The Dark Crusader Chapter 1.

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.

The tender deposited Evan and his kit in front of the squadron office of No. 174 Squadron and departed in a cloud of dust, leaving the new pilot to stare, nonplussed, at his surroundings.

No one took any notice of him. Mechanics rushed to and fro, attending to a row of FEs just a few yards in front of the squadron office. Overhead, the whirl of an engine announced the arrival of another FE just coming in to land.

The ferry ride from England to France had left Evan tired and nervous, and it was with some trepidation that he picked up his kit bag and knocked on the door of the orderly room.

In answer to the shouted invitation to enter, he pushed open the door and found himself facing two men sitting across from each other over a desk. Neither of them could have been a day over twenty years old.

The man to Evan’s right rose with a welcoming smile and an outstretched hand. “Hallo!” he greeted, his cheerful voice belying the tired lines on his face. “You must be Lacey. I’m Major Anderson, your CO. This is Captain Rutherford, of A Flight.”

Evan shook the major’s proffered hand and nodded in answer to Rutherford’s casual half-salute, trying to hide his amazement. Anderson could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen; his face still bore the sort of pimply texture that plagued many an adolescent, and a bulge in one cheek suggested that he was sucking on a sweet of some kind. Rutherford was about the same age, although built on more muscular lines.

“Would you like a boiled sweet?” continued the CO, gesturing to an open bag on his desk.

“No, thank you,” replied Evan, still trying to curb his astonishment at being greeted in such a fashion. He felt as though he had just joined a secret club that was meeting in someone’s garden shed, playing a game of war. He didn’t know what he had imagined war would look like, but it was certainly nothing like this.

“Are you sure? They are quite good. Anyway. Let’s see, now…” Anderson turned to study a list of names stuck on the wall beside him. Over half of the names had been crossed out in red. “You’d better go to Captain Moore, I think. B Flight. And for a gunner”–Anderson ran a grubby finger down the list—“You’d better take Taylor. Luke Taylor. He’s out at the moment, but he should be back soon. I’ll send him to find you when he comes in. I’m afraid we’ve had a bad spate of casualties lately, so you’ll have to go up on the afternoon patrol tomorrow. It’s dashed short notice, but, well, that’s war, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” agreed Evan, feeling more comfortable now that the conversation was on more serious ground.

“You’d better see the mess secretary after supper and make sure you have everything you need,” continued the CO.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. That should be all. Rutherford, would you mind showing Lacey the way to his quarters?”

Evan followed the superior officer in silence to his new quarters. Halfway there, they ran into a group of pilots seated on chocks who appeared to be arguing about something. They took no notice of Evan but one shouted cheerfully out to Rutherford. “Fordy! Will you come and settle this bet?”

“No,” was the firm reply. “You’re all idiots.”

Laughter broke out among the pilots as Rutherford continued on his way with Evan in tow. “What’s the bet?” inquired Evan curiously.

“They’re betting on how long an FE can stay in the air without a pilot,” said Rutherford coolly. “But as the CO won’t let them try it out in practice, they’ve fallen to theorizing and debating the point.”

Not sure what to reply to this, Evan fell silent all the rest of the way to his dormitory. Rutherford showed him to his bed and pointed out various places where certain items should go, then prepared to depart, flinging a careless, “Any questions?” over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“Should I report to Captain Moore?”

Rutherford hesitated. “I’d advise against it,” he finally replied. “But if you want to find him, he’ll be in the mess. When you see him…try to keep in mind that he’s lost two members of his flight this morning.” And with that enigmatic statement, he was gone, strolling briskly back towards the hangers.

“Well,” said Evan, sitting down on his bed and staring at his kit. “Here I am, I suppose. My word! What a place!”

&&&

He unpacked and put his things away, then curiously made his way to the mess.

Apart from the waiters, there was only one occupant of the mess, sitting at the corner table staring off into space. The selection of empty glasses in front of him told their own story, as did the brimming ashtray by his elbow.

The man turned as Evan walked in. His eyes were bloodshot and hostile as they stared at the newcomer. Uncertainly Evan walked up to him and saluted. He had just opened his mouth to speak when Moore forestalled him.

“So you’re the young pup they’ve posted to B Flight, are you?” His voice was brittle and slightly slurred.

“Yes, sir, I’m—”

“I don’t care who or what you are,” retorted Moore coldly. “It doesn’t matter to me. You won’t even be here tomorrow, so what’s the point?”

Nonplussed, Evan began to back away towards the door.

“You’re as green as grass, all of you,” continued the flight commander loudly. “Couldn’t even shoot a gun to save your lives, let alone fly a plane. Bah!” He flung out a hand and sent several of the glasses in front of him crashing to the ground. Evan winced involuntarily as they shattered with a resounding smash. “Leave it!” barked Moore, as a mess waiter darted forward and attempted to clear the mess.

Evan stared speechlessly at the man before him, lost for words. He was just wondering what he should do, when someone came up behind him and took him by the elbow, leading him out of the mess. “You’d better go,” said a low voice in his ear. “Come on.” Evan allowed himself to be led away as the flight commander continued to rant behind him.

Outside the mess, he turned to see that his rescuer was a tanned boy of perhaps eighteen. He had surprisingly blue eyes, a cheerful grin, and small lines at the corners of his eyes. But his most striking feature was his hair, which, while mostly black to dark brown, had streaks of gray running through it, at deliberate odds with his youthful appearance.

“Hullo,” greeted the newcomer, holding out a hand. “You’re Lacey, I presume?”

“I am,” agreed Evan, shaking the proffered hand. “But most people call me Evan. Who’re you?”

“I’m your gunner, Luke Taylor, but most people call me Badger because of the hair.” Badger grinned ruefully as he ran a hand through the head of hair in question. “Runs in the family—my dad’s went white before he was thirty. Terrifies my sister; she’s always worried it will happen to her. Do you want a look at your bus? Come along.”

Evan followed his new gunner towards the sheds. “Is he always like that?” he ventured.

“Moore? He’s all right, really. He’s only mean when he’s tight, as are most other people around here, you’ll find. I’m not making excuses for him, but personally I think he’s been out here too long. The CO’s been trying to get him to take some leave for ages, but he simply won’t go.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Badger stared. “Wrong with him?” he echoed. “Nothing much, unless you count low morale due to seeing too many people die on his watch. He’ll be all right by tomorrow, and then something else’ll probably set him off again. It comes and goes, that temper of his.”

They were at the sheds by now, and a battered FE was pointed out to Evan as his.

“Looks like it’s been through some hard times,” remarked Evan, somewhat critically, as he examined it.

“Ever flown one of these?”

“No,” admitted Evan, somewhat shame-faced.

Thankfully Badger did not seem to sense anything out of the ordinary in this answer. “I hope you’re a fast learner, then,” was his only comment. “CO says you’re to go over the lines tomorrow. Fancy a spin before it gets dark?”

“I should think I’d better get in some practice while I still can.”

Badger clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit,” he said approvingly.

Go to Chapter 2. 

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