Biggles (11 page)

Algernon Montgomery seemed slightly dazed by all this good advice, and next day Biggles called him early for their tour of the Lines. He was not expecting trouble, and in fact had tended to exaggerate the risks from Kirtner's fliers. But as the two Camels took off from the airfield and headed east, Biggles was disturbed to see the banks of scattered cloud across the German territory — ideal cover for a lurking enemy. But Algernon Montgomery was on his best behaviour, keeping position close by Biggles' wing-tip as if his life depended on it. Once or twice Biggles glanced back at him, and the boy smiled and waved in return.

For half an hour they flew along the Lines at about 7,000 feet, with Biggles pointing out the all too familiar landmarks — a stream, a wood, an abandoned village, with the fearsome desolation of no-man's-land beyond. Apart from some lazy puffs of anti-aircraft fire, there was no sign of opposition — until suddenly, less than a mile away in an opening in the clouds, Biggles spotted six Fokker triplanes flying in tight formation. Had he had Mahoney with him, he would have plunged into the attack, but with a greenhorn pilot like his cousin, it was far too risky. Instead, he dipped his wings as a signal, dived straight towards the nearest bank of cloud and turned for home — trusting Algernon would follow.

He did nothing of the sort, and when Biggles looked behind he saw to his horror that he had disappeared. He turned back instantly, climbed, and flew out from the cloud — in time to see his cousin's aircraft far below following the German triplanes.

‘He's raving mad,' he said, and set off in pursuit, but even as he did so the distant aircraft disappeared into a further bank of cloud, and it was pointless to continue.

‘Poor silly idiot,' he said, and somewhat callously began to wonder what on earth he'd write to Aunt Priscilla. ‘A hero's
death', or something of the sort. Biggles was getting rather used to writing letters to his pilots' next of kin, and had a standard set of phrases he could use.

When he landed, Major Mullen was already waiting on the tarmac.

‘Where's Algernon?' he shouted. Biggles shook his head.

‘Copped it, I'm afraid. Chased off in pursuit of half a dozen Fokkers. I'd warned him. Sorry sir, but there it is.'

But even as he spoke, there came the unmistakable engine note of a Sopwith Camel, and through the low cloud came an aircraft with the Squadron's markings.

‘Looks as if you wrote him off too early,' Mullen said. ‘Perhaps you'd better deal with him yourself

‘It will be a pleasure, sir,' said Biggles savagely.

Algernon Montgomery seemed quite surprised at Biggles' fury.

‘Daft young puppy!' Biggles shouted. ‘Next time you feel like suicide, please do it somewhere else, and not in your aircraft. We're short of Camels, but we can do without lunatics like you. What did you think that you were up to?'

‘Having a crack at them, sir! They were the first Huns I'd ever seen, and I'm afraid that my excitement got the better of me.'

‘Did it indeed? You're lucky to have escaped alive.'

‘But I got one.'

‘Got what?'

‘A Fokker. Shot it down. It was at the tail-end of the formation, and with all that cloud around he can't have seen me. It was a fluke, of course — more luck than judgment, sir.'

He smiled happily, and despite himself Biggles began to wonder if he could possibly be telling the truth.

‘How d'you know you shot it down?

‘I saw it fall — on the edge of that square-shaped wood on our side of the Lines.'

‘We'll check. But get this straight, Algernon my boy. In future, when I say that you stay put I mean exactly that. You understand?'

The boy nodded. ‘Sorry sir,' he said.

‘Well,' said Biggles as he sat with Major Mullen and Mahoney, having his customary pre-lunch gin and orange in the Mess beside a blazing fire, ‘I just don't know what to make of him.
Either he really did shoot down that Hun, or he's the biggest liar in creation.'

‘He might have done it,' Mullen said. ‘It has happened.'

‘But not to Algernon,' said Biggles. ‘He's too soft to shoot a dicky-bird, let alone one of von Kirtner's triplanes.'

‘Well, we'll just have to wait and sec. Taking him with you on the dawn patrol tomorrow morning?'

Biggles nodded.

‘Then for God's sake drum into his idiotic head that he's to stick to you this time whatever happens.'

