Captain W.E. Johns - Biggles of 266

SCAN/PROOF : AK3D

With Kind regards to Bro V, Rob (and his lady love, The She Bitch Mwally), Goldy The Sulky, Joanne The Dear.

BIGGLES OF 266

By CAPT. W. E. JOHNS

MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS, LTD. PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON

FOREWORD

THESE ARE some of the earliest Biggles stories. They appeared in "The Modern Boy"

about 1932, when the events of the Kaiser's war were still fresh in mind, and deal with that period of air combat when one could only qualify for the title ace by shooting down a certain number of enemy aircraft. In the French Service the number was five: in Germany, ten. The Air Ministry did not acknowledge the system, but in scout squadrons victories were counted unofficially.

To the student of modern warfare and high-performance aircraft these stories will appear far-fetched. So they are. But in 1916 war-flying was far-fetched. So were some of the incidents of Hitler's war, if it comes to that. I doubt if any writer would court derision by having his hero fall out of an aircraft flying at 18,000 feet without a parachuteand live to tell the tale.

The great difference between the two wars was this. The machines of 1915-16, with a top speed of under 100 m.p.h., and landing speeds in proportion, could get down almost anywhere. Pilots thought little of landing in a field to ask the way, have a cigarette, or beg a drink of water. In this way spies could be landed behind the enemy lines. Occasionally a pilot would do it for sheer devilment. Frank Luke, the American pilot who won the Congressional Medal of Honour, lost his life doing it. The day being hot he landed by a brook for a drink. Caught in the act by German troops he fought with his pistol until he was killed. He was the champion balloon buster, having shot down thirteen in a fortnight.

Most pilots kept clear of them.

Strange stories could be told of kite balloons. An officer known to the writer, finding himself at 3,000 feet with his balloon on fire and no parachute, decided to go down the cable. He slid most of the way, removing the flesh from his hands and thighs. But he lived. Operations replaced the flesh from another part of his body, although when the author saw him, in Newcastle, after the war, he still had difficulty in closing his hands.

Colonel Strange, while his machine was upside down in a combat, fell out. But hanging on to his gun he managed to climb back, right the machine and fly home.

Madon, the French ace, once shot the goggles off a German gunnerand caught them in mid-air. You may have heard the uncanny story of the R.E.8 that came home by itself and made a reasonable landing with pilot and gunner dead in their seats.

Examples to strain the credulity could be given indefinitely, and those given above are merely quoted to show the sort of thing that could happen when war-flying was in its infancy. The writer fell out of control into Germany from 19,000 feet, andto his surprise found himself still alive.

Discipline in some squadrons, particularly scout squadrons, hardly existed, although there was a tendency to tighten things up towards the end. But in the early days, as long as a pilot did his job, nobody bothered much about what else he did. There was no radio to tell a hunting pilot where to go, or what to do, once his wheels were off the ground.

Well, they were great days, days the world will never see again, and Biggles, like most pilots of the period, made the most of them.

W.E.J.

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

A RIDE TO REMEMBER

THE CAMERA

THE PRIZE

HUMBUGS

THE TURKEY

WAR IN HOT BLOOD

REPRISALS

THE CHALLENGE

THE PILOT WHO LOST HIS WAY

A RIDE TO REMEMBER

SECOND-LIEUT. BIGGLESWORTH, of No. 266 Squadron, R.F.C., stationed at Maranique, France, settled himself in a deck-chair, cocked his feet up on the balustrade that ran round the verandah in front of the officers' mess, yawned lazily in the summer sunshine, and then looked up at the group of pilots who had collected there while awaiting the summons of the luncheon gong.

"What do you think about it, Biggles?" asked Mahoney, his flight-commander, fishing a pip from his glass of lemon crush.

"About what?"

"I say that the fellow who goes about this war casually volunteering for this and that has about as much chance of seeing the dawn of peace as a snowball has of surviving midsummer in the Sahara. Sooner or later he gets ithe's bound to. I could give you scores of instances. Take Leslie Binton for example"

"I never heard anyone talk as much drivel as you," interrupted Biggles wearily. "You sit here day after day laying down the law about how to avoid getting pushed out of this world, but do you practise what you preach? Not on your life! If the Old Man came along here now and said he wanted some poor prune to fly upside down at fifty feet over the Boche lines, you'd be the first to reach for your flying togs. I'm not saying you're wrong about this volunteer stuff. Personally, I think you're right, because it stands to reason that the pitcher that goest oftenest to the well gets a better chance of being busted than the one that sits on the shelf."

"Not necessarily," argued Wells, a Canadian pilot with a good deal of experience who had recently joined the squadron. "It's just as likely to get knocked off the shelf on to the floor. It's no more true than the proverb about an empty pitcher making the most noise."

"Are you telling me I'm an empty pitcher?" inquired Biggles coldly.

"Wait a minutelet me finish. What I was going to say was, you're as bad as Mahoney. You say the volunteer act doesn't pay"

"It doesn't!"

"Then why do you take a pace forward every time a sticky job comes along?"

"To save poor hoots like you from getting their pants scorched."

"Rot! Well, you go ahead, but anyone in his right mind can get all the trouble he wants out here in France without looking for it. All the same, I aim to outlive you guys by at least three weeks."

There was a sudden stir, and a respectful silence fell as Major Mullen, the CO., and Colonel Raymond, of Wing Headquarters, walked up the short flight of stairs from the Squadron Office.

Biggles took one glance at the major's face, caught Mahoney's eye and winked.

The CO. was too young to dissemble and he showed his anxiety plainly when the squadron was selected for a particularly dangerous task. He looked around the assembled officers. "All right, gentlemen, sit down," he said quietly. "Is everybody here, Mahoney?"

he went on, addressing the senior flight-commander.

"Yes, I think so, sir."

"Good. I won't waste time beating about the bush, then. I want an officer to"

Biggles and Mahoney sprang up together. Wells took a pace forward and several other officers edged nearer the CO.

Major Mullen smiled. "No, I shan't want you, Bigglesworthor you, Mahoney. Wells, you've had a good deal of experience at reconnaissance, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir," replied Wells eagerly, turning to frown at Biggles, who had tittered audibly.

"Good. Have a word with Colonel Raymond, will you? He will explain what he wants."

"But, sir" began Biggles.

The CO. silenced him with a gesture. "I'm not in the least anxious to lose my best pilots," he said softly, as Wells and the Colonel disappeared into the anteroom, and the other officers filed into the dining-room as the gong sounded.

"This must be something extra sticky," growled Biggles to Mahoney as they followed.

"It would have been a lot more sensible to hand the job to someone"

"I never heard anyone talk as much drivel as you do," mimicked Mahoney, and sidestepped quickly to avoid the jab that Biggles aimed at him.