Biggles Online | Biggles Looks Back Biggles Looks Back A Story of Biggles and the Air Police Published February 1965 - Hodder & Stoughton [H/B] Reprints 71.4 % (4 votes cast) Biggles, helped by his erstwhile enemy Eric Von Stalhein, sets off to behind the Iron Curtain in a bid to rescue Biggles' one true love, Marie Janis. goodreads summary Biggles has dinner with old enemy, and now friend, Erich von Stalhein, who asks him if he ever wonders what happened to Marie Janis, a young girl Biggles fell in love with during the First World War. (This tale is told in a short story called "Affair De Coeur" in the first ever Biggles book THE CAMELS ARE COMING). Biggles is astonished to hear that Von Stalhein has had a letter from Marie. She is in Czechoslovakia and the letter contains clues that all is not well. Later, Von Stalhein disappears and Biggles concludes he has gone to rescue Marie. A postcard from Rodnitz with a cryptic message confirms this.

Biggles Looks Back BIGGLES LOOKS BACK Book First Published on 26th February 1965 - 191 pages I believe this Biggles book was never serialised elsewhere.ï¿½ If anybody knows differently then please E-MAIL ME Biggles has dinner with old enemy, and now friend, Erich von Stalhein, who asks him if he ever wonders what happened to Marie Janis, a young girl Biggles fell in love with during the First World War. (This tale is told in a short story called "Affair De Coeur" in the first ever Biggles book THE CAMELS ARE COMING ). Biggles is astonished to hear that Von Stalhein has had a letter from Marie. She is in Czechoslovakia and the letter contains clues that all is not well. Later, Von Stalhein disappears and Biggles concludes he has gone to rescue Marie. A postcard from Rodnitz with a cryptic message confirms this. Taking Bertie with him, Biggles poses as a glass buyer and travels to Rodnitz in Czechoslovakia. Here they find Von Stalhein working as a violin player in a Cafe.

He has traced Marie to a nearby large Castle (her family home) where she is being held virtually as a prisoner. Biggles and Bertie set out to explore the castle but are turned away. It is discovered that Von Stalhein is an escaped political prisoner and he has to go on the run. Joined by Von Stalhein, Biggles makes a second attempt to reach the castle and they both finally make contact with Marie, whom Biggles does not recognise, as so much time has passed since they last met. Marie is being held because she refuses to disclose the whereabouts of the Janis treasure, a collection of family jewels including an ancient jewelled Bohemian crown. Biggles is visited by Reinhardt, a local policeman who is suspicious of Biggles and after Von Stalhein. Biggles comes up with a plan to get Marie and Von Stalhein away and he sends Bertie back to England to get a plane, with an agreement as to a future date for meeting them, to pick them up. The Czech police come to arrest Biggles, but he escapes in time and hides up at the castle.

Reinhardt lays on more guards at the castle but doesn't know of the connection between Biggles and Marie. Whilst stealing some wirecutters, Biggles hides in the shadows and overhears Reinhardt discussing the situation. This would appear to be the picture on the dust cover of the book. On the appointed night, Biggles, Von Stalhein and Marie all make a daring escape to the rendezvous that has been arranged and escape back to England. Marie takes the family jewels with her and this enables her to buy a cottage in a Hampshire village where Biggles and Von Stalhein are able to visit her. Biggles (Literature) - TV Tropes And he does. Badass Grandpa : Biggles ages naturally during the course of the books. His last excursion as an over-age and deniable James Bond is a mission into the Russian Gulag in 1965, when he would have been as old as the century, to liberate old antagonist Erich von Stalhein from Soviet incarceration. Celibate Hero ; Biggles, despite his one flirtation with a Femme Fatale Spy , and all the retrospective Ho Yay stuff you can read into the books.

Distaff Counterpart : Flight Officer Joan "Worrals" Worralson of the Women's Auxiliary Air Force appeared in a number of stories between 1941 and 1950. She was created largely to encourage girls to become pilots. Fake in the Hole : In The Movie , the lead character is drawn back in time after taking a shower and is clad in only a towel. He holds off a group of German troops by turning on his cordless razor and throwing it, yelling "GRENADE!" Justified inasmuch as the thing being thrown at them is about the right size, shape and colour, and is buzzing to boot. You don't take chances, you GTFO and think about it later. Frothy Mugs of Water : The Biggles stories were originally written for adults. When they were republished for children, references to whisky were changed to lemonade — so pilots would willingly risk their lives on dangerous missions when offered the reward of a crate of lemonade. Improbable Piloting Skills : Displayed by all four Aces. Inconvenient Summons : Happens to Jim Ferguson in Adventures in Time.

Kid Hero : Biggles is a borderline example, being eight months shy of his claimed seventeen years when he arrives as New Meat at the Air Training School in Biggles Learns To Fly. Most of the franchise is set some time after he reaches adulthood, however. Somewhat justified in that there are numerous cases of fourteen year olds winding up in the various armies. Sixteen is terribly young for the RFC, but not impossible. A couple of stories are set during his childhood. Military Alphabet : Uses the old World War I era British one (Ack for A and so on). Only a Flesh Wound : Frequently invoked. In one egregious example, Ginger is shot through the thigh but still manages to outrun his pursuers for over a mile. Said Bookism : All characters created by Johns are prone to colourful ejaculations. Sky Pirate : Played somewhat realistically; the typical scenario was either a war-surplus fighter or mechanical sabotage being used to force down an aircraft carrying valuables that was then met by accomplices on the ground, or a fairly conventional Armed Blag that used an aircraft instead of a getaway car.

Universal Driver's License : In The Movie Biggles: Adventures in Time, Biggles (transported in time from World War I to the late twentieth century) is able to work out how to fly a helicopter after a few minutes experimentation. He even says, without apparent irony, "If you can fly a Sopwith Camel, you can fly anything!" The Camel was renowned for the remarkable torque of its rotary engine, to the point where you didn't make a 90 degree left turn; it was easier AND FASTER to go 270 degrees to the right. For Biggles, his first attempt to lift off in the helo would have been like trying to fly his Camel straight upwards. He'd have understood what was happening better than most. Played straight in the books for the most part, though probably justified by Biggles having literally decades of experience in civil and military aviation alike, at least by the time World War 2 rolls around. It was a minor plot point in one volume that he wasn't Instrument Flight Rules-qualified, however.

