Algy and the Rescue Flight: Chapter 5. Biggles Flies Out

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.

Biggles was grim-faced as he settled himself into the pilot seat of the Percival. “We’ve got a lot of ground to make up,” he said. “I’ve looked at the maps Marcel sent Algy. Knowing their objective, there are only two places nearby big enough to put the Auster down. One of them is on the outskirts of Riga. I’m going to go there first, as it’s the one I would have chosen under the circumstances, and no doubt it’s the one Algy would have picked as well. I won’t land unless there’s any special reason for it. I just want to take a dekko at both of the spots before we do anything else. Any questions?”

“Sounds good to me, old warrior,” murmured Bertie, looking down at the monocle in his hand almost as if he had never seen it before.

“If we see anything out of the ordinary, I wouldn’t mind going down in a brolly,” offered Ginger.

“It’s too risky,” opined Biggles. “Not to mention you’d have a long walk back if for some reason we couldn’t land somewhere close by to pick you up afterwards.”

“I’d think of something.”

“No doubt you would,” agreed Biggles. “If the worst comes to the worst you may have to, at that. We’ll see how it goes. I hope you’ve brought your thick overcoats. It’s cold out there from what I hear.”

“Algy didn’t,” said Ginger, in a dull voice.

Biggles lips tightened, but he said nothing as he eased the plane forward.

&&&

For the most part, the occupants of the cockpit were silent as the machine flew on towards Latvia.

Dark had just fallen as they neared the Iron Curtain. Biggles turned off his lights and glided in as low as he could to avoid detection. Occasionally, spurts of conversation could be heard on the radio, but as these were in a language none of them knew, there was nothing the airmen could do except ignore them.

“This should be the place,” announced Biggles, perhaps a quarter of an hour or so after they had passed the Iron Curtain. “See anything?”

“No,” replied Ginger, peering at the ground below. “Lots of people about,” he observed, noting the criss-crossing lines of light made by multiple torches. “I wonder what they’re doing?”

“Most likely thinking up ways to make it warm for us if we don’t leave in a hurry,” opined Biggles, with grim humor.

“I say, old boy, what’s that bally lump over there?” asked Bertie, adjusting his monocle as he pointed to a blackened mass on the ground slightly in front of their sightline.

“I don’t know,” said Biggles. “Let’s take a look.” So saying, he eased the plane forward and lost a little height. “We’d better be quick about it,” he muttered, as the chatter of machine-gun fire broke out below. “They’re getting excited about us and no mistake.”

“It looks like an aircraft.” Ginger’s voice was almost a whisper as they neared the object in question.

“It is an aircraft,” agreed Biggles grimly. “And not just any aircraft, either. I’d say we’re looking at the remains of our Auster. It’s been burnt out.”

Ginger licked his lips. “What d’you think happened to it?”

“Either it caught fire when it landed, or someone set it on fire afterwards.” BIggles’ voice was hard.

There was a pause.

“If we get the chance, someone’ll have to tell Raymond not to list this place as a potential landing spot,” said Biggles.

“Why d’you say that?”

“Look at the plane,” invited Biggles. “Have you ever seen a plane land like that, almost head over heels on itself?”

“You don’t mean—”

“That landing ground’s been trapped. Even if the men weren’t around, we can’t risk going down anywhere near here. The whole place may be covered with wires for all we know.”

“But what about Algy?”

“Well, he’s either still in the plane, or he’s been captured by those chaps below, or he managed to escape. I’d say the latter is more likely. They wouldn’t be wasting their time walking around the place if they’d got him, or if they’d found him in the plane. They’ve got dogs with them, too—that’s another hopeful sign.”

“So what now, old warrior?” queried Bertie, as Biggles banked steeply and turned around from the trapped landing ground. “Are we leaving?”

“We certainly are,” asserted Biggles. “It wouldn’t help Algy if we got ourselves shot down. I’m going to make for the other landing ground. I hope to goodness that’s safe to land on. Assuming Algy escaped, he’d most likely make for the rendezvous point to deliver the document, so I think the best plan is to go there first.”

“But what if Algy’s injured?” protested Ginger. “Maybe I could go down in a brolly somewhere and see if…?”

