Biggles and Son: Chapter 28.

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.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations.

A day later the doctor declared Biggles fit to return home, as long as he stayed in bed for the week and did not exert himself too much. This he dutifully did, because he did not really have much choice in the matter. He could not stay on his feet for more than a few minutes at a time and he felt dizzy and nauseated even when lying down.

No news came in of Algy or Jane, or of the Piper, which made Biggles restless. Air Commodore Raymond did not help matters, dropping by the Mount Street flat at least twice a day, ostensibly to visit the patient, but in reality to stress the importance of finding the guns and avoiding international incident.

“What does he expect us to do?” demanded Biggles bitterly one night, after Raymond had departed. “You two are out patrolling the coast at all hours, Marcel is doing his best in France, and even Gaskin’s out there looking for them. What does he think I am—a magician?”

“Calm down, Dad,” said Sebastian, nonchalantly reaching across the table and helping himself to more potatoes. “Cheer up. It’s not the end of the world.”

Biggles’ lips thinned alarmingly, and Ginger, recognizing the glint in his eyes, hurriedly changed the subject. “Was the doctor here today?” he asked. “What did he say?”

“That I was mending,” said Biggles gloomily, stabbing his fork viciously into his portion of roast beef with unnecessary force. “But that I should stay in bed and get some more rest. Rest! Bah! I’ve had all the rest I’ll ever need in a lifetime. Fiddlesticks to him, anyway. I’m going out on patrol tomorrow and I’m staying on patrol until I find hi—them—the plane. They’re out there somewhere.”

Ginger opened his mouth to protest, but caught the look in Biggles’ eye and thought better of it.

&&&

Jane landed the Piper in front of a row of sheds and told Algy to get out. This he did, albeit gingerly due to the wound in his leg. He stood aside and watched as several men ran up, conversed briefly with Jane in what he assumed to be Russian, and then moved the Piper into one of the sheds.

“What are you doing?” he asked, without much interest, as Jane strolled up to join him.

“Getting the plane under wraps for the time being,” was the cheerful reply. “James will probably have people out looking for it, and for us, although primarily for you, I would expect. I don’t think he liked it when you kissed me.”

“For the last time,” said Algy wearily. “I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me.”

Jane merely laughed. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get inside and have something to eat. Oh, and I wouldn’t try to escape if I were you. All the men here are armed and they won’t just shoot you in the leg if you run. Not that you’ll get very far on that leg in any case.”

&&&

The next morning, just as Biggles was getting dressed prior to going out on his self-appointed patrol, there came an urgent knocking on the front door of the Mount Street flat.

In answer to his shouted invitation, the door was flung open to reveal the disheveled figure of Air Commodore Raymond.

“What’s happened?” asked Biggles, in alarm, for his chief seemed dangerously close to tearing out his own hand by the handfuls. He had seen the Air Commodore worried or agitated on many an occasion, but this level of anxiety was new, and worrying.

“Brechovich escaped last night,” replied the senior officer, wringing his hands as he paced the front room of the flat, reminding Biggles of nothing more than a caged tiger. “We don’t know how it happened, but he shot one of his guards and wounded two more, and then made off in a stolen car.”

“Made off where?” Biggles rapped out, in a voice that did not sound like his own.

“We’ve no idea,” said Raymond, head now in his hands. “Can you imagine the state of affairs if the press gets hold of this? They’ll have a field day! We’ll be the laughing stock of criminals everywhere!”

Biggles was not concerned with the reputations of those who would doubtless be severely criticized on the front pages of the evening papers; he was thinking furiously, wondering if there was any way that Brechovich’s escape could be turned into an advantage that would enable him to find Algy and Jane. Ignoring Raymond, he quickly crossed to the telephone and rang Inspector Gaskin. With the air commodore’s help, a description of Brechovich and of the car he had last been seen driving were given to the policeman, who promised that he would let Biggles know as soon as there was any news.

Soon after, Raymond departed to deal with the aftermath of Brechovich’s escape, while Biggles continued with his preparations for his morning patrol. He was just donning his coat and hat when a sleepy head emerged from behind the settee and inquired, “Do you think he’s gone after Mom? That Brechovich guy?”

Biggles started. He had forgotten that Mrs. Symes had had a bed made up for Sebastian in the front room. Judging by the boy’s question, he had heard more than was appropriate for him. Uncertain how to respond, Biggles said nothing.

“Are you going on patrol now?” continued the child, unabashed. “Can I come with you?”

Biggles found his tongue. “NO!”

The phone rang just as Sebastian was opening his mouth to protest. Biggles snatched up the instrument thankfully, grateful to have a reprieve from dealing with his offspring. “Bigglesworth,” he announced crisply.

“Gaskin here,” was the reply. “We’ve got him. He’s still in the car, heading for the coast. You’ll probably get there faster than I can…”

Go to Chapter 29.

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