CHAPTER I
AN INTERRUPTED CRUISE
MAJOR James Bigglesworth, known to his many friends (and quite a few enemies) as Biggles, tossed aside the book he had been reading, and stretching out his arms with a gesture of utter boredom, yawned audibly. The movement caused the deck-chair in which he was reclining to creak ominously; the sound brought a muttered exclamation of alarm to his lips, and he relaxed quickly to his original position. The book lay where it had fallen on the deck near his feet, the pages fluttering noisily in the fresh sea breeze.
`Your book'll be overboard in a minute if you don't look out,' observed Algy Lacey from the next chair of the three that were lined up just abaft the red funnel of the S.S.
Stavritos. Ginger Hebblethwaite, Biggles's protégé, occupied the third.
Biggles made no movement to recover the book although it was clear that Algy's warning was well founded. 'A watery grave would be too good an ending for such balderdash,' he observed coldly.
Ì was told it was a good book,' declared Ginger.
`The fellow who told you that ought to be made to eat it,' returned Biggles, more than a suspicion of sarcasm and bitterness in his voice. 'And the fool doctor who sent me on this crazy trip ought to
be made to eat his instruments,' he continued, as an afterthought.
`He said you needed a rest,' reminded Algy.
Ì know. I'm getting it. But this life on the ocean wave bores me stiff. Nothing happens.
We go on, and on, and on, and still nothing happens.'
Ìt is rather a bore, but what do you want the skipper to do—run the ship on a rock or something ?'
`That would at least provide a little active entertainment. This sitting here doing nothing all day is giving me the jitters. The one thing I've never been able to do is nothing. I've done that now for five days and that's just about four days too long.'
`Try looking at the sea,' suggested Ginger.
Tor what purpose ? Do you suppose I've never seen the sea before ? The trouble with the sea is that it always looks the same. One wave may be a bit bigger than another, but when you have seen one you've seen the lot. You can have them all, large and small, as far as I'm concerned.'
No one answered, so Biggles was left to ponder on the reason for this unusual voyage. It was a simple one. A recurrence of fever, picked up during one of his trips to the tropics, had sent him, for the first time in many years, to see a doctor for treatment. Every day for a fortnight the doctor had plied him with a concoction of quinine, at the end of which time he announced that his patient was clear of fever, but would profit from a sea voyage.
Ginger, who had done very little sea travelling, voted the idea a good one. Algy had agreed. So Biggles acquiesced, and four days later found them on a Greek cargo boat, homeward bound to Athens, from where they proposed to return by air. Biggles had firmly refused to travel on a cruise ship. They had now been at sea for five days, and Biggles was beginning to find the monotony irksome. The rock of Gibraltar, which they had passed the day before, had provided a brief interval of interest; but now it was far astern, and the next port of call, Marseilles, two days ahead.
Ginger walked to the rail and pointed to a faint smudge on the northern horizon. 'There 's land,' he remarked. 'It ought to be Spain.'
Ìt is,' agreed Biggles briefly.
Ì wonder how the war's going on there ?'
`That 's the sort of thing you would wonder about. It would not surprise me if you were also wondering how you could find your way into it.'
Ì wouldn't mind having a look at it, anyway,' admitted Ginger frankly.
`Then you can put it right out of your mind, my lad,' said Biggles firmly. 'We've done quite enough barging into other people's wars. So just relax, and thank your lucky stars you have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and then eat and sleep again. Hullo! What's that ?'
Biggles and Algy joined Ginger at the rail as the hum of a distant aero engine was wafted to their ears.
Àir France trans-Mediterranean air mail, for a guess,' suggested Algy, shading his eyes with a hand, the better to see the approaching speck.
Ìt's coming this way,' put in Ginger.
Now, it is a curious thing, but no matter how long a man may fly, however familiar aircraft may be to him, he cannot resist looking up at a passing aeroplane. The three airmen moved along the deck to a position where their vision was not interrupted by the rigging.
