Biggles in the Gobi

by Captain WE Johns

  He paused when he reached the stream. The voice of the soldiers still laughing and talking as though the were out on a picnic told him that all was well, and safe for him to proceed. He took the precaution of putting his box of matches between his teeth to prevent them from getting wet, and still in the prone position set off in the manner of a crocodile up the stream. There was no difficulty about this, for he was still out of sight, and nowhere was the water more than a few inches deep. The worst was over, he told himself. Whatever happened now he would set fire to the grass. Nothing could stop him.

  The plan developed without a hitch. Reaching the bend in the brook which he had noted from above as the spot best suited to his purpose, he took a cautious peep. Not a soul was in sight. Breathing fast and trembling a little with excitement now that success was so near, he reached out, tore up some tufts of the driest grass on which he could lay his hands and twisted the stuff into a rough torch. To this he now put a match.

  As soon as it was well alight he jumped up, dashed forward, and ran the entire length of the grass, putting fire to it at close intervals. He was now in view of the troops should they look his way, but to his surprise, not to say relief, still no alarm was given.

  He did not stop to upset this satisfactory state of affairs by pushing his luck too far, but ran straight on into the orchard. Only when he was in the deep shade of the trees did he pull up for a moment to look back. He could have shouted with exultation when he saw that the fires which he had started had met and a wall of flame was moving briskly, with a cheerful crackle, in the right direction.

  Wasting no time in self-congratulations that might turn out to be premature he ran on, ducking under the trees, to the end of the cliff. His luck held and he reached it without seeing a soul. But he noticed the horses picketed to a rope strung between two trees. He was relieved to note that they were too far away to be affected by the explosion. For a moment he toyed with the idea of turning them loose, but decided against it, a resolve that was supported by a wild yell from the area he had just left.

  Turning the end of the cliff he held on for a little way until, seeing an opening in the rocks, he crept into it to look at what was happening below. By this time there was a good deal of noise. It sounded as if the soldiers were all shouting at once, as indeed they were, and he did not have to look far for the reason.

  What he saw exceeded his hopes and filled him with a fierce satisfaction. Most of the grass was now well and truly alight. Sparks were flying high, and these, falling around, had fired the grass in many places. These spread at a speed beyond his most optimistic hopes. There was a good deal more smoke than he had anticipated, too.

  Through it, as through a veil, he saw a picture of the wildest disorder, although for this he was prepared. Everybody appeared to be running without any definite purpose, and certainly without achieving anything. One or two of the soldiers were beating at the edge of the flames with their jackets although this was so obviously futile that he wondered why they persisted. They might as well have tried to extinguish a volcano with the same appliances. Apparently obeying the hysterical screaming of his commanding officer one man did run forward as if he intended snatching something from the holocaust, but seeing the flames already licking at the dynamite, he lost his nerve and—very wisely Algy thought—ran back.

  Algy held his breath, for it was evident that an explosion might occur at any moment now, and if it did, somebody, probably several people, were certainly going to be hurt. But the troops realised that, too. One started running, and the rest, taking the hint, followed. A length of instantaneous fuse went off like a squib and hastened their departure. That was the end of any attempt at fire fighting.

  To his amazement Algy saw Ma Chang, followed by two of his men, dash into the guest-house, presumably for shelter. Either they didn't realise what was inside or else they had forgotten. However, they must have discovered it, for they came out even faster than they had gone in. Indeed, so fast did they run that Algy couldn't repress a smile. They had just flung themselves under the poplars when the end came.

  There was a vivid flash and an ear-splitting crack as what must have been a box of detonators went up. Being in close proximity the dynamite needed no further encouragement. Everything seemed to go up together, including the guest-house, the fuse leading to it having been fired.

  Algy was prepared for a healthy explosion, but not for what actually happened. The blast shook him in more senses than one, to say nothing of half burying him under sand. It was not only sand that went into the air, and he covered his head with his hands as debris rained down from the smoke-filled sky.

  Half blinded by the flying dust it was a minute or two before he could see anything clearly. When he could, the first thing he noticed was a black smoking crater where the explosive had been dumped. The guesthouse had vanished as completely as if it had never been. The mud bricks of which it had been built were never intended to take such a strain. Nobody appeared to be hurt, at any rate seriously, for the soldiers could be seen standing at a distance gazing at the ruins as if they found it hard to believe their eyes. They were no longer laughing, or even talking. The only casualty, as far as Algy could make out, was one who sat on the ground holding his head as if something had fallen on it. His comrades took no notice of him.

  Algy was more concerned about the horses. Their reaction to the explosion, while not remarkable, was not in his programme. They had stampeded. The tethering rope, unable to hold them in their first frantic plunge had broken, and they were now galloping about in all directions. He was sorry about this; and he was not thinking only of the beasts. It would take some time to round them up and the soldiers would have to remain until this was done. He was anxious for them to go. Apart from being anxious to know what had happened to Ginger, he wanted to finish the work of clearing the landing-strip, which for one reason or another had been held up longer than he liked.