Vapor Trail : A Sky Pirate encounters Biggles' deHavilland Mosquito fighter variant (four 20mm cannon plus or minus four .303 machine guns) in place of the unarmed bomber-turned-civilian-transport he'd planned to attack. When Biggles nails his opponent's fuel tank, the fellow panics and attempts to return fire through his own vapour trail. Because he's using tracer rounds, which basically trail a stream of fire behind them for up to six hundred yards... well, you can guess the rest. World War I : Although only a fraction of the books are set during the First World War, this is the period with which Biggles is mostly associated. Biggles - Fanlore Biggles Books, Radio, TV, Comics, Film, Computer Game Country of Origin: 6 References Biggles is a pilot, the titular hero of a series of nearly a hundred novels and short story collections for boys by Captain W.E. Johns (1907-1993) [1] , beginning with The Camels Are Coming (1932) and ending with Biggles Sees Too Much (1970).

Two subsequent books, Biggles Does Some Homework (1997) and Biggles Air Ace: The Uncollected Stories (1999) were respectively an unfinished novel published in that state in a limited edition, and short stories published much earlier that had been omitted from earlier collections. There was also an Australian radio series The Air Adventures Of Biggles (1949-1954), a British 44-episode TV series (1960), numerous comics, and a film which was generally felt to be unfaithful to its source material; Biggles: Adventures in Time (1986) with a computer game based on it. Canon James Bigglesworth, nicknamed "Biggles", begins as a teenager in the First World War. Having lied about his age, he enlists in the Royal Flying Corps aged 17 and quickly becomes a flying ace and commander of his own wing of fighters. He often takes part in intelligence missions, such as flying spies behind enemy lines. His usual companions are his cousin Algernon ('Algy') Lacey and his mechanic Flight Sergeant Smyth, who continue to work with him after the war.

Various other pilots appear in the series, but (especially in the WW1 stories) tend to be killed or otherwise leave the series fairly quickly. Another long-term character is Major Raymond (later Colonel, then Wing Commander and ultimately Air Commander after the formation of the Royal Air Force), who is his mentor and often responsible for his intelligence missions. A frequent enemy in this period, continuing on until the Cold War era, is German intelligence officer Erich von Stalhein. Between the wars Biggles and Algy operate an amphibious aircraft, which is used for charter flights and occasionally for British Secret Service operations. An eventual recruit to the team is Ginger Hebblethwaite, a teenager who acts as sidekick in subsequent stories. In WW2 Biggles commands 666 Squadron, a "special duties" unit that serves around the world in a variety of roles. As usual Algy and Ginger accompany him, with the rest of the complement of an RAF squadron, many of them stereotypes for one or another nationality or region in the UK. A new member of the core team is Lord Bertram 'Bertie' Lissie.

Post WW2 Raymond recruits Biggles to a new Scotland Yard department, the Special Air Police, assigned to investigate crimes involving aircraft and often to intelligence missions. These often pitted him against Erich von Stalhein, now with the East German secret police, but he eventually rescued von Stalhein from prison and they ended as friends. He is still with the Special Air Police in the last books of the series. Because of their nature and period, and because they were often edited to conform to "boy's adventure story" expectations, these books contained period racism and to an extent sexism, though Johns was considerably better in this respect than many other authors; he also wrote the Worrals series about a female WW2 pilot. Fandom Like many series intended for boys, these books mostly have an all-male cast (occasional female romantic interests appear but never last) and it has long been open to slash interpretations; interpretations reinforced by several references to the series in Monty Python's Flying Circus . The most common pairing is Biggles/Algy .

Fanworks Biggles stories (search for Biggles stories on Fanfiction.net ) Resources Biggles Flies Uncensored: More Whisky, Less Jingoism ]; article about editorial censorship of the Biggles books. References ↑ Johns was a prolific author of more than 160 books, most of them about the armed forces. The main series were Biggles; the " Steeley " books (1936–1939), a World War 1 pilot turned crime-fighter; " Worrals " (1941–1950), the adventures of a female pilot in WW2; " Gimlet " (1943–1954), commando adventures, and the " 'Tiger' Clinton " books (1954–1963), science fiction with a background in part derived from flying saucer literature. There were occasional canon crossovers between the Biggles, Worrals, and Gimlet series, mostly in the short stories.

Biggles in the Blue BIGGLES IN THE BLUE Book First Published on 20th July 1953 - 192 pages This story was first published, in nineteen weekly parts, as BIGGLES IN THE BLUE inï¿½ The Eagle ï¿½Volume 3, issue 50 to Volume 4 issue 16, dated 20th March 1953 to 24th July 1953 Erich von Stalhein is in Jamaica. The reason for this is that an old Nazi friend of his called Werner Wolff has been living in Jamaica under the assumed name of 'Christen Hagen'. Wolff is believed to have taken secret German documents with him when he fled Nazi Germany. Wolff has now died of natural causes and his secret past has come to light. He died whilst writing a vital letter to von Stalhein telling him where the secret documents are hidden, however the letter and a map showing the location of the documents both remained unfinished. Biggles and the team are sent out to find the secret documents before von Stalhein can, as it is vital that they should not fall into enemy hands.

Investigations and clues lead Biggles, Algy, Bertie and Ginger to the island where the documents are hidden but there they must confront von Stalhein and his cohorts, Zorotov and Napoleon Morgan. The dust cover shows Bertie and Ginger trying to get the box with the plans in back to the aeroplane. Biggles in Deep Water Chapter 18: In Enemy Hands, a biggles series fanfic | FanFiction By: Akseel Co-written with a friend. Top secret documents have been stolen, and who better to retrieve them than Biggles and co ? Unfortunately, as they will soon find out, they cannot always plan for every contingency...

