HISTORY

fighting with enemy territory below. So, gambling on the Hun repeating

the tactics he had followed during the encounter of the morning, he deliberately spun. As he hoped, the other machine followed him. Twisting his

head round, he could see the Hun spinning down behind him. He counted

six turns, came out, and instantly spun the other way. This time, however,

he allowed the machine to make only one turn. He pulled it out into

a loop, half rolled on to even keel on top of the loop, and to his intense

satisfaction saw the Hun go spinning past him. The short spin had caught

him off his guard, and as he came out, Biggles thrust home his attack. He

deliberately held his fire until it was impossible to miss, and then fired

one of the longest bursts he had ever fired in his life.

The Hun jerked upwards, fell off on to his wing, and spun. Biggles was

taking no chances. He followed it down without taking his eyes off him

for an instant in case it was a ruse. But it was no ruse. The orange Fokker went nose first into the ground with its engine full on, and Biggles

stiffened in his seat as he watched that fearful crash. He circled for

a minute or two, looking for a suitable place to land; it was not his usual

practice to look at unpleasant sights too closely, but on this occasion an

idea had struck him, and he had a definite object in view.

He saw people hurrying towards the crash from all points of the compass, he put the Camel down in an adjacent field and joined the hurrying

crowd.

His great fear was that the wreck would be removed piecemeal by souvenir-hunters before he could reach it, but he found an officer on the

spot when he got there, and the machine lay exactly as it had fallen.

IV

It was five o’clock when he reported to the Squadron Office. Major Mullen

looked up from his desk as he entered. “Ah, you’ve brought your report,”

he said.

“Er — yes, sir.”

“Good. First of all, though, you had better read what I have said. Here

is the minute; I shall attach your report to it.”

Biggles took the buff sheet and felt his face go red with shame as he

read a eulogy of his conduct and exploits since he had joined the Squadron. The C.O., he knew, must have gone to considerable trouble in the

matter, for he had looked up a large number of combat reports – not all

his own – and pinned them to the document. Further, he had evidently

been in communication with Major Paynter, for a lengthy report from his

old C.O. was also attached. Biggles did not read it all through but laid it

on the C.O.’s desk.

“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly, “but I’m afraid I don’t deserve such

praise.”

“That is for me to decide,” replied the C.O. Then, with a quick change

of tone, he added, “What on earth possessed you to behave like that this

morning, and before such an audience, too?” A slow smile spread over

Biggles’s face.

“Well, the fact of the matter is, sir,” he said sheepishly, “I was in the

air without any ammunition. It sounds silly, I know, but I had arranged

to fight a camera-gun duel with Wilks – that is, Wilkinson, of 287, who

claimed that his S.E. was better than my Camel.”

“Then why, in the name of heaven, didn’t you tell that interfering old

fool – no, I don’t mean that – why didn’t you tell the General so?”

Biggles shrugged his shoulders. “I find it hard to argue with people who

form their own opinions before they know the facts.”

“Like that, was it?”

“Just like that, sir!”

“I see. Well, let me have your report.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather a bulky one, sir,” replied Biggles, struggling with

something under his tunic. The C.O. stared in wide-eyed amazement.

“What in the name of goodness have you got there?” he gasped.

Biggles slowly unfolded a large sheet of orange fabric on which was

painted a Maltese Cross and beside it an Ace of Spades. He laid it on

the C.O.’s desk. “That, sir, is the hide of the hound who made me bust my

Camel this morning. I chanced to meet him again this afternoon, and on

that occasion, I had lead in my guns. I think H.Q. will recognise that Ace

of Spades, and perhaps it will speak plainer than words. I’m not much of

a hand with a pen, anyway.”

First published in the book "THE COCKPIT" (August 1934) and later in

the book "THE RAID" (April 1935). Taken from the book "BIGGLES OF THE

SPECIAL AIR POLICE" (September 1953), where the Fokker D.VII type

was changed to Fokker D.VIII.

The blue and yellow Camel with this serial number was based on an

illustration for Johns' short story CAUGHT NAPPING, which does not

feature Biggles. In addition, it was slightly altered (blue instead of yellow

struts) as part of our fictional modifications. If You wish to have a "proper"

fictional Biggles Camel from the blue and yellow period of Johns' work,

simply omit the serial number on the vertical fin and give all the struts a

yellow color. That's it!

INFO Eduard - September 2021

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