When Ginger came back it was with the bad news that the rear main tank had been holed by a bullet, fortunately by one of small calibre. A little petrol had been lost, but not much. "I've plugged the hole in the meantime with a piece of chewing gum," he stated.*
For a moment nobody spoke. Then, without looking up from his patient, Biggles said: "
You'll have to get that hole properly plugged."
"All right, but it'll take time. I doubt if it's possible to do it before Lavinsky gets here."
"That's awkward," murmured Biggles. "Still, there's nothing else for it. We shall need every drop of petrol, and I'm not starting on nearly a thousand miles of open sea with a leaky tank. Just a minute, though." Biggles stopped work and looked up. "It's no use staying here," he went on. "Once Lavinsky gets within range he'll put holes in our tanks a lot faster than we can mend them. There's only one thing we can do. As soon as Lavinsky and the short party get close enough to be dangerous we'll fly back to the original camp and do the job there. It's a confounded nuisance, but I can't think of any other way. There is this about it, if it's any comfort to you; if we tired of this shuttlecocking to and fro, Lavinsky's gang, who have to do it on their feet, must be even more fed up
* Many pilots, particularly in the early days of flying, carried chewing gum for such emergencies.
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with it. Lavinsky will have to secure his ship before he can come after us again, anyway, and that will take time. We should have two or three hours clear while he's getting to her, bringing her back and making her fast, and then marching back to us—if he decides to do that. By that time his men will need a rest, too. We could pick up the remainder of the gold while we're waiting for Ginger to fix the tank."
"There's only one thing about that," answered Ginger slowly. "I've just had a look at the barometer.. It's falling fast. It's perishing cold, and getting colder."
"Aye," put in the Skipper. "There's a change on the way. I can feel it."
Biggles looked at Ginger. "Make a start on that hole," he ordered. "Skipper, you watch the weather. Bertie, keep an eye on the enemy. I've plenty to do here." He carried on with his first aid work. Larsen, Ginger noticed as he turned away, had lapsed into unconsciousness.
It was nearly an hour later, as Biggles was tidying up, that Bertie reported that Lavinsky had reached and boarded the Svelt. The nearest members of the shore party were only about five hundred yards away. They were coming on, but very slowly, as if they were tired.
"Okay," acknowledged Biggles. "We'll push along. Shut the door." He went through to the cockpit, started the engines, and having given them a minute or two to warm up, took off, heading once more for the old camp. Reaching it he made a circuit, watching the ground closely to make sure that the enemy had all gone, before landing along his original track. "Get busy everybody," he called, when he had switched off. "Ginger, get that hole properly plugged. Do the job well. We can't take chances. The rest of you bring in what's left of the gold while I knock up some hot grub." He jumped down and looked at the
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sky, now overcast again. His breath hung round him like bonfire smoke.
The loading of the gold was finished inside an hour, during which time the weather slowly deteriorated. But Ginger's task took longer, although Grimy went to his assistance. The trouble, as he told Biggles, was the bitter cold. It was intense. He could not work with gloves on—at least not very well—and yet it was dangerous to take them off, for the risk of frost-bite was obvious. Any metal touched seemed to burn. Bare fingers stuck to it, leaving the skin adhering after a minute or two. Ginger had to stop repeatedly to beat his hands together to keep the circulation going. Two hours later, although desperately tired, he was still at it. Biggles took him some hot coffee.
Meanwhile, the enemy had no been idle. Lavinsky had reorganised his forces for what was clearly a last desperate attempt to get the gold. The Svelt, now under control, had gone first to the ice shelf to pick up the men who had been left ashore. Now, under full power, it was heading for the camp, at no small risk, as the Skipper pointed out, of tearing its keel off on one of the many pieces of ice that covered the water. In this respect, however, Lavinsky's luck was in, and the Svelt ploughed on its way unharmed.
That Lavinsky intended to launch a general attack on the aircraft from two directions became plain when, at a distance of about half a mile, he brought his ship alongside the ice and put ashore a dozen men armed with rifles. These at once fanned out in a wide semi-circle advancing towards the camp. The Svelt then came on towards the far side of the floe from which the remaining ingots of gold had been removed. On this field of ice more of the ship's company were landed, and under the leadership of Lavinsky himself came on in open order towards the machine.
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"This is going to be a warm spot presently," remarked the Skipper, buffing his arms. "As soon as they're in range the fun will start."
At this point of the proceedings Ginger announced that his job was done. The tank was okay.
"Just in time," returned Biggles. "We'd better be moving."
"Absolutely, by Jove. I was beginning to get worried," murmured Bertie. "Beastly cold sitting here doing nothing."
Biggles went through to the cockpit to start up. Ginger took his place at the second pilot's seat. The port engine started, but the starboard one remained silent. Biggles tried again.
Nothing happened. He glanced at Ginger. "She's cold," said he, and tried again. But the engine was obstinate and remained dead. "No use," said Biggles. He had one more try. It failed. "How very annoying of it," muttered Biggles. "Get the heater."
Ginger looked aghast. "But while we're fiddling with that Lavinsky will arrive," he cried.
