink, and ...."

"Goodbye, Mother," said Algernon, more firmly.

"Your cousin James will be at 266 and he'll look after you," promised his mother, still weeping. "You'll do what he tells you, won't you?"

"YES, Mother."

"And you won't fly too much if you can help it, will you? And you won't volunteer for silly missions, and..."

"NO, Mother." Algy gave his mother a kiss and climbed into the tender. "Give my love to Dad when he gets back."

"And, Algernon, don't--"

Her words were lost as the tender pulled away.

&&&

They were playing cards to pass the time whilst waiting for the boat that would take them to France. Algy dealt out a new hand and grimaced as he eyed his cards.

"What's he like, this cousin of yours?" inquired his friend, Harris.

"Dunno. It's years since I saw him. Awfully serious and law-abiding, if he's anything like how he was back then."

"Too bad," Harris was sympathetic. "Well, you just have to stick it out for a week or two and then you can put in a transfer to some other squadron, I suppose.”

"I’ll keep that in mind," agreed Algy, putting down a card. As he did so, he noticed a boy standing near one of the benches watching them wistfully. On the spur of the moment, he called out, "Like to join us?" and shifted over to make room for him.

The boy walked over and was dealt in by Harris.

"I'm Algy Lacey." Algy held out a hand. "Algy to most people."

"Scott Shaw." smiled the newcomer.

"Peter Harris."

How-do-you-dos were exchanged, and then Algy asked," Where are you going? Which Squadron?"

"266."

"Why, that's the one I'm going to!" exclaimed Algy in delight.

"The one where he'll be coddled by his precious cousin," grinned Harris.

"Cousin?" Scott was interested. "You have a cousin there?"

"Yes."

"That ought to make life easier.'

Algy shrugged. "I was just saying to Harris here, I haven't seen him for years, and we didn't exactly take a mutual liking to each other then. I don't think he liked me very much, but my mother thought a lot of him. He was what they call 'mature for his age' and all that."

Scott smiled. "Well, they do say blood is thicker than water, don't they?"

"I hope so,' returned Algy. "Look, there's the boat. Come on."

&&&

Two days later, tired and disheveled, they arrived at 266 in a tender. Algy looked out the window at the squadron and felt a sudden twinge of nervousness. So this was what war looked like.

There was a man standing on the tarmac. Algy recognized him at once. It was his cousin, Biggles. Except for a few lines round his eyes and a slightly deeper tan, he was unchanged from the boy Algy had once known.

Algy jumped eagerly out of the tender. How decent of his cousin to be waiting for him! He almost ran up to Biggles and burst out, "You're Biggles, aren't you? I know you from the photo at home, I.."

"My name's Captain Bigglesworth," was the cold reply.

Algy, somewhat taken aback by the curt greeting, found himself at a loss for words.

"You are posted to my Flight," continued his cousin, in the same icy tones. "Get your kit into your room, report to the Squadron office, and then come back here; I want to have a word with you."

"Sorry, sir," was Algy's humbled reply. "Of course, I forgot."

He trudged to the tender and retrieved his kit, wondering why his cousin was so unfriendly. "Probably doesn't want any sort of favorism about," he thought. "After all, one doesn't get to be a Captain by being nice."

Walking over to the Squadron office, he entered and reported to Major Mullen, his new CO. "Lacey, isn't it? Pleased to meet you. You're posted to C Flight, with Captain Bigglesworth. Shaw, you're in A Flight, with Captain Mahoney. I think he's just gone off, though, so you might wait for him to get back. Don't ever let your Flight Commanders down, both of you," he said, with a faint smile that softened the harshness of his words. "War's a bad business, but we've got to see it through.”

Algy shook hands with his CO, dropped his kit in his room, and then walked over to the mess to find his cousin waiting outside the door for him.
"What'll you have to drink?" inquired Biggles—Algy still thought of him as BIggles, somehow—as they entered the mess together.

Mindful of his mother's "Don't drink!" Algy said, "Do you have any ginger ale?"

"I shouldn't think so, we don't get much demand for it. Have you any ginger ale, Adams?" he called to the waiter. "I'll have the usual."

"Yes, sir, I think I've got one somewhere, if I can find it."

"Sit down and let's talk," said Algy’s cousin, after drinks had been served. "How much flying have you done?"

