Biggles in the Gobi

by W E Johns

  For a moment Biggles looked startled.

  “If we’re not going back until tomorrow we might as well hang on for another day or two; in fact, till it’s time to go back for the boys— if you get my meaning,” explained Bertie. “What’s the sense in waffling all the way back to Dacca just to turn the machine round and come back again? We’ve nothing to do there. Providing none of the local lads come along and start throwing their weight about we’re more comfy here than roaring to and fro over those ghastly mountains After all, we can always push off if we have to—if you follow me.”

  Biggles lit a cigarette. “There’s something in that he agreed. “Let me think about it.”

  “It’s a corking idea,” declared Bertie.

  “Maybe,” assented Biggles cautiously.

  “What’s against it, old boy? You tell me. You’re better than I am at thinking things out.”

  “It means an alteration of plan, that’s all,” answer Biggles. “When an arrangement is made it’s usually best for everyone to stick to it. To switch off at a tangent can be dangerous.”

  “We could rattle over and see how the boys are getting on with the airstrip?” suggested Bertie, in support his idea.

  “There’s no need to do anything in a hurry. So let’s sit down and think about it,” concluded Biggles, finding a seat in a shade cast by the wings.

  CHAPTER XI

  COUNTING THE HOURS

  AT the oasis, the bombshell effect of Biggles’ message soon wore off, and while Ming resumed his post as sentry, and the others rested, Algy and Ginger discussed the implications of the message from all angles. Algy had told Ginger what had happened at Nan-hu during his absence, and Ginger in turn had narrated the story of the rescue of the prisoners. He also revealed what had happened to the Kirghiz. All this took time.

  Apart from the doubts about the completion of the original plan there were several other loose ends, as Algy called them. There was, for example, this question of the Kirghiz who had fled when they learned that troops were at the oasis. Where had they gone? Would they come back? If they did not, what was to be done with their wounded comrade? Then there were the horses.

  Ginger put forward a suggestion that one of these might be used by someone willing to try to contact Biggles, if he was still at the place where he had forced-landed. The exact position could be ascertained from the monk, who was resting before going on to the Lake of the Crescent Moon, which he had said was the next stage of his journey. But Algy would not have this. For one thing he thought it was too dangerous, and secondly, there was hardly time for such a trip. They were now in the fifth day. The next dawn but one would see Biggles at Nan-hu if he was coming. When he failed to keep the appointment would be time enough to start looking for him.

  There was talk of using the radio, but this also was vetoed as being too dangerous. In any case it was by no means certain that they would be able to contact the aircraft while it was on the ground, even if it was still in the region. It was not worth the risk of being overheard by the ever-listening ears on the Red Highway, decided Algy.

  A lengthy discussion resulted in nothing definite being settled. They had better get the airstrip finished, advised Algy. That was the important thing. With more hands on the job this should not take long. There was only the final tidying up to be done, and the markers put out. He would get the ladies to make an inventory of the remaining stores in case they had to put themselves on rations. Not counting the wounded Kirghiz, there were now ten mouths to fill. They did not go into this in detail, but they were aware that even with rationing their food supply would not last long—another week at the outside. After that they would be faced with starvation, for what with raiding Kirghiz and Chinese troops the oasis had been pretty well skinned of fruit and vegetables, and it could produce nothing more until the next harvest. There could be no question of sending Ming or Feng to Tunhwang to buy food for the simple reason that no money in local currency was available.

  The conference ended on a note of doubt and indecision.

  Algy then got the work resumed on the airstrip and put in a request for the remaining food to be checked.

  Towards evening, Ritzen, who had stopped work several times to look at the sun, across which a thin veil appeared to have been drawn, said he did not like the look of the weather. He was afraid there was wind coming. The Gobi, he added, was notorious for its winds—a remark that did nothing to brighten the outlook.

  “Of course, if the weather is going to turn sour on us that will throw the spanner in the works properly,” Algy told Ginger gloomily.

