Biggles Delivers The Goods

by W E Johns

  “Twelve hundred miles, whether you take a course west for Ceylon or north-west for Calcutta. But if my knowledge is correct there are planes that could make the round trip?”

  “Yes, that is so.”

  “Then all that will be needed is a safe mooring at the islands, and that, I think, I could provide. I may say that I have other plans, but they all come into the general scheme which we have discussed. For example, I have spoken with Major Marling, with whom I have for some time maintained a strange friendship. He is willing to help us. For years I have been his only link with the civilisation he so long ago renounced.”

  “Who is this Major Marling?” asked Biggles. He glanced at the Air Commodore, who shook his head to signify that he knew nothing of him.

  A ghost of a smile hovered for a moment about Li Chi’s thin lips. “Major Marling is an unusual member of that unusual race—the English. There are some in the Malay States who assert that he is not right in the head. They may be correct, but who in this war-crazed world is to say which of us are sane and which are insane?”

  “What has this man to do with us?” asked the Air Commodore shortly.

  Li Chi answered: “Twenty years ago Major Marling was one of the most popular officers of the British army in India. He was handsome, wealthy—but not wise, for he committed the most unpardonable indiscretion which a British officer in India can commit. He fell in love with a native girl—a princess to be sure, but still, a girl of the country. There was a scandal, as a result of which he was invited to resign his commission—an invitation which he was bound to accept. Then, in the face of the powers that be, he married the girl. He could not stay in India. He would not return to England. So with his beautiful young wife he retired to the most inaccessible part of Lower Burma, a tract of land reached only by a dangerous river. There he established his home, and in time, a little colony. He did not remain idle; he developed the land and made it productive, to the great benefit of those who worked for him. Among other things he has a large rubber plantation and a ruby mine. For twenty years he has remained buried in the jungle, and in all that time has not seen a single white man. Visitors were turned away at the boundary of his estate. As the years went on he inclined more and more to the way of life, the clothes and habits, of those about him, with the result that until a short while ago it is doubtful if anyone would realise that he was an Englishman. Then, soon after the war began, prompted perhaps by a whim, or pride of race, or it may have been by a sudden burst of patriotism, or defiance to the enemy, he resumed his British nationality—in his dress and his mode of life.”

  “Wasn’t that an indiscreet move?” queried Biggles.

  “So I thought, and I told him so. But Major Marling is a law unto himself. Once his mind is made up he accepts advice from no man; he as good as told me to mind my own business. But to continue. His wife died a long time ago, but she gave him a son who is called Prince Lalla. The title may be a courtesy one, or it may be that as his mother was a princess in her own right the son is entitled to princely rank. I do not know. The subject is one I have never cared to raise with the major. It does not matter. Prince Lalla lives with his father at Shansie, the name of the estate. Naturally, by inheritance from his mother he is a shade too dark for a European. All he knows of western civilisation is from what he has read in books. He was taught English by his father, who is called by his people, Bhatoo. He is now getting on in years, but he still rules the estate with a rod of iron. Nevertheless, he is much loved, and is venerated by his people, to whom he is a supreme father. The enemy invasion of Malaya and Burma did not cause him to leave the country. The Japanese demanded that he sent them his rubber, and he does, in fact, send a certain amount to save himself from molestation; but the bulk of what he produces is hidden in the jungle. We may have it if we can fetch it.”

  “Extraordinary tale,” murmured the Air Commodore. “And you are in touch with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are his feelings now towards Britain? Would he help us if he could?”

  “Of course. Before the war it amused him to help me to cheat the government which he always felt had used him badly. I sold rubies for him in an illegal manner. But that is of the past. Like me, he has become more conscious of his nationality.”

  “Tell me,” put in Biggles, “how did you get to India from the islands?”

  “In a boat. There was no other way.”

  “What sort of boat?”

  “A native kabang. A larger vessel would have been stopped by a Japanese patrol, had it been seen.”

  “Twelve hundred miles in an open boat was a tall order.”

  “Not to a man who has spent his life in little boats, without a harbour into which he dare sail openly, even in monsoon weather.”

  “I take it that your idea is that we should work together in this project?”

  “Yes. I will get the rubber and you will provide the transport.”

  “At the same time you could probably pick up useful information about what the Japs are doing in Burma and Malaya,” suggested the Air Commodore.

  “Information reaches me constantly,” declared Li Chi.

  “That should be a useful sideline,” asserted the Air Commodore. He turned to Biggles. “Well, what do you think of the scheme?”

  “I assume that you are thinking of opening a sort of ferry service between the Archipelago and India?”

  “That’s it—and the Higher Command is satisfied that you are the man for the job if you will take it on. How do you feel about it?”

  “At first glance the scheme sounds most attractive,” said Biggles slowly. “But when you examine if from the technical angle it doesn’t look so good.”

  “You mean, being so near the enemy?”

  Biggles made a slight gesture of disdain. “I wasn’t even thinking of that. I was thinking of moving five thousand tons of dead weight across twelve hundred miles of ocean. If we tackle it, it will be the biggest air transportation job ever undertaken. The biggest aircraft built is a cockleshell compared with a ship. Shipmasters think in terms of hundreds of tons. Pilots think in pounds and hundredweights. There isn’t an airfield, or even an emergency landing ground, in the islands, which means that the work will have to be done by marine aircraft.”