Rated: Fiction K - English - Adventure/Friendship - Chapters: 20 - Words: 104,762 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 5/1/2012 - Published: 6/11/2011 - Status: Complete - id: 7074136 + - Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten < Prev Next > Chapter 18 - In Enemy Hands It was not as bad as he had anticipated. The elastic surface of the water broke their momentum somewhat, and though they were seriously shaken, the machine did not seem to break, nor did it begin to sink. Algy remained strapped in his seat for a few seconds after they had stopped moving, head reeling, then he looked around by reflex to check on the others. No one appeared to be injured. «Every one all right?» They all confirmed it, and Algy's mind switched automatically on to the second most pressing matter. «Where is that ship Ginger spotted?» «A half-mile in front of us,» Ginger said.

He had already left his seat and was watching anxiously out the cockpit. «Getting closer pretty fast, too.» Algy looked for Biggles' eyes and caught them easily. «So what now?» he asked, eager for a plan. He was to be disappointed. «Nothing,» was Biggles' quiet answer. He saw Algy's incredulous look and shrugged. «What do you expect us to do? We have no weapons, we cannot dream of outrunning this ship, and we can't take off even if our left prop was still in working order. Resisting capture will only get us hurt or killed, without accomplishing much.» «What about the papers then?» interrupted Bertie. Biggles slapped his forehead. «I had forgotten about that. You're right, we can do something about that. Either destroy them, but I'm loathe to do that - or hide them.» «Why don't you want to destroy them?» Ginger asked, looking bewildered. «People have been perfectly happy without those around, and I daresay they would for a while longer.» «That's assuming there aren't other copies going around,» Biggles pointed out.

«You know how the Germans are, or the Soviets for that matter - they do everything in triplicate, and we don't know how they were planning to modify these blueprints. The version we have may hold critical intelligence on the development of a prototype, for instance.» Algy nodded thoughtfully. He had not thought of it either, but... «Hide it?» he repeated. «That may be too great a risk. Knowing these people, they'll take the plane apart.» «But they may not have the time, nor the tools. Taking apart a plane on the ground is one thing; on the sea, it's different. And the weather does not look like it's improving. At least it'll allow us to stall.» «Then you'd better hurry,» said Ginger crisply. «They're getting close.» Algy looked around, but he could not think of a good enough hiding plane. «Under the seats» would hardly qualify, and that was the best that had come through his mind yet. But Biggles must have something in mind, based on the small smile that pulled the corner of his lips. «Wait here,» he said.

«I have an idea.» He left the cockpit for the back of the plane, and Algy focused again on the approaching ship. It looked like a cargo, from what he could see through the rising mist, but there was something off. Algy was no seaman, but he thought the ship seemed a little too light on the water, that it turned a tad too sharply when it manoeuvred starboard. If that ship is a cargo, Algy thought, then our plane is a spitfire. He wanted to take a gun and give these crooks the welcoming they deserved, but as Biggles said - there was nothing to it. He tried to get rid of the itch in his fingers by rubbing his hand on his leg. Looking down as he did so, he noticed the kit that lay discarded on the ground, having been thrown forward in the cabin from their rough landing, and a smile slowly formed on his lips. He seized the corner of the kit and dragged it closer before rummaging through it. Finally satisfied, he withdrew a swiss army knife and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket. The cargoship had stopped, and a handful of men began putting a dinghy to the sea.

Algy shared a glum look with Bertie and Ginger, as Biggles just got back to the cockpit. «Here we are, they can keep looking for a while before they find it.» «That won't do us much good when we're their prisoners, old boy,» Bertie mumbled. «Quite the contrary,» Biggles said. «That's my other reason for hiding the documents rather than burning them. So long as they don't have them, they won't dare harm us. I don't think Erich would in any case, but he may not have control over these people.» Bertie and Ginger said nothing, but their expressions made it clear they did not have the same trust as Biggles in von Stalhein's inherent goodness. Biggles saw it too, but he pretended not to. Six men had taken places in the dinghy and were rowing at a fast pace toward the Catalina. They all had weapons, and made no pretense of being friendly when they hit the hull of the plane with the stock of their guns. The meaning was clear; get out, or we'll make you. «There's no call to be rude,» Biggles observed.

«Let's greet our hosts.» Considerably less cheerful, Algy moved to obey. The moment they were let inside, the intruders pointed their guns at the British and moved so as to keep their aim without risking injury to their comrades. Yes, comrades must be the right word, Algy recognized their quick efficiency as that of soldiers - and their nationality was not difficult to guess. It did not come as a shock when their leader spoke in a language Algy recognized as Russian; the guttural vowels and harsh consonants were hard to miss. When none of the Britons moved, the man had a frown of impatience and gestured them outside. As they had agreed, there was no attempt at escape - any attempt was doomed to failure at best. Algy caught a whiff of gasoline, soon replaced by the salty smell of the sea, as he climbed onto the floats and jumped into the dinghy. Now that their prisoners were under control, weaponless and defenseless, the group of soldiers were considerably less tense. They exchanged a few words, perhaps a joke when some of them laughed, quickly rebuked by their officer.

As they got closer, they could see the name of the ship, painted in capital letters on its hull. It read «SVENSKA HEKTOR", but the hasty paint job was painfully obvious and the old name could still be deciphered underneath : Туман. Algy was not sure how it was supposed to be pronounced - he could not read Cyrillic. «I don't suppose any of you chaps would care to tell us what you intend to do with us?» tried Bertie, but it appeared the soldiers either did not speak English, or had no interest in answering. Further attempts only entitled them to a sharp rebuke in Russian, which they could not understand but obviously meant «shut up». The dinghy reached the side of the cargo. A long, narrow rope ladder dangled down the metallic hull, which the prisoners climbed without difficulty, then were searched quickly - and perfunctorily, Algy thought as his knife escaped the search. A slight rain had begun to fall, making the deck slippery. From there, they were escorted to the front deck of the cargo, where three people were obviously waiting for them. One of them was a familiar figure, one that Algy had expected to see all along.

