Biggles Flies East

by W E Johns

  In the ordinary way most of the regular flying officers ignored him, no doubt on account of his assumed traitorous character—not that this worried him in the least—but one of them, whose name he knew to be Otto Brandt, now detached himself from the group and came towards him.

  ‘Haff you seen Leffens?’ he asked, anxiously, in fair English.

  Biggles felt all eyes on him as he replied, ‘Yes, I saw him this morning, or I thought I did, near Jebel-Tel, but I was not absolutely certain. Why?’

  ‘He hass not come back. It is tragic—very bad,’ replied the German heavily.

  ‘Very bad?’ queried Biggles, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Ja, very bad—if he has fell. He was making test of the new bullets that came only yesterday. If he has fell in the British trench they will know of our new bullets at once, which is very bad for us.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Biggles, vaguely, in a strangled voice, wondering how he managed to speak at all, for his heart seemed to have stopped beating. He walked over to the window and stared out across the dusty aerodrome. ‘So Leffens was carrying a new type of bullet,’ he breathed, ‘and von Stalhein has found one of them in my machine. ‘That’ll take a bit of explaining. Well, if they’ll only give me until to-night I’ll blow up their confounded reservoir, and then they can shoot me if they like.’

  With these disturbing thoughts running through his head he walked through to the dining-room, had lunch, and then repaired to the aerodrome, observing that the two soldiers still followed him discreetly at a respectful distance. He was just in time to see a two-seater Halberstadt*1 take off and head towards the lines. Half a dozen Pfalz scouts followed it at once and took station just above and behind it.

  ‘There goes the photographic machine with an escort,’ he thought dispassionately, as they disappeared into the haze. He wondered vaguely what von Stalhein was doing, and how long it would be before he was confronted with Leffen’s bullet and accused of double dealing; but then, deciding that it was no use meeting trouble half-way, he turned leisurely towards the pilot’s map-room, where he studied the position of the reservoir, which was a well-known landmark. Satisfied that he could find the place in the dark, he returned to his quarters, to plan the recovery of the bomb which he had left on at the aerodrome, and await whatever might befall.

  He had not long to wait, Heavy footsteps, accompanied by the unmistakable dragging stride of von Stalhein, sounded in the passage. They halted outside the door, which was thrown open. The Count and von Stalhein stood on the threshold.

  ‘May we come in?’ inquired von Stalhein, rather unnecessarily, tapping the end of his cigarette with his forefinger to knock off the ash, a curious habit that Biggles had often noticed.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied quickly. ‘There isn’t much room, but—’

  ‘That’s all right,’ went on von Stalhein easily. ‘The Chief would like to ask you a question or two.’

  ‘I will do my best to answer it, you may be sure,’ replied Biggles. Through the window, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Halberstadt and its escort glide in, but his interest in them was short-lived, for the Count was speaking.

  ‘Brunow, this morning you reported to me that you had located a division of Australian cavalry at Sidi Arish.’ It was both a statement and a question.

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  Biggles was genuinely astonished. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean,’ he answered frankly, with a puzzled look from one to the other.

  ‘Then I will make the position clear,’ went on the Count, evenly. ‘The story I told you of the movement of Australian troops from Egypt was purely imaginary. I merely wished to test your—er—zeal, to find out how you would act in such circumstances. Now! What was your object in rendering a report which you knew quite well was incorrect?’

  ‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’ cried Biggles indignantly. ‘I don’t understand why you should consider such a course necessary. May I respectfully request, sir, that if you doubt my veracity you might post me to another command where my services would be more welcome than they are here?’ He glared at von Stalhein in a manner that left no doubt as to whom he held responsible for the suspicion with which he was regarded.

  The Count was obviously taken aback by the out-burst. ‘Do you still persist, then, that your report is authentic? Surely it would be a remarkable coincidence—’

  There was a sharp tap on the door, and Mayer, the Staffel leader of the Halberstadt squadron, entered quickly. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,’ he said briskly, ‘but I was told you were here, and I thought you’d better see this without loss of time.’ He handed the Count a photograph, still dripping from its fixing bath.