"Fourteen hours on Avros, and ten on Camels," said Algy, eager to get back on ground he was familiar with.

"Ten hours, eh?" His cousin didn't sound impressed. "Ten hours. So they're sending them out with ten hours now. My gosh! Now listen," he leaned in and looked Algy in the eyes. "I want you to forget those ten hours."

Algy wondered how in the world he was supposed to fly if he forgot his ten hours. Those ten hours were when he had really learnt how to handle (and, in some cases, how not to handle) an aircraft.

Biggles continued, "This is where you'll learn to fly. They can't teach you at home."

Algy thought they had taught him rather well at home. He wondered what his cousin was on about.

"If you live a week you'll begin to know something about it. I don't want to discourage you, but most people who come out here live on an average twenty-four hours. If you survive a week, you're fairly safe."

Algy felt very discouraged. What sort of thing was that to say to a new pilot?

"I can't teach you much, nobody can. You'll find things out for yourself. First of all, never cross the line under 10,000 feet--not yet, anyway. Never go more than a couple miles over, unless you're with a formation. Never go down after a Hun. If you see a Hun looking like easy meat, make for home, and if that Hun fires a Very light, kick out your foot and slam the stick over as if somebody were already shooting at you."

A bemused expression came over Algy's face. The war sounded like a case of "run and be chased" to him. And why in the world couldn't he go after a Hun? Was he supposed to win the war by running away and making for home like a scared rabbit whenever he saw a Hun?

"Act first and think afterwards," announced his Flight Commander. "Otherwise you may not have time to act. Never leave your formation on any account--you'll never get back into it if you do, unless it's your lucky day. The sky is full of Huns waiting to pile up their scores, and it's people like you that make it possible."

Algy thought of a few good replies to that one, but he decided to keep quiet for once in his life. He had the feeling that his cousin was not someone with a sense of humor.

"Keep your eyes peeled, and never stop looking for one instant. Watch the sun, and never fly straight for more than two minutes at a time if you can't see what's up in the sun. Turn suddenly, as if you've seen something, and you may see something. Never mind archie, it never hits anything."

"What's the point of it, then?" wondered Algy to himself. "I suppose it's a sort of show to show the people at home that someone's fighting a war."

"Watch out for balloon cables if you have to come home under 5000," went on his Flight-Commander.

Again, Algy felt puzzled. He thought he was supposed to stay above 10000.

"If a Hun gets on your tail, don't try to get away, go for him. Try to bite him as if you were a mad dog, try to ram him, he'll get out of your way then."

Algy grinned. Now this one sounded good. He resolved to try it as soon as possible.

"Never turn if you're meeting a Hun head on, it isn't done. Don't shoot outside 200 feet; it's a waste of ammunition. Keep away from clouds, and finally, keep away from balloons--they're suicide. If you want to commit suicide, do it here, because someone else can have your bus. If you see something you don't understand, let it alone; never let your curiosity get the better of you. If I wave my hand above my head, make for home. That means, everybody for himself. That's all. Can you remember that?"

Algy felt panicked. He couldn't even remember the first thing Biggles had said. "I think so," he said doubtfully.

"Right. Then let's go and have a look at the landmarks. If I shake my wings, it means a Hun. I may go for it. If I do, you stay upstairs and watch me. If anything goes wrong, go straight home. When in doubt, go home. That's the motto. Got that?"

"Yes, sir." This time Algy's tone was more confident. They walked out to the sheds, and Algy went over to his Camel, marveling at how nice and new it looked compared to those he had flown in his training school. His hand was itching to be on the joystick.

Without further ado, he climbed in. "Contact!"

&&&

They took off together, Algy keeping at Biggles' wingtip like he'd been taught to. At 6000 feet, his cousin turned and headed for the Line. Occasionally, he pointed at streams, mountains, and once, a big wood. Algy noted these landmarks carefully, saving them in his mind.

Then, without warning, the Camel in front of him rocked its wings violently, and to all appearances, disappeared. Algy frowned, puzzled. He glanced around the sky, but as far as he could tell, there was not another aircraft in sight. "What's he playing at?" he growled, pushing up his goggles to see better. "He can't have left me."

