By W E Johns
Adventures with remarkable flying machines!
It's the 1st global battle and Biggles is simply 17. The planes are primitive; wrestle strategies are non-existent; the single type of conversation for pilots and their gunners is by means of hand signs. they're reliant at the ability in their fellow group, their wit and, principally else, bravery.
In antagonistic enemy skies, the place intuition and speedy reactions are every thing, Biggles needs to discover ways to be a true fighter pilot, or die…but does he have what it takes?
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Additional resources for Biggles Learns to Fly
Once he reached for his gun, and caused Biggles' heart to jump by firing a short burst downwards. But then Biggles remembered that Mark had said he would fire a burst when they reached the Line, to warm the guns, which would reduce the chance of a jam. Following the line of the gun-barrel, he looked down and saw an expanse of brown earth, perhaps a mile in width, merging gradually into dull green on either side. Tiny zig-zag lines ran in all directions. Must be the Lines, he thought, with a quiver of excitement, not unmixed with apprehension, and he continued to look down with interest and awe.
It seemed as if the land stopped short, ending abruptly in space, so to speak. He pondered it for a moment, and had just arrived at the conclusion that it was a belt of fog, when something else caught his eye, and he stared at it wonderingly. The shape seemed familiar, but for a moment or two he could not make out what it was. It looked like a ship, but how could a ship float in fog? Other smaller ones came into view, and at last the truth dawned on him. He was looking at the sea. It seemed impossible.
Biggles saw there were several bullet-holes in this machine, too, but neither pilot nor observer paid any attention to them. In fact, the pilot, a stockily built, red-faced youth, was grinning cheerfully, and Biggles stared in amazement at a man who could laugh in the shadow of death. ' observed Thompson, the observer. 'Isn't it perishing cold! Give me a match, somebody. ' he went on. 'The sky's fairly raining Huns. The Old Man got a couple—did he tell you? Poor Jimmy's gone, I'm afraid, and Lucas.