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Biggles irritably. “You’d be caught in a second, with all eyes on this plane. And even if you didn’t, how would you get in touch with us, anyway? If we fail to find Algy at the rendezvous, we’ll make our way back here on foot. There’s less chance of getting caught, as the men will probably have gone by then.”

“All right,” agreed Ginger, but his eyes nevertheless strayed back to the burnt Auster below as they sped away.

&&&

It did not take long for them to reach the second landing ground.

“It looks all right,” said Ginger, after Biggles had circled the area twice, clearly reluctant to land.

“No doubt that’s what Algy thought before he landed the Auster,” replied Biggles grimly. “We can’t afford to take chances with this machine. If we have a crack-up on the ground we’re going to have a long walk home. Anyway, hold on. Here we go.”

Every nerve in Ginger’s body seemed to tense as Biggles began the descent. He breathed a sigh of relief as the plane bumped to a wobbly, but upright, landing on the ground. “We made it.”

“That’s a jolly start at least,” agreed Bertie.

“Don’t start celebrating yet,” cautioned BIggles, although he too looked obviously relieved at the successful landing.

“What now, old warrior?”

“Well, we can’t leave the plane here. Daylight’s only a few hours off, and someone would be bound to see it. One of us will have to fly the plane to somewhere safe while the other two do some legwork. Bertie, you’d better fly the machine. I’ll go down with Ginger.”

Bertie’s face fell, but he merely nodded. “When should I come back?”

Biggles considered. “The rendezvous is some distance from here, so even if we somehow managed to get a lift—which isn’t likely, seeing as how neither of us speak the language—we couldn’t possibly do it in a day. Tell you what. You go back over the Iron Curtain and get the machine refueled, then come back for us in two nights’ time. That should be ample time for us to get there and back, assuming all goes well. If we’re here, and it’s all right to land, we’ll show a green light. If not, we’ll try to show a red light. Don’t land unless you see the signal. I don’t want any unnecessary risks.”

“As you say, noble chief.” Bertie was by now in the pilot’s seat, glaring down the controls through his monocle.

“If you don’t see us, you’ll have to leave and fly back the following night, I suppose. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances. If we haven’t shown up by the end of the week, we probably won’t be coming. If you don’t come over for two nights in a row we’ll assume that something’s come unstuck and try to find our own way back. All right? Good.”

The two of them got out of the Percival and watched it take off and disappear into the darkness.

“There he goes,” murmured Biggles. “I hope nothing happens to him. This place gives me the jitters. Ever since we saw that Auster I feel as if disaster’s just around the corner. Come on; we’d better start walking.”

&&&

Ginger did not know how long he walked, putting one foot in front of the other. From time to time, Biggles would light a cigarette or make a comment about their surroundings, but other than that, the two airmen walked silently in the darkness.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ginger raised his head and noticed the first fingers of pale blue snaking across the originally dark blue sky. Dawn was breaking at last.

“We’d better find somewhere to hide for a bit,” suggested Biggles. “The two of us would be sunk if we ran into anyone. I could do with a nap anyway, and we might as well eat.” They had filled their pockets from the Percival’s stores before leaving the plane, and although what they had could not be called a feast, it was nevertheless still food.

“All right,” agreed Ginger. “Where should we go?”

It took them some time to find a place. Finally, they settled inside an abandoned farmhouse. Ginger was at first wary of the mice skittering around the dusty wooden floor, but after a while the rodents departed and he thought no more of them.

They made a simple meal out of biscuits and some tins of food. Biggles offered to take first watch for the next two hours so Ginger could sleep. Ginger did not argue; he was almost asleep on his feet as it was. He curled up in a corner of the farmhouse, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep.

He was shaken awake by Biggles after what seemed like five minutes. “What…what time is it?” he stammered sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s been two hours.” Biggles’ eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion. “I’m just about all in. Wake me when it’s my watch.”

Ginger initially started his watch sitting with his back to the wall, at a position where he could easily see the door. He soon found, however, that it was all too easy to fall asleep like that, so he took to pacing back and forth inside the farmhouse, slapping his hands against his coat to keep warm.

