The Escort

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. 

Captain James Bigglesworth, of 266 Squadron, jumped out of his Camel and strolled quickly towards the squadron office. Just as he reached for the door handle, the door was opened from the inside and Major Mullen, the C.O., looked out. "Ah, there you are, Biggles," he said, nodding. "I thought I saw you land."

"Did you want me, sir?" inquired Biggles.

"Well, Colonel Raymond asked that you ring him up as soon as you got back. He's got a job for you, I believe."

"I see," said Biggles. "I'll call him at once, then."

"Good." The CO turned to go back inside the office, then paused. "Oh, and by the way. I've posted a new man to your flight. He just came over this afternoon. He seemed quite keen to talk to you, but you were in the air."

"Talk to me?" Biggles was puzzled. "Why, what did he want?

Major Mullen smiled. “Why don’t you find out? He’s in the mess at the moment, I think, talking to Algy.”

"Right. Then I'd better go see him."

&&&

Biggles strolled into the mess and easily spotted Algy Lacey seated at one of the corner tables talking to someone. Since the man was facing away from him, Biggles could not see who it was.

He was about to walk across to the corner table when Algy looked up and saw him. Biggles saw him lean over and say something to the unknown man, pointing as he did so. The man stood up and turned towards Biggles with a cheerful smile and an outstretched hand. He was tall, deeply tanned, and keen-eyed. “Hello, Biggles!” he greeted. “Fancy seeing you here.”

"Well, I'll go hopping!" exclaimed Biggles. "Mark Way! What on earth are you doing here?"

“I’ve just got my wings,” replied Mark proudly. “Fifteen hours solo.”

“That’s wonderful! I hear you’ve been posted to my flight.”

“I have. I hear we have dawn patrol tomorrow.”

Biggles frowned. “We don’t usually send new pilots over on their first day—” he began.

“Rot!” said Mark. “I’m not a novice at this game, as you well know. I don’t need to spend a week beetling up and down on my own side of the lines when I could be making myself useful elsewhere.”

“Well, as long as you’re certain,” said Biggles. He shook his old gunner’s hand. “Welcome back to the war, laddie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a rather urgent call to make. Order a drink for me, won’t you. Shan’t be a minute.”

Hurrying over to the mess telephone, he dialed the number for Colonel Raymond’s office. "Good evening, sir."

"Ah, Bigglesworth. Just the man I was looking for. I’ve got a little job for you."

Biggles chuckled somewhat ruefully. "I didn’t suppose that you called just to say hello, sir."

The colonel laughed. "No, indeed! I'd like you to escort an F.E. tomorrow. It's going after some rather important photographs that we need."

"I see, sir," said Biggles, noting down the place and time. “I’ll be there.”

"I suggest you take one or two men with you," concluded the Colonel. "Whatever happens, the photographs must get back, do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good luck, then!"

Biggles hung up the phone and smiled faintly. “Escort!” he murmured to himself. “That should be easy…”

&&&

The next morning, after the dawn patrol, Biggles made a perfect landing at 266 and climbed stiffly from the cockpit of his Camel. He waved at Mahoney who was standing nearby.

"Hello, laddie. How was the dawn patrol?" asked Mahoney, handing Biggles a cigarette and lighting it for him.

"Nothing to speak of." Biggles shrugged. "We ran into some Huns just over the line, but there were only three of them and we soon chased ‘em off."

Mahoney nodded and waved to Algy, who had just landed. A third Camel was circling overhead, and Mahoney pointed to it. "That's the new man, Way, isn't it?"

Biggles nodded. "Yes, but he's not exactly new. He was my gunner in 169, you know, so he’s got some experience. He went home to get his pilot's wings shortly after I came here."

"I see. He ought to be all right then."

Major Mullen came up to the two pilots at that moment and greeted both of them. "Good morning, Biggles, Mahoney."

"Good morning, sir."

"Colonel Raymond's just been on the 'phone, Biggles. He's told me about this escort business. Who are you taking with you?"

"Algy, of course."

"Huh, try and stop me coming!" grunted Algy, as he joined them.

"Anyone else?"

"I don't think so, sir. It sounds like a fairly straight-forward job. I didn’t think I’d need more than one other person."

"Hmmm. He did say three men would be better."

Biggles thought for a minute, then smiled. "Well, sir, would you mind if I took Way—the new man you posted to my flight?"

&&&

Biggles, followed by Algy and Mark, took his flight up to 18,000 feet, his eyes scanning the sky for enemy aircraft while still keeping the plane he was escorting in sight. The photographs had been taken without incident, and he was eager to get home and warm himself by the mess fire. Once or twice he saw the others firing a burst or two through their guns, but as he could see no enemy aircraft he assumed that they were only warming their guns.

The F.E. they were escorting suddenly banked and shook its wings. Biggles sat up in alarm as a row of black specks came into his line of vision. "My gosh!" he muttered to himself, as he recognized the planes for DVIIs. “I was nearly caught napping then! And I’m supposed to be the escort!” He counted the planes quickly. There were at least six or seven of them that he could see. "Not so good," the pilot muttered, as he kicked the joystick over. Casting a quick glance to his left, he saw Algy nodding to show he had seen the planes. On his right, Mark was turning slowly, preparing for combat.

