Biggles Defies the Swastika

by W E Johns

  What concerned him now was the fact that the ship lay a short distance out—perhaps thirty or forty yards. In order that the sailors could get to and fro, an improvised gangway, consisting of a number of planks, had been erected. This gangway was in constant use, and on the face of it, it appeared to be out of the question to get on board without coming face to face with some of the sailors. Admittedly, he was wearing a German officer’s uniform, so there was a chance that the seamen would take no notice of him. Even if he were questioned, he thought, he might be able to bluff his way through. Nevertheless, this involved a certain amount of risk which would be better avoided if it were possible. After considering the problem for a little while he decided he would only use the gangway if he could find no other means of getting on board.

  Moving nearer, he was delighted but not altogether surprised to see on the water, close to the narrow strip of beach, a small collapsible canoe, of the sort used by the marine branch of the German Air Force; that is to say, it was of the pneumatic type, to be inflated when required. Such boats were standard equipment in all German sea-going aircraft. Evidently it had been required for some purpose, presumably to enable the sailors to get to and from the ship without using the gangway—or else to enable them to examine the far side of the ship from water-level. Biggles felt that if he could secure this useful craft without being observed it would serve his purpose admirably.

  The fact that it was dark simplified his task; and that the sailors were too concerned with their respective duties to notice what others were doing, was another factor in his favour. So, taking every opportunity when the coast was clear, he worked his way along the beach, drawing ever closer to his objective, until at last he slipped quietly into the frail craft and pushed himself clear. Any noise that he made, and it was negligible, was drowned in the hammering that was still going on. Picking up the paddle, he worked his way round to the far side of the ship—that is, the side farthest from the shore, and from which, of course, he could not be seen from the beach. Here he felt comparatively safe, and he experienced that thrill of satisfaction which comes when a difficult job has been well begun.

  The next step was to discover, if possible, the cabin in which Algy was confined. That it would be fitted with a porthole he felt sure, but even so there was no indication of the side of the ship it would be on. He had simply gone to the far side first because it presented less danger than the near side. If he could not locate Algy, then he would have to go aboard to seek him, trusting in his uniform, or the Gestapo pass, to carry him through if he were questioned.

  He spent nearly half an hour working up and down the side of the vessel, trying each porthole in turn, peeping into those that were open and tapping on the glass of those which were not. But it was all in vain, and finally he was compelled reluctantly to conclude that Algy must be on the other side of the ship; either that or in a central hold unprovided with any direct communication with the outer air. It was clear that no further progress could be made unless he actually went on board the ship, and this he now determined to do. A rope ladder hung conveniently—too conveniently he afterwards realized—from the rail, and up this he now proceeded. As his eyes drew level with the deck he looked around. Not a soul was about. In a moment he had swung a leg over the bulwarks and was aboard. A ventilator offered a handy hiding-place, but he had not taken more than two paces towards it when a voice spoke.

  ‘Welcome on board, Major Bigglesworth,’ it said mockingly.

  Biggles spun round. And that was all he could do, for menacing him from half a dozen places were as many weapons. He could not distinguish the features of the man who had spoken, but he recognized the voice only too well: it was that of von Stalhein.

  The German stepped forward. ‘We were expecting you,’ he said suavely.

  ‘And just why were you expecting me?’ inquired Biggles.

  Von Stalhein laughed softly. ‘With Lacey here, a prisoner, it was obviously only a question of time before you arrived.’

  Biggles perceived the truth of this assertion, and bit his lip in vexation.

  ‘I was so sure that you’d come,’ continued von Stalhein pleasantly, ‘that I arranged for a boat to be convenient, and for a rope ladder to enable you to get aboard. So you see, Major Bigglesworth, we can do a little planning—as well as you.’

  ‘You’ve been so slow about it this time that I’d almost forgotten it,’ rejoined Biggles smoothly. ‘I’ll be more careful on future occasions.’

  ‘It is unlikely that there will be any future occasions,’ said von Stalhein softly.

