Biggles Buries a Hatchet

by W E Johns

  ‘I can’t see how that is possible,’ replied Fritz, morosely. ‘Even if we threw him a file he’d be seen using it.’

  ‘If he was in the open, yes.’

  ‘Where else could he be?’

  ‘In here.’

  Fritz stared at Biggles’ face. ‘You mean — inside this heap of rubbish with us?’

  ‘With you, anyway.’

  ‘He’d be missed at once.’

  ‘Not if someone else took his place.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘They’d see you weren’t a prisoner.’

  ‘They might not if I was wearing prison clothes.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have time to change clothes with my uncle, if that’s what you mean, before he was missed.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be necessary to change clothes. I would come here in prison clothes. Pat has an outfit I’m sure he’d be glad to get rid of. I’d take over your uncle’s job while he was in here with you filing off the shackle. With two of you working, one at each end of the chain, it shouldn’t take long to get rid of it.’

  Fritz was still staring at Biggles’ face. ‘Now I begin to understand,’ he said, softly.

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Why you so often got the better of Uncle Erich. He once told me that the devil himself had nothing on you for resourcefulness.’

  Biggles grinned. ‘That was nice of him. I must try not to let him down now.’ He became serious. ‘I have an idea, but it depends largely on the weather.’

  ‘How did you get this idea?’

  ‘That guard who stood here gave it to me when he dropped the match and nearly smoked us out. But I must think more about it. We’ll discuss details later. Here comes Erich. Tell him if all goes well we shall be back here tomorrow.’

  Fritz passed on the message at the first opportunity, after which there was little more to say, and those within the mound, stiff and nearly frozen by an icy draught that came in through the cracks, could only wait in patience for dusk, when the workings would again be abandoned. It did not come too soon for either of them, and when at twilight the prisoners were mustered, counted and marched away, and Biggles pushed a hole in the mound to enable them to get out, their limbs were so cramped by long confinement that they had difficulty in moving at all. However, some violent exercise soon corrected that. They repaired the hole they had made and checked they had left nothing inside.

  ‘I don’t like the look of that sky,’ said Biggles, after a glance at it.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’s a change in the weather coming. I didn’t like the yellow in those clouds coming in from the sea.’

  ‘If it rains it may get a little warmer.’

  ‘If it gets a little warmer it’s more likely to snow,’ returned Biggles. ‘There’s snow in those clouds. If it snows we’ve had it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Use your head, Fritz. If we get a fall of snow how can we move about without leaving tracks?’

  ‘I didn’t think of that,’ confessed Fritz.

  ‘Snow would also put paid to part of my escape plan,’ said Biggles. ‘But let’s not stand talking here. Let’s get home.’

  Moving from mound to mound, always with an eye for danger, they made their way through the gathering gloom. Biggles heading for the clumps of birches which occurred on the near side of the river bank. It was not the shortest way to the bridge, he said, but it might be the safest way.

  And so, in fact, it turned out, for having reached the birches, while they were still some little distance from their immediate objective, which was of course the bridge that would enable them to cross the river without getting soaked, they heard voices. However, with plenty of cover available they kept on until the bridge came into sight. By this time it was too dark to see anything distinctly, and at first all that could be seen was the glowing end of a cigar or cigarette. But as their eyes became adjusted to the darkness it became possible to make out two figures at the far end of the bridge.

  ‘If the bridge has had a full-time guard put on it it’s going to be too bad,’ whispered Biggles. ‘I don’t fancy swimming on a night like this, or even wading the ford where Pat made his getaway, but we shall have to get across somehow. We’ll wait a while to see what happens. Can you hear what those two fellows are talking about?’

  ‘No.’

  They waited, the delay being made no less irksome by an icy wind that seemed to be getting stronger. However, the end was promised when, nearly an hour later, two more men appeared on the track, coming from the direction of the estuary. It was apparently for these that the others were waiting, for after a brief conversation they all crossed the bridge as if they intended going straight on to the prison.

  It was at this moment, just when the impatient watchers were mentally congratulating themselves that their tiresome wait had at last come to an end, that without the slightest warning a minor pandemonium broke out. There was a sudden shout. A split second later a rifle cracked and a bullet crashed its way through the slender twigs of the birches in which Biggles and Fritz were standing ready to move on. A second shot followed the first.

  Biggles went flat, dragging Fritz down with him, for the bullets had passed unpleasantly close. Naturally, he could only assume that they had been discovered, although he was completely mystified as to how this could have happened, for neither of them had moved or made a sound. All he could do was pull out his automatic and brace himself for anything that might happen. His worst fears appeared to be confirmed when to his ears came the thud of hooves galloping towards them. Then came a crash as a body smashed into the shrubs and an instant later a vague shape plunged past them. Biggles caught only a fleeting glimpse of it, but he saw from its size that it was not the horseman he had expected. The creature was an animal, a roebuck he thought. Then of course he realized what had happened. The animal, which the guards must have roused, was the target. But the danger had not yet passed. Voices approached, one man laying emphasis on his words.