Biggles shrugged his shoulders. "So what? I can't get her off on one engine."
"The temperature was twenty-eight below zero the last time I looked at the thermometer,
" said Ginger morosely.
"We should have done something about it before," stated Biggles. "Being busy I didn't realise it was as cold as that. Still, it's no use talking about that. We've got to warm that motor before it'll start so we might as well get at it. You handle it. I'll try to keep Lavinsky at a distance."
Ginger felt sick at heart. That they should find themselves grounded at this most critical moment was maddening, but, as Biggles had said, there was only one thing they could do about it. He climbed out of his seat and
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adjusted the heating apparatus which had been installed for that purpose. How long it would take to operate he did not know, but several minutes at least would be required.
A shot rang out, and,. simultaneously a bullet struck the machine somewhere. Not being quite ready for it, Ginger jumped. Biggles, he thought, had not been far wrong. This was a clear indication of what they could expect.
Another shot cracked in the brittle atmosphere, but this, Ginger saw, had been fired by Biggles at the enemy advancing across the ice-floe. Shots came back, Lavinsky's men shooting as they walked. Bertie also fired, but as far as Ginger could see, without effect.
This non-effective shooting, by people whom he knew to be first-class shots, was, he thought, one of the most surprising things of the expedition. He could only assume that it was due to the peculiar white light. Everything was white, the sky as well as the ground.
A little breeze moaned mournfully across the frozen sterility and the penetrating cold of it brought tears to his eyes. It seemed the height of lunacy to go on fighting in such conditions, for the wind or snow—or both, as seemed likely—promised to put an end to both expeditions. Whichever side won would be lucky to get away with their lives. But apparently Lavinsky in his gold madness cared nothing for the consequences of what he was doing. More shots were exchanged. It was obvious that someone presently would be hit. Both sides could not go on missing. The range was getting shorter.
Biggles must have realised this, too, for his face was drawn with anxiety when he shouted to Ginger t
o start up as soon as this was possible. Ginger moved to give the recalcitrant engine another trial. But, even as he did so, a shot whistled past him to stop with that curious
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"phut" which a bullet makes when it strikes flesh. Snatching a glance over his shoulder he saw Grimy sink down in the snow and then try to rise, clutching at his left arm.
"Grimy's hit," he shouted to Biggles.
"Get him inside and do what you can for him," answered Biggles, punctuating his words with shots. "And get that
engine going."
Ginger helped Grimy into the aircraft where a quick examination revealed that the wound was not serious—or at any rate it would not have been considered serious in a temperate climate. The bullet had passed through the muscle of the upper arm, lacerating it badly. Ginger clapped on a pad and bound it on with some haste, for the rattle of musketry outside made it clear that the battle was nearing its climax. Several bullets struck the machine, but as far as he could ascertain from a quick inspection, without serious damage. Perceiving that their only hope now was to get the engine started he was on his way to try it when a fresh complication arose. From overhead came the vibrant drone of a low-flying aircraft.
Ginger knew that this could only be Algy, who had now returned as he had promised. In the excitement he had forgotten all about him. It seemed highly improbable that Algy would realise what was going on below him, and Ginger's heart sank as he perceived that, far from the machine serving any useful purpose, Algy would merely land with fatal results to himself. One man more or less could make no difference to the.result of the one-sided battle.
Biggles realised this, too, of course, and as Ginger jumped down he shouted to him to try to signal to Algy to keep out of it, he himself being busily engaged in trying to keep Lavinsky's men from getting any nearer.
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Just how Algy was to be prevented from landing Ginger did not know, for the machine was already circling preparatory to coming in. All Ginger could do was to run out waving his arms wildly, but for all the effect this had he might as well have remained under cover instead of exposing himself to the enemy, some of whose shots whistled unpleasantly close.
-Ginger groaned as, with no more concern than if it had been up on a test flight, the Wellington glided in to a perfect landing. And as if that were not enough, thought Ginger, with a sinking feeling in the stomach, it must needs finish its run right in front of those members of Lavinsky's crew who were closing in from the landward side.
Instinctively Ginger yelled a warning although he knew quite well that it could not be heard. But it was all he could do, except run towards the plane firing past it with his automatic at some men who had jumped up and were making towards it. One of them fell, but the rest ran on, shouting triumphantly, as if delighted at having made such an important capture. If that was their opinion Ginger shared it, and he fully expected to see Algy shot dead the moment he showed himself. But to his stupefaction it was not Algy who sprang out, but a naval officer; and behind him, as if impelled by some hidden mechanism, came bluejackets, faster than Ginger could count. The effect was electrical.
Ginger stopped, staring, making incoherent noises. Lavinsky's men stopped, too, which was no matter for wonder. They wavered in indecision, and without firing another shot retired precipitately, some throwing away their weapons. Thus might hooligans have fled on the arrival of a squad of policemen.
In a flash the whole situation was changed, and without another weapon being fired; for even Lavinsky, finding himself confronted by authority in a form which it is not 154
wise to provoke, made off towards the Svelt, thinking perhaps that if he could get his ship clear of the ice he would be safe from pursuit—for the time being at any rate.
