Biggles In The Baltic

by W E Johns

  He was, of course, instantly carried off his feet, but he had the satisfaction of feeling the machine swing round, and heard the protesting scream of slewing wheels. Then his fingers lost their grip and he fell headlong. The machine rumbled on, slowly, on a new course, its wheel-brakes hissing.

  Ginger picked himself up and limped after it painfully, for he had bruised his knee in the fall. By the time he reached the machine Algy was standing up in his seat, goggles raised, looking back over the tail. His face was pale and drawn with strain, but as his eyes fell on Ginger they opened wide.

  ‘Nice work, big boy,’ grunted Ginger. ‘Have you any chocolate aboard?’

  Algy brushed a hand over his face. ‘What is this?’ he inquired in a dazed sort of voice. ‘Where the dickens are we?’

  ‘On top of the island—where else could we be? Didn’t you know where you were landing?’

  ‘Landing my foot,’ snorted Algy. ‘Didn’t you hear my motor packing up? What with a dud engine and the snow, I should have been glad to get down anywhere—the right side up. I knew I was near the rock because it loomed up at me once or twice, but I thought I was clear of it, gliding down on the sea. Instead of which I suddenly hit the carpet; I had to run on because I couldn’t get off again.’

  ‘You nearly fell off it,’ declared Ginger. ‘If I hadn’t grabbed your wing, in another couple of seconds you would have been over the cliff. This isn’t Croydon.’

  ‘You’re telling me!’ Algy climbed stiffly to the ground, bringing with him a bar of chocolate from the pocket in the cockpit. He gave it to Ginger who ate it ravenously.

  ‘I don’t get this,’ went on Algy. ‘What are you doing up here? Why did you stay up here?’

  ‘Because I can’t get down.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Since yesterday morning.’

  ‘Great Scott! How did you get here?’

  ‘Through a hole in the rock. But never mind about that. There’s a German flying-boat down in the cove. I saw it when I looked over the top this morning.’

  Algy laughed. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s ours.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Biggles and I pinched it last night. Of course, you didn’t know about Biggles being a prisoner on the Leipzig—von Stalhein got hold of him.’ Briefly, he gave the astonished Ginger a résumé of events of the past few hours. ‘So I went off to lay an egg on the Boche supply depot—which I did; then coming back I ran into this stuff,’ he concluded, indicating the snow with a gesture of disgust.

  Ginger, in turn, described how he came to be where he was.

  ‘We’d better see about getting down—and the sooner the better,’ announced Algy when he had finished. ‘We shall have to abandon the machine, for the time being at any rate. Even if we could get the engine right, the weather makes flying out of the question.’

  ‘If you’re thinking of trying to fly off the top of this rock, even with the engine right and the weather fine, you’d better forget it. You don’t know what it’s like. Wait till the snow clears and have a look at it; you may change your mind then.’

  ‘Couldn’t it be done ?’

  Ginger hesitated. ‘I suppose it might, at a pinch,’ he conceded, ‘but it would be a grim business. I should hate to try it, anyway.’

  ‘Then if we can’t fly her off we shall have to dismantle her and take her down in pieces,’ said Algy optimistically. ‘We’d better have a look and see if I damaged her when I bumped.’

  They both walked round the wing to the nose of the machine and made a careful examination, but as far as they could see the machine had not been damaged—at least, not enough to prevent her from flying if the engine was put right.

  ‘Smyth will have to come up and attend to the engine,’ declared Algy. ‘It’s our last machine so we can’t afford to lose it. Confound this snow! We shall be buried if it goes on. What’s the difficulty about getting down?’

  ‘Only a little matter of a twenty-foot drop on to a ledge just about big enough for a seagull to land on. You’d better come and look.’ Taking Algy by the arm, Ginger led him to the edge of the cliff. ‘That’s the ledge we’ve got to reach,’ he said, pointing. ‘Do you feel like tackling it?’

  ‘Crikey!’ ejaculated Algy as he stared down into the void, although the sea was hidden from view by the snow. ‘That’s not so pretty,’ he agreed.

