August 1918.
For four long years young men had paid the ultimate price, their lives sacrificed forever in the mud and blood of the trenches. Others had chosen to soar heavenward in flimsy machines, only to suffer an Icarian fate and plunge to the ground in a welter of wood and torn fabric.
At a time when the average survival rate of a fighter pilot had been three weeks, Squadron 266 had had bucked the trend and were as hardened a bunch of fighters as could be found in France. In particular, two of its pilots stood out- James Bigglesworth, and his cousin and closest friend Algernon Lacey. Their superb flying skills, combined with a sixth sense, fearlessness and deadly accuracy had proved a fatal combination to their airborne opponents.
This inseparable pair had developed a reputation not only within their own squadron and the RFC as a whole, but along the entire Western Front, as being a formidable team. If you flew with either of them on offensive patrol chances were good you would come back alive.
Four months earlier, Biggles and Algy were due to have leave when Algy had come down with a bad cold. It had been difficult to persuade Biggles to take leave and go home without him, but a threat of a posting to Home Establishment had finally done the trick.
Biggles first task after leaving his kit in a small London hotel had been to visit his tailor. His tunic had been left with this overworked gentleman to furbish up and to try to remove the mud and castor oil stains to make it more suitable for fashionable London. It would be ready later in the day, he promised. Never one for remaining indoors, Biggles had elected to purchase a ready-made suit and see if his father was at home. On arriving there, he learned that not only his brother, but also his father, were fighting somewhere in France and the townhouse was closed for the duration. Declining the offer of a cup of tea from his old housekeeper, he set off to explore London. After an hour or so, he became decidedly hungry and made up his mind to have something to eat before picking up his tunic. He hesitated between two different restaurants. Here fate played her hand. If he had chosen a different place to eat, the story related in 'Biggles Flies East' would never have happened and life might have gone quite differently for Biggles.
Upon returned to Squadron 266 after their brief posting to Palestine, Biggles was somewhat restive. An upright and honest young man, he had hated playing a double game. His nomination for a DSO had come as quite a surprise to all but Algy and he rather wished he had been able to 'come clean' and answer his squadron's questions truthfully about how he got it.
Physically, Algy and Biggles had changed very little, just a slight sunburn to the skin. Various members of the squadron had ribbed them about their 'holiday tan', and both men had responded characteristically.
Biggles smoked more and his temper had become more unpredictable. Algy threw himself into squadron life again and was determined to live for the moment, often dragging a frequently brittle Biggles with him.
Only Major Mullien, their Commanding Officer, noticed the deeper more profound changes. Both boys had become men and their bond of friendship was stronger.
The afternoon weather was foul for flying; Mahoney proposed taking the tender into town and having some fun. It was a large and noisy group that had accompanied him, Biggles and Algy included. After a few drinks, they had joined up with half the officers in front of a small house. At six o'clock, a red light over the door was switched on and the men surged forward with a roar of approval.
Biggles and Harcourt hung back.
"Eight Shillings , Mahoney said," Algy, counted out his money. "I won't be able to come here very often and continue to pay my mess bills."
"What about…catching something?"
"Why do you think we're issued with medical kits for? To put on our guns? We'll be thoroughly looked over beforehand and here the girls all use French Letters. I've no wish to spend time in hospital unless I absolutely have to. Come on, Biggles. I don't want to die wondering," Algy said with a grin. Still Biggles held back.
"Neither do I, Algy, but not like this. Two minutes and it's over, next fellow, please." Algy looked at him for a long moment and shrugged. "Life's not like a Sabatini novel, Biggles."
Biggles met his gaze steadily and replied softly, "I know."
"Meet you back at the pub then. Save me a drink," Algy flung over his shoulder as he dashed into the building, elbowing Mahoney out of the way. Biggles and Harcourt were left outside. Biggles' eyes followed him sadly for a moment before he turned away and lit a cigarette.
Biggles sat reflectively over his rather weak beer and watched the cabaret while he waited for his egg and chips. The estaminet was full of women, many of whom were highly painted. Their thin clothes displayed their voluptuous figures and they eyed the young aviators avariciously. Neither Biggles nor Harcourt paid them any attention. Biggles wondered if one day he would meet the right girl. He butted out his half-smoked cigarette somewhat savagely. What chance did a nice girl have amongst these painted trollops?
Algy came back a short while later. "Was it worth it?" Biggles asked quietly. Algy grinned and made a ribald gesture in response. "I elbowed a couple of married officer's out of the way, and did you see I beat Mahoney? That in itself was worth it." He sat down nonchalantly, snagged a chip from Biggles plate and pulling the drink Biggles had saved toward him, took a large gulp.
"Do you ever think about finding the right girl and falling in love?" Harcourt asked quietly.
"You've been reading too many romances, Harcourt" Algy said with a trace of impatience. "I wasn't looking for someone to hold hands and read poetry with in the soft moonlight. It's time you realized that sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. You're safer in that house down the road than that lot are over there," Algy indicated a group of recently arrived soldiers, clustered around the group of harridans Biggles had noticed earlier.
Harcourt remained unconvinced. "If we expect our future wives to keep themselves tidy, then I feel we should too," his jaw set stubbornly and he clutched his glass harder. "I'd be upset if my Sarah…" he tossed back his drink, slammed the glass down and glared at Algy.
"Well. the odds are that some of us won't make it back home," Algy retorted with some heat.
"Easy on the oars, you two," Biggles downed his own drink wearily and gestured to the barmaid to bring them another.
A week or so later Major Mullen had sent Biggles to pick up a new Camel from the aircraft park. The thrill of trying a brand new machine brought an involuntary smile to his face for the first time in months and Biggles found he was enjoying himself as he put the aircraft through its paces. During the return flight, his magneto had malfunctioned and he was forced to land in a meadow not far from Maranique. He sat in his temperamental aircraft and looked at the idyllic rural scene surrounding him. It was a perfect day and he could almost have imagined himself back home in pre-war England. For the first time in many months, a sense of peace washed over him. He smiled appreciatively and lit a cigarette, smoking it slowly, wishing to prolong the moment. He remembered seeing a red roof through the trees and having finished his cigarette, his sense of duty recalled him. It was time to find someone to help him. He was a fair way from his aerodrome. He sighed and set off towards the house. He paused in the orchard, uncertain which way to go when a beautiful young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes spoke to him.
Biggles immediately fell head over heels in love.