by W E Johns
Ten minutes later Janovica, the City of the Plains, came into view. Skirting it, he made for the southern extremity, where the Count had told him that a landing-ground was being prepared. He saw the customary white circle at once, and, in a corner of the same field, a large white marquee, evidently the hangar that was to house the machines. Four or five figures stood near it.
As he glided down Biggles examined their new aerodrome and its surroundings. In size it was plenty large enough for their requirements, and it lay less than a mile from the nearest part of the city; to the east the ground was open, but on the southern boundary began a forest that rolled away as far as he could see. So much he was able to observe before he flattened out, and a second or two later his wheels touched the short turf. As soon as the machine had finished its run he taxied on towards the tent in order to give the others plenty of room to land; from a safe distance he watched them come in, and when they had joined him, the three machines together continued their way to where a small party awaited them.
Two figures detached themselves from the group and ran out to meet the machines, taking up positions at each of Biggles’s wing-tips. They were Smyth and Carter. Biggles gave them a wave of greeting before moving on slowly to the front of the hangar, where he switched off, and jumping lightly to the ground, walked over to where Ginger was preparing to dismount.
‘Didn’t you understand my signal that you were to keep out of the dogfight?’ he inquired coldly.
‘Well, I … yes, I … of course I …’ stammered Ginger.
‘Why did you come back into it?’
‘I thought I might be of some use. After all, I’ve got to start sometime, haven’t I?’
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘Yes, I suppose you have,’ he admitted reluctantly, ‘but in future you had better leave these decisions to me. Come on; come on, Algy, let’s go and see what’s happening here.’
1 Another name for the First World War 1914–1918.
2 Regulation wingtip lights, red on left, blue-green on right, with a white tail light.
3 In the days before radios were routinely fitted to aircraft, pilots communicated with each other by moving their planes or by hand signals. Rocking the wings meant the pilot had spotted an enemy plane.
4 A mechanism which allows the machine gun bullets to pass between the propeller blades without hitting them.
Chapter 5
Doubts and Difficulties
BESIDES SMYTH AND Carter there were three people standing in front of the improvised hangar. All were in uniform. One was a tall man, rather past middle age, with a commanding figure and a powerful face in which were set keen grey eyes. He carried a cavalry sabre, and his hands rested on the hilt as he watched with an expressionless face the approach of the three airmen. Judging by the amount of gold braid on his uniform, he was an officer of senior rank. Next to him stood a slim young man, little more than a youth, with a pale, rather delicate face adorned with a tiny black moustache. He alone of the three was smiling a welcome. He also was an officer, but, clearly, a subaltern1. Behind these, at a respectful distance, stood the other, a private soldier. On the road that formed the boundary on this side of the aerodrome a number of civilians had gathered to watch the scene.
Biggles marched smartly up to the senior officer. ‘My name is Bigglesworth, sir,’ he said. ‘These are my friends, Lacey and Hebblethwaite. You were expecting us, I think?’
‘Yes,’ was the rather curt reply. ‘We were expecting you. I understand from the telephone that you have begun to make war already – yes?’
‘Yes, that is correct,’ confessed Biggles.
‘Why do you do this?’ was the next rather surprising question. ‘Do you seek to get my country into war with her neighbours, which we are so anxious to avoid?’
Biggles stared. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ he said slowly. ‘Any act of war that has occurred was made by these neighbours you seem anxious not to offend. They attacked us over Maltovian territory. What did you expect us to do in such a case – sit still and be shot at? May I ask your name, sir?’
The younger officer stepped forward. ‘This is General Bethstein,’ he said nervously. ‘General Bethstein is the commander-in-chief of the army.’
‘I see,’ said Biggles quietly, looking back at the older man, who was still regarding him stonily. ‘Very good, sir. I will make a written report about this morning’s proceedings in due course.’
‘I shall expect one, and I will see you again later in the day.’ With that the general turned on his heel, and made his way towards a car that was standing on the road, followed by the soldier who was evidently his orderly-driver.
There was a curious smile on Biggles’s face, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched him go. He turned to the junior officer. ‘Can you tell me where I should be most likely to find Lieutenant Ludwig Stanhauser?’ he asked.
‘I am Ludwig Stanhauser,’ was the instant reply.
Biggles smiled and held out his hand. ‘Why, that’s fine,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’re the very fellow I want to see. We know your uncle in London very well.’
‘Yes, he has told me in his letters all about you,’ replied the other. ‘May I, on behalf of all true Maltovians, welcome you to our country!’
‘Thanks.’ Biggles glanced at the car, now speeding down the road. ‘I should have thought that the general might have said something on those lines, instead of questioning our actions,’ he suggested. ‘He didn’t seem over-pleased to see us.’
The young officer sighed. ‘He’s a difficult man to understand, and his new responsibilities weigh heavily upon him, I fear. He has only just assumed command, following the tragic death of General von Nerthold, of which you may have heard.’
‘Yes, I heard about that,’ admitted Biggles. ‘What are we supposed to do now we’re here? I understood that I was to take command of this aerodrome.’
