Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 13.

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.

Bertie watched Algy take off and then began walking back to the club with the intention of getting himself a drink while he waited for Algy to come back. Halfway there he ran into Rick, who cheerfully informed him that he had managed to borrow a two-seater from a pilot at a neighbouring farm. “It seats two but it needs a fairly short landing strip. With a bit of luck you should be able to land it on the island. I’ve sent one of my lads out to fly it here.”

“That should come in quite bally helpful,” said Bertie, pleased at the news. “Thanks, and all that sort of thing.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s arrived,” promised Rick, before hurrying on his way.

Bertie hung around the club for most of the morning, noticing without any particular interest that the only other member of the club who seemed to be more bored than he was was the retired RAF officer he had spoken with the day before. Where the other members of the club had gone he did not know; presumably they were all in the air.

Lunchtime came and went without a sign of Algy, and Bertie began to grow increasingly worried. That Biggles and Ginger had gone missing was bad enough, but if Algy were out of the picture as well, it would be up to him, Bertie, to do something about it, and he frankly had no idea what it was that he could do.

Algy’s petrol supply would be getting low by now, he mused, so either he had landed somewhere to look at something, or something had happened to him, or he was simply cutting it fine.

Word that the two-seater had arrived cheered him somewhat, and for want of something to do he went out to the hangers to take a look at it. He watched as the mechanics filled the machine with petrol and wondered if he should take off and fly out in search of Algy. In the end he decided against it, thinking to himself that he would go out if Algy had not come back in an hour’s time. After all, it was perfectly possible that Algy had been delayed for some perfectly innocent reason and was even now on his way back.

With this thought in mind, Bertie decided he would go out to the front of the club to see if he could spot Algy’s plane coming back, and he was making his way between two hangers to reach the front of the club when he heard raised voices.

A single-seater with a green stripe down its nose was parked in front of him, and although Bertie could not yet see the speakers he recognized their voices. They belonged to the two surly South American pilots he and Algy had met in the club the morning before.

“Why did you not shoot him down?” demanded one angry voice.

Bertie froze in his tracks. He had already been wary of approaching what appeared to be a heated argument, but this sounded like something he definitely should not be walking into.

“I told you, he was crazy,” replied a second voice., equally angry. “He comes towards me like a mad dog, yes? What else could I do? I go into a spin, so.”

Bertie listened in growing astonishment. As far as he knew, only one pilot he had ever flown with could be described in this fashion, and that was Algy. Could the men be talking about Algy? If so, what had happened to him? Clearly the men had not succeeded in shooting him down, but Bertie knew from long experience that just because a plane does not immediately disintegrate mid-air as the result of an attack, there is no guarantee that it will not fall to pieces when leaving the attack. Unpleasant scenarios filled his mind.

“What is Erich going to say about this?” snapped the first man, and any doubt that might have been lingering in Bertie’s mind instantly vanished. It would be too much of a coincidence to suppose that the men knew an Erich that was unrelated to the matter at hand.

“Why do we have to tell him?” grunted the other man sullenly.

The voices were closer now, and Bertie hurriedly retreated back the way he had come. If these men were capable of trying to shoot down Algy, they would hardly be friendly towards him.

“What about the other one? The one they left behind?” growled the second man, as Bertie took cover behind a car. “Did you take care of him?”

“I have been busy,” said the first man sulkily. “I will dispose of him soon.”

&&&

With something very much like panic coursing through his veins, Algy snatched a glance at the ground below. He was now almost to the coastline, and fortunately he had just enough height to glide down and choose a suitable landing ground.

Glad as he was to have temporarily avoided a fall into the sea, he still felt a qualm of nervousness as his wheels touched down on the hard ground. “A rock would be all I need right now,” he muttered to himself.

Fortunately, he did not run into any rocks, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the machine slowly glided to a standstill.

His first action after climbing out of the single-seater was to check the machine for signs of damage. Although there were a fair amount of bullet holes, he did not find any cause for alarm, though he made a mental note to have the mechanics at the club give the machine a thorough going-over before he flew it again.