«I'm afraid I was not able to say goodbye last time we were in each other's company,» said Erich von Stalhein. «I'm glad I have the occasion to rectify that.» «There was no need to go to that much trouble,» Biggles answered wryly. Of the two other men, one was doubtlessly the skipper of the ship. Shorter than average and stocky in build, he looked at the prisoners with a vague curiosity that led Algy to think he was not much interested in the whole affair, one way or the other. The third man was tall and wiry, with sharp, narrow features and an aquiline nose. The uniform he wore must be at least a major's or a colonel's, which meant he probably outranked von Stalhein. «Allow me to introduce captain Zastupnevitch,» the skipper nodded quickly when he heard his name, «and polkovnik... colonel Karutchev.» The colonel gave them a standard military salute, then spoke in Russian to the soldiers who had escorted the British. A quick conversation ensued, which resulted in Karutchev looking quite angry.

He snapped an order and a surge of activity followed. Turning around, Algy realized that they were going back to the dinghy. Presumably, they had been ordered to go back to the plane and look for the documents. «Where are the documents?» asked von Stalhein. His tone of voice made it clear he did not really expect an answer, but felt obliged to ask anyway. «Come now, Erich,» Biggles smiled. Von Stalhein did not return the smile. In fact, he looked very grim, and Algy felt an uneasy feeling burn in his stomach. «I could threaten to shoot one of your men if you refuse to tell me.» «No, you won't.» Biggles lost his smile. «You see, only one of us knows where the documents are - and I am not telling you who it is. If you kill any one of us, you're taking the risk to lose the information.» Von Stalhein looked oddly halfway between angry and relieved. «We don't need you to find them,» he pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily. «Yes, you do.

But if you want to try and take apart the Catalina, be my guest.» Karutchev looked somewhat irritated, and he snapped something in Russian. It appeared von Stalhein was the only one fluent in English, which explained his presence. And perhaps his damn pride made him want to win - if only once - over Biggles. Von Stalhein answered in the same language, and after a short discussion, looked back at the prisoners. «You will be taken to a cabin while we are searching the Catalina. I would advise you against any attempt at escape. The men will not hesitate to shoot.» The German shook his head. «I do wish you would make things easier for all of us.» «The moment you hold these papers will be our death warrant,» said Biggles bitterly. «You can hardly be surprised that we are unwilling to cooperate.» Algy thought he saw a shadow of uncertainty on von Stalhein's face before they were taken away to an unoccupied cabin, where the door was promptly locked behind them. «I hate to be depressing,» Algy muttered, as they tried to settle themselves comfortably, «But Erich knows us too well.

He'll guess that you know the place of the papers.» Biggles shot him a look and leant his head nearer to whisper, «But he won't know.» He grinned a little before turning to explore their surroundings with more than the cursory glance they had first given them. «I say old chap, I'm all for escaping and the like, but if you think you'll get me through a gap that size you're dead wrong. I'm not a bally octopus, no sir, nor a whippet, either.» Bertie frowned at Biggles' interested probing of the well-secured porthole and went to try the door handle instead. Ginger glanced up and saw the way Biggles was looking at him. «It wasn't me, chief, whatever it was. I swear.» Biggles shook his head, «guilty conscience, hey? Bertie has given me an idea. Go and stand next to Algy, so I can see you both.» Dutifully Ginger stood, dragging Algy up next to him. Biggles walked around them both like a judge, measuring them with his eye. «It's no use, Algy; we'll simply have to cast him out.

Look, he's podgier than you are!» Given Algy was hardly well-fed, this was perhaps not hard, but they chose to play along. «It's these good looks you see,» Ginger tried, «They all want to take me out, mother me a bit.» Algy rolled his eyes, «Seems we got ourselves a changeling, instead of a real boy. I'll talk to Mrs. Symes when we get back, put a lock on the larder.» «So long as one of you is small enough to fit through there, should it be necessary, I don't mind what you do,» Biggles pronounced. «But I say old chap, you can't go around breaking glass and sending people through it, by Jove! They'll get cut and make a jolly old mess for someone to clean up, you know.» Bertie was watching the proceedings as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. Algy dropped back to the bunk he'd been occupying, scrabbling in his trousers. «It so happens...» he began, when there was a knocking at the door.

Hastily they re-aligned themselves in attitudes of relaxation, all but ignoring the surly looking guard who appeared. He seemed to find it hard to speak even Russian, grunting at them and making it clear they were to march in front of him, up the companion way. Briskly they did so, wondering for what purpose. «Shall we make a break for it?» whispered Ginger, on reaching the deck and spying the Catalina almost along side. Biggles shook his head carefully. «Not yet. We don't know how many of them there are and they must have brought us up here for a reason.» For their trouble they received a stern dressing down as a handy NCO shouted at them. The words were foreign but the meaning was fairly easy to guess - play any tricks and you'll be shot. Biggles reflected that von Stalhein clearly didn't have as much power as he once did, for he wouldn't countenance the violence. They stood on deck for less than five minutes before three figures appeared from the Catalina, von Stalhein and two soldiers who had clearly been helping him search. He ignored them for a while, talking to the NCO who had dressed them down.

Finally he turned to them, switching to English. «There's someone on the radio for you, Bigglesworth. You will come across while Karutchev prepares the rest of your friends for questioning.» He instilled the word friends with a slight sneer, though not as much as he would have done had they not recently spent some days being friends, or at least partners in survival. Biggles hesitated, unwilling to leave the other three alone with Karutchev, but he didn't really have a choice. «He can't possibly question us until Erich comes back with you.» Algy pointed out, reasonably, «He doesn't speak English, remember?» It hardly made him feel any better. There were lots of things Karutchev could do without actually asking them anything. However a firm grip on his elbow had him propelled to the Catalina, made fast to the railing. «You did not mention you had called the coastguard,» von Stalhein said. Biggles shrugged, only remembering the fact then himself though not willing to show it.

