Biggles Married Chapter 7.

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. 

Biggles stood by his plane and surveyed the island with interest. The sandy beach seemed to stretch for miles onwards, and the gentle lapping of the waves on the sand spoke more of a holiday resort than a military base.

Algy followed his gaze. "Rather nice, don't you think?"

Biggles nodded. "Reminds me of a seaside trip I took once with Dickpa."

Algy was just about to reply when a shout came from somewhere behind them. They both turned, and Biggles half pulled his pistol from his pocket.

The newcomer was tall with dark hair, and dark eyes. He stopped dead as soon as he saw them, staring.

Biggles was the first to break the silence. "Mac! What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" countered MacLaren, who had been one of the flight commanders in 266, Biggles’ first squadron. "And Algy too! I'm surprised ye could live this long!"

Algy grinned.

"Raymond sent us," supplied Biggles, clapping his old friend on the back.

"Aye, he sent me too. But why are we standin' out in the cold? Let's go have a drink."

"Right," agreed Biggles. "But what about the plane?"

MacLaren hesitated. "Ye could put it over there," he suggested. “That way it won’t get flooded when the tide comes in.”

Biggles nodded and got into the plane.

While he was taxing towards the spot indicated, Algy turned to Mac and asked, "Why didn't you contact Raymond? He thought you might have been killed."

Mac's face grew grim. "Ah, there it is. Those Huns broke my radio, and my plane too, or I would have left long ago."

Algy looked at him, aghast. "So you're a prisoner here?"

Mac led the way to his office and handed around glasses of whiskey. Biggles took a long glance at his before draining it in one go.

"I'm not exactly a prisoner," Mac began, as he studied his glass. "I mean, they let me have drinks and all...."

Biggles hid a grin. Mac was infamous for his love of alcohol.

"But you can't leave, or contact anyone," stated Algy.

Mac nodded. "And if the Huns find out you're here, you won't be able to either," he added glumly.

Algy glanced at Biggles in alarm. "By gosh! What are we going to do?" he demanded. "We can't hide forever, and they're bound to find the plane in daylight, anyway. This island doesn't offer many hiding places."

"Aye," agreed Mac. "It was a good thing you landed in the dark, Biggles."

"Well, I shouldn't worry," Biggles said cheerfully. "If we aren't back in a week, Bertie'll tell Raymond and then come looking for us. He'll know we're in a jam, and with any luck, Raymond may send some extra help."

"But isn't your wife coming too?" asked Algy.

"Ye have a wife, now?" Mac looked surprised.

Biggles groaned. "Kick me, somebody. I forgot about Jane."

&&&

Biggles drained his second drink and stared absently into the bottom of it. "What an utter fool I am. What was I thinking, inviting Jane to come on this crazy mission?"

"I'm sure it'll be all right," said Algy comfortingly.

"Yer wife's called Jane, then?" Mac asked, with interest.

Biggles buried his head in his hands and did not reply.

"Ah, weel. I should be gettin' back noo or they'll wonder where I am." Mac remarked. "Take care o' yourselves."

"Righto," said Algy. Biggles gave no sign that he had heard. "By the way, just as a matter of interest, Mac, who's running the show here? Do you know?"

"Aye. It's a German chap with a wee monocle in his eye," grunted Mac.

"What's his name?"

"Erich von something..."

Algy felt his blood run cold. "Stalhein?"

"Aye, that's it." Mac nodded. "Why? Do ye know him?"

“Yes,” said Algy slowly. “We know him.”

Go to Chapter 8.

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