  A little later, a fitful breeze, only slight as yet, moaned across the waste to support Ritzen’s observation. Gentle though it was, it was sufficient to indicate what a real storm would be like. Little eddies of dust coiled along the ground and the dead tamarisk shrubs seemed to be whispering to each other of the ordeal to be faced.

  At sundown they were returning to the oasis, and had nearly reached the path, when Ming appeared, moving at a speed that could only mean one thing.

  Algy glanced at Ginger, then at Ritzen, who was walking with them. “Now what?” he said irritably.

  Four Kirghiz were coming fast towards the oasis, reported Ming.

  “They must be the fellows who bolted,” guessed Ginger.

  “Coming to collect their horses and their sick pal, I suppose,” opined Algy. “I hope they’ll soon clear off. We don’t want them hanging about here. Oh yes, I know they were useful on one occasion but they always seem to carry a load of trouble. Without wishing any harm I don’t want them to spill it on us.”

  They went on to the oasis where a meal of hashed corn beef and rice had been prepared.

  The entire party was seated round it when the Kirghiz arrived on the scene in what might best be described a disorderly rush. Flinging themselves off their horses they said something to Ritzen in a manner that was brusque, to say the least of it.

  “What do they want?” asked Algy, who was far from pleased by their intrusion.

  “They demand food.”

  “Food. Tell them we’re sorry but we have none to spare. We shall need every scrap of what we have. I can let them have a handful or two of rice, but that’s all we can manage.”

  There was more talk and Ritzen went on. “They say they must have much food. They are on the run. Soldiers are after them; they’re going to leave the district and they have a long journey before them.

  “To the deuce with that for a tale,” expostulated Algy. “Tell them they’re lucky that we could let have any at all.”

  There was another exchange of words, now in a tone that Ginger did not like. The expressions on the faces of the missionaries, who understood what was being and who had stopped eating to listen, told him the argument was taking a nasty turn.

  The face that Ritzen turned to Algy was serious. “We shall have to give them a quantity,” he said quietly. They say that if we don’t give it they’ll take it—and they will, too, and think nothing of it.”

  “Why are they in such a hurry?” asked Algy. “D’you believe this story about them being on the run?”

  “Yes. It sounds reasonable to me. They say they’ve heard that many more soldiers have arrived in Tunhwang, and the Tiger has given orders that all Kirghiz are to be hunted down and exterminated. These fellows are making for the mountains of Turkistan. That’s a long step from here. They say they must have food for the journey for there is none to be had either in this district or on the way. They say that if we will give them food they won’t trouble us again.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We’re really in no position to argue. My advice is, give them a fair quantity or they will murder us and take the lot. These men don’t make idle threats. They mean what they say. We’re in no state to oppose them. It’s more than likely that if we hadn’t taken care of their wounded companion they would have killed and robbed us anyway.”

  Algy looked at the sullen faces of the barbaric tribes
men and knew that Ritzen was telling the truth. They were armed to the teeth. “All right,” he assented reluctantly. It went against the grain to have to submit to force, but he could see there was nothing else for it.

  The outlaws stood watching in silence while a quantity of rice, biscuits and cheese, was put together and handed over. This they took without a word. They then fetched their sick comrade, lifted him on his horse, and taking the Chinese horses with them, rode off.

  “I hate parting with all that food,” grumbled Algy watching them go.

  “There was no alternative. We were lucky to get off as lightly as we have,” averred Ritzen, and the others agreed.

  “Aye, had we refused the rascals they would have killed the lot of us,” declared Dr. McDougall.

  Father Dubron nodded in confirmation.

  They continued with their so rudely interrupted meal.

  Half an hour later, just as they had finished tidying up and were preparing to retire for the night, there was consternation when, before they could move, seven more Kirghiz came clattering up. They seemed to be in even greater hurry than the first lot.

  “What is it this time?” asked Algy, speaking through his teeth.

