Biggles by John Pearson Page B

whilst Way kept a sharp lookout for an enemy. But as always happens, trouble came when least expected.
    From the map, Biggles had calculated that they would soon have reached the point where the Front Line met the sea, and was already looking forward to getting back in time for dinner, when Lieutenant Way shouted out a warning and swung his Lewis gun towards the water. Biggles followed the direction, only to see the dark shape of an Albatross heading towards them from the mist. At the same time, something made him glance in the opposite direction: another Albatross was swooping towards them for the kill. The two scout planes, out on their evening patrol, were evidently working together and launching a beautifully-timed dual attack on them.
    Way did his best to head them off by firing manfully at each aircraft, but the odds were obviously too great, and the F.E.2 was no match for the synchronised machine-guns of the German planes. The distances began to narrow, and above the racket of the engine and the Lewis gun. Biggles could hear the whine of the two approaching Albatrosses. They were daring fliers to approach so close, and at the point where it looked as if collision was inevitable, Biggles yanked at the joystick and sent his aircraft zooming upwards. A second later came an appalling crash from just below. The aircraft shuddered in the explosion and was hit by small bits of wreckage, and as Biggles peered down he saw what had occurred. The two German pilots must have taken simultaneous evasive action to avoid collison, but had done it in the same direction and had met each other head on. There were no survivors, and as the F.E.2 lumbered on unharmed, Biggles could tell himself that he and Way had just had one of the luckiest escapes of the war.
    But talk of escape was slightly premature. St Omer was still a good half hour away, the light was failing and suddenly the engine faltered, coughed, and then cut out. Biggles held the aircraft steady as it started to plane down towards the sea, and for a while he thought that he would even make the beach. No such luck. Like an extremely tired seabird the old F.E.2 glided towards the waves, bounced on the water and then subsided in a shower of spray. Luckily the sea was very shallow, and Biggles and Way, their flying jackets jettisoned already, were able towade ashore unhurt and make their way towards the sand dunes up beyond the beach.
    It was as well they did, for at this point they had no idea on which side of the Front Line they had landed, but they soon found out when they heard German voices echoing along the beach. An enemy patrol had ventured out to investigate the crashed British aircraft. Luckily the light was fading quickly by now and the Germans were delayed by their attempts to search the plane. During this time the two British airmen made good their escape along the dunes, dodging between the shadows and the banks of high sea-grass that gave them perfect cover.
    Soon they were halted by barbed wire, and as they lay hidden, trying to make out just what lay ahead, they heard a German working party digging a few hundred yards ahead. There was no longer any doubt of their position. They had reached the Front Line — and were lying on the German side of it.
    Both men were wet and very cold — conditions not exactly calculated to bring out the best in Biggles — and it was Way who then decisively took charge.
    â€˜Nothing for it, I’m afraid,’ he whispered. ‘Either we swim, or spend the remainder of the war in a German prison camp.’
    Swimming had never been much of a speciality with Biggles. To tell the truth, he loathed the water and it required the grim alternative of prison even now to make him think of it. Fortunately Way was a powerful swimmer — ‘Hang on to my collar,’ he told Biggles as they slid into the icy waves.
    The swim appeared to last for ever, and but for Way, Biggles would undoubtedly have drowned. Luckily the