Biggles frowned, and thought for a moment. "In the ordinary Way I'm all against dressing up, which has always struck me as theatrical, and usually unnecessary," he said slowly. "But I see your point. If we made ourselves look hire people who are commonly seen there we might pass without comment—certainly with less comment than if a bunch of Europeans suddenly arrived on the scene."
"Exactly."
"It might be worth considering. I'll think about it. Naturally. I'm willing to do anything which in your opinion would make our task easier. It would be fatal to give the enemy cause to suspect that a rescue party was on the spot. We should be hunted from the outset; the prisoners would be kept under stricter supervision, or moved to some other place, in which case our trump card, our knowledge of their position, would be lost."
"But surely," put in Algy, "the very presence of an aircraft will make the enemy suspicious? You can't fly a machine across the country without it being seen or heard."
"True enough, if the machine was cruising about obviously looking for something,"
admitted Biggles. "But there may be a way out of that difficulty. There's nothing to prevent us from painting Chinese insignia on our wings and fuselage, in which case, if we're seen it might be supposed that the aircraft is one of the Chinese Air Force that has got off its course.
"Admittedly, we could only get away with that once. If the machine hung about, and was seen too often, the enemy would soon guess that it was looking for something. It seems to me that what we really need is two machines, a big transport for getting ourselves and our equipment in and out of the country, and a small machine for reconnaissance work. I think we're bound to do a certain amount of reconnaissance in the first place, in order to locate the exact position of the enemy camp; otherwise one might wander about the country for months without finding anything. If the enemy are using aircraft then they must have a landing ground; and if there is a landing ground we ought to be able to spot it from the air straight away. We might even
take a strip of photographs covering the area at the end of the lake, to examine at leisure.
Having located the enemy outfit we should then work on foot. It wouldn't matter if we lost the smaller machine. We should still have the big one hidden away to get us home.
After all, our job isn't to start a minor war, but to find our men and bring them back. But I think we've got enough data now to work on. The final plan will have to be carefully worked out, and that'll take a little time. I'll get cracking on it, and let you know, Mayne, when we're ready to start. Meanwhile, keep in touch. But it's past lunch-time. Let's go out and get something to eat."
ALL SET
FAR beyond the wild Sikhota-Alin Mountains of Manchuria, out and across the great Ussurian Plains where countless lakes interlaced by furtive streams lie hidden in a world of reeds, the day was slowly dying. To the west, the sun, its daily task complete, sank wearily into a purple horizon, followed by an immense arc of transparent colour, while far to the east, beyond a belt of purest turquoise, some shreds of clouds took fire and blazed with flames of living carmine. Below, from out of the mysterious distances, crept the sombre shades of twilight to soften the harsh outlines of the untamed land, and extinguish one by one the glowing reflected light of lakes and rivers. With the shadows came silence, a profound hush that seemed to take possession of the universe. Even the restless bulrushes. abandoned by the breezes of the day, stood erect and came to rest. The twittering of innumerable birds died away.
At one spot only was there movement, and that was near the edge of one of the larger lakes, where an islet, a mere mound of jungle held in close embrace by a belt of rushes, nestled like an uncut emerald in a tarnished silver setting.
There, a figure, a human figure with an olive-yellow skin, parting the rushes to make a passage, moved slowly forward to their extremity and then stood gazing across the sullen landscape. Clad in a cotton shirt worn outside faded blue linen trousers, it was appropriate to the scene.
But a closer inspection of the little island would have revealed certain things that were by no means appropriate to such a setting. Of these, the most outstanding although not easily detected, was an aeroplane, or to be more literally correct, a float seaplane. To be specific, it was a two-seat, single-engined Birada Trainer, an American type built under licence in China, although this was not easily discernible as most of it, and all the upper surfaces, had been heavily camouflaged with bundles of reeds. Only an aerial stood clear.
The undersides of the wings, could they have been examined, would have shown the twelve-pointed white star on a blue ground which is the national Chinese aircraft Near the aircraft, under a thick-leafed tree that stood on reasonably dry ground, had been pitched a tent of the familiar war-time brown and green camouflaged material. By the entrance, a second figure, clad as the first, squatted by a spirit stove on which rested a kettle just coming to the boil. It is doubtful if his best friends would have recognised Biggles, who, as the steam lifted the lid of the kettle, called softly. "Everything quiet, Mayne?" And on receiving the answer "Okay," replied, "Come and have a cup of tea."
Captain Mayne, the pseudo-Oriental, who had been keeping watch at the water's edge, joined Biggles at the tent. "Not a soul in sight," he remarked. "I don't think we could have found a better place, or a handier one."
