Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 19.

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.

“He knows how to pick his moments,” said Biggles bitterly, as Algy’s plane swung around sharply and proceeded to open fire on the plane that had been shooting at Biggles. “Good thing he’s remembered to bring his guns this time.”

“I wonder where they got the Penguin from?” Ginger said, wide-eyed.

“From the North Pole, probably,” replied Biggles, the sarcasm evident in his voice. “What did they bring it here for, anyway? It certainly can’t land on this island, not unless it wants to wreck itself.”

“Ha!” said Ginger, who had been watching the fight raging above. “Got him!”

“Move!” snapped Biggles, dragging Ginger forward, seconds before the flaming carcass of the plane dropped out of the sky, landing perilously close to them. “Dash it, that was close.”

“Bigglesworth!”

The shout made him turn, and he was not really very surprised to find Von Stalhein standing behind him, brandishing a gun. “You do turn up in the most unexpected places, don’t you, Von Stalhein,” he said, with something like a sigh. “And diamonds this time, too. You do get around.”

Behind the German, other figures were starting to approach. “You can’t get away,” said Von Stalhein, evenly. “You are surrounded.”

“Forgive me if I don’t burst into tears,” said Biggles drily. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I’m getting tired of this nonsense.”

Von Stalhein’s eyes flashed with rage. “You do realize I will shoot you if you take another step?”

“You can shoot all you like,” retorted Biggles. “In case you missed the show earlier, I’ve got Lacey and Lissie up there ready to shoot your men on sight.”

Von Stalhein snarled something in German and began to speak, but just at that moment, an ominous rumble that seemed to come from the very center of the earth shook the ground underneath their feet.

Unlike the earlier tremor that had frightened Ginger earlier, this time the ground shook for perhaps a full minute before it subsided.

A sudden hush fell over the entire island as Von Stalhein and Biggles stared at each other, and abruptly the silence was broken by a deafening crack which echoed all around them.

Ginger looked down and saw, with horror, that small fissures had begun to appear in the earth at his feet.

&&&

“Run!” snapped Biggles, and as one, the two different parties began running—Biggles’ group to where they had left Wilks, Von Stalhein’s group to their planes.

“What’re we going to do?” panted Ginger, struggling to keep up with Biggles. “We can’t get off the island.”

“In another minute, no one’s going to be able to get off anything,” gasped Biggles, brushing aside an overhanging tree. “Robbs, which way?”

Without a word Robbs once again took the lead, and about ten minutes later they ran into Wilks, who had come to meet them.

“What on earth is going on?” he demanded. “I heard shots.”

“Never mind that now,” grated Biggles. “Are you all right to run for a bit?”

“I suppose so, but what is it we’re running from, exactly?”

“The volcano’s going to blow up!” said Ginger, white-faced.

Wilks turned pale. “I thought that tremor went on a bit longer than usual,” he said, as he fell in step with the three airmen. “But what are we going to do?”

“We’d better get to the other end of the island for a start,” said Biggles, as the ground once again rumbled beneath their feet. “The only way to get out of this is by plane, and unless you feel like asking the crooks for a joyride, we’ll have to rely on Algy or Bertie to pick us up.”

“How would they—” began Wilks, but he trailed off as, above their heads, one of Von Stalhein’s planes began to fire randomly at the ground.

Biggles shouted something, but just then there was another crack from the volcano that drowned out his words and no one heard him. There was clearly no way for them to go forward with the plane above strafing the road ahead, so all the four of them could do was take cover by a large tree.

“This is a fine mess,” muttered Biggles, as the Penguin swept down on the shooting plane like an avenging angel. “There goes Bertie. We’d better leave them to it.”

“I can see Algy,” reported Ginger, in the manner of a radio presenter. “It looks like he’s trying to land on the other end of the island.”

“I hope he makes it,” said Wilks. “If he doesn’t, we’ll all be in the soup.”

