Mixed Bag – Biggles' Close Encounter of the Extraordinary Kind

A/N

This is a fic that I wrote over 30 years ago to amuse my family – before I was aware of such things as "fanfiction" and "crossover" genre! I'm not really sure where to place it on because of the numbers of crossovers involved – all our family favourites from that era. Anyone interested in reading will find, as well as "Biggles" the following TV series from the late '70s early '80s included – "Star Trek – TOS" (written years before TNG was birthed), "Battlestar Galactica" (the original series), "TJ Hooker", "The Professionals", and "Dr Who" (Tom Baker's era). This has also been published on a forum under another name – so please, don't think this is plagiarism. It's all my work – I've simply muddied the waters by writing under two different names.

(And – for any long-suffering followers who are awaiting long overdue updates on my stories in other genre, I've truly had a bad case of writer's block and am trying to work on them. I thought by posting a long-ago completed story, might kick my fickle muse into action. Anyway, here's hoping…)

Chapter One:

[The North Sea, 1942…]

Biggles hunched over the control column of the Beaufort as it struggled across the North Sea towards the English coastline. He glanced towards Algy in the other seat and grimaced. 'It's going to be close, I'm afraid.'

Algy was watching the growing specks behind them: the Messerschmitts were gaining. Bertie was hunched into the rear gunner's position, the weapon pointing aft and upwards, his eyes never leaving the pursuing enemy. Ginger, in the forward turret also had his guns trained on the 109s. All four knew they presented a sitting target, but were preparing to sell their lives dearly. Biggles' lips drew together in a thin line as he anticipated exactly when the line of tracer would dance towards them. Kicking the rudder bar hard, he skidded the Beaufort sideways and the enemy fire slid harmlessly by. Ginger and Bertie chose their targets carefully and calmly fired despite the erratic behaviour of their own aircraft. Bertie scored a direct hit and immediately concentrated on another Swastika-bedecked fighter.

'Persistent little blighters,' he muttered to no one in particular. One Messerschmitt drew ahead of the others, its guns blazing. Ginger swung his guns around to keep it in his sights. But just as his finger closed on the firing mechanism, a great shudder went through the British 'plane.

'He's got us,' was Ginger's last conscious thought as his head hit the side of the turret and he slumped over the gun.

…

[USS Enterprise 1701 - Somewhere in space…Stardate - undisclosed]

Kirk turned slightly in the command chair to direct his attention to Spock and McCoy who were arguing at the science station.

'Bones…' he began wearily. Next moment he was thrown to the deck as the Enterprise shuddered violently. As abruptly as it began, the tremor ceased, and various crewmembers slowly picked themselves up from the deck. 'Scotty! What in the universe just hit us?' demanded the captain, hitting his communication switch.

'I dinna ken, Cap'n.' The engineer's broad accent betrayed his agitation. 'But we've had a sudden power drain, that I c'n tell ye.'

Spock turned from his console. 'Captain, it would appear that whatever just struck us has also hurled the Enterprise across the galaxy. We are in the Sol system – approaching earth.'

Kirk stared at his Science Officer then turned to the navigator. 'Mr Chekov! What are your readings?'

'The same as Mister Spock's, sair. Earth is approximately 400,000km away.'

'Well,' Kirk shrugged expressively and exchanged a glance with Spock. 'Lieutenant Uhura, contact Star Fleet and advise them of our position.' A few seconds later, the Communications Officer spun back to Kirk. 'Sir, I can't raise anyone on that channel. It's all static. Just like it was that other time…' her voice trailed off uncertainly. Kirk spun towards Spock who was straightening from his viewer.

'The Lieutenant is correct, Captain. We do indeed appear to be in the 20th Century once more.'

'The 20th century!' McCoy glared from one to the other. 'How in the hell…?'

' 'How' is no longer relevant, Doctor,' interrupted Spock. 'The fact is we are here and we must deal with the situation with a minimum of histrionics.'

'Histrionics! Why, you…!'

'Bones!' Kirk's voice held sufficient warning to quieten the doctor who contented himself with clasping his hands behind his back, pursing his lips and rocking on his toes. 'Exactly what time in the 20th Century, Spock?'

'1982, Captain.' Spock hesitated and moved closer to Kirk. 'Sir, we will be plainly visible to the detection systems of this time.'

'Yes, indeed, Mr Spock. Suggestions?'