  “Why not?” put in Li Chi anxiously. “I was thinking of flying boats. They are big.”

  “Yes, I’ll own they’re big, so big that most of the useful load is taken up by their own weight. They do fine for mails and first class-passengers, but five thousand tons of merchandise is another matter. It would be like trying to move a mountain with a spade and bucket. We should be on the job for the duration.”

  “Not necessarily. Or at least, I don’t see why you should,” remarked the Air Commodore.

  “Of course, it depends on how the thing is tackled,” admitted Biggles. “Obviously, the greater the number of machines employed the sooner the job would be done; but are you prepared to detail an armada for transport work? Even if you did...”

  “Go on.”

  “All right. As I see it there are two ways of doing the operation. One: you could use a small number of machines. That would mean a long job, but the operation might pass unnoticed by the enemy. Call that the slow but sure method. Two: by putting on a big fleet of aircraft you might carry the thing through at a rush. I know that sounds attractive, but consider the snags. In the first place it would mean an imposing concentration of big machines at the nearest convenient marine aircraft establishment. The existence of such a concentration would soon be known to the enemy—you can’t hope to keep a hundred flying boats under a hat. This air fleet would be watched by enemy reconnaissance machines. When it took off it would be intercepted and attacked. To carry any weight worth talking about these machines would have to be stripped of most of their armament. They wouldn’t be able to fight back. A fighter escort for a round trip of over two thousand miles is out of the question. It doesn’t need much imagination to see what might happe
n. If enemy fighters came along this beautiful armada would be in the position of a flock of sheep attacked by a pack of wolves. We might lose the lot. Not only would we lose valuable machines and personnel, but the rubber, too. And there is another point to consider. Li Chi says he can carry on collecting rubber—from this fellow Marling for example. A small number, of machines operating one at a time—by night perhaps—might escape observation for months. An air fleet could not hope to do that. I’m not trying to be awkward, but that’s how I see it.”

  “You are in favour of using a small number of machines—a well-knit, highly mobile force?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well, and why not?”

  “The big thing against it is the time factor. Let’s get down to brass tacks. To give you an idea of what we are taking on, let us suppose for a moment that an airfield for land planes could be found on one of the islands. The best weight carrier is probably the Liberator 32, such as is used by the Atlantic Ferry. It’s practically a service Liberator stripped of military equipment. The Liberator can carry a disposable load of around twenty-two thousand pounds—say ten tons. With five machines operating we could carry fifty tons per trip. Fifty into five thousand, goes a hundred times. In other words, it means that five Liberators would have to make a hundred trips to get the stuff across. That’s using land planes. Imagine what it will be like with marine aircraft, which can’t lift anything like that load. As a commercial proposition it would be fantastic—”

  “It isn’t a commercial proposition,” broke in the Air Commodore. “Money doesn’t matter. Rubber does.”

  “So what? Using flying boats we should grow old getting the stuff across.”

  “You talk of using five machines. Why only five?”

  “Because I’ve only enough pilots in my squadron to operate that number. Except on rare occasions two pilots would be needed for each machine, to take turn and turn about at the stick. Even so it would be hard work. If only there was some way of using land planes the job might be done in half the time.”

  “Would it be possible to make a landing ground?”

  Biggles shook his head. “From what I remember of the islands—not a hope. They are mostly hills, and covered with virgin jungle into the bargain. Still, I could have a look round. In fact, the only sensible way to start on a job of this size would be to make a survey.” Biggles turned again to Li Chi, whose expression was now one of disappointment. “What had you in mind for a landing ground?”

  “I was thinking of flying boats.”

  “Yes, I know. But you must have had an idea about the best spot to use?”

  “I thought the big lake on Elephant Island. It is sheltered in bad weather, and being surrounded by jungle, would not be easy to see from above. That is why I have used Elephant Island as a base to store the rubber.”

  “I know the place. It has much to recommend it,” agreed Biggles. “We could use it as our base while making a survey —I shall use a flying boat for that purpose of course.’

  Biggles turned back to the Air Commodore. “I think that’s about as far as we can get until I’ve had a look round.”

  “All right. I’m content to leave the thing in your hands. Make your own arrangements. You can have anything you need in the way of equipment.”

  Biggles spoke to his Chinese ally. “Is it your intention to return to the islands as you came, or will you fly with me and act as guide?”

  “I will fly with you,” answered Li Chi without hesitation.

  “Good. In that case we’ll see about getting things fixed up. How much flying have you done?”

  “One trip—the one I made with you. Doubtless you remember it?”

  Biggles grinned. “I’m not likely to forget it.”

  Li Chi smiled “Often, since, I have wished for wings.”

  “I’ll bet you have,” murmured Biggles slyly. “It looks as if your wish is coming true. Where are you staying?”

  “The Savoy Hotel.”

  Biggles rose. “All right, then.” To the Air Commodore he said: “I’ll think this over, sir, and let you have my proposals within twenty-four hours.”

