`By thunder! He's not the only one!' declared Ginger weakly, but with heavy sarcasm. `
So it was you I was trying to shoot down,' he added.
`Yes. Of course, you would have to choose me.'
'I was in the right mood to shoot down anybody,' declared Ginger.
Àre you hurt?'
'No, but I'm wet, and I'm cold, to say nothing of being tired and hungry,' announced Ginger. 'What about going home? I'm fed up with this. For the love of Mike, what's going on here, anyway? Where's Algy?'
`The Germans have got him. He's a prisoner in a store ship in the fiord.'
Ì thought I'd cleared that bunch out,' swore Ginger furiously.
`You didn't do so badly,' grinned Biggles. 'One of the ships ran aground. The Boche have gone back there now, but they've no aircraft—at least, they hadn't any when I left. This was the only one, so I borrowed it. Schaffer decided to take me down to Oslo to find out just who I was; at least, that was the intention, but on the way down we had a little dispute as to who should do the flying—and I won.'
`So what?' demanded Ginger.
`There are two things we've got to do, and there's no time to be lost.'
Ìs that all?' sneered Ginger. 'The last time I saw you there was only one thing to do, which was to get Algy out of Boda. Now there are two things. At the rate we're going there will soon be three.'
Ì shouldn't be surprised,' sighed Biggles.
`Well, what are these things we've got to do?' demanded Ginger.
`First, get a message to the Admiralty. Second, get Algy out of the clutches of the Nazis.'
Òkay, go ahead,' invited Ginger. 'I can't think any more.'
Ì'm afraid you'll have to try,' returned Biggles seriously, and described the trap into which the British fleet was steaming.
`What d'you suggest?' queried Ginger.
`We've got to move fast,' Biggles told him. 'Schaffer is ashore, and while he's got some way to go I expect he'll make for the fiord. We shall have to part company again. You put me ashore somewhere near the fiord, and then go on and warn the fleet about the trap. I'll try to get hold of Algy.'
`How am I going to get near the fleet in this swastika-painted kite? They'll shoot me to bits as soon as I show up.'
`That's a little problem you'll have to work out for yourself,' declared Biggles. 'But I think your best plan would be to locate the fleet, and then land on the water somewhere ahead, with your prop stopped. They won't shoot at you if they think you're disabled, and they'll certainly pick you up. Tell the skipper about the trap and ask him to send word to the troop transports.'
`Good enough,' agreed Ginger. 'Where shall I put you ashore?'
`Fly along the coast for about twenty miles; then anywhere will do.'
Ànd what are you going to do? I mean, how shall I get in touch with you again?'
Ì shall make for the fiord and try to make contact with Algy. You'll have to come back and pick us up. You should have no difficulty in getting hold of a machine-you might even go on using this one. If I get Algy away we shall stick to the coast. You'll have to try to spot us; there's no other way. We'll make a smoke signal if we can. Now get going, or it will be dark, and then you'll have a job to find our ships.'
The sun was in fact fast sinking towards the horizon as Ginger took off and headed north, keeping close to the coastline. After a flight of ten minutes he landed again, near the entrance to a tiny fiord, into which he taxied.
`This will do fine,' announced Biggles.
`Suppose someone sees you go ashore?' queried Ginger.
Ìt won't matter, since I'm landing from a German machine, and in a German uniform,'
Biggles pointed out, as Ginger taxied to a natural wharf so that Biggles could land dry-shod.
Biggles clambered up on the rocks. 'So long,' he called. 'Don't forget that everything depends on you now.'
Ginger waved. T11 get through,' he promised, and turned towards the open sea.
Biggles watched him take off, and then, making his way to the top of the cliff, he turned towards Fiord 21.
Ginger headed north-west, scanning the ever widening area of sea that became visible as he climbed higher and higher. It may seem strange that it had not occurred to him that he might be unable to find the ships he sought, but then it must be remembered that he was aware of their objective, and assumed that they would be steaming straight towards it; moreover, prior to his making contact with Biggles, his ship had actually been operating with the fleet, so he knew where it was at that time.