“Time enough to talk about soup when we’re actually in it,” replied Biggles. “Come on, we’d better be there to meet him, or he’ll wonder what’s happened to us.”

Ginger never forgot the wild run to the other end of the island. Tremors shook the ground every few minutes or so, and the oppressive heat pressed down on him like a live thing. Above their heads, Bertie and the other plane were still fighting. There was something so surreal about it all that Ginger had to pinch his arm to convince himself that he was not dreaming.

Algy’s wheels touched down on the island just as they burst through the trees on the edge of the open area where they had tried to land the Mosquito. He saw them coming towards him and glided forward to meet them. Even before his wheels had glided to a complete stop, he was leaning over the side of the cockpit, throwing things to the ground.

“What are you doing?” shouted Biggles, as he came within earshot.

“Brollies,” shouted back Algy. “You’ll have to jump for it. Bertie will pick you up in the Penguin.”

“He’s still fighting with one of those planes.”

“No he’s not. He won. I’ve just told him to land and pick you up. You’d better buck up. I’ve just had a good look at that volcano, and it’s glowing red as if it’s going to blow up any second.”

“Are you telling me?” sneered Biggles, distributing the parachutes among the four of them. “What about you, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go back up and hold off Von Stalhein’s chaps while Bertie picks you up. We can rendezvous at the Aero Club. Bertie says he’s run out of ammunition.”

“You must be crazy! It’s four against one.”

“What would you like me to do then? I’m the only one with guns now, and someone’s got to keep the hounds at bay, unless you want to be shot while you’re swimming towards the Penguin.”

“Let me do it, then,” said Biggles.

“It would take too much time. You can go, or stay, as you like, but I’m going.”

“All right.” Resigned, Biggles started to put on his parachute as Algy settled down in his seat and turned to the controls.

“So long,” said Algy, cheerfully. “See you later.”

“So long,” echoed Biggles. “And Algy, old man…do be careful.”

Algy’s reply, if he made one, was drowned in the roar of his engines.

&&&

They stood on the edge of the island and saw Bertie waving to them from the cockpit of the Penguin. He had brought it as close to the coast as possible, but Biggles could see that some swimming would be required to reach it. “Do you think you can make it?” he asked Wilks, quietly.

“I shall have to,” was the frank reply. “I’d rather try than be burnt to a crisp by the volcano.” As if in agreement, the ground shook again beneath their feet.

‘You’d better go first,” suggested Biggles. Wilks nodded and launched himself into space. Those on the island suffered a few tense seconds before his parachute finally billowed to life. “There he goes,” murmured Biggles, watching as Bertie taxied forward and helped Wilks into the plane. “Ginger. You’re next. And Robbs, you’ll go after he does. I’ll bring up the rear.”

He waited until Bertie had helped Robbs into the plane before he jumped. The shock of the water hitting him was stronger than he had anticipated. It was also much colder than he had expected, and he found himself gasping for breath as he struggled to swim.

Hands caught hold of his collar and pulled him forward, and after a few confusing seconds that he could never afterwards remember, he found himself lying on the floor of the Penguin, gasping and wheezing like a fish.

“Where’s Algy?” he gasped, when he could talk.

“He hasn’t taken off yet,” said Ginger. “At least I haven’t seen him in the air yet.”

“Well, he’d better get a bally move on if he’s going to be watching our backs, what?” murmured Bertie, somewhat reproachfully. “There’s someone using us for jolly old darts practice.”

That this was true was evident by the way the plane rocked from side to side as, every so often, a bullet hit it.

Biggles struggled to see what was happening outside. He was dimly aware of more bullets striking the amphibian from above, and he was also conscious of Bertie zigzagging wildly to spoil the other pilot’s aim as Ginger tried to keep the attacker at bay with pistol shots, but all that felt distant to him as he stared at the shaking island, which now had an long crack running down the middle of it.