A month had passed since the conference at Scotland Yard, and for those taking part in "
Operation Rescue", as the enterprise had been officially designated, it had been a busy one. Briefly, the plan finally evolved by Biggles, in collaboration with Mayne, who had the advantage of knowing the ground, was this. It adhered closely to his original idea. Two aircraft had been requisitioned for the task. One, the one that now stood close at hand, was a small machine which, operating from the island base, was to be used only for reconnaissance until the enemy camp had been located. The sole purpose of the other, a heavy flying boat transport, was to carry the entire party home on the conclusion of the mission. Marine types had been chosen because the nature of the terrain, as described by Mayne, obviously made the use of landplanes a hazardous business. Both types chosen were employed by the Chinese Air Force, as reorganised by the Commission of Aeronautical Affairs at the conclusion of the Japanese war. They had in fact been acquired in China. Both carried Chinese markings. The big transport, which had yet to come, was also an American type, a twinengined "Ranger"—a converted ocean-patrol bomber which provided ample accommodation for the purpose for which it was required.
It was not advisable, Biggles had averred, for the two machines to fly out together. One might pass where two would cause comment. Moreover, a suitable landing site had to be found, and as the smaller machine was handier for this purpose it was decided to send it out first to select and prepare the camp. Biggles was to fly it, with Captain Mayne as the obvious choice for the passenger. Somewhere reasonably near the objective the base camp would be established and the main operation conducted from it. The big machine was to allow the Birada two days' grace, sufficient time, it was thought, for the preliminary work to be completed.
Biggles, under Captain Mayne's guidance, had experienced no difficulty in finding a suitable spot, and the smaller machine was already at the chosen hiding-place. This, according to Mayne's calculations, was about thirty miles from the supposed position of the place where the abducted scientists were being held. Nearer than that Biggles dare not go. The big machine, which was to start during the hours of darkness in order to avoid being seen from the more thickly populated part of the route, was due to arrive at daybreak, flying on a compass course plotted by Biggles, who would, he promised Algy—who was to fly the trans port out—be on or as near as possible to that particular line of country.
So far everything had gone according to plan. The Birada was well hidden in its nest and all preparations had been made for the reception of the transport. Camouflaged netting had been stretched from tree to tree on a small island, and on this reeds had been strewn to form a cover t
hat should keep the aircraft safe from aerial observation. Watch had been kept, but so far there had been no indication that the arrival of the Birada had been noticed. At any rate, there had been no visitors, although in view of what the messenger had said about the country being depopulated, this was not surprising.
For the rest, Biggles, somewhat reluctantly, had accepted Mayne's advice in the matter of disguises. Being forced to operate on foot between their base and the enemy camp, in European clothes they would be conspicuous objects should they be seen, Mayne had argued. Whereas, dressed in the manner of Koreans, they would attract little, if any attention, even if their presence was reported. The country might be depopulated on account of the slave raiders, but there was always a chance that they might be seen by the raiders themselves, stated Mayne. If once the enemy got word of Europeans in the vicinity their suspicions could hardly fail to be aroused, and then anything might happen.
To the force of this argument Biggles was bound to submit, so before the start each member of the party had to have a close hair-cut, and a bath in a solution provided by Mayne, which gave the skin the required tint. Bertie had complained loudly when he discovered that the colour was in fact a stain which no amount of scrubbing would remove, but, as Mayne pointed out, what was the use of a dye which the first shower of rain would wash off? It would, he said, wear off in time, and with that consolation Bertie had to be content. It was on, anyway, said Biggles, smiling, and as no amount of protest would get it off he might as well forget about it.
Mayne had also procured the simple garments which were part of the make-up. They would, he said naively, get plenty of dirt on them to complete the disguise before the affair was over. The truth of this, in Biggles' case, was already in evidence, for in spite of the mosquito net, after one day and night on the island his face was so spotted with insect bites that he gave the impression of suffering from an attack of measles. The ground, too, being boggy, had resulted in a liberal distribution of mud.
Equipment, as usual, had needed careful thought and preparation. Most of it was coming out in the big machine. A boat of some sort was essential to get to and fro between the island and the mainland. A collapsible rubber dinghy had been selected for easy transport. All cooking would have to be done on a spirit stove, as smoke from an open fire would certainly attract attention if it were seen. Gunshots would have the same effect, so while every member of the party would be armed, there could be no shooting of game except in dire emergency. All the food they were likely to require had, therefore, to be brought in cans. Both aircraft were equipped with radio, although here again this was only to be used in situations that would make its use imperative—bearing in mind, Biggles pointed out, that the enemy would be similarly equipped.
Perhaps the most important pieces of equipment carried by the small machine were its cameras, for vertical and oblique photography; for in the search for the enemy camp they would enable suspicious objects to be reproduced and studied at leisure. This in turn meant developing and printing devices. That the enemy camp would be well screened against air observation was not to be doubted, averred Biggles.
The rest of the "dunnage" comprised such articles as Biggles, in his long experience of expeditions of this sort, had found were usually worth their weight. Actually, on this occasion there was no need for them to stint themselves, as anything not required could be dumped before the homeward journey, when the big machine—it was hoped—would be heavily loaded with its extra passengers. Keeping in mind the nature of the mission, such useful tools as wire cutters, files and the like, were not overlooked.
