Chapter One
Quite frightened now, the young pilot glanced at the unfamiliar ground below him for what must have been the hundredth time. The fog had cleared now, and he was now aware that he was well and truly lost. Shivering, he huddled lower into the cockpit. His instruments were next to useless. The bullets that had been intended for him had missed, but they had destroyed his instrument board instead.
He cursed silently. Three Huns. He'd shot down three Huns in one show. Surely that was enough? Why on earth had he been so foolish as to leave the squadron to chase down one more?
Well, he couldn't fix his mistake by looking back, that was for sure. He glided down closer to the ground, trying to find some familiar landmark. As he did, he heard the pounding of bullets against his fuselage. Damn! It was the plane that he'd chased and lost! Before he could react, another hail of lead hammered the machine. He swerved wildly, but a streamer of black smoke leaked from the engine. It was closely followed by a tongue of flame. He saw his attacker retreat out of the corner of his eye. There was no need for him to hang around. He tried to glide down, but the Camel refused to respond. As the ground raced up to meet him, he tucked his legs up to prevent them from being trapped, and covered his face with his arms. The thick black smoke from his engine was choking him. The plane crashed with a violent jolt, and he struck his head against the shattered instrument board. From that position he didn't move. The young pilot lay slumped forward in the cockpit, blood trickling down his face, unaware of the flames that were beginning to take hold of his plane.
Biggles, one of the finest pilots of the first World War, had been shot down at last.