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A Rough Landing for Biggles
by Vicarshusband
 A parody of more than just the Biggles books, as you'll discover if you read on. And there are plenty more like this in the Fantasy Archers topic of .
Somewhere in England, c. 1940.
Three Spitfires descend from the clear air of a hot summer's day, to land on a rough grass airstrip….
Squadron Leader James Bigglesworth - "Biggles" to his friends - vaulted from the cockpit of his Spitfire almost before it had come to a halt, and strode over to his friend and second-in-command, "Algy" Lacey, who had landed immediately before him. They were making their way to the Mess when a familiar figure greeted them - Air Commodore Raymond of Air Intelligence. Immediately, they followed him to his office.
The Air Commodore, standing over the map table, called for coffee.
"Bit of trouble" he said. "We've been losing too many planes, and we don't know why."
Biggles and Algy exchanged a glance.
"I can agree that we've losing too many." opined Biggles "Isn't it because the enemy keeps shooting them down?"
"Not here" replied the Air Commodore, stabbing at the map with the stem of his pipe. "Not over Borsetshire."
"Borsetshire?" questioned Algy. "That's not a front line area. Barely operational."
"We test-fly planes over Borsetshire after repair" explained the Air Commodore. "It's not a well known area - there isn't actually an Ordnance Survey map of it, to be honest. Don't know why. Had to take our map here from an old encyclopedia and we thought it a good plan. Low key and all that. But it's backfired now. Something's up - we're losing planes over there as fast as we fix them. Problem is, nobody knows the area; we don't know where to begin looking for the cause."
"I understand that, sir" said Biggles. "What would you like us to do?"
"Fly up there." replied the Air Commodore "Take a nose around, look out for anything out of kilter and report back. No heroics. I want to make that absolutely clear. This is a funny business all round, and I need you for other work afterwards. Got that?"
Biggles and Algy set out as soon as they could. There was a general shortage of decent aircraft, so they were only able to take an elderly two-seater trainer, affectionately referred to by all in the Mess as "Susan"; a rather heavy machine that made a good deal of noise and was somewhat fussy to fly.
The flight was without event - apart from a low grumbling from Susan - until they approached Borchester itself. They swooped low over the Am and turned towards Lower Loxley. Soon they were flying over the thick woods that grew on the lower slopes of the Hassett Hills.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light from among the trees, and a harsh, acrid electrical smell. Without warning, the engine cut out. Biggles gave a cry. All of the instruments had gone wild, swinging in every direction. Desperately, Biggles tried to restart the engine, but to no avail. He wrestled with the controls, seeking to bring the machine down in one of the few small fields that lay among the trees.
With a crash, they ploughed through a hedge, demolished a gatepost with one wing, turned around and came to rest in a patch of brambles.
v
All was silent for a time. Biggles freed himself from his harness and helped Algy out of the wreckage. They surveyed the ruined plane.
"Bit of bad luck, Biggles" said Algy.
"That wasn't luck" replied Biggles "something brought us down. And I'm going to find out what." He turned to face the woods. "It was over there" he said, pointing. "Come on, Algy". Pistols in hand, the two airmen set out across the field. They had barely reached the shelter of the trees when they heard voices. Biggles motioned to Algy, and both of them took cover in a patch of bracken.
The group of figures that approached was led by a woman, who looked strangely familiar to Biggles. She spoke to the men who followed her in a language unfamiliar to Algy, but Biggles recognised the voice and stiffened. Surely not! Not here in Borsetshire! But as the group came closer, his eyes confirmed what he already knew. It was his old foe, his Nemesis, Deborah von Aldritch.
Biggles and Algy observed von Aldritch and her henchmen examine the wrecked plane, and then return into the woods. Keeping a safe distance, they followed. "What is that language they're speaking?" whispered Algy. "Hungarian" replied Biggles. "We knew that after that last show in France, von Aldritch disappeared for a while, but she always pops up again - and recently we learned that she had been sent to Hungary. Nobody could understand what she was up to, but now it looks as if we shall find out."
They had reached a clearing in the woods. Along one side stood a row of drab coloured caravans, to which the Hungarians retired. In the centre was a large yellow vehicle, vaguely resembling a piece of agricultural equipment, but of vast size.
"We need help", said Biggles. "Go and see if you can find anyone, and get word back to Air Commodore Raymond."
"But what about you, Biggles?" queried Algy.
"I need to get closer and have a look" said Biggles "and besides, I have unfinished business with von Aldritch."
Algy slipped away into the gathering darkness, and Biggles waited. Once it was fully dark, he made his way, as quietly as he could, to the large machine. There seemed to be some kind of metal dish attached to the top. He was trying to examine the contraption when he heard a soft click and felt the barrel of a pistol in the small of his back.
"So" the familiar voice said "we meet again, Squadron Leader Bigglesworth. But this time, I have you at an advantage, no?"
***
Algy crashed through the bushes, completely lost in the darkness. At all costs he must not circle back to the clearing. He must fetch help.
Eventually, he stumbled out of the woods onto a road.