Little had been said about the perilous nature of the undertaking, although this, perhaps, was because the dan gers were obvious to everyone. In the first place, the mere act of flying over such a country, with no landing, servicing or maintenance facilities, was hazardous enough. In spite of all that had been said about the country being depopulated, there was, Biggles knew, a serious risk of the machine being seen on the way out, and word of their arrival reaching the enemy, an enemy from which nothing but ruthlessness was to be expected. The only steps that could mitigate this risk had been taken by using machines which, should they be seen, would be taken for Chinese aircraft that had lost their way. The risk was greater in the case of the smaller machine, which would have to do a certain amount of flying after its arrival—how much would depend on circumstances. With luck, Biggles thought, one run over the supposed position of the objective should be enough to enable them to locate it; but this was by no means certain. When this happened, hostile eyes would certainly see the machine. That was inevitable, and he was prepared for it. They might, he thought, get away with it once—but not twice. It was possible, although he did not think it likely, that the enemy camp, on account of its sinister purpose, might be protected by anti-aircraft guns. If so, the Birada would come under fire the moment it appeared, and perhaps take punishment that would put it out of action. As an extra safety measure, therefore, the machine had been provided with parachutes for the use of its crew.
Yet this was only the beginning. Even if all went well, and the enemy camp was located, there would still be the more difficult task of getting into it, and out of it, with the men they had come to rescue. Just how this was to be achieved had not even been discussed, for to make a plan without knowing what obstacles there were to be surmounted was, as Biggles said, a waste of time. It was clear that all hands would be needed, for apart from the actual rescue party someone would have to stay in camp to mount guard, and another would be required to man the canoe between the island and the shore.
These were the known difficulties and dangers. That unknown ones would present themselves was certain. These could only be dealt with as they arose. Indeed, that very afternoon, during a casual conversation with Mayne, one had loomed up. Mayne, talking of his hunting trip, had recalled some of the native methods of killing big game. One of these was by means of pitfalls along the jungle tracks used by game; deep pits, artfully concealed, with pointed stakes in the bottom on which a trapped beast would be impaled by its weight. That such traps would be abandoned, just as they were, when the natives had left the district, was certain, and the knowledge that they were there introduced into a simple walk cause for acute anxiety.
So, as the day died, and the advance party outside their tent made a frugal meal of tea, biscuits and "bully", Biggles had plenty to occupy his mind. His first concern was to get the big machine down safely when it arrived, for even this simple operation presented difficulties, chief of which would be to let Algy know exactly where they were. Whatever method employed there would be a risk of the signal being seen or heard by someone outside their own party. After a debate it had been decided to use radio for the purpose. A signal on a single sustained note, it was thought, should be enough. That the enemy, if he happened to be listening, might also pick up the note, was obvious; but even so, asserted Biggles, it ought to be possible to get the Ranger down before the enemy could bring direction-finding apparatus into action. The signal would be weak, to give an impression of distance. Anyway, a chance had to be taken by one method or another.
Little was said during the meal. Once Mayne pointed across the darkening waters of the lake to a distant shore, and remarked: "Unless I'm off the track altogether, Kos-suri, the fang tzu where I stayed with my Cossack hunter friend, is over there." As an afterthought he added: "A fang tzu is what in this part of the world they call a village."
Biggles nodded, and made a slap at the back of his left hand on which several mosquitoes were also making an evening meal. "If it's all the same to you I'm going to get into my mosquito net before these little devils eat what they left of me last night," he said. "We shall have to be on the move early, anyway. I want to be ready for the Ranger as soon as it gets within earshot. The weather seems to be set fair, which is a blessing."
Mayne agreed.
"With any luck, by this time to-morrow we should know something," concluded Biggles, as he moved back into th
e tent.
DANGER AND DISASTER
BIGGLES was up before dawn, to discover with a shock that the land was shrouded in white, opaque mist, that reduced visibility to zero. It was chilly, too, so he lost no time in putting the kettle on for a hot drink. This done he checked the radio, and then roused Mayne, who was still asleep. Pointing through the open flap of the tent he inquired how long the fog was likely to last, assuming that during his previous visit he may have had some experience of it. "I wasn't expecting anything like this at this time of the year," he told Mayne bitterly. "One thing is quite certain. No aircraft could get down in that—not even if the pilot was over his home airfield."
"We're unlucky," answered Mayne, dressing quickly. "I've seen it happen, but not often.
In fact, I used to hope it would happen because it made the wildfowl fly low, so that I could get a shot. It's caused by a slant of cold air coming in from the north."
"I don't care what causes it, how long is it likely to last? That's all I want to know,"
demanded Biggles.
"Not long. It'll disappear as the sun warms things up," was the not very comforting answer.
"Well, until it does, the Ranger will have to sit up top-sides burning petrol," muttered Biggles. "It should be along any minute now. Hark!
What's that?"
From the distance, growing in volume every moment, came a rushing noise, as of an approaching hurricane.
"Geese," answered Mayne. "Geese or swans—or both." And even as he spoke, with a tremendous clamour the birds began to pass low overhead. How many there were could not even remotely be guessed, for the swishing of countless wings lasted for several minutes.
Biggles lit a cigarette. "Well, the Ranger has only to barge into a party like that and it'll come down all right—in pieces," he observed gloomily.
More geese went over, the leader honking loudly. There were flights of other birds, too.
37 Biggles Gets His Men Page 3