  “They demand food,” translated Ritzen, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

  “What, again! Tell them that we have no food for ourselves, let alone any spare food to give away.”

  The Swede complied. The information was received with scowls and maledictions. Indeed, so ugly did things look that Ginger’s hand went instinctively to the pocket where he carried his gun.

  “They say we are liars,” translated Ritzen, in a hopeless sort of voice.

  “They swear we have plenty of food for in the desert, they met friends who told them so. I’m afraid it’s no use denying it.”

  “That’s what we get for giving way to that other bunch,” muttered Algy savagely. “I wish I had a machine gun. I’d teach these confounded thieves a lesson.”

  “You haven’t got one so you’ll have to give in,” said Ritzen calmly.

  “But we’ve practically nothing left.”

  “If you refuse they’ll take the lot and our lives as well,” said Ritzen.

  “I know these people better than you do and I know what I’m talking about.”

  Nearly choking with anger and mortification Algy saw that he would have to submit. Much as he hated parting with their now meagre supply of food he realised that the Swede was telling the simple truth. With two pistols between the lot of them they were in no condition to fight seven fully armed bandits.

  Ginger, tight-lipped, remembered the wretched king, Ethelred the Unready, who, in buying off his enemies, only encouraged further demands. There was this about it he thought morosely. There could be no repetition of this outrage for the simple reason they had nothing left to give.

  Practically all the remaining food was set before the brigands, who, shouting, said it was not enough. At this, Ritzen himself got angry, and shouted back that there was no more. If they could find any more they were welcome to it.

  This was as near the truth as made no difference. All that remained was a small quantity of emergency rations in the deepest part of the caves.

  Anyway, Ritzen managed to convince the marauders, who snatched up the food and galloped away, the horses hoofs kicking dust into the faces of their victims as a final insult.

  “If the aircraft doesn’t turn up on time, now we are sunk,” said Algy grimly. “We’ve barely enough for left for one day.”

  “Instead of crying over spilt milk I think we’d bet get ourselves to the caves in case any more of the toughs come along,” said Ginger practically.

  “There’s no doubt about one thing,” put in Ritzen soberly. “If the Kirghiz, who are desperate fighters and not given to panic, are clearing out, it can only me that the Chinese Government troops are going to start a big operation at last to clear them out of the country. I can’t imagine where they’ll go because Kirghistan, their own country, has already been taken over by the Soviets, a state to which these wild men will not submit. For years they’ve plundered this part of Asia but now seems that the end has come.”

  “Pity it had to happen just at this moment,” return Algy dolefully. “Will the troops catch up with them, do you think?”

  “They won’t need to do that. By putting a guard on the water-holes, they’ll force them to leave the district —unless they prefer to die of thirst.”

  “If they put a guard on this place it’ll be just dandy,” muttered Algy.

  “What a bedlam this is! The sooner I’m out of it the better I’ll be pleased, and I shan’t lose any sleep if I never see it again. Which reminds me, let’s get some sleep while we can.”

  “When we wake up to-morrow we can say, only one more day,” announced Ginger cheerfully. “We’re still alive, anyhow, and that’s something to be thankful for considering all that’s happened.”

  A general move was made towards the sleeping quarters and night settled over the strife-stricken oasis that had for centuries been a haven of rest and peace.

  When Ginger awoke in the morning his first feeling was one of relief that they had got through the night without any more worries piling up on them. After all that had happened he had got into the way of expecting trouble, as if he were living in a jungle of wild beasts that were for ever stalking each other and in which he might be the next victim. He consoled himself with the thought that with any luck it would not go on much longer. Just one more day.

  An unusual sound took him to the entrance of the cave. It was just beginning to get light. But it was not one of those still, silent dawns, to which they had become accustomed. Ritzen had been right about the weather. A wind was blowing. It was not a gale, or anything like one; but it was enough to set the trees waving and, in gusts, fill the air with particles of sand. It was not enough to cause him serious alarm, provided it did not get worse. The only fear that crossed his mind was that the dead shrubs which they had pulled out of the landing-strip and put on one side might blow about and have to be picked up again.