  “Fine. Remember, the rubber is all that matters. Everything else is secondary.”

  Biggles saluted, nodded to Li Chi, who bowed gravely, and returned to the airfield. He arrived just before lunch and went straight to the ante-room, where he found the officers of the squadron assembled, anticipating his return. All eyes asked a question, but his senior flight commander Algy Lacey, put it direct.

  “I imagine the Air House has had another rush of blood to the brain,” he observed. “What dizzy scheme have they thought of now?”

  “Not dizzy—say interesting.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Mergui Archipelago—Lower Burma, and possibly Malaya,” answered Biggles briefly.

  Algy frowned. “But that territory is occupied by the Japs.”

  Biggles smiled. “So I’m told. That’s why it should be interesting.”

  “Just what are we going to do when we get there?” inquired Ginger suspiciously.

  “As far as I can make out we’re going to set up a sort of shop,” returned Biggles lightly. “If all goes well it should develop into quite an emporium.”

  “What are we going to deal in—coconuts ?”

  “No. We’re going to be rubber merchants in a big way.”

  “Hot water bottles, by Jove, and all that sort of thing,” murmured Bertie Lissie.

  “If there’s one thing you won’t want in Burma, old lad, it’s a hot water bottle,” declared Biggles amid laughter. “Let’s go in to lunch. We’ve work to do.”

  * * *

  1 Small native craft.

  2 Small native craft.

  CHAPTER III

  SORTIE TO ELEPHANT ISLAND

  A FORTNIGHT after the conference at the Air Ministry, :Biggles was over the Mergui Archipelago in a Gosling aircraft, a twin-engined, general-utility amphibian, specially fitted for the flight with long-range tanks.1 Biggles had chosen this type from the small number of amphibious machines available because it suited his purpose admirably. The accommodation was right. The comparatively slow cruising speed was an advantage for survey work, and a slow landing speed was desirable in view of the nature of the mission, which would call for landings on unknown waters. For this same reason, with the ever-present risk of the keel being torn by rock or coral, a hull with watertight compartments was to be preferred to one of orthodox design, which would become waterlogged and probably sink if it came into collision with an obstruction.

  Beside him in the cockpit sat Li Chi. Behind were Algy, Ginger and Bertie; apart from watching for hostile aircraft they had no particular duties, radio silence for obvious reasons being strictly observed; but Biggles was anxious that they should get a clear picture of the scene of operations. He had set a course to strike the northern end of the archipelago; then, turning south, he had flown down the chain of islands looking for a possible landing ground. That there was none did not surprise him, for he could not recall from memory any island with a level area large enough to permit the landing of heavy aircraft, even if the ground were cleared. Almost without exception the islands were hilly and densely wooded, so turning at the southern extremity he headed back for Elephant Island, where Li Chi’s headquarters had been established, and where a landing on the central lake—an area of water nearly two miles long by a quarter of a mile wide—presented no apparent difficulty. The other members of the squadron were waiting in India for instructions that would be forthcoming as a result of the reconnaissance.

  From five thousand feet the seascape presented a fascinating picture, although this meant little to Biggles, to whom such scenes were no novelty. To the left lay the intense blue of the Indian Ocean rolling away and away to fade at last in the pitiless distance. To the right, the horizon was defined by a long dark stain that was the forest-clad hinterland of Lower Burma. Below the aircraft, like a string of green beads dropped car
elessly on blue velvet, were the islands of the archipelago, lonely, untouched by civilisation, each hiding beneath its tangle of jungle a wealth of animal, bird and reptile life, which a stranger to the tropics would not from a distance have suspected. But Biggles knew; so did Algy and Ginger, for they were not without experience of the region. They knew that among other things the forests provided a secure retreat for elephant, tiger, rhinoceros, panther, wild pig, crocodiles, snakes of many kinds—including the venomous cobra and the huge python—and insects in countless myriads, fever-carrying mosquitoes and sandflies being perhaps the most to be feared. Against the minute but vicious sandfly, which regards a mosquito net as no obstacle to its advance, there is no defence. In the turquoise water that separated the islands from the mainland, seeming from above so innocent of danger, lurked marine monsters of unbelievable size and horror—shark, octopus and the giant decapod.

  Over Elephant Island, after a scrutiny of the surrounding atmosphere, Biggles throttled back and made a safe landing on the lake, afterwards taxying on to a point indicated by Li Chi. But as the machine surged on his eyes turned more and more to the banks, and at the end he allowed the aircraft to run to a stop well clear of the shore-line.

  “Who are all these people?” he demanded sharply. There was no need for him to qualify the word people, for a number of men, mostly dark-skinned, were congregating with excited gestures to meet the unusual visitor.

  “Fear nothing,” answered Li Chi. “They all work for me, at one thing or another.”

  But the furrow in Biggles’ brow did not clear. “What’s happened here? This place is altogether different from when I last saw it.”

  “To what do you refer?” asked Li Chi complacently.

  “The timber, for one thing. It looks as if someone has been cutting down the trees. And what about that building over there?” Biggles pointed.

  “The work was done by the timber company,” said Li Chi.

  “Timber company! What timber company? You didn’t say anything to me about a timber company.”