‘If it's the last thing that I do,' said Biggles grimly.

Biggles was in a pensive mood next morning as he led his flight toward the German Lines. Reports had reached the Squadron Office that a German aircraft had indeed crashed in flames exactly where his cousin said. ‘So he may be a damn fool, but at any rate he's not a liar,' he said to himself. ‘At least that's something.' A more serious matter on his mind was that enemy air activity was starting to increase again. There had been reports that Kirtner's circus had been reinforced and warnings to all British combat pilots in the sector to expect trouble.

For a while there was no sight of it. The clouds of the previous day had dispersed, and with the pale blue sky and wintry sun the world held a totally deceptive air of peace. Even the ever-present anti-aircraft fire had taken the day off, and Biggles was humming to himself when he saw the enemy. There was no question of evading them this time, even if he'd wanted to, for they were flying straight towards them, six Fokker triplanes with the green and white insignia of von Kirtner's circus. ‘Three Britons to six Huns,' Biggles muttered to himself. ‘About the right odds I should say!' He waved to Healy on his right and Algernon on his left, then dipped his wings and roared head-on towards the enemy.

It was the sort of fight that Biggles liked — a test of nerve and flying skill where everything depended on split-second judgment. If anything would really test his cousin, it was this. The great temptation in this sort of battle was always to over-react, to fire too soon, to dodge too rapidly, and he could see the wicked flashes of the Spandaus on the leading German plane already firing
towards him. He clenched his teeth and held his fire a moment longer as he kept the nose of the oncoming aircraft firmly in his sights and curled his finger round the twin triggers of his Vickers guns.

By now he could feel the Spandau bullets striking home into the Camel's body. The aircraft shuddered, then at last he fired — one long and deadly burst that sent the Fokker zooming down with a plume of black funereal smoke spewing from its shattered engine. ‘One down and five to go!' said Biggles to himself. But even as he said this there was a resounding crash that drowned the roar of Biggles' engine. Away on his right, Healy's Camel had just collided head-on with another Fokker, and the two planes, blazing and entwined in death, were spiralling to earth.

‘Good fellow, Healy,' Biggles said, and raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. Tour of them to two of us. A bit close for comfort now!'

He glanced out of the corner of his eye for Algernon, and was delighted — and surprised — to see him still glued in position twenty yards behind his wing-tip. Then they were in the thick of it again, with all four remaining German pilots out for blood. Biggles had no time to see how Algernon was faring. A second Fokker fell before his guns, and for a moment he glimpsed Algernon diving to evade a persistent German on his tail.

Then Biggles realised that he was on his own — and trapped. The three remaining enemy aircraft had encircled him. Two had climbed above him and were waiting to dive down for the kill, taking it in turns until he was destroyed. He realised that there was no way out.

He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't think of a better way to go, and was glad that Algernon had escaped. The leading Fokker was now at the beginning of its dive, and heading straight towards him, Spandaus blazing, when suddenly another Sopwith Camel flashed towards it. It had come out of nowhere, and the Fokker zoomed aside to avoid disaster. So did the next plane, and the next, as the Camel rocketed across the sky then roared alongside Biggles. He recognised the pilot then — Algernon Montgomery.

By now the remaining Fokkers were in disarray. Biggles was almost out of ammunition, and before they had a chance to regroup for the attack, the time had come to make for home. He
raised his hand above his head, signalling a return to Base, and the two British aircraft turned in unison and dived towards the British Lines.

Biggles landed first, and jumped down from the cockpit to meet Algernon as his plane rolled to a halt.

‘Just what do you think you were doing?' he said as Algernon removed his helmet. ‘Flying like a flaming lunatic! That's not the way to stay alive.'

‘Well sir,' said Algernon a trifle sheepishly, ‘you said the only way to fight was to go in with everything you've got. That's what I was doing.'

Biggles nodded. ‘I was very glad to see you, but why didn't you fire? I didn't see your guns in action once.'

Algernon looked still more uncomfortable at this.

‘I'm sorry sir, I couldn't. You see, my guns were jammed. Dud cartridge and I simply couldn't clear it.'