  Then, as they both stood staring down, there came a sound from somewhere below them that made them look up and gaze speculatively into each other’s eyes. It sounded like a long-drawn-out howl.

  ‘What in the name of goodness was that?’ muttered Algy in a puzzled voice.

  Ginger moistened his lips. ‘There must be some sort of wild beast in the cave,’ he whispered. ‘Now we are sunk. Nothing would induce me to go down there.’

  He started violently as a hairy object emerged slowly on to the ledge below. It turned, and a face looked up. It was Flight-Sergeant Smyth. His expression made Algy burst into a yell of laughter.

  He recovered himself quickly and addressed the amazed N.C.O. ‘What do you think you’re doing, fooling about without any clothes on?’

  ‘My togs are just inside the cave, sir,’ explained the Flight-Sergeant. ‘I had to swim the pond.’

  ‘Pond! What pond ?’

  Ginger explained about the subterranean lake.

  ‘I see,’ went on Algy. Then, to the Flight-Sergeant, ‘You’ve arrived just in time. You’d better go and get your clothes. My machine’s up here and I want you to have a look at it.’

  ‘But how is he to get up ?’ demanded Ginger.

  Algy took from the pocket of his flying jacket the line which he had taken to the sandbank, thinking that he and Biggles might have to enter the shed through the skylight.

  ‘This should help,’ he said naively.

  ‘By gosh! What a bit of luck! That will do the trick,’ said Ginger. ‘Look here! I tell you what. We’ll get the Flight-Sergeant up here to look at the engine. Then let me down, and I’ll let Biggles know what has happened. I want a change of clothes anyway, and something to eat.’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s time you went down,’ said Algy seriously, giving Ginger’s weary face a searching look. ‘I think that’s a good idea. I’ll stay here till you get back. You might as well bring Briny with you.’

  The Flight-Sergeant, with his clothes in a bundle, reappeared on the ledge. He dried himself as well as he could with his cardigan and then got dressed. ‘Briny’s with me, sir,’ he announced. ‘He’s the other side of the pond.’

  Ginger looked at Algy. ‘I think we’d better tell him to stay there,’ he said. ‘I don’t see that there’s much he can do up here, so he might as well come down with me and give me a hand over the difficult places.’

  Algy agreed, and they told the Sergeant to shout to Briny to remain where he was, after which they lowered the rope and hauled Smyth to the top.

  Ginger, with the N.C.O.’s torch, was then lowered to the ledge. He shouted to Briny to show a light to guide him, and then made the passage across the lake. The sailor helped him up when he reached the far side.

  ‘Lor luv a duck, sir, what a time we’re ‘aving,’ Briny greeted him.

  ‘Yes, aren’t we?’ agreed Ginger without enthusiasm.

  ‘What ‘ave you been doin’ up here all this time, sir?’

  ‘Mushrooming,’ returned Ginger briefly. ‘Come on, let’s get down. I’ve had about enough of this hole.’

  Without further conversation they assisted each other down the face of the rock where Ginger had lost his torch, and set off down the tunnel, making all the speed they could.

  Ginger, who was leading, didn’t see Roy until he fell over him. ‘Look out!’ he cried as he picked himself up. ‘Good heavens, it’s Roy,’ he went on sharply as the light flashed on the pale, bloodstained face.

  ‘Something must ‘ave happened, sir,’ said Briny in a hushed voice.

  ‘I can see that,’ answered Ginger, s
taring at the two code-books, still lying where they had fallen. ‘Yes, by thunder, something certainly has happened,’ he breathed.

  Ìt must be pretty bad to have sent him up here with those books,’ whispered Briny. ‘What could it ‘abin, sir?’

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ replied Ginger, shaking his head, ‘unless, of course, the depot’s been attacked. I can’t think of any other reason that would send him up here with those two books. He must have been trying to save them when he fell off this rock.’

  Briny had taken off his jacket, and after getting Roy into a more comfortable position, pillowed it under his head.

  Roy showed no signs of recovering consciousness, and there was nothing more that they could do to help him.

  ‘We’d better carry him down, sir,’ suggested Briny.

