The Dark Crusader Prologue

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.

Lord Gregory Evan Lacey—known as Evan to everyone except for his mother—lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom with a thoughtful expression on his face.

The door of the room burst open. Evan bolted into a sitting position as his tousled-haired, wild-eyed younger brother tumbled in and almost fell.

“Here, what’s the idea?” demanded Evan, with some alarm, as the youth half-tripped over a book and more or less crashed onto a corner of the bed. “What’s the hurry, Algy?”

Algy rolled over and grinned, his eyes alight with excitement, the freckles on his face standing out prominently against his lightly tanned skin. “I thought you’d gone,” he explained.

“I’ve got another quarter of an hour before the car arrives. Have you just come from school?”

“Yes. Isn’t it wizard? Eight weeks with nothing to do. Absolutely glorious!”

“Good thing, too,” said Evan severely. “If the term had gone on any longer they’d have expelled you. The headmaster’s written five letters to Mother already.”

Algy tried to look repentant but failed miserably. “Just a bit of fun,” he said lightly.

“Your little bits of fun will break your neck someday,” retorted Evan. “For goodness’ sakes, Algy! You’re not a ten year old. Stop acting like one.”

Algy shrugged in an uninterested manner, already bored of the conversation. He looked around Evan’s room and remarked casually, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Well, there’s a war on, isn’t there? Got to do my bit.”

Algy looked at the floor. “You’ll be all right?”

Evan cuffed his brother playfully over the head. “Of course I will,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry.”

“I want to go.”

Evan sighed, exasperated. “Don’t start on that again, you idiot. You know perfectly well you can’t join up until you’re eighteen.”

Algy sat up straighter on the bed, pulling his shoulders back. “I’m almost eighteen,” he said. “And the way I see it, anything you can do, I can. It can’t be that hard to fly a plane, can it?”

“You’re barely seventeen!” said Evan, his tone a little sharper than before. “You’re not old enough to be fighting. Stop moaning about joining up, have a nice holiday, and try to behave yourself when you go back to school. Mother and Father have enough to be worrying about without having to read multiple letters of complaints from the headmaster.” In a calmer tone, he added, “With any luck, the war’ll be over by the time you’re eighteen, anyway.”

“It’s not fair!” protested Algy. “Why should I go back to school and mess about while you’re off fighting for your country and having all the fun?”

“Fun? You think fighting in a war is fun?”

“It’s better than sitting in a stuffy room learning Latin!”

Evan glanced at his watch, sighed, and got to his feet. “I’ve got to go,” he declared. “The car should be here at any minute. Try not to be an idiot while I’m away, Algy. The last thing I need is a letter from Mother telling me you’ve set fire to the school again or—”

“That was an accident!” Algy scrambled to his feet as his brother turned to leave. “You will write, won’t you?” he said, his voice almost pleading.

“Of course.” Evan held out his hand and Algy clasped at it the way a drowning man might grasp at a straw. “Stay out of trouble.”

Algy swallowed something in his throat and mustered up a faint smile. “Take care of yourself, old man,” he said.

A quick grin, and Evan was gone, running down the stairs without a backward glance at the forlorn figure that hovered by the bedroom door watching him go. 

Go to Chapter 1. 

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