Biggles Married 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.

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

A tanned, slim man clambered out of the Spitfire and, leaning against the machine, calmly lit a cigarette, ignoring his audience as he puffed contentedly.

Von Stalhein spoke in a brittle voice. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Me?" the man looked up, as if seeing them for the first time. "I'm Lieutenant Smithson, of the American Air Force and Intelligence Unit. I'm here to pick up Captain Trant."

"Captain Trant?" questioned Biggles.

"Yes, sir."

Biggles looked at Von Stalhein, clearly puzzled.

"You have come to the wrong place," announced the German. "There is no Captain Trant here."

For once, he was wrong.

"Hello, Jack darling," squealed Jane happily. "Did you fly all this way to come pick me up? My name isn't Trant anymore, by the way. It's Bigglesworth now. I got married a couple of weeks ago." She held up her left hand, flashing the expensive diamond ring prominently displayed on her third finger.

Biggles gaped.

There was dead silence as they stared at Jane, and then Smithson.

Lieutenant Smithson spoke, pushing his cigarette to one side of his mouth as he talked. "I've been sent down to pick up Captain Trant here, and to tell the rest of you that the US air force is on its way. They're gonna take over this island in” –he checked his watch— "half an hour. You can either clear out now, or wait for 'em to come get y'all."

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Von Stalhein's men started rushing back to wherever they had come from, taut expressions on their face.

"Where are they going?" Biggles asked the German.

"They are going to bomb the island,” was the indifferent reply. "If we cannot have it, they do not want anyone else to have it, you see."

"Say, you can't do that," protested the American.

"It is too late to stop them," Von Stalhein said, smiling as he strolled away, lighting his own cigarette and placing it carefully into the long cigarette holder that he habitually used.

"Is it, by James?" growled Biggles. "Bertie, go back to your plane. Algy, you take Jane and go in Ginger's plane. Ginger, you come with me. We'll see if it's too late to stop this bunch!"

There was a general rush for the planes. Biggles, however, suddenly found his way barred by a group of Von Stalhein's men, who were running towards a submarine that was slowly surfacing. Von Stalhein, having got rid of the cigarette, was already climbing into it.

"Need a ride, sir?" Biggles turned to see the young American by his elbow, a thumb jerking over at a plane with United States markings that had just glided in to land. “I’m going to take her up; the boys in it are going to do some taking over work.”

"Yes, thanks, very much!" gasped Biggles. "What about Ginger—" he added, then broke off. Ginger had already run to the Spitfire and was climbing into it.

“Hey,” said Lieutenant Smithson, but the words carried no heat, and Ginger was probably too preoccupied to hear anyway. “Never mind. I’ll fly the plane, sir. If you would just sit there, you can use that to control the guns on your side.”

"Thanks," acknowledged Biggles, getting into the plane and sitting where he had been told to. "I hope Jane made it," he muttered worriedly to himself.

"Captain Trant? She'll be fine," assured the American, starting up. “Air ace, in her time.”

Biggles saw a plane in front of them swooping low, as if it were choosing a spot to drop a bomb. Seconds later, he saw a small object soar earthwards, and he knew his guess had been right. Luckily the bomb went wide, and landed in the sea.

"Go after that one," he shouted to the American. "I want to get it, if possible. I think that's the only one carrying eggs."

"Ok, baby," drawled the pilot, diving steeply.

Biggles fired at the plane, but to his annoyance, his shots went wide. The other plane spun round as soon as it discovered it was under attack, and came at them, firing madly.

"I think we're hit," the pilot said, after a violent jolt.

"I think so too," agreed Biggles grimly. "You'd better go down."

The other complied, and Biggles hung on grimly as the American skidded into the wildest landing he had ever seen or experienced in his life. They both got out of the plane at once, not wanting to be caught inside in the event of fire.

Bullets licked the ground to the left and right of them, fired by the very plane they had been trying to shoot down.

Biggles looked round desperately. Algy appeared to be fighting two planes at once. Bertie's plane was stalling, and pouring black smoke.
"This isn't good," he muttered, reaching for his gun.

Another bullet whizzed past him, so close that he could have sworn it hit him.

&&&

Bertie’s wheels touched down on the ground, looking distinctly worse for wear. Biggles grimaced as Bertie jumped out of the plane and ran towards them, polishing his monocle furiously. "Silly blighter," he muttered. "Didn't even see him coming up behind me. What a bounder the chap is..."

"Never mind that," Biggles told him tersely. "Get under cover for now."

"Good advice," agreed Bertie, crouching by a large rock to take shelter.

Ginger’s plane came over them. Biggles looked up and frowned. "What does the young fool think he's doing, flying so low? Ah, he's picked up."

The plane flew on to join Algy, then fired at the nearest plane, taking some of the heat off of Algy, whose plane looked in danger of falling apart.

"Got him!" chuckled the American beside Biggles, smiling as the enemy plane plummeted earthwards, pouring black smoke.

"Poetic justice," growled Bertie. "That was the blighter that got me."

Algy, too, had chased his plane off, and was now heading towards the plane that carried the bombs, cutting across its course so it could not go over the island to lay its eggs.

Algy fired a long burst—too long to be much use, Biggles thought.

He was wrong.

The plane with the bombs exploded with a mighty bang and went to pieces in mid-air. As Algy came low over them to find a landing place, Biggles saw his face, white with shock.

Algy landed with Ginger only a few yards behind. He jumped out of the plane and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Bertie hurried over to him. "Are you all right, old chap?" he asked, concerned. "You haven't fully recovered from that bullet wound yet, what?"

Jane had got out of Algy’s plane and made her way over to Ginger’s. She waved to Biggles. "Your friend's hurt!" she called.

"Ginger?" Biggles gasped, running toward the plane. Ginger was huddled up in his seat, clutching his arm. "I'm all right," he insisted. "It's just a scratch."

Biggles sighed with relief and turned accusing eyes on Jane. “Smithson here says you’re a pilot. You never told me you could fly.”

“Darling,” said Jane. “Of course I can fly. I was in the WAAF for two years before I joined the CIA.”

Biggles stared. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Go to Chapter 14. 

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