Biggles The Camels Are Coming by W E Johns

Author:W E Johns [Johns, W E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adventure, War Stories, Children's Fiction
ISBN: 9781409022503
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The Decoy

Biggles landed and taxied quickly up to the sheds. 'Are Mr Batson and Mr Healy home yet?' he asked the Flight-Sergeant, as he climbed stiffly from the cockpit. 'We got split up among the clouds near Ariet after a dog-fight with a bunch of Albatros.'

'Mr Healy came in about five minutes ago, sir; he's just gone along to the mess, but I haven't seen anything of Mr Batson,' replied the N.C.O.

Biggles lit a cigarette and eyed the eastern sky anxiously. He was annoyed that his flight had been broken up, although after a dog-fight it was no uncommon occurrence for machines to come home independently. He breathed a sigh of relief as the musical hum of a Bentley Rotary reached his ears, and started to walk slowly towards the mess, glancing from time to time over his shoulder at the now rapidly-approaching Camel. Suddenly he paused in his stride and looked at the wind-stocking. 'What's the young fool doing, trying to land cross-wind,' he growled, and turned round to watch the landing.

The Camel had flattened out rather too high for a good landing, and dropped quickly as it lost flying speed. The machine bumped—bumped again as the wheels bounced, and then swung round in a wide semicircle as it ran to a standstill not fifty yards away.

Biggles opened his mouth to shout a caustic remark at the pilot, but his teeth suddenly closed with a snap, and the next instant he was running wildly towards the machine, followed by the Flight-Sergeant and several ack-emmas. He reached the Camel first, and, foot in the stirrup, swung himself up to the cockpit; one glance, and he was astride the fuselage unbuckling the safety belt around the limp figure in the pilot's seat.

'Gently, Flight-Sergeant, gently,' he said softly, as they lifted the stricken pilot from his seat and laid him carefully on the grass. Biggles caught his breath as he saw an ugly red stain on his hand that had supported the wounded pilot's back. 'How did they get you, kid?' he choked, dropping on to his knees and bending close over the ashen face.

'I — got — the — bus — home — Biggles,' whispered

Batson eagerly.

'Sure you did,' nodded Biggles, fighting back a sob and forcing a smile. 'What was it, laddie—archie?'

The pilot looked at his Flight-Commander with wide open eyes. 'My own fault,' he whispered faintly . . . 'I went down—after Rumpler—with green—tail. Thought I'd—be—clever.' He smiled wanly. 'Albatroses—waiting—upstairs. It was—trap. They got me—Biggles. I'm going—topsides.'

'Not you,' said Biggles firmly, waving away Batson's mechanic who was muttering incoherently.

'It's getting dark early; where are you—Biggles—I can't see you,' went on the wounded man, his hand groping blindly for the other pilot.

'I'm here, old boy. I'm with you, don't worry,' crooned Biggles like a mother to an ailing child.

'Not worrying. Get that—Rumpler—for me— Biggles.'

'I'll get him, Batty, I'll get the swine, never fear,' replied Biggles, his lips trembling.

For a minute there was silence, broken only by the sound of a man sobbing in the distance.

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