  ‘I seem to have heard you say that before, too,’ Biggles told him.

  ‘Quite right,’ admitted the German frankly, ‘but we all learn from experience—or we should. As far as you are concerned, I’m afraid the opportunity has passed. Hitherto it has always been a source of irritation to me that at least one of you was at large, even although I held the other two; but at last, as was bound to happen sooner or later, I have you all in the net together. You cannot imagine the satisfaction that it gives me.’

  Biggles did not understand. He knew, of course, that Algy was a prisoner, but von Stalhein spoke as if he held Ginger, too, and that, surely, was impossible. He suspected a trap, and was careful to be non-committal in his reply. ‘Congratulations,’ was all he said.

  ‘Ah, I see there is a doubt in your mind,’ continued von Stalhein imperturbably. ‘A doubt about our young friend with the difficult name—Hebblethwaite. You will be sorry to learn that he has had a piece of bad luck.’

  ‘Really?’ Biggles was still taking no chances of giving information away.

  ‘Yes,’ went on the other, fitting a cigarette into a long holder. ‘He had the misfortune to fall into the sea, where he would certainly have drowned had it not been for the timely arrival of one of our submarines, which rescued him. The commander of the submarine that picked him up signalled to his base for instructions, so, naturally, as the boat was not far away, I asked for him to be brought here. Presently you will all be together, when you will be able to compare notes, and ascertain, perhaps, how and where your plan went wrong.’

  Biggles did not know whether to believe him or not, but it was not like the German to lie over such a matter; there appeared to be no point in it; moreover, there was a ring of confidence in his voice that made the statement sound like the truth. Biggles realized that such a state of affairs as the one von Stalhein had described might easily have come to pass.

  ‘You certainly seem to hold all the cards,’ he conceded. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  Von Stalhein ignored the question. ‘How would you like to have a chat with Lacey?’ he suggested.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I am sorry Hebblethwaite is not here yet, but his arrival cannot be long delayed. When he comes I’ll send him down to join you. I’m sure he will be overjoyed to see you again, even though, of course, the reunion will be for a short time only. I am very busy at the moment, as you will readily believe, but I can give you until the morning to write any messages that you may wish to send home. Colonel Raymond, for example, will doubtless be anxious to hear how it all came about—unless he is too overwhelmed by the disaster which by that time will have overtaken the British naval forces operating on the Norwegian coast. With your admirable knack of learning things, no doubt you have heard about the little surprise we have in store.’

  ‘Mind your scheme doesn’t go off in your hand and burn your fingers,’ warned Biggles coolly. ‘The ships aren’t in the fiord yet.’

  He spoke mockingly, but his heart was sick, for if what von Stalhein had said was indeed true, and there seemed little reason to doubt it, then he could not imagine how the fleet could escape.

  Von Stalhein went on. ‘After your recent feverish activities—carried out, I must confess, with your customary initiative and zeal—you must be weary. Come below and join Lacey. Oh, we’d better have that pistol of yours, if you don’t mind.’

  Biggles had no a
lternative but to hand over the weapon. To attempt to use it at this juncture would have been suicidal, for he was still covered by half a dozen weapons at point-blank range. Having handed it over, he proceeded with an escort down the companion-way.

  As he had already begun to suspect, the cabin in which Algy was confined turned out to be in the middle of the ship. Light was admitted during the day through a heavy glass skylight in the deck immediately overhead. An armed sentry was on duty outside the door.

  Von Stalhein opened it and went in. The cabin was lighted by a single unprotected electric-light globe. ‘A friend of yours to see you,’ he said, with just a trace of cold humour in his voice.

  Algy was sitting on a bunk, but he jumped up when he saw Biggles. ‘Hello! I expected you’d be along,’ he said cheerfully.

  Von Stalhein screwed his monocle into his eye. ‘This is a picture I’ve always wanted to see,’ he remarked softly. ‘Well, I shall have to leave you now. Make the most of your time. The fiord will be abandoned first thing in the morning, but as our accommodation is limited you will not be coming with us.’