His inspection of the plane finished, Algy looked around to get an idea of his bearings. The nearest building seemed quite a distance away, and he reluctantly realized that if he wanted anything done, he would have to walk to it.

It took him the best part of an hour to reach a garage, where he promptly rang Rick and made some arrangements for the machine to be towed back to the club. This done, he borrowed a car from the garage and proceeded to drive himself back to the aero club.

Algy mused on the situation as he drove. “First thing to do when I get back is to call Raymond and ask for a nice load of guns,” he decided. “I wouldn’t want to run into that green-nosed fellow again without a few bullets on my side.” He would also have to ask Rick the best mode of transport for getting Biggles and Ginger off the island. From what he had seen, the island seemed to be surrounded with sheer cliff on all sides, so a ship was unlikely to be helpful. However, the lack of landing space made a big aircraft equally unlikely to be used in a rescue.

It was almost two in the afternoon when Algy pulled up at the club’s entrance. He parked the car and locked it, reminding himself to hand the key over to Rick so that the car could be returned when his men went out to retrieve the plane.

He was somewhat surprised to find that Bertie was not waiting for him on the airfield. Hurrying through the club, he ran into Rick and asked if he had seen Bertie.

“No, I haven’t seen him since we got the two-seater in.”

“What two-seater?”

Rick explained.

“I see,” said Algy. “Well, perhaps he’s somewhere in the hangers. I’ll go look for him.”

Half an hour later, he had to confess himself baffled. The two-seater was filled with petrol and ready for take-off, but it was still in the hanger. He had checked his room, hoping for a note of explanation, but had found none. He had also asked several members of the club if they had seen him, including the ex-RAF officer, but all the answers he received were negative.

Bertie had disappeared.

&&&

“Wilks?” echoed Biggles, as if he had never heard the name before. “You’re Wilks’ second pilot?”

“I am,” was the cheerful reply. “He asked me along because I grew up in these parts.”

“Is he here?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Is he all right?”

Robbs shrugged. “He’s a bit weak. He broke his arm when we hit the carpet, and he got a nasty bout of fever after that. But otherwise I’d say he’s in pretty good shape under the circs.”

“Where is he?”

“In one of those caves by the volcanic area. We’ve had to keep quiet about staying there because of the chap who shot us down. We don’t want him to come back and finish us off. But I expect you’d like to see Wilks.”

“I would,” said Biggles frankly. “Very much so. How far is it?”

“About a quarter of an hour. I’d bring the guns if I were you. There’re nasty things running around at this time of night, and I don’t just mean dragons either.”

Ginger shuddered at the memory. “Maybe we should wait until the morning?” he suggested.

“Suit yourself. I’ll have to be getting back now, either way.”

Biggles made up his mind. “Well, as you’ve got to go back anyway, we might as well come along.”

Ginger sighed.

&&&

Bertie felt somewhat uneasy as the men moved on past his hiding place. In view of the conversation that he had just heard, he was starting to worry. Had Biggles and Ginger been shot down by the South American as well? Was that why they had not returned? Until he found evidence to the contrary, he would have to assume the worst.

Another thought struck him. Could these same men have attacked Wilks? Were they the reason his plane had crashed? Thompson had said that his men had found no signs of foul play, but the plane had been crumpled like a piece of wet paper when the authorities had taken charge of it, and, frankly, Bertie was inclined to take Thompson’s word with several large pinches of salt after what had happened.

And what of the club? The South Americans seemed to be using it as their headquarters. Could it be that things did not seem as innocent as they seemed? Could the ever-obliging Rick be in on the scheme, or at least on the payroll?

Bertie felt a momentary spasm of panic. There seemed to be enemies everywhere.

Backing away the way he had come, he passed the hanger containing the new two-seater he had been so pleased to see just a few minutes ago. Was it safe to fly? Could Rick have given orders for it to be sabotaged in some way? Had the others’ planes been tampered with?

Striding quickly past the door of the hanger, he rounded a corner and saw the very last person he expected to see.

Erich von Stalhein.

Go to Chapter 14.

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