Biggles Learns To Fly

Battle

It was under a cold, grey sky that Biggles sat in his cockpit the same afternoon, waiting for the signal to take off. He had made one short flight over the aerodrome immediately after lunch to accustom himself to his new machine, and he had satisfied himself that he was able to fly it without difficulty. The F.E.2b. was not a difficult machine to fly; it had no vicious habits, which was, perhaps, the reason why those who flew it were unstinted in its praise. 

The patrol was made up of three machines. Captain Mapleton, of course, was leading. Marriot and his gunner, "Con" Conway, were on the right, and Biggles, with Mark Way in the front seat, on the left. 

The machine was fitted with two machine-guns, one firing forward and the other backwards over the top 'plane, both operated by the gunner. A rack containing drums of ammunition was fitted to the inside of the cockpit. 

Biggles felt a thrill of excitement run through him as the flight-commander's machine began to move forward; he heard Marriot's engine roar, and then the sound was drowned in the bellow of his own as he opened the throttle. Together the three machines tore across the damp aerodrome and then soared into the air, turning slowly in a wide circle. 

A quarter of an hour later they were still over the aerodrome, but at a height of seven thousand feet, and Biggles, who had settled down in the long turn, dashed off at a tangent as the leader suddenly straightened out and headed towards the east. A sharp exclamation from the watchful Mark warned him of his error, which he hastened to rectify, although he still remained at a little distance from the other two machines. 

'Try to keep up!' yelled Mark, turning in his seat and smiling encouragingly. 'It's easier for everybody then.'

Biggles put his nose down a little to gain extra speed, and then zoomed back into position, a manoeuvre which Mark acknowledged with an approving wave. For some time they flew on without incident, and then Mark began to move about in his cockpit, looking towards every point of the compass in turn, and searching the sky above and the earth below with long, penetrating stares. 

Once he reached for his gun, and caused Biggles' heart to jump by firing a short burst downwards. But then Biggles remembered that Mark said he would fire a burst when they reached the line, to warm the guns, which would reduce the chance of a jam. 

Following the line of the gun-barrel, he looked down and saw an expanse of brown earth, perhaps a mile in width, merging gradually into dull green on either side. Tiny zigzag lines ran in all directions. Must be the Lines, he thought, with a quiver of excitement, not unmixed with apprehension, and he continued to look down with interest and awe.

'Hi!'

He looked up with a guilty start; Mark was yelling at him, and he saw the reason - he had drifted a good hundred yards from his companions. 

'My hat!' Biggles mused. 'I shall never see anything if I can't take my eyes off them without losing them.'

But Mark was pointing with an outstretched finger over the side of the cockpit, and, following the line indicated, he saw a little group of round, black bobs floating in space. Automatically he counted them; there were five - no, six. He blinked and looked again. There were eight. 'That's queer!' he muttered, and even as the truth dawned upon him there was a flash of flame near his wing-tip, and a dull explosion could be heard above the noise of the engine. 

The swerve of the machine brought his heart into his mouth, but he righted it quickly and looked around for the other two. They had disappeared. For a moment he nearly panicked, but Mark's casual nod in the direction of his right wing restored his confidence, and, peering forward, he perceived them about fifty yards or so to his right. He turned quickly into his proper place, receiving a nod of approval from his gunner as he did so.