  ‘Quite so,’ answered Biggles calmly.

  ‘Your young friend will be joining you shortly,’ promised von Stalhein, and went out.

  The door was bolted on the outside, and the sentry resumed his pacing up and down.

  Biggles seated himself on the bunk. ‘So here we are,’ he murmured.

  ‘How did it happen?’ asked Algy—referring, of course, to Biggles’s capture.

  ‘I was trying to get to you, but unfortunately von Stalhein anticipated the move and was waiting for me. I should have come anyway, of course.’

  ‘I was afraid of that,’ said Algy sadly. ‘I suppose he told you about Ginger being captured?’

  Biggles nodded.

  ‘D’you think it’s true?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. I don’t see what purpose he could have in lying to us.’

  ‘How did they get hold of him, I wonder?’

  ‘We got together during the day,’ explained Biggles. ‘You saw me take off with Schaffer? As soon as we were in the air I grabbed the machine. Ginger was hanging about outside the fiord, and in trying to shoot us down got shot down himself. I picked him up, and then came ashore while he went off in the machine to look for the fleet. Presumably he was shot down, or ran out of petrol; anyway, he must have found himself on the water, and was picked up by a U-boat. It’s this business of the fleet that upsets me more than anything.’

  ‘He might have got through to it.’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘I doubt it. If he did, it’s unlikely that he would have been captured.’

  ‘He might have delivered the message and then started back to pick us up, hoping that we’d got away.’

  ‘There’s just a chance of that,’ agreed Biggles, ‘but somehow it doesn’t strike me as being the answer. If he was picked up by a U-boat, then he must have been in the water, and had all been well he wouldn’t have been in that position.’

  Algy shook his head. ‘I still think he might have been prowling about the coast looking for us, and ran into trouble.’

  ‘It’s no use guessing,’ declared Biggles. ‘No doubt he’ll tell us how it happened when he arrives—not that it matters very much now. Von Stalhein has got us in a nasty jam, and it would be foolish to deny it. Still, it isn’t the first time.’

  ‘I gather from what he told me that he intends to—er—dispose of us in the morning.’

  ‘That, I imagine, is his idea,’ returned Biggles. ‘But it isn’t mine. Morning is a long way off. Let’s have a look round to see if there’s any way out of this den.’

  ‘There isn’t—I’ve looked,’ returned Algy promptly.

  ‘Jack Shepherd once asserted, and on more than one occasion proved, that neither bolts nor bars will hold a man if he is determined to get out. There’s always a way—if you can find it. Let’s try.’

  They made a complete survey of the cabin, and were soon forced to admit that escape appeared to be a hopeless proposition. There were only two exits. One was the door, which was bolted and guarded by a sentry. The other was the skylight in the deck, which they had no means of reaching; in any case it seemed to be fastened from the outside. For the rest, a glance was enough to reveal the futility of trying to make any impression on the heavy, hard-wood timbers of which the ship was built. It would have been difficult enough with proper tools, and they had nothing remotely resembling a cutting instrument. Nor was there a fitment of any sort that could be removed and used as a weapon. There was a bunk at one end of the cabin, but like everything else it was stoutly built and offered no solution to the problem. There was a mattress in it, together with a rather dirty sheet and an old brown blanket. Biggles looked at them reflectively for a moment or two and then turned back to Algy.

  ‘I agree with you in this respect,’ he said. ‘There’s only one way out of this room, and that’s the way we came in—through the door.’

  ‘It’s not likely to be opened.’

  ‘On the contrary, it will be opened when Ginger arrives.’

  ‘Yes, but he’ll have an escort of at least two or three armed men with him. We’re hardly in a case to take them on with our bare fists.’

  ‘By the time they arrive we ought to have something better than bare fists,’ asserted Biggles. ‘After all, we have this advantage. We know that the worst that can happen is that we shall be shot, and as we shall be shot in any case if we don’t get away, we’ve nothing to lose if we fail.’