  When the troops had recovered sufficiently from their shock to move, their behaviour indicated, as Algy hoped might happen, that they took it for granted the calamity was accidental. At least, they did not make a search; nor did they trouble to examine the ground where the explosion had occurred. Not that they would have found anything if they had. Instead, faced with the disagreeable prospect of having to walk back to their barracks, they employed themselves in catching their mounts. This took some time, although not as long as Algy feared it might. When the animals had all been rounded up the troops simply rode off without a backward glance. This of course suited Algy, who lay watching them until he was sure that there was no likelihood of their return.

  Getting up at last he continued on his way, keeping well back from the edge of the cliff until he reached the far end, where he found the whole party waiting, prepared to move to the crypt should it have been necessary. Ginger was not there, but in view of what had happened Algy didn't expect to see him. On the other hand, Algy's appearance was greeted with exclamations of relief, for neither Ritzen nor the others knew really what had happened on the oasis. Hearing the explosion, they said, they were afraid that the central part of the cliff had been blown up while he was still there. Wherefore his arrival was greeted with satisfaction. The news that the troops had gone produced smiles.

  "Have the caves been damaged?" asked Ritzen.

  Algy said that as he hadn't been there he didn't know. "What was that tremendous explosion?"

  "That was the dynamite going off," answered Algy, grinning. "As a matter of fact it went off a little before they were ready for it."

  Ritzen looked at him suspiciously. "Did you have a hand in this?"

  "I helped," admitted Algy.

  "Where are the soldiers now?"

  "When I last saw them they were heading for the horizon." Algy became serious. "What about Ginger? Have you heard anything about the others?"

  "Not a word."

  "Ming hasn't come back?"

  "Then I think he must have found them," opined Algy. "Otherwise they would hav
e been back by now."

  Hardly had he finished speaking when Ming appeared. He looked hot and dusty but he was smiling, which Algy took to be a good sign.

  And so it turned out, as a quick conversation with Ritzen confirmed. Said the Swedish missionary, look at Algy: "They're all here."

  "All?"

  "Yes, I mean all the prisoners except the Abbot, who has been let out of jail but is staying at Tunhwang."

  "That's marvellous!" cried Algy. "Where are they?"

  "Waiting in a valley near at hand."

  "Then tell Ming to go and bring them in. He can say they can go straight to the oasis. It's all clear."

  This message was conveyed to Ming, who departed at high speed.

  "We might as well get back to our original quarters if they haven't been damaged," said Algy. "On second thoughts, I think we'll go down to the oasis first. I need a wash and a drink. We can move these stores back the caves afterwards."

  They all trooped down to the clearing close to where the guest-house had been. The fire had burnt itself out for want of fuel, but the ground in and around the crater was still smoking. I

  Ritzen looked upset when he saw that the guest-house had disappeared. "The Abbot will be heart-broken about that," he said gravely. "It took him years to build it, stone by stone, with pennies donated by pilgrims. He'll think it a poor return for having sheltered us."

  "I'm sorry about it, too," replied Algy. "But I wasn't responsible for that. It would have gone anyway. It's better that it should go than that we should all lose our lives. After all, it is always possible to build another house. I'll make a note to see that as soon as it's possible the Abbot gets enough money to build an even better guest-house."

  Ginger, smiling wearily, now appeared at the head of his party.

  For a little while there was a lot of talking while congratulations were exchanged, introductions effected and explanations offered. Ginger naturally wanted to know what had caused the explosion. Algy told him. "That was great work," said Ginger enthusiastically. Algy wanted to know what had become of the Kirghiz. This time it was Ginger who supplied the information.

  "You must be pretty well all in," asserted Algy. He turned to Ritzen. "You might ask Feng to look after the horses. These people need rest and something to eat. So do we all, for that matter. There'll be plenty of time for talking later. I think our troubles are over now. I—" He broke off suddenly in a listening position. "What on earth's that?" he demanded, a hint of alarm in his voice.

  Everyone stopped talking.

  From the far end of the oasis came a sound so curious and out of place that Algy stared at Ritzen in questioning astonishment. It was the ringing of a bell.

  "Now what's coming?" muttered Ginger.

  The Swede smiled. "It's all right. It's only a holy man, probably a mendicant monk going his rounds, begging. I don't think we have anything to fear from him. They're good men, always seeking what they call Tao, which means The Light. They travel vast distances."

  The clanging bell drew nearer. A figure came into view. He wore a grey cloak. A bundle was strapped on his back. In one hand he carried a long staff and in the other a polished wooden bowl.

  "Yes, he's a travelling monk, with his begging bowl," said Ritzen. "There are a lot of them about."

  The traveller gave no sign that he had seen the little group of people watching him, but strode on, ringing his bell at intervals, until he was quite close. Then he stopped and said something in a high-pitched voice.

  "He says he has a message," translated Ritzen.

  "A message!" echoed Algy. "For whom?"

  Ritzen addressed the monk.

  The monk replied.

  The Swede looked at Algy. "For you, I think."

  "For me?"

  "He says it's for an Englishman at Nan-hu."

  Lines of incredulity creased Algy's forehead. "But that's impossible."

  Ritzen shrugged.

