Biggles in France by Captain W.E. Johns

Author:Captain W.E. Johns [Author]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 14

Suspicions

Biggles turned the nose of his Camel plane towards the ghastly ruins of Ypres, still being pounded by bursting shells. He took a final glance at that pulverised strip of Belgium, over which tiny puffs of shrapnel were appearing and fading continuously, then floated away towards the western side of No Man's Land.

His patrol was not yet over, but the deep, pulsating drone of his engine had lost its rhythm as it misfired on one cylinder, and Captain Bigglesworth (his promotion dated from his meritorious work in bringing down the camera-plane) had no desire to become involved in a fight whilst thus handicapped.

Several machines were in the sky, mostly British bombers, for the great battle for possession of the Ypres Salient was still in progress. But they did not interest him, and he was about to turn his back on the scene when a tiny speck, moving swiftly through the blue, caught his eye.

‘That's a Camel! I wonder if it's one of our crowd?’ he ruminated as he watched it. ‘By James! He's in a hurry, whoever it is!’

The pilot of the approaching Camel was certainly losing no time. With nose well down and tail cocked high, the machine sped through the air like a bullet, straight towards the other Camel.

As it drew near, Biggles saw that it was not one of his own squadron—No. 266—nor did he recognise the device, which took the form of two white bands, just aft of the ring-markings on the fuselage.

‘There must be a new squadron over,’ he thought, as he headed for Maranique, headquarters of his own squadron, noting with surprise that the new arrival changed its course to follow him. It drew still nearer, and finally flew up alongside, the pilot waving a cheerful greeting.

Biggles raised his hand in reply, and a slow smile crept over his face as he examined his companion's machine more closely. At least a dozen neat round holes had been punched in an irregular pattern on the metal engine cowling; there was another straggling group just behind the pilot's seat, and at least twenty more through the tail.

‘Gosh, no wonder he was in a hurry!’ Biggles muttered.

Presently the aerodrome loomed up ahead and he glided down towards it and slipped in between the hangars. The other machine landed beside him, and side by side they taxied up to the sheds. Biggles pushed up his goggles, threw a leg over the 'hump' of his Camel, slid lightly to the ground, and walked over to the other machine, from which the pilot was just alighting.

"Morning!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Pity you didn't make a better job of it!’

The stranger looked at him, frowning.

‘How so?’ he asked.

‘I mean, if you could have got a few more holes through your cowling it would have made a sieve; as it is, it's neither one thing nor the other.’

‘Never mind, I'll give it to the cook for a colander,’ replied the other, smiling. He removed his flying helmet carefully, and looked ruefully at a jagged rent in the ear-flap.

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