'Since Mr Scott assures us we still have impulse power, I would suggest we position ourselves on the dark side of earth's moon where we will not be detected. Then we can address the problem of repairing the warp engines and returning to our own time.' Kirk nodded in agreement and within seconds the Enterprise was streaking towards the moon and was soon 'parked' behind it. Once their concealed simultaneous orbit behind the moon had been established, Kirk called his senior staff to the briefing room.

'Any idea what caused it this time?' he asked, looking at the First Officer.

'It would appear to have been artificially induced, Captain,' answered the Vulcan after an infinitesimal pause. Kirk pounced.

'But you're not 100% certain, Spock?'

An elegant eyebrow rose. 'I am ninety nine point…'

'Spare us the decimal places, Spock,' interrupted McCoy in exasperation.

'Why the doubt, Spock?' Kirk silenced McCoy with a look.

….

[CI5 office – London…1982]

'All right, you two. Just remember why you're going to Los Angeles.' Cowley glared across his desk at Bodie and Doyle.

'Yeah. To bring back a couple of would-be terrorists. Don't worry, sir. I'll keep Doyle in line,' Bodie grinned at his partner's exasperation.

'Aye, but who'll keep you in line, Bodie? That's what worries me,' Cowley sighed as Doyle grinned at the pained look on his partner's face. 'Go on, off you go, the pair of you. And be back here Friday week with Trenton and Murphy in tow!'

'Yes sir,' chorused Cowley's top operatives as they executed mock salutes before leaving their chief's office.

….

[Los Angeles…1982]

'Who are these British cops we've got to meet, Hooker?'

'A couple of very cool operators, Ramano. I met their boss a few years ago. They work for CI5. It's a special group. Anti-terrorist…that sort of thing.'

'And we've got to baby-sit them for a week?'

Romano's disgruntled remark made Hooker raise his eyebrows. 'Why should you be so upset? They're staying at my new apartment.'

'I know you, Hooker. My whole week's social life will go down the drain!'

…..

[Somewhere else in space…Date - undisclosed]

'Starbuck, we're going to have to vacate this space!' Apollo's voice cracked urgently in Starbuck's ears. As it happened he couldn't agree more. Being outnumbered 40 Cylons to two Galactic Warriors was definitely not good odds. No sort of a gamble at all. Just plain suicide.

'I'm with you, good buddy,' he agreed fervently. The two pilots fired their boosters and shot across space, heading for their rendezvous with the Galactica. Apollo shook his head as a moment of disorientation trembled through his body. In the Viper alongside, Starbuck gave himself a quick shake as a wave of nausea hit him.

'You okay, Starbuck?' asked his captain.

'Umm, yeah. Must have been the sight of all those Cylons!'

'Well, we seem to have lost them now.' There was silence as both men studied their screens. The Cylons had certainly vanished – and that wasn't all.

'Uhh…Apollo. Where exactly are we?'

'Good question,' replied Apollo wryly. Starbuck raised his brows and looked across at Apollo's Viper.

'I guess we're lost, then,' he muttered.

…

[Long Beach, California…1982]

Inside the Tardis, the Doctor stared disconsolately at the control console.

'Admit it, Doctor,' sighed Romana. 'You've lost us again.'

'Lost?' The Doctor's eyes rounded indignantly. 'I know precisely where we are.'

'But not when, master,' K-9 rolled to a halt beside the Time Lord.

'Oh dear, here we go again,' muttered the girl. 'Where are we then, "precisely"?'

'There's no need for sarcasm, Romana. We're back on earth.'

'Well, that's something, anyway.' Romana smiled her relief. 'When both the No.1 and the No.2 polarity materialising actuators blew, I thought we'd had it. Well, as long as it's earth, I'm going outside for a look around.' When the door opened, the girl peered out cautiously and then stepped out. The blue London Police Box had materialised amongst a clutter of old buildings lining one side of a narrow road. On the far side, a rock wall led from the road to a sandy shoreline. Sea gulls wheeled overhead. A background growl of mechanised traffic permeated the air. 'At a guess, Doctor, I'd say we're sometime in the late 20th Century – probably around the early 1980s.'

'Very astute, Romana. What'd you base that guess on?' The Doctor's voice was muffled. His head and shoulders had vanished beneath the control console.

'Oh, just a quick summation of the local backdrop,' shrugged the girl with a grin. She rested a hand on K-9's head. Several motor vehicles were parked along the street. They bore labels with the year of registration on their windscreens. 'Oh, I think we're somewhere in California, too. K-9 and I are going to have a quick look around, Doctor.'

'What? Oh, um – of course. Whatever…' The Doctor's muffled voice was distracted.

'Come along, K-9,' commanded Romana as she closed the Tardis's door and crossed the street.

…..