  Standing on the ledge he had a good look at the ground below, for in view of the scheme to liquidate the Kirghiz another visit by Chinese communist troops seemed well within the realms of possibility. However, he could see nothing to arouse his suspicions so he went back into the cave to wake Algy and tell him about the wind.

  Algy was soon on his feet, and together they went to look at the landing ground. As was to be expected some of the shrubs had been blown back on it, but these, they agreed, could soon be picked up. They returned to the caves, where the rest of the party were beginning to move about.

  Nothing is more tiresome than to have nothing to do when one is in a state of suspense and anxiety. Thus it was as the day wore on at the oasis. The landing strip was cleared and the final touches made. Light stuff was lifted and carried to the lee of the depression where it could not blow back. After that there was really nothing more to be done, but Algy and Ginger, now counting the passing hours, continued to potter about doing anything rather than nothing.

  About noon, the wind, which they were watching closely, showed signs of freshening. It was not actually the wind that worried them. There was not enough to effect the behaviour of an aircraft and it was coming from the right direction; that is to say, down the length of the runway. This was not an accident, for the strip had been laid out to conform to the prevailing wind, which the shape of the dunes and the slant of the trees made clear. It was the sand raised by the wind that was the worry, for a high wind would inevitably result in a sandstorm, and this, by destroying visibility, would prevent the machine from locating the oasis; or even if the oasis were found it would not be possible to see the runway. There was nothing they could do about this. The weather, always a factor to be taken into account in aviation, was still something outside human control.

  Lunch, such as it was, was taken almost in silence, the natural result of the nervous strain that was now beginni
ng to tell on everyone. It saw the end of the food. Ginger could feel for the missionaries. He realised how awful it must be for them, after months of misery, to see the possibility of having the cup of salvation dashed from their lips at the last moment.

  He admired their courage and fortitude, for not a word of complaint did they say. He thought of some of the people at home who were for ever complaining of the hardness of their lot. What, he wondered, would they think of this. The two women went about their work quietly and efficiently. The men, oddly enough, represented several different forms of Christianity, yet here they were, all pulling on the same rope, each doing his best to help the others. To Ginger there was something fine about this, something which put him on his mettle.

  The meal finished, he had just started for the landing strip with Algy and some of the men, when Feng, who was taking a turn at sentry-go, came leaping down the nearest slope making frantic signals as he ran. Knowing that he must have news, and that any news he could bring must be bad, Algy looked at Ginger and shook his head sadly. “Here we go again,” he said, in a voice calm with resignation. “I may be wrong, but I’m afraid this may be it.”

  Whether he meant seriously what he said was immaterial. Certainly it looked for a little while as if his pessimism was justified, for the news was not merely bad, but just about as bad as it could be.

  Feng let it out in a torrent of words and urgent gesticulations.

  The gist of it was, horsemen were galloping towards Nan-hu; not one party, which would have been bad enough, but two separate groups. They were converging on the oasis. Who they were Feng was not sure; he couldn’t see clearly on account of the sand that was blowing about and he daren’t wait for them to get nearer; but he thought one party were Kirghiz, and the other, Chinese troops riding to cut them off. There were at least a dozen Kirghiz, but they were far outnumbered by the soldiers.

  In any case they were all making for Nan-hu at full gallop.

  “The Kirghiz must be the two lots who pinched our food last night,” said Algy. “They must have got together and then run into one of the bands of cavalry sent out to round them up. I imagine that they’re making for the oasis as the only place where there’s any cover for them to fight it out. Our one hope is that they don’t find us. Into the caves, everybody. Take everything. Ritzen, you might ask Feng to get the ladies into the safest place possible; but tell him not to lose touch with us. That’s all.”