Biggles motioned to the others to let the F.E. go first. Whatever happened, his job was to make sure that the photographs got home safely. What happened to him did not matter, although he was by no means prepared to give up without a fight, despite the fact that his rational mind knew they were hopelessly outnumbered.

The DVIIs swooped down on the three escorting planes, and Biggles flinched as a wing almost took off his prop. "Well, it looks as if we're in a fix," he said to himself, as he took a plane in his sights and fired. He was dimly aware of a plane to his left firing at him, and he whirled to meet it, but Mark was already there. In spite of the dire situation, Biggles grinned briefly, satisfied that his old gunner was fighting so well.

The next minute he felt as though time was going in slow motion. He saw a bullet fly slowly toward Mark's plane, and he was aware of a desire to fly over and knock it away with his hand, so light did the bullet seem.

Mark's plane did not catch fire at once. The flames started at the tail of the plane, then worked bit by bit towards the front, consuming the Camel.

Biggles' mouth went dry as he watched his old friend climb out onto the fuselage and jump to his death...

&&&

Algy pushed open the door of the mess and stepped inside. His face, which normally held an expression of amused surprise, now wore an expression of utter dejection.

"What cheer, laddie?" Mahoney greeted, pulling out a chair for him.

Algy did not reply. He signaled to the mess waiter that he wanted a drink.

"What's the matter, lad?" Mahoney asked, seeing the expression on his face. "Where's Biggles?" he demanded, suddenly going pale.

"In the sheds," replied Algy dully. "He's kicking the chocks all over the place. Or he was when I last saw him."

"Why, what's the matter?" Mahoney asked, in surprise.

"The new man's gone," Algy told him. "Way."

Mahoney nodded in understanding. He put a hand on Algy's shoulder. "I'll talk to him."

&&&

Algy was sound asleep when he felt someone roughly shaking him awake. "Whsmarrer?" he muttered, blinking like an owl, trying to get accustomed to wakefulness.

"It's me," whispered Biggles from somewhere near his elbow.

"What's up?" asked Algy. "I thought our dawn patrols were for next week. And what time is it, anyway?" he growled, reaching for his watch. "It's three in the morning! What d'you think you're doing, waking people up at this hour?"

"Keep your voice down, can’t you?” complained Biggles. “Look, it's Mark."

"Oh. What about him?"

"I'd just like to say goodbye to the old boy. I mean, he was my gunner and all...."

"And what has this got to do with me?"

Biggles drew a breath. "I'd like to go over and try to find his body, if I can."

&&&

"I always knew you were crazy, Biggles," mumbled Algy as he got dressed. "Why I'm doing this is a mystery..."

Biggles stared into space and did not reply.

Algy sighed and reached for his boots. "All right, let's go. Did you wake the Flight Sergeant up?"

"Yes," was the brief answer.

"Then let's get away before the C.O finds out about your crazy scheme."

Five minutes later, they were in the air. Algy kept his eyes on Biggles, careful not to lose him in the dark. There was only one searchlight in the sky now, and avoiding it was an easy matter. "Most sensible people are in bed," he muttered to himself. "But I'm still here, flying, like some sort of idiot."

Biggles crossed the lines, cut his engine and started to glide down. Algy made a face as he saw what the landing ground was like. Still, friendship won the day and he sighed and went down after Biggles.

Once on the ground the first thing they saw was the burnt out wreckage of what clearly used to be a Camel. Biggles pointed to it. “That’s Mark’s plane, it’s got to be,” he whispered. “So where did he fall, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Algy fumbled for his torch and got it out, keeping the beam as close to the ground as he could. “Do you see anything?”

“No. D’you think they could have moved him already?”

Algy did not reply. He was staring at a wooden hut some thirty paces away. His heart nearly stopped, and although he opened his mouth, no words came out. For, at the window of the hut stood a familiar figure--

Mark Way.

Algy grabbed Biggles' arm and pointed. Biggles went red, then white. His expression was one of utter horror. For a moment he stood frozen, then he turned to Algy. "What the dickens are we supposed to do?" he hissed.

"Rescue him, of course! What else did you think?"

"But he's dead!" It seemed impossible that anyone could jump from such a height and survive.

"Well, in that case, we can get his ghost and it'll tell us when there's going to be dud weather," replied Algy practically.

"That's soothsayers, you fool," Biggles pointed out scathingly.

"Same thing. Now, are you coming or not?"

Biggles followed Algy through several inches of mud and crept to the door. Algy twisted the knob. It was locked. "Do you have a hairpin?" he whispered.

"Why would I have a hairpin, you fool?" snapped Biggles in a whisper. "Let’s try my penknife."

He worked on the door for the better part of ten minutes, and was just on the point of kicking it in pure frustration when Algy tapped him on the arm. "Try this," he suggested, holding out a key.

"Where did you get that?"

"It was in the lock when I turned the knob."

"And you didn’t think to mention this before?"

"Well, in detective novels they NEVER find the key in the lock."

"This is NOT a detective novel!" Biggles grabbed the key and opened the door.

Mark Way grinned at them. "You're lucky I'm on the far side of the camp," he greeted them. "The row you two made could have been heard for miles."

"Never mind that." Biggles grinned back. "Let's get home. You can ride on my wing, Mark. It’s not going to be comfortable, but it’s a thundering sight better than rotting here until the end of the war. We'll save the handshakes till later if you don't mind."

THE END