  ‘Really, they’ve absolutely no right to shoot us,’ protested Algy.

  ‘What von Stalhein has a right to do, and what he does, are two entirely different things,’ returned Biggles smiling. ‘If he needs an excuse for treating me as a spy, he’s got one in this Boche uniform I’m wearing. But we’re wasting time. I’m going to see about getting out.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Certainly. There’s only one sentry on duty. We’ll tackle him first.’

  Biggles took up a position immediately under the electric-light bulb. ‘Switch off the light,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t want to electrocute myself.’

  Algy crossed to the switch and turned off the light. He heard the sound of a jump, followed by a splintering noise. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ he muttered.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve got what I wanted,’ answered Biggles. ‘It’s the electric flex.’ As he spoke he removed the bulb from the end.

  ‘What are you going to do with that wire?’

  ‘I’ll show you. What I want you to do now is lie here, just inside the door, and groan. When the sentry comes in he’s bound to look at you—enough light will come in from the corridor for him to see you. I shall then proceed to throttle him with the noose I’m making in this flex. All right, go ahead with the groaning; I’m all ready, and we’ve no time to waste.’

  Algy did as he was told, and his groans echoed pitifully in the little cabin. Biggles waited until he heard the sentry’s footsteps approaching and then hammered on the door.

  The sentry stopped. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘My friend is ill—I think he’s dying,’ answered Biggles, and Algy’s groans seemed to confirm his statement.

  A key scraped in the lock and the German looked in, bayonet at the ready. It was obvious from his attitude that he was taking no risks. ‘What’s happened to the light?’ he asked, glancing up.

  ‘It went out,’ replied Biggles vaguely.

  The sentry looked at Biggles, who was standing in a passive, dejected attitude, and then took a pace nearer to Algy, who was curled up on the floor, still groaning. He leaned towards him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked gruffly.

  Biggles jumped like a cat, slipped the noose over the man’s head, and in a single jerk pulled it taut round his bare throat, cutting short the cry that rose to his lips. The rifle clattered to the floor as instinctively he clutched with both hands at the wire which was throttling him.

  ‘
Shut the door,’ snapped Biggles.

  Algy jumped to the door and closed it.

  Biggles forced the sentry to the floor. ‘Keep still or I’ll choke you,’ he snarled. Then to Algy, ‘Get that sheet. Tear it into strips and tie him while I hold him.’

  The sentry made no resistance. Indeed, as he was already nearly dead, he was in no condition to do so.

  ‘Buck up,’ urged Biggles. ‘I don’t want to kill the wretched fellow.’

  For a minute or two, after he had loosened the wire, he really thought he had killed him, for the man’s eyes were projecting and his tongue hanging out. His body was limp. However, by applying artificial respiration they restored him, after which Biggles relieved him of his jacket and trousers. This done, he was securely bound and gagged, and lifted into the bunk. The blanket was spread over him.

  ‘Why all this performance?’ queried Algy. ‘There’s nothing to prevent us making a bolt for it, is there?’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten Ginger,’ Biggles reminded him. ‘We can’t go without him. From now on I’m the sentry. As he spoke Biggles threw off his officer’s uniform and put on that of the soldier. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on Fritz,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going outside.’

  ‘I get it,’ answered Algy, as Biggles picked up the rifle and went out into the corridor.

  ‘All clear,’ he whispered; then he locked the door and took up the sentry’s duties.

  It was clear that everything now depended upon Ginger’s early arrival, for should this be delayed a dozen contingencies might arise to betray the plot. The sentry might be relieved; von Stalhein might come and recognition follow; the N.C.O. in charge of the guard might come along and perceive that the sentry was not the man he had posted. Still it did not occur to Biggles to leave the boat without Ginger. The minutes ticked by. All seemed quiet. The men who had been working outside had evidently been dismissed.