  ‘I doubt if we can manage it—apart from which, I think it would be dangerous,’ muttered Ginger. ‘He ought to be moved carefully until we see how badly he’s hurt. There’s a stretcher down below; I’ll go and fetch it.’ He spoke slowly, for he was wondering what else there might be below. Algy had told him that when he, Algy, had taken off to bomb the German supply depot, he had left Biggles to sleep off his exhaustion. Why had he not come up the cave with Roy if an attack had been made? Again, there had been no shooting; at least, he had heard none, and he felt certain that if shots had been fired he would have heard them. The more he thought about it, the more inexplicable the affair became.

  ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ he said at last. ‘You stay here and look after Roy. If he comes round before I get back, and is able to walk, try to get him down. If not, wait till I return with a stretcher. I’ll go on and see what’s happened at the depot.’

  ‘Ay, ay, sir.’ Briny touched the peak of his ancient cap. ‘I remember once seeing a cave—’ he began, and then shook his head sadly as Ginger set off quickly down the fissure.

  Ginger hurried on, but as he neared the base he slowed down, for he still had an uneasy feeling that something was amiss. Approaching the final opening, he saw that the lights were still on, so he instinctively switched off his torch and adopted scouting tactics.

  He heard the Germans before he saw them, and his heart went cold. Peeping round the final obstruction, he knew at once what had happened, for several German marines were standing on the catwalk. Breathless, he could only stand still and watch, wondering what had become of Biggles.

  He was still watching when the door of Biggles’s room opened and Biggles himself came out. His manner was nonchalant, but behind him walked von Stalhein, an automatic in his hand. There was a gruff word of command. A file of eight marines, armed with rifles, whom Ginger now saw for the first time, marched forward from the back of the mess that had hidden them.

  Von Stalhein halted. With military precision he turned to Biggles, clicked his heels and saluted. Then an N.C.O. in charge of the marines stepped forward. He, too, saluted, and said something in a harsh voice.

  Biggles nodded. ‘Get on with it and get it over,’ he said in English.

  The words gave Ginger a clue as to what was happening, and for a moment he was nearly overcome by a sense of his own helplessness. But it did not last long. A look of almost savage determination set his lips in a hard line, and he sidled out of the cave to the rear of the signal room. Pausing only for a moment to make sure that he had not been observed, he then slipped cautiously to the canvas-covered pile of stores behind the mess, where, as it was practically dark, he could only grope for what he sought. With a feeling akin to exultation his hands closed over the barrel of a Bren machine-gun, and he drew it out, holding his breath as it clanked against the rock floor. Blessing his foresight, or the lucky chance—he wasn’t sure which it was—that had caused him to examine the stores before exploring the passage, he pulled out a box of ammunition and loaded the gun.

  Another surreptitious peep round the end of the mess showed him that he had not a moment to lose, for Biggles, smoking a cigarette, was standing with his back to the wall, with the marines in single file in front of him.

  Several other Germans were about, but none of them was looking towards the inner extremity of the cave, which in the circumstances was not remarkable ; their eyes were on Biggles, so Ginger was able to creep back to the fissure without being seen or his presence even suspected. There, to his joy, he saw that he had the file of marines in line; only the N.C.O., who was standing a little in front of the others, was clear of his enfilade as he brought the gun to bear and squinted down the sights. Von Staihein was leaning against the door of the mess, a spiral of smoke rising from the long cigarette holder which he held between his fingers.

  At a word of command from the unteroffizier eight rifles came to the present.

  Ginger was trembling with excitement. Without taking his eyes from the sights, or his finger from the trigger, he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Biggles! Run this way!’ Then he squeezed the trigger.

  Tac-tac-tac... tac-tac-tac... tac-tac-tac... spat the gun, rolling a hideous tattoo in the confined space and filling the air with the acrid reek of cordite smoke.

  To Ginger, the rest was a nightmare in which he seemed to be only a detached spectator. He saw Biggles, twisting and turning as he ran, racing towards him, and he saw that there was a danger of hitting him. So he jumped clear of the cave, and stepping aside, stood in the open, holding the dancing gun while he sprayed everything and everybody in sight.

