Читать книгу Biggles in the Baltic. A Tale of the Second Great War - W E Johns - Страница 4

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Precisely a week later, a little after sunrise, the small party that comprised ‘Z’ Squadron, R.A.F., stood on a shelf of rock in the sombre heart of Bergen Ait, and watched the submarine that had brought them there creep like a monster of the deep towards the entrance to the vast cavern which the action of the waves had eaten into the islet. From the conning-tower, still open, projected the head and shoulders of the commander, his eyes on those he was leaving behind. He raised his hand in salute. ‘Good hunting, boys,’ he called. The words echoed eerily round the walls.

Biggles returned the salute. ‘Good hunting yourself, sailor,’ he replied.

That was all. The naval officer disappeared. The steel cap of the conning-tower sank into its bed; deeper and deeper into the water bored the long grey body of the under-water craft. Presently only the conning-tower could be seen, and as the vessel felt its way into the cove that sheltered the mouth of the cave, this, too, disappeared, leaving the airmen alone in their sinister war station.

Biggles turned and considered the members of his squadron. They were five all told, Algy and Ginger being the only pilots besides himself. Colonel Raymond had pressed him to take more, but Biggles felt that an outsider might upset the unity of a team which, from long and often perilous experience, had proved its efficiency, a team which had been forged in the fire of loyal comradeship. An extra member who was not in entire sympathy with them might easily do more harm than good, he reasoned, perhaps wisely.

In addition to the three pilots there was Flight-Sergeant Smyth, Biggles’s old war-time fitter and rigger, whose skill with either wood or metal was almost uncanny, and who could be relied upon to work a twenty-four-hour day without complaint should circumstances demand it. With him was his son Roy, a lad of eighteen who had entered the Royal Air Force as a boy apprentice and had passed out as a wireless operator mechanic. Keen, alert, and intelligent, he promised to follow the footsteps of his father up the ladder of promotion.

The only other member of the squadron was an old naval pensioner appropriately named William Salt, already known to them as ‘Briny’, a nickname which he had carried for nearly half a century in the Navy. Nobody knew just how old Briny was, but he was apt to boast that he had started life as a boy in the days of sail, when steamers were few and far between. Biggles had applied to Colonel Raymond for a cook, feeling that one was necessary to save the others wasting valuable time in the kitchen. Briny had been, in fact, the cook on Colonel Raymond’s private yacht; owing to the war the yacht had, of course, been laid up; Briny had put his name down for service and Colonel Raymond had recommended him confidently, despite his age, saying that he possessed a store of practical knowledge, apart from cooking, that would be useful to them. His only failing was (he warned them) a weakness for ‘reminiscing’, but this was balanced by a shrewd cockney wit that might amuse them on their dreary station. So Briny had, to use his own expression, ‘pulled up ’is mudhook’ and come along.

‘Well, here we are,’ announced Biggles. ‘There’s little I can tell you that you don’t already know. It may be rather alarming to be stationed in what are practically enemy waters, but no doubt we shall get used to it. We have this satisfaction: instead of being a mere cog in a vast machine, we are, as it were, a detached unit fighting a little war of our own, the success of which will largely depend on ourselves. I’m not going to make a speech, but there is one point I must mention. On a job like this, where everyone is in close contact with everybody else, ordinary service discipline is bound to be relaxed. This calling people by nicknames, for instance—as far as I, as commanding officer, am concerned, this may continue except when a person is actually on duty; or, since we shall all be on duty all the time, perhaps I had better say engaged on specific duty under my direct orders. Cooped up as we are, each is too dependent on the others to bother about ceremony, but I don’t think familiarity need interfere with the efficiency of the unit. I know you’ll all do your best. In the event of casualties, the next in order of seniority will, of course, take over. That’s all. Roy, take over the radio room and stand by for reception of signals. Briny, you’d better get the galley functioning. The rest come with me; we had better make ourselves familiar with the layout of the depot before we do anything else.’

The servicing of the base at Bergen Ait had been carried out by the Admiralty, who, as usual, had done their job thoroughly. The islet was, as Colonel Raymond had said, merely a mass of rock rising to several hundred feet above the sea, the nearest land being the enemy coast of East Prussia. Less than a mile in circumference, for the most part the cliffs were precipitous, sterile, the home of innumerable sea-birds. Here and there, however, erosion had caused the cliffs to crumble, so that they lay in terrifying landslides to the water’s edge.

One such collapse had flung a mighty spit of rocks some distance into the sea, so that a small cape, perhaps two hundred yards in extent, was formed. This served as a breakwater and at the same time formed what was, in effect, a cove that could be used as a harbour, but only when the sea was reasonably calm. In bad weather, or when the wind was blowing directly into it, the cove (so the Admiralty had informed Biggles) became a seething cauldron, dangerous for any type of craft. Even in fair weather the tides raced into the cove with considerable force, and it was no doubt due to this that the rock had been undermined, forming the cave, which, being at an angle, could not be seen from the open sea. One glance had been sufficient to warn Biggles that should an aircraft be caught out in bad weather it would be utterly impossible for it to get back into the cave. Indeed, as he had surveyed the scene from the submarine, he suspected that the natural risks of operating from such a base were likely to be as dangerous as the enemy. On the other hand, these very hazards had their compensations, in that they were likely to keep enemy shipping at a distance.