Round and round he went, almost wearing a hole in the floor with his shoes. He felt as if he had been pacing back and forth since the beginning of time. He tried talking to himself, muttering the words so as not to wake Biggles, but he soon found that hearing his own voice in that large empty space scared him more than anything else, so he soon gave that up.

The two hours finally ended, and he duly woke Biggles, who looked much refreshed. “You’d better get some more rest,” he suggested to Ginger. “We’ll have something else to eat after you wake up. This cold weather makes one feel very empty inside for some reason.”

The two airmen spent the rest of the day sleeping, taking it in turns to keep watch, and munching on biscuits in between. Ginger was glad when dark finally fell, and Biggles declared that it was time to leave: he didn’t think he could have taken another second in the farmhouse, doing nothing.

Halfway into their journey, Biggles found a police motorcycle parked by the side of the road, the engine idling as the policeman presumably went into the neighboring shop to purchase something.

“It’s not really fair on him for us to take this,” confessed Biggles, leaping onto the motorcycle and gesturing for Ginger to get on behind him. “But it’s better than walking.”

The going was easier with the motorcycle, although somewhat nerve wracking on the winding roads.

“We’re almost there now,” shouted Biggles, over the roar of the wind in Ginger’s ear, after what seemed like hours of riding. “We’re going to have to stop somewhere and walk. We don’t know what sort of reception we’re likely to get.”

“D’you think any of them will speak English?” asked Ginger, referring, of course, to the men that he expected would be there at the rendezvous point to collect the document that Algy was delivering.

“Hopefully at least one of them will,” opined Biggles. “Anyway, this should be close enough.” He stopped the motorcycle, dismounted, and hid it behind some bushes. “I don’t know if we’ll be needing it again. We can’t really fit three on that motorcycle.”

It was a five minute walk to the house, which turned out to be a small red brick building. “This should be it,” said Biggles, consulting his map.

“The door’s already open,” observed Ginger. “That’s a bit of luck.”

Biggles frowned, and his step quickened. “You’d better stay here,” he said, making for the door.

Ginger, ignoring the order, followed close at Biggles’ heels.

Biggles reached the door in two quick strides. One glance was enough. The only furniture in the small front room, two wooden chairs and a table, lay strewn carelessly on the ground. Papers were scattered everywhere.

A man lay face up in the middle of the chaos, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, dark blood caking the front of his white shirt. More blood was splattered around on the floor and walls.

“Don’t bother,” said Biggles, as Ginger made to move forward. “He’s dead.”

&&&

For perhaps a minute Ginger stared, uncomprehending, at the body lying in front of them, and at the mayhem surrounding it. “What a mess,” he muttered, the horror he felt evident in his voice.

Biggles, too, was glancing round the room, a grim expression on his face. “Looks like this place has been raided,” he commented. “Poor devil. Judging by the expression on his face, he was taken completely by surprise. He didn’t even have time to put up a fight.”

“D’you suppose Algy’s been here?” asked Ginger.

“I don’t know. It’s certainly possible for him to have arrived here in the time it took for us to make our way here, but I can’t see any sign that he has. You know Algy; at the first sign of trouble he’d be shooting like a madman.”

“Maybe he’d already come and gone,” suggested Ginger hopefully.

“Perhaps,” agreed Biggles, but he did not sound convinced. “Look at all those papers scattered about. It’s clear someone was looking for something. It may be a long shot, but I’d guess that they were looking for Algy’s document. It doesn’t look like they found it, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, if they’d found what they came for, why would they leave all this evidence just lying here like this? You’d think they would have—” Biggles broke off mid-sentence with the strangest expression on his face.

Ginger was about to ask him what was the matter, when he heard something that made his heart stop: the sound of heavy boots thudding down the narrow flight of stairs located just beyond the front room of the house, starting from somewhere above their heads. He turned to warn Biggles of the danger, but it was too late. Even as a row of grim-faced uniformed soldiers emerged at the foot of the stairs, there was a shout from behind them, and more soldiers materialized by the front door of the house, brandishing guns.

With no alternative, Biggles raised his hands as the soldiers closed in.

Go to Chapter 6.

Go back to Algy and the Rescue Flight contents