«You didn't ask.» With a curt gesture, the NCO pushed Biggles into the plane, following the two soldiers, then left, as von Stalhein stepped in. «They want to know your exact location and if you do not tell them will be launching a full SAR response.» Biggles' lip curled. «So you think I'm going to tell them where we are? Why don't you tell them yourself?» Erich glanced at the radio, a tangled mass of wires and a purposefully destroyed headset. «Because although this device can still receive, it appears unable to broadcast. Like you earlier in the week, I am unfamiliar with this model and am willing to offer a compromise.» Biggles frowned, looking at the tangle. «It wasn't like this when we left her. It was destroyed while under your care and, as such, is not only your problem to fix, but also to reimburse me for.» Von Stalhein's lips thinned, «Be that as it may, and I can assure you that this whole diplomatic saga will be dealt with by the right channels on our side, we now face the problem of the coastguard coming.

I need hardly tell you that if they do, and should they succeed in finding this position, you will be in a hostage situation and no closer to being able to retrieve the papers.» Biggles shrugged. «That's hardly going to induce me to help you, is it? If they go down it's better for all concerned, is it not?» Von Stalhein shrugged back. «And if you go down with them it's better for all concerned too?» he questioned slyly. Biggles smiled, «It's the way of the Englishmen to put duty before himself, you see. Not unlike the Germans.» «I am willing to give you a fighting chance,» began von Stalhein, «if you will let the Coastguard know you have been met by a vessel and therefore require no assistance, then I can assure you no harm will come to you. I shall arrange for you to be dropped on English soil, unmolested.» «And if I don't, what will you do?» «If you don't, I will do nothing to you. I will instead do my duty, translating for Karutchev as he questions your fellows and then you. He is...most persuasive.

And I shall arrange for the Coastguard to not reach this spot. Do you know how many family men there are in the Coastguard patrols, these days?» von Stalhein spoke coolly, watching Biggles' reaction closely. «You understand I couldn't make a decision for the four of us on my own,» he said at last. It was more to get off the damaged aircraft and to think for a few minutes than because he had any thought of accepting the offer, and von Stalhein realised it, probably. However he could not argue the point either, and sent the two soldiers on again, following after Biggles. They did not speak until they were back on board and then it was only for von Stalhein to inform him the same two soldiers would see him down to a cabin set aside for Karutchev to 'work' in. Biggles nodded, prevaricating as much as he dared. The longer they spent not on the radio, the more chance they had of Coastguard finding them. Though he had no wish to be caught in the crossfire.

Turning over various options, he followed without thinking, coming back to the present with a nasty jolt, seeing Bertie and Ginger standing stiffly against the wall in a larger, sparse, cabin. His eyes only flickered over those two however, lighting instead on the two figures in the centre of the room. Karutchev, using his height to advantage, was looming, or attempting to loom, over a figure in a chair. A very familiar figure. Memories of hot, noisy nights, of dark-skinned malayans and a film-loving, pidgin speaking, second in command filled his head for a moment and he shook them off with difficulty. Shoved into the corner he questioned Ginger out of the corner of his mouth. «How long have they been going at it?» Ginger shrugged. «Not too long, just the time you've been away. Tenty minutes, maybe? I think he's waiting for von Stalhein but wanted to steal a march.» Biggles nodded, transfixed by the slow rise of pink, no doubt caused by the exertion of trying to find a break in the placid, somewhat amused, somewhat surprised, face in front of him.

«Algy hasn't said anything yet, apart from a little bit at the begining, when he tried French and German on the man. They chatted away in that for a bit, but they've been like this for a while now.» Biggles nodded. «We've a problem.» he added, shifting a little to tell Bertie as well. Briefly, he recounted what had happened on the Catalina. «I don't want to see innocent men killed,» he finished, «but neither do I want to see those papers found. I won't tell you where they are, but they'll be found once they take the Catalina apart piece by piece, I assure you. We have to keep them on the sea, at least. Now, we want to get to a radio, to tell those Coastguarders we're fine. If we can manage to get a message through that we want to send a squadron over...I'm not adverse to this whole ship being sunk, so long as we knew we could get out of it.» Bertie opened his mouth to say something when the door opened and von Stalhein entered.

He walked straight up to Karutchev and stood a little way to one side, clearly seen. Algy turned to look at him and raised a sardonic smirk, but said nothing. Von Stalhein spoke rapidly, but deferentially, to Karutchev and received a curt nod in reply. Turning to the other four present (the soldiers, having deposited Biggles, had departed) he translated. «You will be allowed five minutes in you room to decide which course of action to take. That is all.» He glanced again at Algy and Algy would swear, later, that he seemed almost - very nearly - sorry he couldn't do more. Having been put off for a further few minutes, Karutchev seemed in a hurry to get rid of them and they were bundled into the cell with all haste. «Give us the gen,» Algy offered, reclining again on the bunk and looking at Biggles. Briefly, he did so, and instantly afterwards Algy burst out with, «As soon as we get back I'm finding myself a little radio set I can carry with me.

So I suppose one or two of us go and find a radio and transmit, while the others wreck havoc?» Biggles nodded. «That was the general thought, yes. I shall go to the Catalina and get the papers. Ginger, as our most radio-savvy, you can take Bertie and send the message.» They nodded, though Bertie seemed to have some misgivings, mainly along the lines of wanting a gun. «I'm not a wrestler and I never shall be. Give me a nice hunting-piece any day of the week.» «Aww, give over. We can't have nice hunting pieces and a problem like this all at once,» Ginger drawled. «Though we'll keep an eye out for them.» «So shall we go now, or wait till they come to pick us up?» Algy enquired dutifully. «What's all this we about?» Biggles asked. «You'll be standing by.» Algy snorted, pulling out the pocket knife and setting to work on the nuts holding the porthole-cover in palce. «By Icarus' anti-clockwise propeller I will be.