It was not until he had been flying for nearly an hour, by which time sea and sky had merged in a mysterious twilight, that doubts began to assail him, doubts that sharpened quickly to alarm as his petrol gauge fell back and neither ship nor 'plane broke the loneliness that surrounded him. In something like a panic he climbed higher in ever increasing circles. He could still see the rim of the sun, a slip of glowing gold, but he knew that it was invisible to those at sea level where purple shadows, fast darkening to sullen indigo,
were obliterating the gently heaving water. With sinking heart he flew on, nursing his engine until the inevitable happened. It backfired as the petrol supply dried up; then it stopped altogether, and he had no alternative but to drop his nose and begin a long glide towards the sea. When, finally, he was compelled to land, he was in the grip of a despair such as he had seldom known. It was aggravated by a sense of impotence. He felt that he had let Biggles down; that he had let everyone down. Too late he realized that the last thing the fleet would do was to sail directly towards its objective.
There was absolutely nothing he could do except climb on to the centre-section and stare dumbly into the leaden darkness that surrounded him. Except for a gentle slap of wavelets against the hull of his machine, silence reigned. Fortunately for him the sea was calm, but he had no guarantee that it would remain so, and he was well aware that should the wind freshen, bringing with it a heavy sea, then his frail craft, with no means of maintaining headway, would quickly break up. Not that he thought very much about this; he was far too concerned over the failure of his mission.
How long he sat there he had no idea; he lost all count of time; but he reckoned that it was approaching midnight when he heard a distant sound that set the blood coursing through his veins. The sound was faint, but there was no mistaking it; it was the dull methodical beat of a heavy engine, but whether it was made by a British ship or a German Ginger had no means of knowing. The sound grew louder as the minutes passed, implying that the vessel was approaching, but as it showed no lights he was as yet unable to see it. He was showing no lights, either; nor, for that matter, had he any to show; so he was well aware that unless the vessel passed within hailing distance he would not be seen. The question that now arose, and he felt that it was a vital one, was this. Should he hail, or should he not? If he did, and the vessel turned out to be British, then all would be well; on the other hand, if it proved to be a German, then the worst would have happened. He decided to take the risk for since there were more British craft than German on the North Sea, he felt that the odds were in his favour.
A squat, bulky ship took shape in the darkness, not more than a cable's length away.
Evidently the lookout did not see him, for it ploughed straight on without altering course, chugging into the darkness of the night on its unknown mission. Drawing a deep breath, and cupping his hands round his mouth, he let out a hail.
It was answered immediately.
Àhoy there! Who are you?' came a voice—in English.
Ginger fairly gasped with relief. 'Friend!' he yelled back. Ì'm in an aircraft, on the water.
I've run out of fuel.'
'Stand by while we come about,' sang the unseen sailor.
A bell rang and the black hull slowed down, churning the water as it swung round in a wide curve. In a few minutes it was alongside, and Ginger could just see a knot of figures near the rail discussing him in low tones. He heard someone say, 'Blimey! Look
No doubt his voice did much to prove his assertion, and he was soon taken aboard what turned out to be a British armed trawler, under the command of a naval officer. The aircraft having been taken in tow, Ginger was led to a cabin, where he explained his plight to two keen-faced officers, one of whom was the captain. To them, hardly pausing for breath, he poured out his story, laying particular emphasis on the trap that had been laid in West-fiord for the British fleet. He also described the base which the Germans had established in Fiord 21, and mentioned the store-ship that was still there.
When he had finished he was given some refreshment while the naval officers withdrew to confer. 'Whatever you do you must stop the fleet,' he told them desperately. 'I suppose you've got wireless?'
`We have, but we're sailing under orders,' replied the captain. 'What's more, we're only supposed to use our radio in case of dire emergency. It's dangerous. The enemy can pick a message up as well as our people, don't forget.'
`But you've got a code.'
`Yes, we have,' admitted the naval officer, who seemed to be rather worried.
