- Air Marshal
- Posts: 28262
- Joined: Sat Oct 06, 2018 12:07 pm
- Location: Oop North
- My top chap: Bertie
- Favorite Aircraft: Spitfire
Since this seems to be the day for re-posting, and in an attempt to get this back from my dad's iPad, where it has mysteriously stored itself, to mine, I thought I might as well stick this back on the Forum. So, here goes...
Algy Lacey, of 266 Squadron, Maranique, was returning from a routine morning patrol with the rest of his Flight when the engine of his Camel began to give trouble. A momentary frown crossed his brow as he dropped behind the others; then he looked down, and saw that he was nearing the aerodrome of the neighbouring squadron, No. 287. His face cleared. Cutting the engine altogether, he glided down on to the Tarmac, making a clean, if unspectacular, landing.
To his surprise, no one came out to greet him, although they must have seen the Camel land; he was just about to get down from the cockpit to investigate when a voice called urgently from outside the sheds,
"Stay where you are!"
Algy stopped, looking round. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Don't get out of the cockpit, whatever you do."
"All right," protested Algy, who by this time had identified the speaker as Parker, one of 287's pilots. "I'm not moving. It's a nice friendly welcome you give people round here, though, I must say. What's the big idea?"
Parker advanced part way towards him, then stopped. "We're in quarantine," he called.
"You're what? What for?"
"Wilkinson- Wilks has got German measles."
Algy laughed. "He must have been spending too much time on the wrong side of the Lines." His face became serious, however, as he realised it was not just an elaborate leg-pull. "You're being serious?"
"Is he all right?"
"As a matter of fact, he's hopping mad. Colonel Raymond was here from Wing this morning; there's a balloon over at Duneville he wants taking down..."
"Not that blasted sausage again," said Algy disgustedly.
"There's a prize for whoever manages to keep it on the ground for the next two days. Now Wilks is grounded, and I've never seen him in such a foul mood. He's convinced your Squadron's going to get it."
"We probably will," grinned Algy. "I hadn't heard anything about it before I came out this morning, though. Which reminds me; I can't sit here for ever. You'll have to let me out to go home; my engine's bust. Any chance of a lift?"
"I've told you, we're not allowed near anybody."
"I'll risk it," said Algy firmly. "I'm not foot-slogging all the way back."
"You might; we won't. You didn't hear the M.O. on the subject," retorted Parker. "You won't find a lift here. I'll ring up your lot and let them know you're coming, if you like."
"Thanks very much," returned Algy in disgruntled tones. "I'll do as much for you some day. I suppose I am allowed to walk off the premises?"
"Oh, yes. As long as you don't touch anything."
"I wouldn't dream of it. Never know where your lot have been at the best of times." With which insult, Algy jumped down from his Camel and began to stroll across the aerodrome without giving Parker a chance to reply.
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