  The Count held it on his open hand, and von Stalhein looked down at it over his shoulder.

  ‘Himmel!*2’ Von Faubourg’s mouth opened in comical surprise, while von Stalhein threw a most extraordinary look in Biggles’ direction.

  ‘Brunow, see here,’ cried the Count. ‘But of course, you have seen it before, in reality.’

  Biggles moved nearer and looked down at the photograph. It was one of the vertical type, and showed a cluster of white, flat-topped houses upon which several tracks converged. At intervals around the houses were three small lakes, or water-holes, beyond which were extensive groves of palm-trees. But it was not these things that held the attention of those who now studied the picture with practised eyes. Between the palms were long rows of horse-lines and clusters of tiny figures, foreshortened to ant-like dimensions, that could only be men.

  The Count sprang to his feet. ‘Splendid, Brunow,’ he exclaimed, ‘and you, too, have done well, Mayer. Come on, von Stalhein, we must attend to this.’

  ‘But—’ began von Stalhein, but the Count cut him short.

  ‘Come along, man,’ he snapped. ‘We’ve no time for anything else now.’ With a parting nod to Biggles, he left the room, followed by the others. At the door von Stalhein turned, and leaning upon his sticks, threw another look at Biggles that might have meant anything. For a moment Biggles thought he was going to say something, but he did not, and as the footsteps retreated down the passage Biggles sank back in his chair and shook his head slowly.

  ‘This business gives me the heebie-jeebies,’ he muttered weakly; ‘there’s too much head-work in it for me. Well, the sooner I blow up the water-works the better, before my nerve peters out.’

  Chapter 6

  More Shocks

  He remained in his quarters until the sun sank in a blaze of crimson and gold, and the soft purple twilight of the desert enfolded the aerodrome in its mysterious embrace. Quietly and without haste he donned his German uniform and surveyed himself quizzically for a moment in the mirror, well aware that he was about to attempt a deed that might easily involve him in the general destruction; then he crossed to the open window and looked out.

  All was quiet. A faint subdued murmur came from the direction of the twinkling lights that marked the position of the village of Zabala; nearer at hand a gramophone was playing a popular waltz tune. There were no other sounds. He went across to the door and opened it, but not a soul was in sight. Wondering if the guard that had been set over him had been withdrawn, he closed the door quietly and returned to the window. For some minutes he stood still, watching the light fade to darkness, and then, feeling that the hush was getting on his nerves, he threw a leg across the window-sill and dropped silently on to the sand.

  His first move he knew must be to retrieve the bomb before the moon rose; fortunately it would only be a slim crescent, but even so it would flood the aerodrome with a radiance that would make a person walking on it plainly visible to any one who happened to be looking in that direction. The light of the stars would be, he hoped, sufficient to enable him to find the small box that contained the explosive.

  Resolutely, but without undue haste, he reached the tarmac and sauntered to its extremity to make sure no one was watching him before turning off at righ
t angles into the darkness of the open aerodrome. He increased his pace now, although once he stopped to look back and listen; but only a few normal sounds reached him from the sparse lights of the aerodrome buildings; and he set about his search in earnest.

  In spite of the fact that he had marked the place down very carefully, it took him a quarter of an hour to find the bomb, and he had just picked it up when a slight sound reached him that set his heart racing and caused him to spread-eagle himself flat on the sandy earth. It was the faint chink of one pebble striking against another.