  ‘He’s saying he hit the beast,’ breathed Fritz, who must also have perceived the cause of the commotion. ‘They’re going to look for it.’

  ‘Lie still, it’s our best chance,’ flashed back Biggles.

  So there they lay on the damp, mossy ground, while the four men beat about looking for the deer which the shooter was convinced he had hit. It may have been he, who, anxious to prove his claim, pushed his way into the shrubs, at one moment standing within a yard or two of where Biggles was lying with most of his face covered so that it would not show, although the darkness was such that there was little chance of this.

  The men hung about for some minutes before abandoning the quest. Then they moved off, still arguing, in the direction of the prison. As the voices receded Biggles drew a deep breath.

  ‘That was terrible,’ murmured Fritz.

  ‘I’ve told you before it isn’t the expected dangers that get you down,’ returned Biggles, lugubriously. ‘It’s those that jump at you out of the blue — like that confounded beast.’

  ‘It was the deer they were shooting at?’

  ‘Yes. A roe. Only a small animal, but it gave me a big fright,’ said Biggles. ‘Let’s get on. The others will be getting worried about us.’

  They crossed the bridge and went on down the river bank. Biggles anxious to get back to the Otter after having been away for so much longer than he expected. But there was no question of hurrying. Deep night had fallen, and with a sky now completely covered by cloud the darkness was such as to make any sort of progress difficult. For this reason, to try to spy out the track ahead could serve no real purpose. It was practically impossible to see anything. All they could do was stand still from time to time to listen, hoping that sounds would betray any more guards who might be on the track. Not even this precaution was to be relied on, for the rustle of the rushes and the moaning of the wind in the firs would probably drown all other sounds.

  In such conditions as these Biggles t
hought they might have difficulty in finding the aircraft, and when a spatter of driving sleet struck them in the face it seemed as if nature itself was doing its utmost to impede them. Fortunately this did not last long, but it was a warning of what might be on the way. As he had told Fritz, snow would make moving about doubly dangerous by reason of the tracks they would leave, although unless the snow was heavy it would be unlikely to penetrate the trees to the forest floor. Even so, they would not be able to stay in the forest all the time. What Biggles had refrained from pointing out, and this is what he really feared, should the aircraft be given a coating of snow, frozen snow that could not be brushed off, the machine would be grounded until a thaw came to undo the mischief. Such a disaster would be sheer bad luck, because from inquiries made before the start the worst of the winter should now be over and spring well on the way. Had it not been so he would have waited until he could have been certain of the weather.

  They pressed on, tired and cold, nerves on edge. At the best of times there was not much in the way of landmarks; merely the reeds on one side and the firs on the other. Both looked the same anywhere along the track even when they could be seen. Now they could only be felt. They saw nothing. Not a light could be seen anywhere. The only sound they heard was a melancholy howl, somewhere in the forest, that may have been made by a wolf.

  ‘Are you sure we haven’t come too far?’ asked Fritz, once, during a halt.

  ‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ admitted Biggles.

  ‘We seem to have come a long way.’

  ‘We’ve travelled slowly,’ reminded Biggles. ‘To get about in this sort of weather one needs the eyes of a cat,’ he added, disgustedly.

  ‘Do you think the others will come to look for us?’

  ‘They might, although that would be dangerous.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We might find ourselves shooting at each other. In these conditions, with everyone on the jump, one is inclined to shoot first and ask questions afterwards.’

  They groped their way forward.

  The end came a few minutes later when they had again stopped to discuss the position. They jumped when a voice that could only have been Bertie’s, alarmingly close, said brightly: ‘What cheer, chaps. Here we are.’

  ‘Well met, Bertie,’ replied Biggles thankfully. ‘We’re late, but we found the going a bit sticky.’

  ‘We were afraid you would, old boy,’ answered Bertie, materializing out of the darkness. ‘We’ve been taking it in turns to make sure you didn’t overshoot the mark or tumble into the drink looking for us. Algy’s idea.’

  ‘Well thought out,’ praised Biggles. ‘Where’s the dinghy?’

  ‘Right here. Or it should be. I hope I can find the bally thing.’

  ‘You’d better,’ said Biggles, grimly.

  ‘Yes. Here we are. This way. How did you get on?’

  ‘Fine,’ informed Biggles, as they felt their way into the little craft. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we get on board and have had time to thaw out.’

  Bertie paddled them to the Otter over water that was becoming restless, and Biggles found the machine responding, as was to be expected, by a certain amount of movement. When he remarked on this, Bertie said, apologetically: ‘Yes, old boy, and I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. Algy will tell you all about it.’

  CHAPTER 11

  BIGGLES MAKES HIS PLAN

  BIGGLES’ first question when he stepped into the cabin was put to Algy. ‘What’s this I hear from Bertie about the weather becoming worse?’