At that moment, he saw a cluster of tiny black specks flying a few thousand feet below him. He counted five, and saw with interest that they were Fokkers. Algy waited, keeping hidden in a cloud, expecting his cousin to attack the newcomers as he had said he might.

But the minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of an attack. Algy grew impatient. What was his cousin doing?

It occurred to him that this might be one of the numerous jokes played on new pilots; he had heard his share of horror stories at the FTS. But thinking about those keen grey eyes, Algy doubted it. “He must have seen them, though. That’s why he was shaking his wings. Dash it! What can have happened to him?”

The Fokkers were coming in closer now, and Algy, for one, had no intention of letting them get away. He noticed with annoyance that they were a good thousand feet under him, and remembering his instructions never to go down after a Hun, he hesitated.

"Still, he was talking about one Hun leading me into a position where five Huns can get me," he reasoned with himself. "But I know there’re five Huns down there, so that should be all right." Comforted, he pointed his nose down at the last Fokker and dived after the Hun formation.

He got tangled up in a cloud after a few minutes, and when he came out of it, he was shocked to see red wheels almost on top of his head. Suddenly angry, he pulled his joystick back and let the Hun have a good raking from end to end with his guns.

He saw smoke against the clouds. "I've got it!" he thought, with surprise. "But where are the others?"

They seemed to have gone. Whether they were hiding, or had gone on, Algy didn't know. He didn't care either. Looking through a patch of cloud, he saw the big wood Biggles had pointed out to him earlier. Racking his memory, he flew on, and was relieved when he crossed the Line and spotted 266.

Algy could see his Flight Commander on the tarmac, talking with the CO. As Algy circled, they looked up at him, and one of the pilots standing beside the CO pointed and spoke. Algy made a neat landing and jumped out, waving cheerfully to his cousin. "I've-"

"Never mind that. Where d'you think you've been?" demanded Biggles curtly.

"I saw the Huns, I was aching to have a crack at them-so I went after them." explained Algy. He refrained from asking his Flight Commander just why he hadn't gone after the Huns himself.

"Didn't I tell you to stay with me?"

"Yes, but-"

"Never mind but. You do as you're told or I'll knock heck out of you. Who do you think you are? Billy Bishop or Micky Mannock, perhaps?" sneered his cousin.

"The Huns were bolting-"

"Bolting my foot. They hadn't even seen you. If they had you wouldn't be here now. Those green and white stripes belong to Von Kirtner's circus. They're killers, every one of them, you poor boob." He turned and was about to walk away when Algy, stinging with the injustice of it all, dared to speak up again.

"I got one of them."

The head snapped back and his cousin eyed him curiously. "You what?"

"I shot one down,” explained Algy, calmer now that he was getting a chance to tell his side of the story. "I don't think he even saw me though," he added, slightly sheepish as he noticed his cousin's expression of deep skepticism. "I got all tangled up in a cloud, and when I came out, and looked up, his wheels were nearly on my head. I pulled my stick back and let drive right into the bottom of his cockpit. He went down. I saw smoke against the clouds."

His cousin eyed him with a glint in his eye. "Where did you read that tale?" he inquired, coldly.

"I didn't read it, sir," Algy said, keeping his temper in check with an effort. "It was near a big, queer shaped wood." he added, to prove his point. "I think I must have been frightfully lucky."

"Lucky?!" his cousin was deeply sarcastic. "Lucky? You don't know how lucky you are! Now listen, if you ever leave me again, I'll put you under close arrest as soon as your feet are on the ground! Whatever happens, you stick to me. I've other things to do besides write letters of condolence to your mother."

It was on the tip of Algy's tongue to retort that his Flight Commander shouldn't have disappeared into the cloud like a rotten magic trick, and to ask exactly why it was his job to write letters of condolence to his mother when Biggles turned away with a curt, "All right, wash out for today” and left with one of the other pilots.

"Well, of all the--" began Algy. He stood where he was for a few minutes, staring after his cousin and fuming. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and made his way slowly to the squadron office.

&&&

Dearest Mother,

I've just gotten here earlier today. The CO is very nice and so's the grub. Much better than the stuff they gave us at the FTS, anyway. The crossing was a bit rough and jolly cold, but I got on all right. I wasn't a bit seasick, either, which was nice because the Ship's Cook really knew his job!

