The Dark Crusader Chapter 3.

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.

Evan’s mind went a solid blank. He had never been taught how to land a plane that no longer had a working engine. This was evidently a colossal lapse of judgment on the part of his flying instructor and the FTS, but now was hardly the time to complain to them about it.

The controls were sluggish to respond to his touch, and he had a nasty feeling that they would soon stop working altogether.

“Whoever—invented—this—stupid—machine—” panted Evan, fighting to get the plane on even keel, “Should—be—shot—oh!”

He yelped involuntarily as the FE tilted steeply and seemed to fall out of his hands.

Badger was craning his neck, staring anxiously at Evan and shouting something. What exactly he was saying Evan couldn’t actually hear, for the roaring of the wind in his ears, and the panic flooding his mind, drowned out everything else around him.

Where to land? He wondered frantically, trying to sneak a glance at the ground below. The only problem was that every time he tried to get a look at the ground, the plane would give a sudden jolt, or do something else that he hadn’t expected it to, and then he would have to look quickly back at the controls in his hands so that he could do something about it.

And then, of course, the FE fell into a spin.

The world rushed by in a blur of color and sound. There was no time to think about anything: righting the plane, finding a place to land, or even just plain holding onto the controls.

All that was left was falling.

And mixed in there somewhere was the distinctive smell of petrol.

&&&

The world split apart in an almighty crash. Something jarred Evan in the head, and everything temporarily exploded in a white burst of nothingness.

He opened his eyes to find himself dangling upside-down above a patch of mud, hanging in space, held in place by his straps.

In front of him he could hear Badger swearing to himself and struggling to get free of the machine.

“Badger?” Evan called, in a quavering voice that didn’t sound like his own.

Badger’s voice came back to him, reassuringly calm. “Hold on. I’m almost free. I’ll come and help you in a sec.”

The smell of petrol was stronger now; Evan was almost choking on the fumes. He had heard too many stories of planes bursting into flames and his heart was thudding painfully in his chest as though it were trying to get out of his body.

The FE rocked violently. Something thumped into the ground in front of him. To his relief, he saw Badger untangling himself from the mud. “Hello,” he said cheerfully, wading his way over to Evan. “Let’s get you out of this.”

“Do you smell petrol?” ventured Evan, as Badger managed to get one of his arms free of the straps.

“Yes, but don’t let that worry you. If it does all go up, you probably won’t remember it anyway. Move your head.”

It took them several nightmare minutes to get Evan free, until finally he dropped down face-first into the squishy mud below him.

The stuff smelled foul. It was like nothing he had ever smelt before. Whatever the mud had been made of, it was terrible. However, before he could do anything about it, Badger had seized hold of his collar and was dragging him away at speed.

Evan could do nothing but splutter incoherently as he hurriedly found his feet and began running of his own accord.

“Good work,” remarked Badger, panting as he ran.

“What, crashing the plane?” gasped Evan incredulously.

“No, crashing it on our side of the lines,” said Badger. “Saves us having to escape from a prison camp or something like that.”

“I didn’t actually plan to land here.”

“Who cares? We made it, didn’t we?”

“The CO isn’t going to be happy about the plane, is he?”

“He’ll be happy if we’re back in time for supper.” Badger had stopped running and was waving to something overhead. Evan glanced up and saw an FE flying past. He recognized it as Moore’s by its streamers. “There. He’ll get home and tell the old man we survived.”

“Do many pilots get shot down on their first day over?” asked Evan, a hand pressed to the stitch in his side and trying to catch his breath.

“Happens to the best of us,” Badger assured him with a grin, as a row of Tommies came hurrying to meet them, led by a burly corporal.

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The Dark Crusader Chapter 2.

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.

Evan was so nervous that he could not finish his lunch.

Badger grinned as Evan approached the FE he was to fly. “You’re looking pale,” he remarked. “Nervous?”

“No,” lied Evan.

His gunner gave him a friendly clap on the back. “We’re all like that the first time,” he said. “Just keep your eyes on Moore and if we get into a scrap, try to get into a position so I can get some nice shots in.”

“Sounds easy enough,” ventured Evan, mustering up a smile.

“Yes, but not as easy as it looks.”

Captain Moore came strolling towards them. “You Lacey?” he inquired, without a trace of the hostility he had displayed the day before.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re the only one flying the patrol with me today—Hudd’s had to report sick. Stay to my right and try to keep up. Don’t worry about the archie; it’s never hit anyone. Don’t leave the formation for any reason, understand? Right, let’s get away.” And with that brisk round of advice, the flight commander turned back to his own machine and swung himself into the cockpit.

“He’s in a good mood,” remarked Evan, somewhat taken aback.

“That’s what he’s normally like,” was Badger’s reply. “Come on.”

&&&

Evan tried to pick out landmarks from the ground below as he flew, although he made sure to keep an eye on Moore’s machine so that he would not lose his leader. Badger, seeing what he was doing, helpfully pointed out a river, and a few seconds later, a row of sheds that appeared to be part of another squadron.

The third time Badger jabbed a finger downwards they were over the front-line trenches, and Evan found himself dry-mouthed as he saw the ant-like figures below crawling their way through the mud at what seemed to be impossibly slow speeds.

A black cloud of smoke erupted right in front of the FE’s nose, and simultaneously the machine rocked from side to side like a small boat in an ocean. “What was that?” he muttered to himself, as another impact rocked the plane from somewhere underneath him.

Badger, as if sensing his unease, twisted back to face him with an encouraging grin. “Archie!” he bellowed, and although Evan could not hear the gunner’s voice over the sound of the engine, he could decipher the word easily enough from the movement of Badger’s lips.