Faster and faster the crack travelled, widening with each passing second. Trees and bits of earth were tumbling into the sea on all sides, as if a giant invisible hand were knocking them down.

Finally, the inevitable happened.

With a loud roar, the island split itself in two, right down the middle, and before Biggles’ horrified eyes, crumbled into nothing as if it had been a sand castle swept away by the tide.

An ear-splitting explosion thundered through the air, and suddenly the ocean was glowing red with chunks of larva. A thick column of smoke leapt upwards, obscuring everything from view and making his eyes water painfully, but still Biggles gazed at the spot where the island had been, praying with increasing desperate despair for Algy’s plane to reappear.

&&&

“Radio,” croaked Biggles, in a strangled voice that he did not recognize as his own. “Get him on the radio. Now”

Ginger was already sitting at the instrument. A minute later his voice came back, reluctantly. “Nothing.”

Biggles’ hands clenched into fists by his side as he stared at the churning sea around them. “I’ve going after him,” he declared.

Wilks, who had collapsed in a corner of the pain to take a rest, looked up with alarm. “You’re not serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“What is it you’re going to do, exactly? Even if he is down there you haven’t a hope of finding him. Not to mention all the larva floating around and the people shooting at you.”

“Well, what is it you think I should do? Nothing?”

The argument was abruptly cut short as the plane lurched underneath them. “Bally sorry,” came Bertie’s voice, from the pilot’s seat, “but would one of you chaps mind taking over for a bit? I think I got a bit of a scratch on my arm, what?”

Biggles hurried to his side, and was horrified by the expanse of red spreading over Bertie’s shirt. “Where did you get hit?” he snapped, as, with Ginger and Robbs helping, he got Bertie out of the seat.

“Shoulder,” murmured Bertie, sounding almost sleepy. “But it’s nothing to worry about, really….dashed silly thing to do…”

“Keep an eye on him,” ordered Biggles, as he slid into Bertie’s place. “What wouldn’t I give for a couple of nice big guns,” he grated, casting a final look at the spot where the island had been before turning his attention to the planes still attacking them.

&&&

With one plane shooting the way before them, and another coming hard upon their heels, there really was no room for Biggles to take off. In fact, it was all he could do to keep as many bullets as possible from hitting the Penguin.

The thick smoke pouring out from what had once been Dark Island surrounded them, sometimes making it impossible to see what was happening around them.

Ginger, with the forlorn expression of the desperate, was firing at the planes with his pistol, but so far all he had succeeded in doing was waste bullets, for most of his shots went wide, so quickly did the planes above change their positions.

Biggles was wondering how long they could keep up what seemed to him a miraculous run of good luck when he heard Ginger yelp behind him. Not daring to look back, he shouted anxiously, “Are you all right?”

Ginger, sounding slightly shaken, replied at once. “I’m all right. Just some broken glass flying around, gave me a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

Biggles breathed again, but not for long, because the plane in front of them was in a position to prevent them from going any further forward, and a quick look over his shoulder revealed the other plane coming lazily down on them for what Biggles knew in his heart would be the final attack. At such a distance they presented a sitting target, and it would be insulting the most amateur pilot to assume the possibility of the bullets missing.

Ginger, huddled up by the side of the plane just behind Biggles, had evidently seen the plane as well, for he said in a hoarse voice, “Here he comes.”

“Hold on,” grated Biggles, hands tightening over the controls as if he could somehow will them into performing magical acts.

And just as the plane lined up for its first shot, Ginger let out a yell of delight, startling Biggles so much that he almost lost control of the machine altogether. “What on earth—” he began angrily, turning to Ginger, but Ginger was gesticulating wildly at something behind Biggles, apparently too agitated to speak.

Biggles turned to see what had so affected him.

Rising up out of the dark smoke ahead like some angel of doom was a blackened object that Biggles took a minute to recognize as a plane.

He did not need Ginger’s shout to tell him what he already knew.

It was Algy’s plane.

Go to Chapter 20.

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