The bluejackets started after the attackers who had now become fugitives, but Biggles ran out and called to the officer to stop them.
"I don't think you need break your necks chasing that bunch," Biggles told him, as he came up. "They can't get far. They're the wrong side of the ice barrier. You can come back and pick them up later on—or you can leave them where they are as far as I'm concerned. I want to get out of this before the weather closes in on me. I don't like the look of it. I've got wounded men to get home, anyway, so the sooner we're off the better.
I've got what I came for. Much obliged to you for coming to give us a hand." Turning to Algy he concluded: "You timed that very nicely; things were getting serious."
"I had an idea they might be," answered Algy. "So did the Senior Naval Officer at Falklands Station when I told him what was afoot and who was here. Apparently he knows Lavinsky by reputation as a seal-poacher, and a bad hat altogether, so he suggested that instead of flying back empty I brought these fellows along to tidy the place up."
The naval officer glanced round the sky. "I think you're right about getting back," he agreed. "Lavinsky can't do much harm here now and we can always pick him up when it suits us. The Old Man will probably send a sloop down for him."
"That's fine," concurred Biggles. "Let's divide the load and set a course for home before we all get chilblains."
There was a general move towards the machines.
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XV
THE END OF THE STORY
THE rest of the story is soon told. The two Wellingtons returned together without incident to the Falkland Islands, where Grimy and Larsen at once received proper medical attention. Biggles straightway made a signal home through official channels reporting the success of the expedition, and this promptly brought a reply to the effect that the airmen were to make their own way home in their own time, leaving the gold to be brought back by one of H.M. ships. This decision, which relieved Biggles of any further responsibility in the matter, suited him very well. As he remarked to the others, the machines would fly better without so much dead weight, and he, at all events, had already seen enough of it. Gold, he asserted, always meant trouble. It always had, and probably always would. The thing now was to forget about it.
After a week's rest, and a top overhaul of the machines, the expedition returned home, following the route it had taken on the outward passage. Grimy, his arm in a sling, went with it, but Larsen, still being too ill to travel, was left behind.
Some time elapsed before any news came through about Lavinsky and his crew. There was, however, a good reason for this. No news was available, for following the departure of the expedition from the Antarctic came a succession of gales so severe that any attempt to reach the men would have been not only dangerous but futile. So they had remained where they were for the long polar
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winter. When, the following season, a Falklands Islands Dependencies sloop reached the spot only eleven men remained alive. Lavinsky was not among them, nor were his owners, Shim and Sham. The story told by the survivors was probably true in the main, although, naturally, all the blame for what had happened was piled on those who had died. The Svelt, it appeared, had not been able to get out, and was eventually frozen in the ice. The crew, of course, had continued to live in the ship. The result, considering the number and type of men, was inevitable. There had been quarrels, and in the end, open fighting. In one of these brawls Lavinsky had been shot by a man who had subsequently died; but who had actually killed him was never discovered.
At the trial, which came later on a charge of seal-poaching, one of the men, to save himself, had turned Queen's Evidence; and he stated, probably with truth, that Lavinsky's behaviour had become so brutal that a conspiracy was formed to put him off the ship, and this had resulted in shooting, in which Lavinsky and his partisans, which included the men known as Shim and Sham, had been killed. What actually happened during that dreadful period will probably never be known. Anyway, those who were brought home merely exchanged one prison for another.
In due course the gold arrived at the Bank of England, and after some delay the salvage money, as arranged, was paid to those by whose efforts the gold had been recovered.
&n
bsp; After a final dinner together the Skipper and his son returned to Glasgow, where the Skipper bought a house overlooking his home port, and Grimy acquired a motor business which is now flourishing.
The comrades, after a short leave, returned to routine duty, which, as Bertie observed, while dull, did at least permit them to have a hot bath when they felt like it.
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It was some time before anything was heard of Larsen and it was feared that he must have died. Then, one day, a letter arrived from the man himself. In it he told Biggles that he had so far recovered that he was able to join a Norwegian whaler that had put in at Port Stanley. The purpose of the letter was to convey his gratitude for his salvation from a horrible fate, but in closing he mentioned' a detail which, in the haste to depart from the White Continent, had been overlooked at the time. This was the bar of gold that he had seized when he had first bolted from the hulk. He said he remembered the incident quite well. He had hidden the gold under some ice. He had not mentioned the existence. of it to Lavinsky so only he knew where it was. It was still there.
"And as far as I'm concerned," remarked Biggles, as he folded the letter, "it can stay there."
"Absolutely, old boy, absolutely," agreed Bertie warmly. "I'm with you every time.
There's no future in icebergs—if you see what I mean."
"I've got a fair idea of what you mean," admitted Biggles, smiling.
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Document Outline
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Biggles in the Antarctic cover 001
Biggles in the Antarctic cover 003
Biggles in the Antarctic page 001
Biggles in the Antarctic page 002
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Biggles in the Antarctic page 004
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36 Biggles Breaks The Silence Page 14