I'm the only one who can get out the window, remember?» Biggles threw up his hands with a half fond, half exasperated look. «It's a wonder we ever get anything done, with you undermining authority all the time. By the way, where did you get that?» «From the Catalina, before we left her. Thought it might come in handy.» He'd already loosened one nut, held in place now by half a revolution. «Wait,» Biggles stopped him. «They'll be back in five minutes' time. We'll need more of a headstart than that if we're to succeed in our endeavour. Besides, it's already late afternoon, we'd better wait until it is darker.» «Time is playing against us, old boy,» cautioned Bertie. «What if they find the papers in the meantime?» «That's a risk,» Biggles acknowledged. «But I'm confident they're well hidden, and rushing into action will not help.» «So what about the Coastguard?» asked Ginger. Biggles seemed to have had time to ponder the matter. «I'll agree to von Stalhein's terms,» he said without hesitation.

Algy's eyes widened in surprise. Not that he disagreed - the arrival of the Coastguard could be as much of a disaster as an opportunity - but it must be the first time that Biggles actually seemed to mean to accept one of von Stalhein's deals without another devious plan in mind. The absurd thought fleeted through his head that it would make von Stalhein very happy. «Are you sure about that?» Bertie asked. He must be quite uncomfortable, to be questioning Biggles like this. «I mean, once you do that, we're on our own.» Ginger shrugged, eyes shining. He must be imagining himself in one of those American pictures he was so fond of. «So what's new?» «Besides,» Algy took on himself to explain, «if we did not agree they might try to tow the plane out of territorial waters. They might not succeed, which is probably why they haven't tried it yet, but if they did, the moment they reached the international zone it would all be over. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a sub or two cruising not so far from here, and not British ones.

We couldn't risk a major incident to get those papers back, so that would be it.» «And even if the Coastguard came and found us,» Biggles added, «as von Stalhein pointed out to me, we'd end up in a hostage situation, which would not resolve anything, quite the contrary. No, refusing to comply would only put more lives in danger, and not help us much.» «Fine, fine, old chap, you're right as usual.» Bertie shrugged. «I was just saying, really. Hadn't quite seen the situation this way.» «So, about the...» began Algy, but he had no time to finish before a key rattled in the keyhole and the door was thrust open by an over eager guard. Von Stalhein's figure appeared at the threshold. «I trust you have had time to come to a decision, gentlemen?» he asked politely. Ever since their arrival on the ship, he had behaved with an aloof formality. Algy wondered if that was because he was embarrassed after what had happened on the island, or for another, yet to be determined reason.

Most likely, the German was not eager to appear too friendly with British prisoners under the watchful eye of a superior. «Yes, as it happens, we have,» Biggles returned impassively. «I agree to contact the Coastguard, under your terms.» A flash of surprise shone in von Stalhein's eyes, immediately followed by keen suspicion. «I am... very glad to hear that,» he said slowly. Algy could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as the German tried to think of every contingency that could arise, and obviously finding none that the prisoners could exploit – none that he could not provision for. «Shall we, then?» Biggles asked mildly. «I assume our friends of the Coastguard must be getting somewhat impatient.» «Of course,» said von Stalhein, and he took a step back to allow Biggles through, though he still looked mistrustful. A sharp order was given, and the door closed behind the two men, leaving Algy, Bertie and Ginger on their own. They had nothing to do but wait for Biggles' return, for they would need for him to be present in order to devise a plan.

Algy sat down on one of the bunks and touched his pocket lightly to feel the reassuring, hard shape of the knife through the fabric. With a bit of luck, they still could get through. Biggles followed von Stalhein's brisk footsteps in the coursive, then on the deck where the cold, moisty breeze of the sea greeted him. Two guards were walking right behind him, but their weapons were shouldered. Obviously they considered their superior numbers to be enough protection against anything the prisoner might try - and they were right, there was not much he could do. Von Stalhein was still watching him closely - he had learnt the hard way never to underestimate an enemy, no matter what the odds. «Can these chaps speak English?» Biggles asked, referring to the guards. «No,» said von Stalhein. He paused slightly before adding, «not that I know of.» The hesitation spoke volumes to Biggles. He knew enough about life beyond the Iron Curtain to understand what it meant; one of these guards could very well speak English while pretending not to, so he could spy on the prisoners - and maybe, on von Stalhein himself.

And von Stalhein had issued Biggles as clear a warning as he could. Why, wondered Biggles. So that he knew not to speak of what happened on the island? «By the way...» he began, but was interrupted sharply by one of the guards, speaking Russian. Biggles was beginning to find it increasingly bothersome to be constantly interrupted. «Хватит,» von Stalhein said, very curtly. «Он может говорить.» That was what it sounded like, and though he did not know the words, Biggles could infer from the guard's backing down that he had been granted permission to talk. «As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, what's the name of the ship that supposedly rescued me? The Coastguard will probably want to know that.» By then they had reached the ship's rail, and one of the guards started to climb down first. «Your rescuer is the Swedish cargo Svenska Hektor,» von Stalhein answered without hesitation, having obviously foreseen the question.

«Its skipper's name is Anders Lundqvist, should you need it.» Biggles nodded and got ready to climb down as well, but von Stalhein's steel-like grip stopped him. The German looked him squarely in the eyes. «You might be tempted to do something foolish, and somehow signal the Coastguard that you need assistance other than they can provide themselves. Rest assured I will know if you do, and you will not like the result.» The words may have sounded like a threat, but Biggles saw genuine concern in the cold blue eyes that bore into his. «The thought never crossed my mind,» he said lightly. Von Stalhein hardly seemed convinced, but he released his grip all the same and followed Biggles swiftly down to the dinghy, and from there to the Catalina. Biggles sat down in the radio seat, in front of the damaged machine. Von Stalhein appropriated one half of the conveniently destroyed headset, giving the other half to his prisoner. A persistant signal was being broadcasted in morse code. «...repeat, state your current position. Help will soon be on the way. Catalina...» Biggles felt his blood turn cold.

He hoped he had not stalled too long, and that it was not too late to stop the Coastguard from coming. It would be quite ironic, if his own strategy worked against him, and it would also have unpleasant consequences. With a swiftness born from habit, he operated the radio, checking the broadcasting frequency and boosting the signal to its maximum. «Coastguard, this is James Bigglesworth from downed Catalina, do you read?» he sent, relieved to find that his morse was still up to date. There was a slight pause at the other end before they responded, much to Biggles' relief. He had feared the radio was too badly damaged to reach far enough. He sent the reassurance that von Stalhein had requested of him, that they did not need assistance. Even as he worked on it, he saw the German's lips move slightly as he translated in his head the meaning of the dots and slashes. He was really not taking any chances. «Satisfied?» Biggles asked once he had put down his half of the headset. Von Stalhein watched him carefully, and seemed pleased to detect no irony in Biggles' countenance.