Biggles stared a moment in amazement.

‘You mean to tell me that you came back into that dogfight with your guns jammed?'

‘Well, you had said I was to stick with you whatever happened. I'm sorry if ...' But before he could finish, Biggles had thrust out his hand.

‘You'll do, Algernon, ‘he said. ‘Thanks for what you did. And you can call me Biggles.'

This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, for the two cousins really had a lot in common. Superficially they made an ill-assorted pair, for Algy — the ‘Algernon' was swiftly dropped — was a gangling six foot two, whose freckled face and slightly vague expression formed an instant contrast to the compact frame and solidly determined face of Biggles. But the contrast in their appearance was to become part of their appeal, and soon they formed a sort of double act in 266.

Algy followed up the exploits of his debut with the Squadron by proving himself a virtuoso pilot. He lacked the killer's instinct and the sheer aggressiveness of Biggles, but was in fact a far more stylish flier. Also, his somewhat goofy manner was something of a disguise for a very shrewd head, and in battle he was absolutely fearless. He picked up the elements of combat flying as swiftly as
Biggles had done, and before long the two of them were quite inseparable — both in the air and on the ground. Soon they were practising tactics together, and they worked out a routine which ultimately accounted for the lives of many of the enemy. On the ground they became like two devoted brothers — Biggles the dominant one, and Algy his devoted confidant and crony. Algy was the perfect foil to Biggles, for where Biggles was quick-tempered, and impatient to a degree, Algy was the gentlest and most easy-going of souls, cautious where Biggles was hot-headed, and essentially a loyal and devoted character, who never quite recovered from his earliest hero-worshipping of Biggles.

‘In those days,' he explained, ‘Biggles was extraordinary. The first thing that struck you about him was his energy. He was a sort of human dynamo — he never seemed to tire and the tougher things became, the more he liked it. Also, he had incredible enthusiasm. Nothing appeared to get him down, and once he had started on a mission, nothing on earth would stop him. Of course he could put people's backs up, and always called a spade a spade, but I hate to think what would have happened to 266 without him. Then, of course, there was his Secret Service work. People forget that underneath that rough-and-ready manner he adopted, he was in fact a very clever operator and as cunning as they come. Colonel Raymond was the first to spot this and he relied on him increasingly during those last months of the war.'

One of the strangest — and the most far-reaching — of these Intelligence operations which Biggles carried out for Colonel Raymond cropped up fairly soon after Algy joined 266. This was the Marie Janis business which always has been one of the great conundrums of the Biggles' saga. For, apart from being his first full-scale operation on behalf of British Intelligence, it also involved Biggles in his first real love-affair. No one will ever know quite how much suffering it caused him, nor how much the shadowy, romantic figure of this beautiful and ruthless woman continued to dog him in the years ahead. This was the one subject on which Biggles himself invariably clammed up, but according to Algy, Marie was the key to the whole controversial subject of Biggles' romantic life. Strangely enough, Biggles did permit Captain Johns to give a brief but incomplete account of the affair in one of his earliest books on his exploits in this period, his invaluable
Biggles, Pioneer Air Fighter,
but the Official Secrets Act
— and Biggles' reticence over what was clearly a most painful subject — served to prevent the full story being told. There will always be an element of mystery to the whole affair, but things can now be said and certain all-important facts included in this fascinating story.

It all began by chance, the sort that every pilot fears — a sudden engine failure in the Sopwith Camel that Biggles was ferrying back to Maranique from the Supply Depot at St Omer. Twenty miles or so from Base the new engine suddenly cut out, and Biggles made an immaculate forced landing on the edge of the large forest of Clarmes. It was a perfect day, and he walked to a nearby house for help, where the door was opened to him by what Captain Johns described later as ‘a vision of blonde loveliness'. As Biggles presumably approved of this description, we can take it that this was the first impression Marie Janis made on him. She was then in her early twenties and a photograph taken of her later more than confirms her beauty — enormous eyes, a heart-shaped face, and an expression that was hard, sensual and coquettish. Biggles was attracted from the start. Marie's reactions must seem more debatable.