Biggles and Son: Chapter 31

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.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations.

Having decided upon his course, it did not take Algy long to put his thoughts into action. He found most of his belongings on the table next to his hospital bed. They were slightly damp, but he did not trouble himself worrying about this, as there was nothing very important. He looked around for his clothes, but did not see them, so he stepped out into the corridor with the intention of finding a nurse.

Before he found one, however, he caught sight of a neatly pressed RAF uniform placed on a chair just inside the door of the room next to his, the officer to which it belonged having left the room for some tests, although Algy of course did not know this.

Congratulating himself on his good luck, he took the uniform back to his own room and hurriedly donned it. It was slightly too big for him, but he decided that it didn’t matter, reasoning that he would soon be able to change into his own clothes once he got back to the squadron.

He tucked his various belongings into the pockets of his borrowed uniform and quickly left the hospital.

Algy hailed a taxi just outside of the hospital. It took some time to convey his destination to the driver, but finally, after a lengthy explanation and some waving about of money, the driver reluctantly agreed to take him to Maranique.

He settled back in his seat and stared out the window as the car hurtled forward. Strangely, none of the modern sights passing by conflicted in any way with the scenario he had decided upon in his own mind.

It took some time for them to reach Maranique, and Algy was almost asleep by the time the driver announced that they had arrived at their destination. Wearily, he paid the fare and got out, then walked forward to what he assumed to be 266.

The sight that greeted his eyes was completely unexpected, and for a moment, he stood stock still, staring in disbelief, heedless of the taxi’s departure behind him.

“My gosh!” he gasped, staggering a half-step forward. “What’s happened to this place?”

The row of sheds that had housed the machines and the dormitories had gone; only two huts were left now, and one of them appeared to be in quite broken-down condition. Craters and bits of rubble littered the once smooth ground. There were no lights to be seen anywhere.

And most of all, he was acutely aware of the deadly silence that permeated his ears with all the force of an explosion.

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Had Algy taken a minute to read the small plaque that had been nailed just next to the door of the broken-down hut, he would have been informed that the site he was standing on had housed several squadrons over the course of the two wars, before it had finally been all but demolished in a bombing that had occurred in 1943. The plaque would have gone on to inform him that the condition of the bombed site had been preserved to serve as a reminder of the horrors of war, and that tourists were welcome to take pictures and reflect on past histories.

It is difficult to say how Algy’s subsequent behavior would have been affected if he had been in possession of this information, or if he would have simply dismissed all of it in favor of his imagined fantasy world. In any case, what he did next was to make his way to the less battered hut, in hopes of finding some clues as to what had happened to the other members of his squadron.

The doors of the hut had been chained shut and padlocked. This did not deter Algy, who simply kicked the flimsy wooden doors off their hinges with a firm kick of his booted foot.

There was no one in the hut, but there were two Sopwith Camels, fueled and in fairly good condition. As a matter of detail, they had been placed inside the hut in preparation for an airshow that was scheduled to take place the next morning, but Algy had no idea of this. Even if he had known about it, it is doubtful that he would have cared.

He was clear now on what must have happened. The squadron had been bombed, and all the occupants and machines had likely been captured by the enemy. “The hounds!” he grated to himself, as he clambered into the pilot’s seat of one of the Camels. “I’ll show them!”

He started the engine and taxied out of the hut, onto a smooth patch of ground that had been cleared for the very purpose he was now using it for.

He did not quite know just yet what it was that he was going to do, but there was one thought in his mind that prevailed above all others.

Biggles.

At all costs, he had to get Biggles back.

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