Dim headlamps, shaded for the blackout, approached. Desperately, he stood in the middle of the road, waving his arms. The vehicle stopped. It proved to be a small van, painted green. Upon the sides, in white letters, stood the words
TOM ARCHER SAUSAGES
***
Bright lights came on all around the clearing. Biggles turned around slowly, hands held in the air, and saw von Aldritch, an expression of triumph on her face.
"So" repeated von Aldritch. "I see that you are impressed by my technology? Perhaps you are wondering what it is? I shall arrange a small demonstration." She called to one of her acolytes, who disappeared into the trees and returned pushing a small handcart upon which reposed a pile of cages. Within them, Biggles could dimly discern the forms of a number of agitated pheasants.
"We found these here when we moved into the clearing" said von Aldritch. "Now, observe".
The dish on top of the hellish device was rotating, turning towards the handcart. All of the Hungarians had taken cover on the opposite side of the clearing. There was a flash, and a smell like that which Biggles and Algy had experienced in their plane. The pheasants were dead, roasted whole.
"We call this the Script-Ray." said von Aldritch, smiling evilly "With it, we can reduce plausible human beings to helpless puppets; destroy vehicles, animals, things of any kind - even, as you saw, bring down aeroplanes. We can also mass produce a range of nutritious, organic, pheasant-based snacks for sale at the farm gate. We have been introducing these devices under the pretence that they represent improved agricultural machinery - for the war effort, you know!" She laughed evilly. "And now - we are almost ready! At a signal, every plane will be shot from the sky! Every tank - stopped in its tracks (if you will pardon the pun)! And victory will be ours!"
"You swine" said Biggles. And "Not so fast, von Aldritch!" came a piercing voice from the shadows. Before she could respond, von Aldritch was surrounded by men carrying rifles and wearing the uniform of the Â鶹ԼÅÄ Guard.
The owner of the voice stepped forward. "Captain Snell, Ambridge-on-Am Â鶹ԼÅÄ Guard" she said "and these are my men. Trained killers, every one of them. (Stop that, Private Tucker. Stupid boy.) Now, men, we will take the prisoner back to my Headquarters in the Village Hall, and interrogate her. "
"You'll get nothing out of me, Snell" said von Aldritch.
"Captain Snell, Captain Snell! Sir" came a rather frantic voice. "Permission to speak, Sir. Let me try sir, let me! I'll get her to talk. Cold steel sir, cold steel. They Do Not Like It, they don't. They Do Not Like It At All."
"Quiet, Corporal Fry" said the captain. "Put that bayonet away before you do yourself an injury. To the van, men." She turned to Biggles. "You must be the famous Squadron Leader Bigglesworth." She sniffed. "Personally, I have little time for acrobatics - this war will be won on the ground, mark my words, not in the air. Still, each to his own. You can be glad your friend here" - she waved at Algy - "found us as we were returning home from night manoeuvres."
"Er - I say". A diffident, yet well bred voice, which proved to belong to Sergeant Pargetter. Captain Snell seemed somewhat annoyed to be interrupted, yet gave way and allowed him to speak. "Er - don't you think that the prisoner ought to be restrained in some way? Possibly."
Captain Snell sniffed again. "Restrained?" she queried. "Barbaric. I'll have nothing like that in my platoon." She instead ordered Private Pullen, who arrived carrying the First Aid box, to guard the prisoner.
Led by the Captain they made their way through the wood. Biggles and Algy fell slightly behind the others and ended up walking alongside Private Crawford. After some time, Crawford stopped, glanced around shiftily, and drew a tightly rolled bundle out of one of his ammunition pouches. "Anything I can get you, gents? " he asked. "Watches, nylons? Brandy? Ticket for a show? Reasonably priced semi on the Loxley Barratt road? Pre-owned racehorse?"
Biggles and Algy demurred.
By this time, the others had reached the road. Biggles, Algy and Crawford caught up with them standing beside a green van, painted with the legend "TOM ARCHER SAUSAGES". But where was the prisoner?
At that precise moment, there came a shout from behind them. Private Pullen came running out of the wood, somewhat out of breath.
"I'm terribly sorry, Captain Snell" said the latter "but I seem to have lost the prisoner."
"LOST her?" replied the Captain, aghast. "LOST her?"
"Yes" said the disconsolate Pullen. "You see, I had to stop to answer a call of Nature, and her being a woman - well, I didn't like to... so I asked her to stay where she was while I stepped off the path. And when I came back, she was gone."
v
"Prisoner escaped!" shouted Corporal Fry. "Prisoner escaped! Don't panic! Don't panic!" He began running up and down the road, continuing to shout "Don't panic! Don't panic!" until his voice was drowned out by the roar of powerful aero engines. Everyone fell flat on their faces as a twin engined aircraft swooped low, passing over them twice before ascending into the sky and receding into the night.
"Dash it, she's escaped!" lamented Captain Snell. "Where can she have gone?"
"Back to Hungary, I should imagine" said Biggles.
"She'll never make it." said the Captain "All the way to Hungary? Alone? In that small plane?"
"Oh, I think she will." said Biggles, a far-away look in his eyes. "But she'll be back, I'm sure of it."
More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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