So this was archie, he thought, gritting his teeth in frustration as another blast shook the FE. Anti-aircraft gunfire. Despite his flight commander’s hurried assurance that archie never hit anything, it was nevertheless a terrifying experience, made more so by the fact that he could never be sure where the next shell would be coming from. He kept unconsciously flinching as more shells exploded around him.

Thinking about his flight commander made him remember that he was supposed to be following the other FE. He automatically turned his gaze to where he had last seen his leader, but to his astonishment the machine was no longer there, nor was it anywhere close to where it had been before.

Evan stared wildly in all directions, but the FE with the streamers seemed to have vanished into thin air. “Where’s he gone?” he muttered, peeved.

Badger had turned again and was waving to get his attention. Evan looked at him. The gunner pointed at something ahead of them, and, to Evan’s astonishment—for he could have sworn that it hadn’t been there a second ago—he saw to his relief that the plane he had been looking for was right in front of him.

“Where did you come from?” he growled, once again at Moore’s right wingtip. “And where did you go, anyway? Dash this for a fool’s game.”

Badger, who had been staring off to their right, suddenly sat up straighter in his seat.

“Hello,” thought Evan. “Something’s happening.” He too looked to their right, but found nothing of interest.

Badger was looking over at Moore’s gunner, exchanging rapid hand gestures in a ludicrous pantomime of conversation. After about ten seconds of this, he nodded, turned away, and began firing at what looked to Evan like empty air.

In front of them, Moore’s FE was going into a steep dive. Evan looked to Badger, wondering if he should be diving too, but Badger was still busy with his guns and did not even have time to spare a glance for his pilot.

Evan decided that the best thing to do under the circumstances was to follow his leader, but once again, when he moved his eyes to the spot Moore had been mere seconds ago, there was nothing there.

It was probably at that moment that Evan got exasperated of war. How on earth was he supposed to follow a leader who was always disappearing, or fly his plane into a better position for combat if he couldn’t even see any of the enemy planes Badger was shooting at?

The exasperation fast turned to panic as something whanged past him, ruffling his hair and grazing his forehead as it went. Evan automatically put a hand up to his head and was horrified to find blood on his fingers when he took them away. “A bullet!” he thought. “I’ve been shot!”

Further shocks were in store as the FE abruptly lurched underneath his hands. The engine whined like a live thing, and when he glanced to his right he saw that his wing was no longer intact; it seemed to have turned into tattered pieces of fabric billowing in the wind when he hadn’t been looking.

The controls seemed to drop out of his hands.

And then, the engine coughed, cut out, and died.

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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.

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The Dark Crusader Contents

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in these works. These fan fictions were written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.

The Dark Crusader
Prologue
Chapter 1. 
Chapter 2. 
Chapter 3. 

The Dark Crusader Prologue

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.

Lord Gregory Evan Lacey—known as Evan to everyone except for his mother—lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom with a thoughtful expression on his face.

The door of the room burst open. Evan bolted into a sitting position as his tousled-haired, wild-eyed younger brother tumbled in and almost fell.

“Here, what’s the idea?” demanded Evan, with some alarm, as the youth half-tripped over a book and more or less crashed onto a corner of the bed. “What’s the hurry, Algy?”

Algy rolled over and grinned, his eyes alight with excitement, the freckles on his face standing out prominently against his lightly tanned skin. “I thought you’d gone,” he explained.

“I’ve got another quarter of an hour before the car arrives. Have you just come from school?”

“Yes. Isn’t it wizard? Eight weeks with nothing to do. Absolutely glorious!”

“Good thing, too,” said Evan severely. “If the term had gone on any longer they’d have expelled you. The headmaster’s written five letters to Mother already.”

Algy tried to look repentant but failed miserably. “Just a bit of fun,” he said lightly.

“Your little bits of fun will break your neck someday,” retorted Evan. “For goodness’ sakes, Algy! You’re not a ten year old. Stop acting like one.”

Algy shrugged in an uninterested manner, already bored of the conversation. He looked around Evan’s room and remarked casually, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Well, there’s a war on, isn’t there? Got to do my bit.”

Algy looked at the floor. “You’ll be all right?”

Evan cuffed his brother playfully over the head. “Of course I will,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry.”

“I want to go.”

Evan sighed, exasperated. “Don’t start on that again, you idiot. You know perfectly well you can’t join up until you’re eighteen.”

Algy sat up straighter on the bed, pulling his shoulders back. “I’m almost eighteen,” he said. “And the way I see it, anything you can do, I can. It can’t be that hard to fly a plane, can it?”

“You’re barely seventeen!” said Evan, his tone a little sharper than before. “You’re not old enough to be fighting. Stop moaning about joining up, have a nice holiday, and try to behave yourself when you go back to school. Mother and Father have enough to be worrying about without having to read multiple letters of complaints from the headmaster.” In a calmer tone, he added, “With any luck, the war’ll be over by the time you’re eighteen, anyway.”

“It’s not fair!” protested Algy. “Why should I go back to school and mess about while you’re off fighting for your country and having all the fun?”

“Fun? You think fighting in a war is fun?”

“It’s better than sitting in a stuffy room learning Latin!”

Evan glanced at his watch, sighed, and got to his feet. “I’ve got to go,” he declared. “The car should be here at any minute. Try not to be an idiot while I’m away, Algy. The last thing I need is a letter from Mother telling me you’ve set fire to the school again or—”

“That was an accident!” Algy scrambled to his feet as his brother turned to leave. “You will write, won’t you?” he said, his voice almost pleading.

“Of course.” Evan held out his hand and Algy clasped at it the way a drowning man might grasp at a straw. “Stay out of trouble.”

Algy swallowed something in his throat and mustered up a faint smile. “Take care of yourself, old man,” he said.

A quick grin, and Evan was gone, running down the stairs without a backward glance at the forlorn figure that hovered by the bedroom door watching him go. 

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