«There is little in this whole matter that I find satisfying,» he said, with more straightforward honesty than Biggles had come to expect of him, «but you have held your side of the bargain, and so shall I do mine.» «Yes,» Biggles said slowly. «You have committed yourself quite extensively. After all, it is colonel Karutchev who is in command, not you. Or does he know exactly what you have promised in return for my cooperation?» «I have given you my word,» said von Stalhein, impassive. «You need not trouble yourself beyond that.» Biggles glanced at him, surprised. He knew he could trust the man's word of honour, if nothing else, but that could put him in quite an awkward position with regards to his superior. Von Stalhein, however, appeared in no mood to make confidences about his intentions, and had Biggles briskly escorted back to his cell. He stopped only at the door, and turned his head back to meet Biggles' eyes. «I assume you still refuse to tell us where the papers are.» Biggles had a nonchalant smile.

«I know you're asking only for thoroughness' sake.» «Very well. You may call the guard if you change your mind, as you might want to. It would make things easier for you if you told us before we found the documents by ourselves.» Biggles shrugged. «Would you give in, if you were in my place? Allow me to be at least as stubborn as you would be yourself, in a similar situation.» Von Stalhein said nothing more and the door of the cabin was opened, only to be closed just as swiftly once Biggles was inside. «You've been awfully long,» said Ginger, who had been sitting on one of the bunks. Biggles could see the orange light of the sunset through the porthole. Were he in another situation, he would have been enjoying the sight, but at this moment he had more urgent things on his mind. «Yes, well, that's one thing taken care of,» he answered distractedly, eyes roaming the cabin for Algy. He found him lying on another of the bunks, eyes closed. Asleep. Bertie shook him lightly and he opened foggy eyes with a groan.

«What, morning already?» «I'm afraid so, sunshine,» Bertie grinned. «Did you have nice dreams?» «No,» Algy grumbled as he sat up. «I dreamt we were flying in a plane and then shot down and captured by von Stalhein and his friends.» Bertie put on a puzzled expression. «Now why would you have such a dream?» he wondered out loud. «Are you sure you're all right in the head?» «Very funny. All right, so what's the plan?» Biggles hesitated, unhappy. It was true that the whole motion depended on Algy's ability to escape the cabin, and at the same time he was reluctant to put his friend through that. Yet, he did not have much choice. The alternatives were worse. «Here's what we can do,» he said slowly. «Algy, you escape through the porthole. The hard part will be then to find a way to open the door for us.

I cannot give you any advice as to how to accomplish that.» «Don't worry,» Algy said with forced nonchalance, «I'll think of something.» «When we're free,» Biggles continued, «I'll go for the documents.» «Wait, what about the Soviet sailors?» Ginger put in. Having no satisfying answer, Biggles shrugged. «It is possible they will have given up on the search with the night falling. They're in no great hurry, now that the Coastguard have been taken care of, and that will work to our advantage. As we cannot know what to expect, I'll have to improvise. Meanwhile, Ginger and Bertie will go for a radio and get a message through for Raymond. Let's hope the radio is a model you will be able to operate.» «And me?» asked Algy. Biggles gave him an incredulous look. «What, you don't have enough on your plate already?» Algy had a thoughtful frown. «I'll be out there anyway,» he pointed out. «Might as well do something useful.» «Oh, very well,» Biggles surrendered.

«You can look out and if it seems one of us is about to be discovered, try to make a diversion.» He hesitated. There was no privacy to be had, and despite the high regard in which he held Ginger and Bertie, what he had to say would have better been so in private. But there was nothing to it. «Algy, are you sure you're up to the task? If you have even a doubt you might not be able to pull it off - then say so. It will not help us for you to get killed stupidly.» It was half an order, half a request - and perhaps, half a prayer. But, as Biggles had known all along, Algy shook his head determinedly. «I can do it,» he said with deep-rooted assurance. «You can rely on me.» Biggles watched him a second more, wishing he did not have to let Algy do it, knowing it was pointless, and finally looked away. «Does anyone have something to add?» They did not, and they set to work on the porthole with Algy's pocket knife.

The blades were quite thin, and the tip of the longest one broke before they were done, but eventually the nuts were unbolted. Ginger and Bertie held Algy's legs as he slid his lean upper body through the round aperture. He just barely got through; he might not have before the whole ordeal on the island. Biggles heard him grope around on the hull of the ship to find a grip on the smooth metal, and then, slowly, his legs disappeared through the porthole, until only the tip of his toes rested on the ledge. Then finally he was gone. Biggles let himself drop on one of the bunks. This was going to be a long wait. A/N : I did not offer a translation of the Russian being used because the story was told from Biggles' POV and he doesn't speak the language. If anyone's curious, what von Stalhein said could be translated as "Enough !

He may speak." I wasn't sure which interjection would best convey my meaning - various dictionaries suggested alternatively "полно" or "баста", but the first, it seems to me, conveys a different connotation (since the word itself also means "full" or "filled"), while the second is clearly of foreign (Spanish) origin and may or may not have been in use in the 1950's. A third translation was "достаточно", but seemed more commonly used as an adverb (as in, "to have enough of something"). Hence, "хватит" seemed the best choice when meant as a rebuke, although I may be mistaken. And yes, I do realize I'm the only one interested in such semantics. Also, the name of the ship, "Туман", means "Mist" in Russian. For a disguised, stealthy ship, it seemed adequate. Later on it is written in latin script (Tuman) for the sake of convenience. < Prev Next > The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.