My Camel looks almost new compared to the things we learned to fly on. I think I'll give her a name soon if I can think of one.

I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that I got a Hun my first day out here. It was a Fokker, and I think he was a flamer, because I saw smoke, but of course I can't be sure. Dad ought to be pleased when he hears that.

Cousin James is my Flight Commander, just like you said he would be. He's all right really.

Must go now. Supper. Give my love to Dad when he gets back, and to Auntie Joan. I'll write again soon.

your loving son,

Algernon

&&&

Algy couldn't help groaning when his batman woke him up at five a.m. One look at the sky, which had not yet started to light, was enough to give him a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Algy and Healy, the other pilot in C Flight, managed to snatch half a cup of tea before their Flight Commander appeared and told them to get in the machine.

They hadn't been in the air for long when Algy saw the Camel in front of him shaking its wings. Huns. Algy kept at Biggles' wingtip, ready to take orders should the other pilot give them. His plane lurched wildly as a stream of tracer hit it. He hadn't even seen the other machines. Where were they?

Ah, there they were....five. Five Huns. A quick glance to his left showed him two planes colliding, going down together in a sheet of flame. Algy saw Biggles wave at him, but he was too far away to tell if it was merely a wave or some sort of signal. Covering the firing button with his thumb, Algy fired once.

It was a bad shot that went wild. The other plane didn't even bother to dodge. Algy gritted his teeth and thumbed the firing button again.

Nothing happened.

His gun had jammed.

Algy went as cold as ice as a Hun came over his top plane, guns spitting double streams of lead. He turned and twisted, trying to avoid the bullets. He could feel some of them hitting his machine, but none of them seemed to have reached anything vital…yet.

He saw his cousin waving his hand above his head. What did that mean? Go home, wasn't it? Yes, that must be it. He swung his plane in a wide circle and headed for the Line.

But something nagged unceasingly at him. What was it Biggles had said just yesterday? Whatever happens, you stick to me.

Algy began to panic. What if his cousin had not given him the signal to go home? What if it was another signal altogether? And even if it had been the signal to go home, he couldn't just leave his cousin there, in the middle of a hopelessly outnumbered dogfight.

He circled back and soon saw the Huns round the Sopwith Camel his cousin was flying. Completely forgetting that his guns were jammed, Algy hurled himself into the fray and pressed the firing button…and discovered that his gun was still well and truly jammed.

Algy muttered an expletive under his breath and circled round, ruminating over the only piece of advice from his cousin's lecture that he remembered: go for him as if you were a mad dog, try to ram him.

"Right," said Algy, "here goes." He swung his plane up and went for the nearest Hun.

The Hun jerked out of the way to let Algy pass. The Hun behind that one swerved too. Algy was dimly aware of Biggles shooting at a Hun by his right; he could see black smoke against the clouds.

"Phew!" he muttered.

He saw his cousin waving at him and circled to see what he wanted. Biggles swung the Camel round and headed for home, Algy following close behind. "Gosh!" he said to himself. "I'm for it now! He'll get me for disobeying orders or something. I’ll be packing my kit in five minutes."

Algy let Biggles land first, then glided in slowly behind him.

Biggles' first words were not unkind. "Listen, laddie, you mustn't do that sort of thing. You'll give me the willies. You acted like a mad man."

"Sorry," apologized Algy, "but you told me to go for them like a mad dog. I thought...that's what I did."

A strange expression came over Biggles' face. Algy couldn't believe it. Could it be? His cousin was actually grinning? "Yes. That's just what you did. But why didn't you do some shooting? I never saw your tracer once."

"I...er, I couldn't."

"Couldn't?"

"Yes. My gun jammed."

"When?"

"It.. it jammed badly with a budged cartridge in the first go," explained Algy, who had been taught something about guns at the FTS. "And…and I couldn't clear it."

Biggles past a hand across his face. "Do you mean to tell me that you came back into that mess of a dogfight--with a jammed gun?"

"Yes. You said, stick with you." Algy's tone was pleading.

Biggles held out his hand. Algy stared dumbly at it. "You'll do, kid." grinned Biggles . "Oh, and er, you can call me Biggles."

Algy shook the proffered hand, slowly breaking into a grin. "Then I'm Algy."

THE END