  ‘That’s right,’ stated Algy.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘With nothing else to do I was listening to the radio thinking I might hear news when I picked up a general warning broadcast by the U.S. Army Air Force Met. people in Japan calling all planes to base. The wind is swinging to the north-east and it may bring in snow over the whole area — which I take to include us.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Biggles, with biting sarcasm, as he took off his jacket and accepted a cup of coffee and a biscuit sandwich. ‘A north-easter, even if it didn’t bring snow, would blow into the estuary and pile up a sea that would prevent us from getting off. It might even put us ashore and wreck the ship. However, we can’t expect to have it all our own way.’ Speaking to Ginger he went on: ‘Did you and Pat have any trouble getting back?’

  ‘None at all. We saw a couple of guards in the distance but we dodged into the forest and they went past without seeing us.’

  Biggles turned back to Algy. ‘Has anything happened here?’

  ‘Nothing. We saw two guards, probably the same two Ginger saw. They came along the track, but they couldn’t have gone very far, because in about twenty minutes they went back.’

  ‘Seen anything of Miskoff?’

  ‘Not a sign.’

  ‘What about that patrol boat?’

  ‘It hasn’t been back. Two fishing boats went out, but they came home as soon as the breeze started to freshen. That’s all I have to report here,’ stated Algy. ‘How did you get on? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘No trouble,’ answered Biggles. ‘It panned out as I hoped it would.’

  In a few minutes he had narrated all that had happened at the coal workings. ‘Von Stalhein behaved much as I expected. I think he’ll accept our help. It’s his only chance of getting out. If we can set him free on the island I shall be satisfied. He can please himself what he does after that, whether he stays here or comes home with us. He’s suspicious I have an ulterior motive in coming here to help him.’

  ‘He would,’ said Algy, cynically. ‘He doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as the milk of human kindness.’

  ‘Maybe he’s never seen any,’ returned Biggles. ‘No man can help being what he is and he tends to judge others by himself. We knew what von Stalhein was when we came here, so let’s not waste time going into that. We’ve something more urgent on our hands, particularly if the weather is going to do the dirty on us.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Algy. ‘What comes next?’

  ‘Tomorrow I shall have a shot at getting von Stalhein away,’ replied Biggles. ‘I have a scheme. Everyone will have something to do, so listen carefully, all of you. It’s going to depend somewhat on the weather. Well, we’ve no control over that. Otherwise it will depend largely on timing. If that goes wrong it will be our own fault.’ Biggles broke off to light a cigarette.

  ‘Now, this is the plan,’ he went on. ‘In the morning, before daylight, I shall take up my position in the same heap of muck as I did today. That’s all laid on. Fritz will be with me. If von Stalhein is sent to another part of the workings it’ll be just too bad. There’s no reason to suppose he will be, but if he is the scheme will have to be postponed, because we can’t afford to risk failure. If this comes unstuck we may never get another chance, because if once the enemy knows von Stalhein has friends here you can bet your life they’ll put him where no one can get near him. They might even shift him to another prison. Now then. This is where we run into the snag of the shackle. We’ve got to get that chain off him before we make the break. That’s absolutely imperative. It’s certain we shall have to move fast when the time comes and a man can’t run with his ankles tied.’

  ‘Are you aiming to get that shackle off with the guards watching?’ asked Pat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you kiddin’?’

  ‘This is no time to waste breath.’

  ‘Okay. You tell me how you reckon to do the impossible.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of attempting the impossible, but if you’ll listen I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Sorry. Go ahead.’

  Biggles went on. ‘I shall have with me the hacksaw I brought in the tool kit thinking we might have to cut through a barred window. It shouldn’t take it long to bite through a piece of quarter-inch soft iron chain.’

  ‘Long enough for the guards to see what goes on.’

  ‘They won’t see it happen.�
�

  ‘They’re not blind. What makes you think they won’t see a man sawing the chain off his legs?’

  ‘Because von Stalhein will then be inside the hide with Fritz, whose job it will be to get that chain off as fast as he can.’

  ‘He’ll be missed.’

  ‘Oh no he won’t, because I, in that ugly prison suit you’re still wearing, will have taken his place. As von Stalhein passes with his barrow, with the heap of muck between him and the guard, he’ll pop inside and I shall pop out to carry on with the barrow. The switch shouldn’t take more than two or three seconds. Von Stalhein will of course have been warned, so he’ll be ready to jump to it. Do you all follow me so far?’ Biggles looked round the circle of faces.

  For a few minutes nobody spoke. Then Pat said, approvingly, ‘I’m with you, and how!’

  The others murmured assent.

  ‘I shall carry on doing von Stalhein’s work while Fritz is hacking off the shackle,’ continued Biggles. ‘I’m leaving that to Fritz because he is after all his nephew. I estimate it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Fritz will tell me, as I go past with the barrow, when the job’s done. He will also give his uncle a gun, so that if it should come to a shooting match he’ll be able to do something about it. We’re now all set to make the break and this is where we come to the timing. Fritz and I will of course have to be in position when the gang arrives, as we were today. I shall make the switch with von Stalhein at nine o’clock, which means that the chain should be off by nine-ten. To be on the safe side let’s say nine-fifteen. This is where Ginger and Bertie come in. What they have to do is really a secondary part of the plan. Whether or not it will work I don’t know, but should it come off it would simplify matters considerably — for those of us at the workings. Give me a pencil and paper.’