Favorite : Story A life of Biggles | Books | The Guardian A life of Biggles Friday 11 December 2009 19.06 EST First published on Friday 11 December 2009 19.06 EST Share on Messenger Close Though I have never thought of myself as a book collector, there are shelves in our house browsed so often, on so many rainy winter nights, that the contents have seeped into me as if by osmosis. Biggles, properly known as James Bigglesworth DSO MC, is the subject of almost a hundred books by Capt WE Johns, who published them over some 40 years. My husband has 85 of these titles, and rules about his collection. He has to happen upon the books, not hunt them down. He won't pay silly money, and he'll have nothing to do with catalogues, internet searches or specialist networks. A day which to others is merely a dull day in a strange town is to him a Biggles opportunity; but as the number of second-hand bookshops seems to dwindle, I don't know whether he'll be able to collect the stories he's missing unless he breaks his self-imposed rules.

As a child I used to read Biggles myself in a mild way – enough to get a rough fix on his biography. He was born in India in 1899. I ask myself, why would any writer do that to his character? Why not a neat 1900? But he has to be just old enough to qualify for service in the first world war, and not so old that he can't fight in the second. Biggles's invented career in the Royal Flying Corps was much more successful than the career of his creator, who was in himself dashing enough; Johns had been shot down after a bombing raid on Mannheim, escaped from a prisoner of war camp, was recaptured and survived till the armistice, and turned up on his family's doorstep long after they had presumed him dead. Johns was a many-sided and talented man: a patriot but not a jingoist, nimble, inventive and thoroughly professional as a writer – though his early, pre-military career was as a sanitary inspector. He adapted quickly to changing times, diversified his output, and turned his fiction to propagandist ends during the second world war, when paper was in short supply.

He dreamed up Worrals, Biggles's feminine counterpart, in the hope of encouraging girls into the WAAF. He wrote 10 books about Gimlet, a commando, and six stories about Steeley, a hero for our time, a Robin Hood who steals from the rich and slips the proceeds to the impoverished families of former servicemen. Johns also produced science fiction for children, including a tale called The Edge of Beyond, which froze my blood when I was eight or nine. Biggles's literary career began in 1932 when Johns created him for Popular Flying magazine. He "could have been found", Johns wrote, "in any RFC mess during those great days of 1917 and 1918 when . . . air duelling was a fine art". Between the wars, Biggles was a charter pilot with a sideline in working for MI6. The scope of his adventures was worldwide – every Biggles book is a history and geography lesson. A squadron leader in the second world war, he transferred to Scotland Yard in peace time, and fought his own cold war as chief of the "Special Air Police Division".

There is, as you'd expect in books aimed at teenage boys, more concentration on hardware than on characterisation; but over so many years, Biggles and his comrades couldn't help develop as individuals. However malign the foe and urgent the enterprise, Biggles found time to lie in the grass and hear the larks singing. His adventures were profitable, judging by his Mayfair address. Spare, laconic and dryly humorous, he was by no means closed to finer feelings; there's no book called Biggles Falls in Love, but it did happen. Marie Janis was introduced in a short story in the unromantically named collection The Camels Are Coming; these were Sopwith Camels, not the kind with humps. Though posing as a Frenchwoman, Marie turned out to be a German spy, who trained in the same spy school as Biggles's lifelong enemy, Erich von Stalhein. On learning this, Biggles, "burnt up with grief and rage", hit the bottle. Erich was a worthy opponent, an honourable if wrong-headed product of the Prussian officer class.

After 1945 he found himself serving Soviet masters who, because of his failure to entrap Biggles, exiled him to Sakhalin. He was rescued in Biggles Buries a Hatchet, and later he helped Biggles save Marie from a former Gestapo official who was holding her prisoner. A frail, grey-haired figure whom Biggles barely recognised, Marie ended her days domestically in Hampshire. "Had you married," Erich told Biggles, "your loyalties would have been divided between your wife and aviation; and a man can't serve two mistresses honestly." Fighting as a vocation, fighting as an art: it's an ideal almost medieval in its purity. There was a time when Biggles used to smoke and drink with the best of them, and dine in Soho. But the world became strait-laced in the supposedly swinging 1960s, and bowdlerisation altered his character just as much as shifts in global politics. In Biggles Flies North, he and his co‑pilot Ginger walk into a smoky saloon in the Yukon: "Give it a name, stranger," says the barman. "I'll have some malted milk," says Ginger.

Biggles asks for Bovril. We don't own the 1939 original, so what they ordered originally we can only guess. It's the bowdlerisation that makes collecting Biggles such an intricate business. Ideally you'd like to be able to place the versions side by side, and laugh at them. Like every writer, I'm drawn by unlikely juxtapositions, precisely-dated and once-only collisions between people from different worlds. In 1922 Johns was working in London as an RAF recruiter. Into his office walked an inferior physical specimen with a strange air of moral superiority. It was TE Lawrence, looking to enlist under an alias. The powers-that-be were meant to have sent the recruitment office a secret order telling them to sign up this fishy character; Johns later insisted he had seen no such instructions. He took the would-be recruit at face value, disbelieved everything he said, and booted him out. The man returned with a messenger from the air ministry, who handed over a letter; Johns looked at the official signature, shrugged, wrote "special case" on the file and sent the fellow to the medical officer.

Deeply unimpressed by the weedy person, the MO threw him out in turn. The affair escalated; Johns was told that if he didn't force the procedure through, his military career was over: "You'll get your bowler hat." So "Aircraftsman Ross" was enlisted, and Johns picked up the phone to warn the training camp at Uxbridge "Lawrence of Arabia is on his way." Johns later said: "Lawrence knew I knew . . ." They had a long talk before the imposter left, but Johns didn't say about what. What stayed with him, on parting, was the imprint of Lawrence's clammy handshake. Of these characters, Aircraftsman Ross seems to me more of a fiction than Biggles. There's a story here, but I don't know what form it should take. Is it a stage play, perhaps? If so, someone had better get on with it. There will come a time when nobody knows who Biggles was, and maybe nobody will know who TE Lawrence was either. One hears of "the waning of the common culture". But perhaps it's just age creeping up.

Question: In literature, who has an enemy called Erich von Stalhein?
Answer: Biggles