‘Surely. Everything has been very rushed, of course, so we have not yet been able to build accommodation for you here. Still, the aerodrome is close to the town, and quarters have been provided for you at the Hotel Stadplatz. It is not our best hotel, perhaps, but it is very good and quite comfortable; moreover, it is run by a man I know well, and has the advantage of being near the aerodrome. It is to take you there and show you your rooms that I have come.’
‘Who arranged that?’ asked Biggles.
‘I did, on the recommendation of my uncle in London, who has left it to me to extend such hospitality as we can offer. I live with my mother, to whom I will later introduce you. You will all come and dine with us sometime, I hope. Is there anything more you wish to do here immediately?
‘No; I should like to get along to the hotel, where we can get into our uniforms and have something to eat. We have had rather a difficult journey, and it is some time since we had our last meal.’
‘Good! Then let us go. I have my car here.’
‘Just a minute.’ Biggles beckoned Smyth and pointed to the hangar. ‘Who erected that monstrosity?’ he asked.
‘Me and Carter, sir.’
‘But why in the name of heaven didn’t you paint it? The thing can be seen twenty miles away. What did you think you were putting up – a target?’
‘No, sir, but we couldn’t get any paint. The General said it would cost too much.’
‘I see. Well, we’ve been to some trouble to get these machines here, and I’m not going to put them into that place for the First Lovitznian bomber to blow sky-high. Where are the stores and ammunition?’
‘They’re inside, sir.’
‘Then get them out.’
‘Where shall I put them?’
Biggles looked round the aerodrome and his eyes came to rest on the edge of the forest, at the southern boundary. ‘Could you let us have some labourers?’ he asked Ludwig.
‘Yes, I could find you some workmen. For what purpose do you want them?’
‘I want some men to work under my flight-sergeant’s instructions, to cut a
way into that wood and build a rough shelter there. I want a depot that can’t be seen from the air. We’ll keep everything over there – you can manage that, Smyth?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I will send some men along right away,’ promised Ludwig, as he began to walk towards his car, followed by the others. ‘What happened this morning?’ he asked, as they all got in.
‘We were attacked by five machines bearing Lovitznian markings. ‘We shot two of them down and the rest retired.’
‘Good – good!’ cried Ludwig delightedly. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for months. That will give them something to think about.’
‘Well, I thought that was why we came here,’ declared Biggles.
‘Of course. We have got to stop Lovitznian machines from flying over Maltovia.’
That’s what I understood from your uncle. Has Lovitzna declared war yet?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I assume that they are not quite ready to go the whole Pig.’
‘You mean the whole hog, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes. That’s right.’
‘Well, it strikes me as being an extraordinary situation,’ murmured Biggles. ‘This flying over your country without permission is nothing less than an act of war.’
‘I know; that’s the absurd part about the whole thing. If we try to stop them I do not see that they can complain.’
‘Neither do I,’ asserted Biggles emphatically. ‘When do their machines come over?’
‘Nearly every morning at dawn.’
‘And the General understands that we’re here to stop them doing it – to drive them back?’
‘Of course.’
‘He gave me a very different impression just now.’
‘He is worried, and does not want to precipitate the war we fear is coming.’
Biggles nodded. ‘I see,’ was all he said.
The car was running through the streets of the city now, and presently it pulled up before the entrance to a quaint, medieval-looking hostelry, half-timbered, with a number of heraldic devices along the front. A plump, jovial-looking man with a bald head, and wearing a white apron, ran out and opened the door of the car.
‘Hello, Josef,’ called Ludwig. Then, to the others, ‘This, gentlemen, is Josef, who will take care of you, as his forefathers have taken care of guests for five hundred years or more. He speaks a little English, but not much.’
They all got out of the car and followed the landlord, who, shouting to his man to carry the bags, led the way upstairs to the first floor where he threw open the doors of three adjoining rooms.
‘Here you are,’ said Ludwig. ‘Make yourselves quite at home. I will leave you now while you have some food and a rest after your long journey.’
‘Where shall I be able to find you if I need you?’ asked Biggles.
Ludwig handed him his card. ‘That is my home address,’ he said, scribbling something on the back of it with a pencil. ‘And that is my telephone number at the barracks,’ he said. ‘Don’t hesitate to ring me up if I can be of service. I will come back later on tonight and have a talk, if I may.’
‘Do; there are lots of things I’m anxious to know about,’ returned Biggles, as he threw off his jacket and prepared to wash.
‘Good-bye, then, for the present.’ Ludwig hurried away.
‘You eats soon – yes?’ asked Josef, beaming.
‘In ten minutes,’ Biggles told him, holding up his ten fingers. ‘Plenty of food; we’re hungry.’
Josef grinned understandingly, and bundled off towards the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight Biggles called the others into his room, a large apartment which was furnished as much as sitting-room as bedroom. ‘Close the door, Ginger,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m beginning to understand what the Count meant when he told us to be on our guard,’ he continued, when Ginger returned. ‘Unless I am very much mistaken, we have enemies in Maltovia as well as Lovitzna.’
‘Who are you thinking of?’ asked Algy quickly.