`He 's certainly coming this way,' agreed Algy. `He wasn't at first, but I saw him alter his course a little just now. Maybe he's having trouble with his engine. Hullo, he's cut it!' he went on quickly as the drone of the engine died away. 'He is certainly making for us.'
`They evidently think so on the bridge,' observed Biggles, as several orders rang out, to the accompaniment of the engine-room bell.
`They seem to be getting quite excited about it, too,' remarked Algy.
Ìt doesn't take much to get a Greek excited,' murmured Biggles.
`They are certainly getting worked up about it,' declared Ginger, as a fresh volley of orders was shouted from the bridge. Several of the crew who had been below came bustling up on to the deck. From languid mid-afternoon quiet, the ship had suddenly become a hive of activity.
Biggles puckered his forehead in a frown. 'Yes,'
he said wonderingly, staring at the members of the crew, who were running to and fro casting furtive glances upward, 'I'm no alarmist, but this begins to look more like panic than excitement. What's the idea? I fancy there 's more in this than meets the eye. That machine is coming from the direction of Majorca. Franco has got a base there. By Jove, I wonder if it has anything to do with that old boy with the grey beard who came aboard at Gib!'
Algy looked at Biggles sharply. 'Why should it ?'
`Because he 's a Spaniard, or I've never seen one. He spoke in Spanish to the fellow who came to see him off.'
`You mean?'
`Maybe I'm talking through my hat, but it just struck me that there might be something in it. What I mean is, maybe there is something or somebody on board this ship whom General Franco or the Catalonian Government doesn't want to reach port. A lot of ships have been bombed lately in these waters—even British ships.'
`You mean—you think this fellow might be going to bomb us ?' cried Ginger aghast.
`Nothing he did would surprise me very much,' confessed Biggles. He raised his hand and pointed to the oncoming machine. 'One thing is certain,' he went on. 'He's making for this ship. It's a military machine, too—a two-seater. I can see the rear gun.'
Algy clutched Biggles's arm. 'You're right,' he
said sharply. 'Those are bombs under his wings; they look like two hundred-and-thirty-poundersone on each side.'
They all started violently as a machine-gun started chattering somewhere in the fore part of the ship.
`What the devil!' cried Biggles angrily.
`Look out!' yelled Algy, as the aeroplane tilted its nose down in a steep dive, straight towards the ship.
Pandemonium broke loose in a din of shots, yells, and curses, but it was drowned in an ear-shattering volume of sound as the pilot of the machine opened up his engine. Its shadow flashed across the deck.
Biggles flung himself flat as a bomb detached itself from the port wing of the machine and hurtled downward. The others threw themselves beside him, their arms folded over their heads.
There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the fast-diminishing roar of the aeroplane. Then the ship reeled and shuddered from stem to stern, as the bomb exploded somewhere amidships. There was a shrill hiss of escaping steam, and then a clatter as debris rained down on the deck.
Biggles was up in a moment, hurrying towards the spot where the bomb had ex
ploded.
Ginger would have passed him, but Biggles caught him by the arm and flung him back as a red-splashed scene of horror met his eyes.
`Watch out!' cried Algy tersely. 'Curse the fellow, he's coming back!' He pointed to the bomber,
which was now banking steeply. Its nose swung
down as it came in line with the ship, which had
taken on a list that dragged it round in a wide curve.
Biggles's face turned pale ; his lips set in a hard line, and he looked around with the sharp movements of a man who needs something urgently. His questing eyes came to rest on what they sought —the machine-gun which they had heard a moment or two earlier. He saw at a glance that it was a type unknown to him, but the spade grips and metal belt were familiar, and since the gun was already loaded he had no doubt about his ability to use it. 'Take what cover you can,' he snapped to the others, and vaulted over a splintered lifeboat to the gun. A member of the crew was half crouching, half lying, behind it, moaning feebly, his face buried in his hands. A thin trickle of blood oozed from between his fingers, and Biggles, investigating, found that the fellow's cheek had been gashed by a splinter. It was not a serious wound, so, with scant ceremony, Biggles dragged him aside and crouched behind the blue barrel of the gun. His fingers whitened as they took a
'holding'.1
' When it is fired, a machine-gun jerks about violently, due to the recoil of the swiftly successive shots. In order to keep the barrel steady on the target it is necessary to drag on it with a good deal of force. This is called 'holding'.