  The marines, those who remained on their feet, bolted for cover. Only von Stalhein stood his ground, shouting orders that were not heeded, punctuating them with snap-shots from his automatic in Ginger’s direction. A ricochetting bullet tore a long splinter from the mess door not six inches from his face, and he, too, darted back out of sight.

  Biggles reached Ginger and snatched the machine-gun from his hands. ‘Steady with your ammunition,’ he grated, and began to sweep the depot with short bursts of fire. But answering bullets soon began to splash against the rocks around him, and Ginger caught him by the arm. ‘Come on,’ he cried shrilly. ‘Let’s get out of this. This way.’

  ‘Where to?’ shouted Biggles.

  ‘I’ll show you. Keep going. Everybody is up here.’ Ginger darted into the fissure and switched on his torch.

  Biggles waited only to send a final burst down the catwalk, and then, still carrying the gun, he followed at Ginger’s heels.

  ‘This is a useful place,’ he observed calmly. ‘Knowing that we’ve got this gun, it’ll take a brave man to follow us up this drain-pipe. How far does it go?’

  ‘Right to the top of the rock.’

  ‘Is Roy in here by any chance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has he got the code-books?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Biggles earnestly; ‘that’s all I care about. You know the way. Lead on, Macduff.’

  CHAPTER XVII

  REUNION

  FOR some time they pushed on as fast as they could go, occasionally stopping to listen for sounds of pursuit; but as none came, Biggles called a halt and demanded to know what had happened, and what was still happening, on the top of the rock. So in as few words as possible Ginger described his own adventures, and explained how Algy, Briny, and the Flight-Sergeant came to be where they were. He then told him about Roy.

  ‘He must have seen the Huns coming, and bolted with the code-books,’ declared Biggles. ‘I wonder why he didn’t warn me.’

  ‘Did he know you were there?’

  Biggles clicked his fingers. ‘No, now I come to think of it he didn’t. He was asleep when I got back. I was asleep, too, when von Stalhein walked in on me. I didn’t hear a thing. When I opened my eyes and saw von Stalhein there—well, I’ll leave you to guess how I felt. But we’d better get on. With one thing and another we seem to be in as pretty a mess as we were ever in.’

  ‘We could hold this cave indefinitely—against an army,’ said Ginger emphatically.

  ‘We could—if we could live on air,’ a
greed Biggles. ‘We’ll talk about that when we get to the others. Come on. Apparently von Stalhein thinks he’s got us bottled up, so he’s not in a hurry to chase us.’

  ‘How many men has he got down there ?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to break through them, or we shall be here for the rest of our lives. Two might get away in Algy’s machine, but that’s all.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten standing orders,’ said Biggles seriously.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that our first job, now that we’ve been discovered, is to destroy the depot. That stuff mustn’t fall into German hands. After we’ve attended to that we’ll see about getting away—not before. But I shall have to have a word with Algy before we decide anything definitely. Hullo, here’s Roy and Briny.’

  They found Roy sitting up, looking shaken, but he smiled when he saw Biggles coming. ‘Sorry about this, sir,’ he said.

  ‘So am I,’ returned Biggles. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Pretty fair, sir.’

  ‘Able to walk ?’

  ‘I’ll have a shot at it, sir.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s get up to the top.’

  Briny looked surprised. ‘To the top, sir?’

  ‘That’s what I said. It’s no use going down because the place is full of Germans.’

  Briny took a pace backward, his face a picture of consternation. ‘Blimey!’ he whispered.

  Ginger led the way up the cave until they reached the buttress of rock that dammed the water in the lake. They helped each other up, and from the top Biggles surveyed the water with a curious expression on his face.

  ‘What do you think of it ?’ inquired Ginger.

  ‘I think it’s going to be very useful,’ replied Biggles enigmatically. ‘You’re wet through already so you might as well come across with me. Briny, you stay here with Roy and keep guard. I’ll leave this gun with you. If you hear anyone coming up the cave, let drive. We shall hear you shoot and come back to help you.’