Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 8.

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.

“Get down!” snapped Algy, wrenching the steering wheel in a highly dangerous manner. The car lurched in reply, and Biggles grunted as he was thrown against the door.

“You’re driving a car, not flying a Camel!”

Algy ignored the protest; in fact, it is doubtful whether he even heard Biggles speak over the hail of bullets raining through the broken window. “Keep your head down,” he said. “There’re a row of them standing by the window. I’m going to have to make a dash for it.”

Bullets flew everywhere and another window shattered, bits of broken glass spraying in all directions. The car’s engine whined in protest as Algy attempted to make it do more than it had been designed to do, but by some miracle the car continued to move.

It seemed to Biggles that he had been crouched over in the same position for an eternity, although in reality it could not have been more than one or two minutes before Algy said, in a strained voice, “I think it’s all right now. We’ve got a head start on them; it’ll take them a minute or two to get themselves into a car.”

Biggles sat up slowly, feeling himself all over, checking for signs of damage. “You all right?”

“I think so. You?”

“I feel like I’ve had a few years taken off my life,” complained Biggles, brushing shards of glass off of the seat and cautiously settling himself down. “Strewth! Hot doesn’t even begin to describe it. Confound Von Stalhein, he’s like a jack-in-the-box, always popping up when you least expect it.”

&&&

Bertie jumped aside as the first bullets began flying towards them. “Bit hot, what?” he murmured to Ginger, as they both took cover behind a large tree conveniently located next to them.

“Why on earth are they shooting at us?” demanded Ginger, snapping off a shot of his own, more to distract the policemen than with any real hope of hitting one.

“It’s my guess that Thompson just told them we’re bally criminals, or words to that effect.”

“But—” spluttered Ginger, looking wildly around for a means of escape.

“Oh, tophole,” murmured Bertie. “Here comes a bloke in a car.”

Ginger groaned. “As if things weren’t complicated enough. Be careful how you go with that pistol; we don’t want to kill anyone, civilians or otherwise.”

&&&

“I think we’ve shaken them off,” remarked Biggles, after several minutes had passed.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” muttered Algy, snatching a look behind them.

“You’d better pull over and let me have a dekko at that arm of yours.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” protested Algy, but he reluctantly did as he was told.

A quick look was all it took. “It’s all right. Looks like a graze to me. Good thing it’s stopped bleeding. Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

“Yes.” Algy put his flying jacket back on. “We’d better be getting back.”

They drove on for a few more minutes in silence, and were nearing the hotel when Algy said, cautiously, “I say, can you hear…shots?”

“I hear something that sounds remarkably like it.”

Algy slowed the car until they were practically crawling forward. “I don’t like this.”

“It may have nothing to do with us.”

Algy snorted.

&&&

Ginger let out a hoarse shout of joy as he recognized the figure in the passenger seat of the car. “It’s Biggles!”

“Well, he’d better not get too bally close, what?” observed Bertie, risking a quick look.

“He’s waving,” reported Ginger. “And he’s opening the back door for us, I think.”

Bertie gave the fast approaching policemen a sour look before turning to glance at the car.

“It’ll be close,” agreed Ginger, reading his expression of distaste.

“Too bally close,” muttered Bertie, adjusting his monocle.

Algy swept the car in a wide arc that brought the open back door of the car as close to the two airmen as possible. He did not have time to stop as such, and the vehicle was still in motion as Ginger flung himself into the car, followed almost instantly by Bertie, who fell unceremoniously on top of him.

There was a hail of bullets as the car spun round, screeching in protest. “Keep your heads down!” snapped Algy, as if from a distance.

Ginger tried to move but found himself hopelessly tangled underneath Bertie’s flailing limbs. “Ow!” he yelped involuntarily, as Bertie’s foot kicked him in the face. “Watch where you’re going, can’t you?”

“Sorry.”

A window flew to pieces, and as the shards rained down on the occupants of the car, Bertie’s plaintive voice could be heard asking, “I say, have any of you seen my bally monocle, by any chance?”

&&&

“What in thunder d’you think we should do now?” demanded Algy, casting a quick glance backwards. “I don’t think I see anyone following us.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they do,” grumbled Ginger, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position and brushing shards of glass off of his clothes. “Goodness knows what Thompson told those policemen about us.”

Bertie was still peering anxiously at the floor. “I say, watch where you put your feet, old thing. My beastly monocle’s still missing, what?”

“You’ll have a job finding it in this mess.”

“It’s hard to decide what to do,” said Biggles, from the passenger seat. “We can’t go back there.”

“Our machines are there,” put in Algy.

“I know. That’s what makes it awkward. We’d find it hard to fly out of the country without planes. It really depends on what von Stalhein and Thompson decide to do.”

“They might send the whole police force after us,” said Ginger.

“They might.”

“Well, you’d better make up your mind one way or another soon,” remarked Algy. “The car’s running out of petrol. We’re going to have to stop sometime.”

“All right,” said Biggles. “Pull in at the first garage you see, Algy. This car is our only means of transport at the moment, and I’m anxious not to lose it. If we can find a telephone somewhere we should be able to make contact with Raymond. He may be able to do something about this.”

“What if he can’t?” queried Ginger.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” replied Biggles cheerfully.

&&&

They soon found a garage and Algy stopped the car.

Biggles looked the car over and was relieved to find that other than the broken windows, there was very little damage done. “She looks all right,” he remarked to Algy, before turning away to inquire whether or not there was a telephone nearby. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he proceeded to make his way towards it while the others tidied up the interior of the car.

He was gone for a long time. It was getting on for half an hour before he came back, and Algy was just about to go in search of him when he came strolling back to them.

“Any news?”

“Some. I told Raymond the position here, and he said he would try to get in touch with some of the local authorities.”

“I thought Thompson was the local authority,” broke in Ginger.

“He may be; I have no idea. Anyway, we’ll leave that up to Raymond. There’s nothing much we can do about it at any rate. He also said that there’s a sort of private aero club, run by our people, somewhere to the south. He was only able to give me vague directions, but no doubt we’ll be able to find the place all right. We should be relatively safe there, and I believe that the some of the chaps who found Wilks’ plane are there, which is an added bonus for us.”

Ginger started. In all the excitement, he had almost forgotten the very existence of Wilks, which was, of course, the reason they had come to South America in the first place.

“Well, let’s crack on,” concluded Biggles. “If we hurry, we might be able to get there before nightfall.”

Goto Chapter 9.

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents