No-o?'

'No. I wanted to try out my apparatus, but the Huns were a bit too quick for me.'

'What the d.i.c.kens was it?' Biggles demanded. Rockets. You know the rockets they used to use for balloon strafing?'

Of course!' he replied.

'Well, I've made a gadget to hold 'em on - backwards,' Forbes explained. 'When they go off, they shoot behind me. My idea was to surprise a Hun who got on my tail - give him something he wasn't expecting.

I wanted to show it to you before we started, but you wouldn't look. I'll explain it to you when I come back from hospital.'

'Fine!' exclaimed Biggles. 'Fine!'

A motor-ambulance trundled up, and Forbes was lifted inside. Biggles gripped his hand.

'Cheerio, kid!' he said. 'I'll tell the Old Man you put up a great show!'

'Thanks!' returned Forbes. His elbow came down smartly on the side of the vehicle, his fist followed it. The ambulance driver looked round in surprise at the sound - clonk, clonk-er, clonk, clonk-er!

'What was that?' he asked.

'Two to Waterloo!' grinned Forbes.

9.

OUT FOR RECORDS!.

The greatest number of enemy aeroplanes to fall in one day during the Great War under the guns of any single airman numbered six. At the end of the War two or three officers had accomplished this amazing record, which was first established by Captain J. L.

Trollope shortly before he himself was shot down.

Biggles' record day's bag was four. On one occasion he shot down three enemy planes before breakfast, and with this flying start, so to speak, he thought he stood a good chance of beating his own record. But it came to nothing. He roved the sky for the rest of that day, until he nearly fell asleep in the c.o.c.kpit, without seeing a single Hun.

Disgusted, he went back to his aerodrome at Maranique, and to bed. So four remained his limit, and each one was a well-deserved success.

The affair in which he had got three victories before breakfast was simple by comparison. It came about this way: Whilst on a dawn patrol he saw a formation of five enemy scouts, and he attacked immediately 'out of the sun' - without being seen. He swooped down on the rear of the formation and picked off a straggler without the others even noticing it. Shifting his nose slightly, he brought his sights to bear on the next machine, and killed the pilot with a burst of five rounds.

The second machine was spinning downwards before the first had reached the ground, so he had two falling machines in the air at once.

The remaining three machines heard the shooting, however, and, turning, came back at the daring British scout. Barely touching his controls, Biggles took the leader in his sights, head-on, and succeeded in setting fire to it with his first burst! For a matter of twenty rounds he had secured three victories, all within the s.p.a.ce of two minutes.

The surviving members of the enemy formation dived for cover and took refuge in a cloud before he could come up with them. And, as I have said, he did not see another enemy machine for the rest of that day.

The occasion on which, he scored four successes was a very different proposition, and not without a certain amount of humour, although it must be admitted that only three of these victories were confirmed.

The anti-aircraft gunners put in a claim for the last one, and although Biggles was quite satisfied in his own mind that he shot it down, the subsequent court of inquiry, for reasons best known to themselves, gave the verdict to the gunners.

It happened shortly after Captain Trollope had astonished all the squadrons in France by his amazing exploit. Nothing else was talked about in the officers' mess of Squadron No. 266 one guest night, when, amongst others, Captain Wilkinson and several pilots of Squadron No.

287 were present.

Wilkinson, better known as Wilks, had taken the view that although the feat was difficult, it was really surprising that it had not been done before, considering the number of combats that took place daily. At the same time, he claimed, perhaps correctly, that there was a certain amount of luck in it.

One could not, he a.s.serted, take on a formation of six or more Huns and hope to bring them all down; that was asking too much. Yet to find six isolated machines' in quick succession, in days when machines were flying more and more in formation, was also expecting rather a lot.

Again, the combats would have to take place near the Line, within view of the artillery observers, or confirmation would be impossible. The other method of obtaining confirmation from an eyewitness in the air might lead to some doubt as to who had actually shot down the machine, as it was more than likely that both of them would be engaged in the combat.

The upshot of the whole matter was that before the evening was out the affair had a.s.sumed a personal note, the members of each squadron represented at dinner each declaring that their particular squadron would be the next to do the trick and perhaps beat it.

Wilks in particular was convinced that if the double 'hat trick' was to be done again, the S.E.5's* of Squadron No. 287 would be the machines to do it.

In Biggles' opinion, a Camel of Squadron No. 266 was more likely to win the honour.

This was, of course, merely friendly rivalry, each pilot naturally supporting his own squadron and the type of machine which he himself flew. There the matter ended when the party broke up, and no one expected that any more would be heard of it.

But before the stars had completely disappeared from the sky next morning, Mannering, the recording officer of Squadron No. 287, informed Wat Tyler, the recording officer of Squadron No. 266, by telephone, that Captain Wilkinson had already shot down three machines. What was more, he had had them confirmed, and at that moment he was in the air again looking for more.

This information was quickly conveyed to the flight-commanders and pilots of Squadron No. 266. Biggles, who was still in bed, heard the news with incredulity and chagrin.

'Great Scotland Yard, Tyler!' he cried. 'We can't let Squadron No. 287 get away with this! If Wilks knocks down any more machines today we shall never hear the last of it from that S.E. crowd. They'll crow and crow till we get a pain in the ears! No, we can't have that!' he went on, swinging his legs out of * Scouting experimental single-seater British biplane fighter in service 1917-1920, fitted with two or three machine guns.

bed and reaching for his slacks. 'What are Maclaren and Mahoney doing?'

'They've gone up to the sheds,' grinned Wat Tyler. 'They've gone Hun-mad!'

I should think they have. I'm not stopping to wash. I'll grab a cup of coffee and a handful of toast as I go through the mess. If you're going up to the office, you might give Flight-Sergeant Smyth a ring. Tell him to get my machine out and start it up.'

I will,' agreed Tyler, departing.

Two minutes later Biggles burst into the dining-room like a whirlwind, scattering the semi-clad pilots who were calmly preparing for breakfast.

'Come on! Get up into the air, some of you: he raved, 'or Squadron No. 287 will get every Hun in the sky!'

Wilks has got another, said a voice from the window. It was Tyler.

Another! Who said so?' demanded Biggles. I've just got it over the phone!'

'Suffering rattlesnakes!' gasped Biggles. 'This won't do! If he goes on at this rate he'll shoot down the whole blinkin' German air force before we get started! Four, eh? And it's only seven o'clock. He's got the rest of the day in front of him!' he grumbled, as he strode briskly towards the sheds.

Biggles' Camel was out and ticking over on the tarmac when he reached the sheds, and he at once climbed into his seat, and after running the engine to make sure she was giving her frill revs, he took off.

He made straight for the Lines, getting as much height as possible as he went. When he got there to use the old tag the cupboard was bare. To left and right the sky was empty, except where, far to the north, a trail of fast-diminishing black archie smoke marked the course of a British machine.

Still circling, he pushed further into the blue, as enemy sky was called, searching for something on which to relieve his pent-up anxiety. But in vain.

For an hour he flew up and down, ignoring archie, but the only two machines he saw were a Camel in the distance probably a machine of his own squadron and a lonely R.

E.8*, far below, spotting for the artillery.

The wind freshened, bringing with it heavy ma.s.ses of cloud. But it made no difference; not a Hun was to be seen. He spotted a German balloon that had been sent up to take a peep at the British Lines, and he darted towards it. But the watchful crew saw him coming while he was still far away, and by the time he reached the spot the balloon had been hauled down to safety.

Another hour pa.s.sed, and at the end of it he was fuming with anger and impatience. Two hours, and not a shot had he fired. Fed-up, he turned towards home in order to refuel, for his tanks were nearly empty.

A big cloud lay ahead, and disdaining to go round it, he plunged straight through. As he emerged on * British two-seater biplane designed for reconnaissance and artillery observation.

the opposite side he nearly collided with a big dark green two-seater machine, whose wings were blotched with an unusual honeycomb design.

The type was new to him, but its lines told him at once that it was a German. It was, in fact, a Hannoverana*, a type that had only just made its appearance.

The pilot of the German machine swerved as violently as Biggles did, to avoid collision, and pushing his nose down he streaked for the cloud from which Biggles had so opportunely - or, from the German's point of view, inopportunely - appeared.

In his anxiety that it should not escape, Biggles threw caution to the winds, and without a glance around for possible danger, he roared down and then up under the Hannoverana's tail, raking it with a long burst of bullets as he came.

He saw the machine jerk upwards spasmodically, which told him plainly that the pilot had been hit. The green machine went into a spin, and he watched it suspiciously for a moment. But it was no trick.

The unfortunate observer in the Boche two-seater managed to pull the machine out of the spin near the ground, and did his best to land. But it was not a good effort, and he piled up, a tangled, splintered wreck, in the tree-tops of the Forest of Foucancourt.

Only then did Biggles look up. He saw with a shock that a second machine was alongside him. Fortunately it was a British plane - an S.E.5 - but his relief received a check when he realized that it would have been all the same if it had been a Hun.

The pilot of the S.E.5 was gesticulating wildly. But Biggles had no time to wonder what it was all about, for his tank might run dry at any moment. He put down his nose and raced across the Lines to the aerodrome, which he reached just as his propeller gave a final kick and stopped. He landed with a 'dead stick'; in other words, a silent engine and stationary pro peller.

He was beckoning to the mechanics to come and pull the machine in, when he saw to his surprise that the S.E.5 had evidently followed him, for it was landing near the hangars.

Jumping out of the machine, he walked quickly towards the mess, intending to have a cup of coffee while his machine was being refuelled, and it was only when he drew close that he recognized the S.E.5 pilot as Wilkinson.

The other pilot's first words made Biggles pull up in astonishment.

'What's the big idea?' asked Wilks angrily. 'That was my Hun!'

'Your Hun! What are you talking about?' retorted Biggles.

I'd been stalking that Hun for thirty minutes, and was just in range when you b.u.t.ted in!'

'What's that got to do with me?' Biggles demanded. 'I don't care two flips of a lamb's tail if you've been stalking it for thirty years. I got it, and now I'm going to ask Tyler to get confirmation.'

I say that I should have had that Hun in another ten seconds!' protested Wilks.

'Then you were just ten seconds too late!' returned Biggles coldly. 'You shouldn't waste so much time: 'You wouldn't have got him but for me. He was keeping his eye on me, and he didn't even see you. You didn't give him a chance for a shot!'

'By James, you're right!' agreed Biggles. 'I took thundering good care not to. What do you think I am - a target?'

I say we ought to go fifty-fifty in the claim,' insisted Wilks.

'Fifty-fifty my foot!' growled Biggles. 'You seem to have the idea that Boche machines are sent up specially for your benefit, so that you can knock them down. Let me tell you that the birds that flit about these pastures are as much mine as yours.

If you don't like it go and find yourself another playground. Better still, drop a note at Douai and ask the Huns to send some more machines up. I got that one, and I'm not sharing it with anyone. If you choose to spend half an hour trying to get close enough to a Hun for a shot, that's your affair. Cheerio!'

With a wave of his hand Biggles pa.s.sed on towards the squadron office.

When he returned, twenty minutes later, the S.E. had disappeared, and he grinned at the flight-sergeant who had overheard the conversation.

I'm afraid that was a bit tough on Captain Wilk- inson: he said. 'But when this game gets so that one has to sit back and let someone else have the first pop, I'm through with it. First come, first served is the motto!'

'That's what I say!' grinned the flight-sergeant. 'You don't know anything about it,'

Biggles told him calmly. 'Are my tanks filled?'

'Yes, sir.

'Right. Then give me a swing.'

As he flew once more in the direction of the battlefield, Biggles derived some comfort from the fact that Wilks had added nothing to his score, a fact that he had ascertained from Tyler, who had been in telephone conversation with No. 287 Squadron office.

Several officers of the Camel squadron had been back for more petrol, but not one of them had had a combat. Mahoney, the flight-commander, he learned, was now leading the morning patrol.

On reaching the Lines, Biggles began a repet.i.tion of his earlier show, seeking, the elusive black-crossed machines. But there wasn't an enemy machine to be seen. He penetrated far into enemy country, but realising that even if he did meet a Hun and bring it down, it would be out of sight of watchers along the Line, he turned his nose towards home.

The ceaseless watching began to tire him, for not for a moment could a single-seater pilot over the Lines afford to allow his eyes to rest. An instant's lack of vigilance might be paid for with his life.

Another two hours pa.s.sed slowly and he began to edge towards Maranique, for fifteen minutes would see his tanks empty again. He glanced towards the Lines, and suddenly a shadow fell across his machine.

The quick jerk of his head, the spasmodic movements of hand and foot on control-stick and rudder-bar were simultaneous with the clatter of his guns. At his second shot a yellow Albatross, twenty yards above and in front of him, burst into flames.

The whole thing had happened in a split second and was a graphic example of the incredible co-ordination of brain and action that was developed by the expert air fighter.

There was no time for thought. The movements, from the moment the shadow had fallen across him, were separate in themselves, yet they had followed each other in such quick succession that they appeared to be only one.

First he had looked to see what had thrown the shadow, then his head had moved forward so that his eye came in line with the gun-sight, he had adjusted his position with stick and rudder, and his hand had gripped the gun lever and pressed it. All that had happened in less than one second of time. He had hit his target, and he knew he would never make a better shot in his life.

He did not actually see the burning machine crash, for as his second shot took effect, he jerked his head round to ascertain if the machine was alone or one of a formation. To his utter astonishment he saw an S.E.5 whirl past him, pull up in a steep climbing turn, half roll on top, and come roaring back.

As he pa.s.sed, the pilot shook his clenched fist and Biggles recognized Wilks' machine.

'Great Scott, I believe I've done it again!' he muttered, and then laughed as the funny side struck him.

As he raced back to Maranique he tried to work out what had happened. The Albatross must have been diving for home with Wilks in pursuit, in which case it was unlikely that the German pilot had even seen him, as he would naturally be looking back over his shoulder at the pursuing machine. By an unlucky chance for himself the German had chosen a course that took him between Biggles and the sun, with the result that his machine had thrown a shadow on the Camel.

That must have been how it had happened, Biggles decided, and he was not surprised to see the S.E.5 land a few yards in front of him. Wilkinson was white with anger.

All right, keep calm! You're not going to tell me that I pinched your Hun on purpose!'

cried Biggles as he approached.