  That pebbles, even in the desert, do not strike against each other without some agency, human or animal, he was well aware, and as far as he knew there were no animals on the aerodrome. So, hardly daring to breathe, he lay as still as death, and waited. Presently the sound came again, nearer this time and then the soft pad of footsteps. He looked round desperately for a hiding-place. A few yards away there was a small wind-scorched camel-thorn bush, one of several that still waged a losing battle for existence on the far side of the aerodrome. As cover it was poor enough and in daylight it would have been useless, but in the dim starlight it was better than nothing, and he slithered towards it like a serpent. As he settled himself behind it facing the direction of the approaching footsteps, a figure loomed up in the darkness on the lip of the depression in which he lay. It was little more than a silhouette, but as such it stood out clearly, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was an Arab in flowing burnous and turban. But what was an Arab doing on the aerodrome, which had been placed out of bounds for them? The man, whoever he was, was obviously moving with a fixed purpose, for he strode along with a swinging stride; he looked to neither right nor left and soon disappeared into the darkness.

  Biggles lay quite still for a good five minutes wondering at the unusual circumstance. Had it been his imagination, or had there been something familiar about that lithe figure? Had it stirred some half-forgotten chord in his memory, or were his taut nerves playing him tricks? But he could not wait to ponder over the strange occurrence indefinitely, so with the bomb in his pocket, he set off swiftly but stealthily towards the distant lights.

  He had almost reached them when, with an ear splitting bellow, an aero-engine opened up on the far side of the aerodrome, almost at the very spot where he had just been; it increased quickly in volume as the machine moved towards him, obviously in the act of taking off. In something like a mild panic lest he should be knocked down, he ran the last few yards to the end of the tarmac, and glancing upwards, could just manage to make out the broad wings of an aeroplane disappearing into the starlit sky. For a second or two he watched it, not a little mystified, for it almost looked as if the Arab he had seen had taken off; but deciding that it would be better to leave the matter for further consideration in more comfortable surroundings, he looked about him. No one was about, so holding the bomb close to his side, he hurried back to his quarters. ‘I’d better see how this thing works before tinkering about with it in the dark, otherwise I shall go up instead of the waterworks,’ he thought grimly.

  He reached his room without incident, and, as far as he could ascertain, without being seen. Placing the bomb in the only easy chair the room possessed, he was brushing the sand from his uniform when a soft footfall made him turn. Count von Faubourg, in pyjamas and canvas shoes, was standing in the doorway.

  Biggles’ expression did not change, and he did not so much as glance in the direction of the box lying in the chair. ‘Hello, sir,’ he said easily. ‘Can I do something for you?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ replied the Count, stepping into the room. ‘I saw your light, so I thought I’d walk across to say that you did a good show this morning. I wasn’t able to say much about it this afternoon because von Stalhein—well, he’s a good fellow but inclined to be a bit difficult sometimes.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir, I quite understand,’ smiled Biggles, picking up a cushion from one of the two upright chairs and throwing it carelessly over the box. He pushed the upright chair a little nearer to his Chief. ‘Won’t you sit down, sir?’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied the Count. But to Biggles horror he ignored the chair he had offered and sat down heavily in the armchair. ‘Hello, what the dickens is this?’ he went on quickly, as he felt the lump below the cushion.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I must have left my cigarettes there,’ apologized Biggles, picking up the box and throwing it lightly on to the chest of drawers. In spite of his self-control he flinched as it struck heavily against the wood.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ went on the Count, who was watching him. ‘You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I find the heat rather trying at first,’ confessed Biggles. ‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’

  ‘No, thanks; I must get back to dress. But I thought I’d just let you know that your work of this morning will not be forgotten; you keep on like that and I’ll see that you get the credit for it.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said Biggles respectfully, but inwardly he was thinking, ‘Yes, I’ll bet you will, you old liar,’ knowing the man’s reputation for taking all the credit he could get regardless of whom it really concerned. He was tempted to ask about the machine that had just taken off, but decided on second thoughts that perhaps it would be better not to appear inquisitive.

  ‘Yes, I must be getting along,’ repeated the Count, rising. ‘By the way, I’ll have one of your cigarettes.’ He reached for the box.