  By this time the monk was feeling in a little beaded bag that he had taken from his pack. From an assortment of strange odds and ends he picked a slip of folded paper. This, with a bow, he handed to Ritzen. Ritzen passed it on to Algy. With an extraordinary expression on his face Algy took it.

  In dead silence he unfolded it. He stared at it. He looked up again, the colour fading from his face. His lips moved, but no sound came. Slowly, as if with difficulty, he turned to Ginger.

  "Well!" demanded Ginger impatiently.

  Algy moistened his lips. "It's from Biggles," he said in a dazed voice.

  "From Biggles?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't be silly." Frank disbelief cracked Ginger's voice.

  "It's from Biggles," repeated Algy.

  "What does he say? What's it about? Read it!"

  Algy looked again at the paper. "It's dated five days ago."

  "The day we were dropped in."

  "Yes. He says 'Am on the ground about fifty miles south of you. Having some trouble, but think we can put it right. Thought we had better let you know. If we don't show up in ten days from date above, count us out and do the best you can. Sorry. Biggles.'"

  There was dead silence.

  Ginger took the slip. "It's from Biggles all right.This is a leaf from his notebook."

  "Yes. I saw that."

  Ginger went on: " He must have gone down soon after he left us. I mean, it happened on the way home."

  "Of course. He wouldn't have been coming back yet."

  "And he's been there all this time!"

  "Obviously."

  Ginger looked at the monk reproachfully. "This chap has been five days getting here," he said bitterly.

  Dr. McDougall interposed. "Ten miles a day is not bad going in this country. The man had no reason to hurry. Time means nothing to him. We're lucky he managed to get here at all, and find us."

  "I suppose you're right," acquiesced Algy in a tired voice. "This knocks me flat, and I don't mind admitting it."

  "Just a minute," said Ginger. "How could Biggles talk to this chap?"

  Ritzen put the question to the monk. When it was answered he turned to Algy and explained.

  "This man is a Gurkha from Nepal, on the Thibetan frontier. Nepal is closely associated with the life of Buddha, which is why he is here. He has also been to India. He says the Englishman spoke to him in Hindi."*

  Algy nodded. "Ah! That explains it."

  "What will you do about this?" asked Ritzen.

  "Frankly, I don't know," replied Algy. "I shall have to think about it. I haven't got over the shock yet. I gather from Biggles' message that he had trouble with the machine. Just how bad it was he obviously didn’t know at the time he sent the message, or he would have told us about it. There is this to comfort us. It could hardly be anything definitely vital or he would have said so. The implication is that he hoped to get the trouble put right. We shall simply have to wait and see. He'll get here if it's humanly possible, you may be sure. Meanwhile, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. Perhaps the ladies will be good enough to produce something to eat. We shall have to go steady on food, though, now that it looks as if we might be here for some time."

  Having no more to say, Algy walked over to a stone that had been used as a seat and sat down on it.

  Ginger went with him. "That's a tough break," he commiserated.

  "Just as I thought we'd got everything on the top line," muttered Algy.

  Ginger rested his chin in his hand. "Well, it's just one of those things," was all he could say.

  * Readers of Biggles Goes To School will know why Biggles was able to speak Hindi.

  CHAPTER X BAD LUCK FOR BIGGLES

  BIGGLES had met trouble from a cause which, while fortunately not common, has happened more often than is generally realised, and is a regular hazard over a particular type of country in certain parts of the world. In quite a few cases the result has been fatal for the aircraft and its crew. In a word, he was in collision with a bird.

  Collisions with smaller birds that
congregate in numbers, such as seagulls, are such a constant menace on certain stations, notably marine airports, that all sorts of devices have been adopted to deal with the problem, from firing Verey lights to the flying of specially trained birds of prey. The ancient sport of falconry, revived on some R.A.F. aerodromes, has done something to reduce the danger by scattering the offending birds when an aircraft is asking for permission to come in.

  Naturally, the bigger the bird the more serious is the result of a collision, for which reason this particular type of accident has occurred most frequently with serious results over mountain regions overseas where eagles, condors; vultures and the like, are commonly to be found. The northern frontiers of India, Iraq and Palestine, have bad records, both civil and military machines having been victims. Aircraft have been brought down over the Andes and the Atlas Mountains of North Africa. There has been more than one fatal accident over the European Alps. It is not unlikely that some of the unsolved

  "mystery" accidents have been due to this same unpredictable factor, for which no pilot or his aircraft can be blamed. It is a flying risk that must be accepted in the same way that ships are exposed to dangers which neither seamanship nor scientific instruments have been able to eliminate entirely. No matter how wakeful an airman may be, all he can do to minimise the risk is by taking evasive action if he sees the bird in time. He does not always see it, nor can he be expected to see it if it is hovering in the sun well above him. Even if he does see it he may not be able to escape the bird if it attacks him, for the creature is in its element and he is not.

  The question of how far these accidents have been the result of a deliberate attack has often been argued. The most feasible explanation is that it happens both ways. But there certainly have been occasions when big predatory birds have made an unprovoked onslaught on what they may regard as an intruder in their own particular domain. Surviving pilots have stated this. A bird, apparently, has not the sagacity to realise that, no matter what may happen to the aircraft, it must itself be killed—as it always is.