The aircraft was already within effective range, its nose tilted in a steep angle of dive.
Above the roar of the engine came the wail of wind-torn wires and struts. The pilot was coming down straight over the stern of the vessel, offering what was, in effect, a sitting shot. That is to say, it was not necessary to move the barrel of the gun in order to keep the sights aligned.
Even as Biggles's thumbs pressed the double thumbpiece, he saw the bomb sail down from the wing of the attacking machine, but he continued to fire. Fifty rounds poured through the blue barrel in four seconds of time, but somewhat to Biggles's surprise the machine did not swerve an inch from its course. He knew that his shots were hitting the target, and only when the dive steepened suddenly did he realize what had happened. He had hit the pilot, who was no longer master of his machine. Simultaneously with this thought came the realization that the aeroplane would crash on the deck of its victim.
There was no time to do anything but dive for what cover was available. A swift rush across the now steeply sloping deck, and he flung himself behind the funnel. An instant later the decks heaved under him as the bomb exploded, and before the noise of falling debris had subsided came the splintering crash of the machine tearing through the rigging. The forward wireless mast was flung against the funnel, and while Biggles rolled clear of the flying splinters came the dull whoosh of exploding petrol.
Biggles, scrambling to his feet, saw that the deck was aflame with flowing petrol. Àlgy! Ginger!' he yelled.
The others came crawling from the hatch behind which they had taken cover.
Lifebelts !' jerked out Biggles. This way. We've got about two minutes.'
Ignoring the captain and the surviving members of the crew, who were screaming hysterically as they tried to launch a lifeboat, he made his way to the lifebelt locker abaft the wrecked bridge. He passed a lifebelt to each of the others and proceeded to put on his own.
`What about a boat ?' said Ginger.
`Look !' Biggles pointed to the frenzied crew. 'They'll never get that boat on the water.
There! What did I tell you ?' he sneered, as the bow of the boat swung down, throwing those who were already in it into the water. 'Come on, let's get clear. She'll roll over any moment now.'
As he spoke Biggles kicked off his shoes. The others did the same, and then, climbing over the rail, ran down the side of the heeling ship into the water.
`Keep together,' ordered Biggles as he struck out in a steady breast stroke away from the doomed vessel. Not until he was at what he considered a safe distance from it—for he was well aware of the vortex caused by a sinking ship, a vortex that would drag down everything that came within it—did he slow down. Turning, he looked at the stricken vessel.
It presented a terrible picture, a spectacle that none of them would ever forget. She was going down by the nose, her stern, with its twin propellers, being high in the air.
Explosion followed explosion, mingled with the hiss of escaping steam. The entire deck, or that part of it that had not yet been submerged, was a sheet of flame. The petrol had even run down into the water, where it lapped against the iron sides of the ship as if impatient to conclude the work of destruction. Screams arose from the members of the crew who had been overtaken by the ever-spreading tide of burning spirit. Helpless, the three comrades could only watch.
`There she goes,' murmured Biggles.
The doomed ship slid forward like a great fish submerging. The waters closed over her, leaving nothing to show that she had ever been. All that remained was an area of what appeared to be burning water, a curious phenomenon on the blue sea.
`Well, ten minutes ago you were wanting something to happen,' remarked Algy quietly to Biggles. `You've got your wish.'
`So it seems,' agreed Biggles evenly. 'But this, I need hardly say, is rather more than I bargained for. How far do you reckon we are from land ?'
`Ten miles.'
Ì should say rather less. There was a haze on the water.'
`Can we make it, do you think ?' inquired Ginger.