  ‘Try one of these, sir: they’re better,’ invited Biggles, whipping out his case and opening it. To his infinite relief the Count selected one, lit it, and moved towards the door.

  ‘See you at dinner,’ he said with a parting wave.

  Biggles bowed and saluted in the true German fashion as his Chief departed, but as the door closed behind him he sat down limply and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘These shocks will be the death of me if nothing else is,’ he muttered weakly, and glanced at his watch. He sprang to his feet and moved swiftly, as he saw that he had exactly one hour and ten minutes to complete his task and get back to the Mess before the gong sounded for dinner, when he would have to be present or his absence would be remarked upon.

  He picked up the box, opened it, took out the metal cylinder it contained and examined it with interest. Down one side was a graduated gauge, marked in minutes, and operated by a small, milled screw. On the top was a small red plunger which carried a warning to the effect that the bomb would commence to operate from the moment it was depressed.

  Not without some nervousness he screwed the gauge to its limit, which was thirty minutes, replaced the bomb in its box, and slipped it into his pocket. Then, picking up his cap and leaving the light still burning, he set off on his desperate mission.

  The distance to the hill on which the reservoir was situated was not more than half a mile in a straight line, but he deliberately made a detour in order to avoid meeting any soldiers of the camp who might be returning from the village. He had become so accustomed to unexpected difficulties and dangers that he was both relieved and surprised when he reached the foot of the hill without any unforeseen occurrence; he found a narrow track that wound upwards towards the summit, and followed it with confidence until he reached the reservoir.

  It was an elevated structure built up of several thicknesses of granite blocks to a height of perhaps five feet above the actual hill-top, and seemed to be about three-quarters full of water, a fact that he ascertained by the simple expedient of looking over the wall. Searching along the base, he found a place where the outside granite blocks were roughly put together, leaving a cavity wide enough to admit the bomb. The moon was just showing above the horizon, but a cloud was rapidly approaching it, so without any more ado he took the bomb from its case, forced the plunger home, and thrust it into the side of the reservoir. For a moment he hesitated, wondering as to the best means of disposing of the box; finally, he pushed it in behind the bomb, where its destruction would be assured. Then he set off down t
he hill just as the cloud drifted over the face of the moon.

  He had taken perhaps a dozen paces when he was pulled up short by what seemed to be a barbed-wire fence; at first he could not make out what it was, but on looking closer he could just make out a stoutly built wire entanglement. An icy hand seemed to clutch his heart as he realized that it was unscalable, and that he was trapped within a few yards of a bomb which might, if there was any fault in its construction, explode at any moment.

  Anxiously he looked to right and left, hoping to see the gap through which the path had led, but in the dim light and on the rocky hill-side he perceived with a shock that, having lost it, it might be difficult to find again.

  The next five minutes were the longest he could ever remember. Stumbling along, he found the gap at last, as he was bound to by following the fence, but his nerves were badly shaken, and he ran down the path in a kind of horrible nightmare of fear that the bomb would explode before he reached camp.

  ‘No more of this for me,’ he panted, as, tripping over cactus and camel-thorn in his haste, he made his way by a roundabout course to the aerodrome. He struck it at the end of the tarmac, and was hurrying towards his quarters when he heard a sound that made him look upwards in amazement. It was the wind singing in the wires of a gliding aeroplane that was coming in to land.

  It taxied in just as he reached the point where he had to turn to reach his room, and in spite of his haste, with the memory of the Arab still fresh in his mind, he paused to see who was flying in such strange conditions. He was half disappointed therefore when he saw Mayer climb out of the front seat of the machine, a Halberstadt, and stroll round to the tail unit to examine the rudder as if it was not working properly. There appeared to be no passenger, so without further loss of time Biggles went to his room, washed, brushed his clothes, and then went along to the dining-room. As he entered his eyes went instinctively to the clock. It was five minutes to eight. Dinner would be served in five minutes, and one minute later, if the bomb was timed accurately, the reservoir would blow up.