‘You’ve got eyes, haven’t you? If old – what’s his name? – Bethstein was pleased to see us arrive, then I’m a Dutchman. Why, the man could hardly conceal his chagrin.’
Algy stared aghast. ‘Great goodness!’ he exclaimed. ‘If the commander-in-chief of the army is our enemy, then the sooner we get out of this and back to England, the better,’ he muttered.
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that – at least, not at this stage,’ replied Biggles. ‘But of this I am certain. For some reason or other, Bethstein would rather we had not come here, and that being the case, we can’t trust him to look after our interests. We haven’t been in the country five minutes, but already we are faced with problems that we may find it difficult to answer.’
‘Such as?’
‘Those machines this morning. How did it happen that they were right on our route? Was that a fluke, do you suppose? It might be, but I don’t trust flukes. It is far more likely that they had been sent out to intercept us; if that is so, who sent them? How did the enemy know that we were arriving today? But there, perhaps it’s no use worrying ourselves about these things now. Let’s get some food inside us. We’ll have a conference later on. From now onwards we must wear our uniforms. That, at least, gives us sufficient excuse to carry pistols, and from what I can see we’re going to need them before we’re through. I’ll see you both in the dining-room in ten minutes.’
The meal, served in the raftered banqueting hall, was a great success. A huge log fire blazed in the open hearth, and the genial Josef, who had evidently put himself out to do honour to his guests, waited on them himself. And they did justice to his efforts. The dining-hall was, of course, a public room, but possibly because of the threat of war that hung over the city, there were few visitors, and with the exception of one or two widely separated lunchers, the airmen had the room to themselves.
Biggles yawned as he finished his coffee and pushed back his chair. ‘My goodness, I’m tired,’ he confessed. ‘I feel I could sleep until the cows come home again.’
‘I can hardly hold my head up,’ declared Ginger. ‘It must be the air, or the excitement this morning.’
‘Possibly the fact that we didn’t get any sleep last night has something to do with it,’ suggested Biggles, mildly sarcastic.
‘I think a nap would do us all good,’ announced Algy; ‘I shall be no good until I’ve had one, anyway.
‘Come on, then,’ decided Biggles. ‘Let’s go and have a rest. We’ll forgather again just before tea and have a council of war.’
Several pairs of eyes were on them as they stood up, neat and smart in their new uniforms, and made their way slowly upstairs.
1 Junior officer, below a captain in rank.
Chapter 6
An Unexpected Visitor
BIGGLES AWOKE WITH a start. With a single movement he sat upright on the bed on which he had been lying. Something had awakened him, he knew. What was it? The room was in darkness, which told him that he must have slept longer than he intended, but how late it was he did not know. Feeling quietly in his pocket, he found a box of matches and struck one. A quick glance around showed him that there was no one in the room, so concluding that he had, after all, awakened in the ordinary way, he moved across to the oil lamp with which the room was provided. He lighted it, and had just replaced the glass chimney when there came a soft tap on his door. There was something almost furtive in the gentle knock, and he knew that it could not have been made by Algy or Ginger, who would have followed up the knock by walking in.
Four quick strides took him to the door, and with a swift movement he threw it open. In the corridor stood an old woman, dressed in black, almost nun-like garments, a basket of flowers over her arm. Behind her stood another woman, but her head was bowed so that he could not see her face. He was about to make signs that he did not want any flowers when, to his astonishment, the old woman, after a swift glance up and down the corridor, laid a finger on her l
ips. Wonderingly, but alert for danger, he took a step backwards. Instantly he was followed into the room by the two women. With a swift movement, surprisingly swift for one of her age, the old woman placed the basket of flowers on the floor and locked the door on the inside. Wheeling round, her eyes flashed to the uncurtained windows. Quickly, without a glance at Biggles, she crossed the room and drew the heavy curtains.
So quickly had all this happened that Biggles had had no time to speak; or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had been unable to find words to frame the protest that rose to his lips at this remarkable and unwarranted intrusion. Moreover, such was his interest that he had not taken his eyes off the old woman. Now, remembering the other, he turned, and inexpressible astonishment surged up in him at what he now beheld.
Facing him, regarding him with an expression of quiet dignity, was a girl. She could not have been more than eighteen years of age, but it was not this that held him speechless. It was her beauty. She was rather pale, but he thought that her features were the most perfect he had ever seen. With a sudden movement she threw back the hood-like garment that covered her head, releasing a halo of golden curls which, with a rather tired gesture, she shook into place. ‘Forgive me,’ she said softly, and as soon as she spoke Biggles suspected who she was, for there was something regal about her voice as well as in her poise. ‘I am the Princess Mariana of Maltovia,’ she concluded quietly.
Biggles sprang to attention and bowed stiffly from the waist. ‘Major Bigglesworth, your Highness, at your service,’ he said crisply. ‘Permit me.’ He pulled out a chair from under the table.
The princess sat down, and, resting her arm on the table, regarded Biggles earnestly for some seconds. Then, ‘Please forgive me for the manner in which I have intruded on your privacy,’ she murmured. ‘There were … reasons … you understand?’