`Lifebelts ought to keep us afloat for twenty-four hours. There is no tide in the Mediterranean, but if the current is favourable we ought to reach Spain. If it isn't, then it'
s no use. In that case our only chance is to be picked up by a ship. Our wireless operator might have had time to get out an S 0 S, but I doubt it. That first bomb hit somewhere near his cabin. Let's paddle towards the coast. Take it gently. It's no use exhausting ourselves.'
CHAPTER II
A SWIM IN THE DARK
Fort a long time they paddled on in silence, without apparently getting any nearer to the distant coast, which only showed as a faint blue shadow. It was difficult to tell, as Biggles pointed out to the others, at the same time expressing his apprzciation of the fact that the sea was both calm and warm. The risk of succumbing to exposure was, therefore, greatly reduced.
Referring to their progress, he drew the others' attention to the fact that the distance of their horizon was now different from what it had been when they were on the ship, for then they were looking at it from an elevation of rather more than thirty feet. Another factor for which allowance had to be made was the westering sun ; it was now on their left, whereas at noon it had been behind them. As evening was approaching, it was also a good deal lower in the sky.
With the coming of dusk the sea fell to a dead calm; not even a ripple stirred the surface.
Not a boat of any description came within their restricted field of vision. They swam on quietly through a lonely sea, the only sound the gentle surging of the water around their bodies. Presently the distant shadows which they were hoping to reach merged with sea and sky, but with the closing in of night a
lighthouse flashed an intermittent beam across the sky and gave them their direction.
Ginger cried aloud in alarm as a black body broke the surface of the water near them ; he gasped his relief when Biggles announced that it was only a harmless porpoise. They swam on into the deepening gloom. Pinpoints of light appeared in the distance.
After what seemed to Ginger to be an eternity of time, Biggles announced cheerfully that they were making progress. 'I think we've struck a favourable current,' he said. 'The lights are brighter than they were half an hour ago.'
Ì can see one moving,' declared Algy. Ì think it's a car going along a road.'
Ì think you're right,' agreed Biggles. `Let's have
a breather.'
They ceased swimming and floated in their life-belts.
`How long have we been in the water ?' asked Ginger.
Àbout six hours, for a guess. Has anybody got a watch ? I left mine in the cabin.'
Algy and Ginger announced that they had done the same.
`Has anybody any money ?' next inquired Biggles.
Algy announced that he had none at all. He had
left all he had in the pocket of the slacks he had worn on the previous day. Ginger thought he
had a pound in English money, and some change.
`Then we are going to have a rough passage home,' announced Biggles. 'I've only a pound or two, and a few hundred francs which I got for use in Marseilles. The rest of my money is in travellers' cheques, and I doubt if any one will cash them in Spain.'
`Let's get to Spain first. We'll get home all right if we do,' put in Algy.
Ì think you're right,' returned Biggles, 'but unless we can get to the British Vice-Consul in Barcelona, or some other big town, it may not be so simple as you seem to imagine.
You haven't by any chance forgotten that Spain is in the throes of a civil war ?'
`No, I haven't.'
Ànd you haven't overlooked the fact that in order to travel in a foreign country you need a passport ? Have you got yours on you ?'
`Gosh—no. It was in my suitcase.'
`So was mine—and so, I'll bet, was Ginger's. I thought of it on the ship, but I didn't feel like taking the risk of fetching it. Good thing I didn't; if I had I should have gone down with the ship. No matter. Don't let's worry about that now. Everything will turn out all right, although it would probably be easier if one of us could speak the language. I know only about a dozen words of Spanish. But let 's push on. I don't think we've very far to go now.'
The reason for Biggles's optimism was obvious.
The coast, or rather the innumerable lights that studded it, could be clearly seen. A little farther along, a maze of lights radiated from a common centre, and marked the position of what could only be a big city. It was soon apparent, too, that the current was carrying them along the coast towards it.
18 Biggles In Spain Page 1