And that is all Ginger was told. The officers departed and a steward brought into the cabin a square meal, which pleased Ginger not a little, for he felt that he could now safely leave things to the Navy. Somehow or other they would do what was required.
What he himself was going to do he did not know. Engrossed in his meal, and thinking of the present rather than of the future, he had not even considered this aspect when he was flung across the cabin by a fearful explosion which took him completely unawares. Instantly all the lights went out.
As he picked himself up he heard shouts on the deck above, and other noises which convinced him in a vague sort of way—for he was too shaken for lucid thought—that the ship had blown up. His meal forgotten, he made his way—not without difficulty for the trawler had taken on a heavy list—to the deck. He realized that some sailors near him were lowering a boat, but the darkness was such that he could see nothing distinctly; nor could he make out what was happening. The trawler lurched again, and almost before he was aware of his danger water was swirling round his legs. A sailor hurried past him, shouting, `Swim for it, boys!'
Ginger would have asked him what had happened, but before he could do so the man had disappeared into the darkness. He moved forward, only to fall over what turned out to be a pile of lifebelts. Not knowing the ship, he had no idea where he was. There was no confusion; occasionally he saw forms in the gloom, but beyond the fact that the trawler was sinking he could not get a grasp on the situation. All he could see fairly clearly were the upper works of the vessel; they were leaning over at an angle so acute that they made
him feel giddy. The doomed vessel lurched again, causing a great hissing of steam, and he realized that if he were to avoid being sucked down in the vortex, the sailor's advice to
'swim for it' was not to be ignored. Sliding across the deck, he jumped blindly into the sea, and as soon as he came to the surface he started swimming as fast as he could to place as great a distance as possible between him and the vessel. He could still see nothing,
but there were shouts in the darkness around him. They sounded strangely unreal.
Whether he swam into the submarine, or whether it rose up under him, he never knew.
He was suddenly aware of a black bulk right beside him, and, instinctively, he tried to climb on to it; but his clawing fingers could get no grip on the smooth metal. After that the whole thing became a nightmare. He didn't know what was happening and he didn't much care. The fact was that exhaustion and shock had reduced him to a state of semi-consciousness. In a dreamy sort of way he was aware of hands clutching at his jacket, and dragging him up. What happened after that he did not know.
Chapter 14
Trapped!
After he had watched Ginger out of sight Biggles made his way cautiously to the fiord. It took him some time to reach it, and if he had entertained any doubts about its still being occupied they were dispelled even before he reached the rim. Judging from numerous voices, and a certain amount of hammering, it sounded as if salvage work was in progress.
From the edge of the cliff, which by this time he knew well, he looked down; but all was shrouded in darkness, and except for a cluster of lights near the stranded store-ship, whence came the noise of hammering, he could see nothing. It was towards this ship that Algy had been led, so he assumed-and hoped—that he would he in it. All his plans for rescue depended on that one fact. If Algy was not there, then he would not know where to look for him; but if he had been confined in the ship, then one factor was in his favour. He had not failed to note that the airmen and the sailors went about their work almost unmindful of each other, so there seemed a reasonable chance that, although the German airmen had been informed by Schaffer of his suspicions concerning Biggles's real identity, the sailors knew nothing about it. After all, he thought, as far as the officers of the air squadron were concerned, he, Biggles, was by this time safely lodged in Oslo; and there appeared to be no reason why they should discuss the matter with the sailors. If that were so, then the sailors would know nothing about him. They would not know him by sight even if they saw him, and they certainly would not be prepared for an attempt to rescue their prisoner.
Biggles made his way down the landslide without any great difficulty, but he took no chances and moved with extreme caution. Having reached the water-level, he then had to make his way along it to the rock on which the ship was beached. Fortunately it lay between him and the airmen's camp, so he was saved the difficult business of getting through that. Looking along the beach, he could just make out the silhouette of a Dornier flying-boat riding at anchor a few yards from the shore, and he noted its position carefully.
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.
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