Although the entrance of the cave was low—hardly large enough to admit an aircraft at high water—inside it was as lofty as a cathedral, and ran back, diminishing in size, for a considerable distance, although the farther extremity had not yet been explored. It was obvious that, except at one place, the walls of the cave had dropped sheer into the water, but an artificial shelf (promptly named the ‘catwalk’ by Briny) had been cut to enable those inside to reach the bay. This shelf also served as a quay for mooring the aircraft and a small motor-boat.

At one spot, however, a flaw in the rock had left a more or less flat area, about half an acre in extent, and every inch of this space had been utilized for the erection of several low wooden buildings. On inspection these turned out to consist of a small but well-fitted workshop and armoury combined, a mess-room with sleeping quarters and a record office attached, and storehouse packed with food, mostly tinned, although there were sacks of potatoes, onions, and other vegetables. The radio room stood a little apart, and from this also was controlled the electrical equipment both for lighting and for running the lathe in the workshop. A small oil engine, dynamo, and storage batteries were housed in a recess cut in the rock. Near by was a rather alarming ammunition dump, long sleek torpedoes lying side by side with bombs of various sizes—high explosive, incendiary, and armour-piercing—as well as cases of small-arms ammunition. Another hut contained spare parts and medical and photographic stores.

‘Well, I must say the Navy have made a thorough job of it,’ observed Biggles with satisfaction, as the party concluded its tour of inspection. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the machines. Colonel Raymond told me that they were specially designed for the job. He could only let us have four—one each and one in reserve. Normally they will be used as single seaters, but there is a spare seat for a passenger, or gunner, with a gun mounting, under the fabric just aft of the pilot’s seat. The spare seat can be made available by merely pulling a zip fastener. They’re amphibians, of course; goodness knows where we shall have to land and take off before the job is finished. The outstanding feature, I understand, is a wide range of speed; what with flaps and slots we ought to be able to land on a sixpence. There are eight machine-guns, operated by a single button on the joystick. Incidentally, you’ll notice that they are fitted for torpedo work, as well as with bomb-racks.’

‘Well, it’s a nice clean-looking kite, anyway,’ remarked Algy as they stood on the ledge looking at the aircraft. ‘By the way, what do they call them?’

‘As far as I know they haven’t been named,’ returned Biggles. ‘The official designation is S. I. Mark I. A.—the S standing for secret.’

‘That’s too much of a mouthful; we shall have to think of something shorter,’ declared Ginger.

‘Can you suggest anything?’ inquired Biggles.

Ginger thought for a moment. ‘What’s something that sits in a hole and darts out at its prey?’ he asked pensively.

‘A rabbit,’ suggested Algy.

Ginger snorted. ‘I said darts out at its prey. Have you ever seen a rabbit dart at a dandelion?’

‘What’s something that whirls out, strikes, and then whirls back home again?’ murmured Biggles.

‘Boomerang,’ answered Ginger promptly.

‘Good,’ cried Biggles. ‘That sounds more like it. We’re the Boomerang Squadron. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if we gave each machine a name of its own, too, for identification purposes,’ he added.

‘In that case mine’s Dingo,’ announced Ginger. ‘If we’re the Boomerangs we ought to stick to Australian names.’

‘An Aussie once told me that the dingo is a nasty, dirty, stinking little beast,’ said Biggles, with a sidelong glance at Algy.

‘He may be, but he’s thundering hard to catch,’ declared Ginger. ‘I’m sticking to Dingo.’

‘Then mine’s going to be the Didgeree-du,’ announced Algy.

‘What!’ cried Ginger incredulously. ‘There ain’t no such animal.’

‘A fat lot you know about it,’ grunted Algy. ‘The didgeree-du is a bird.’

‘As a matter of fact, the didgeree-du happens to be a native Australian musical instrument,’ put in Biggles. ‘It makes a lot of noise about nothing.’

‘I don’t care, I’m sticking to it,’ insisted Algy doggedly. ‘I like the sound of it.’

‘Then I’ll call mine the Willie-Willie,’ decided Biggles.

Ginger stared. ‘You’re not serious? What on earth is a willie-willie?’

‘You’ll know if you ever run into one,’ replied Biggles grimly. ‘I flew into one once, some years ago.’

‘Flew into one? What are you talking about?’

‘A willie-willie, my lad, is a cyclone, typhoon, and hurricane rolled into one. It lurks round the north Australian coast and descends out of the blue in search of its prey, which it smashes, mangles, and finally blows to pieces. That’s what I hope to do to the enemy.’

‘Then Willie-Willie is a good name,’ admitted Ginger. ‘What about the spare machine? The duck-billed platypus is the only other Australian animal I know.’

‘That’s good enough,’ agreed Biggles. ‘But this won’t do. We must get on. I’m expecting a signal through at any moment.’

They spent the next hour examining the machines, which, if appearance counted for anything, were capable of all that was claimed of them.

‘What was that signal you were expecting?’ inquired Ginger as they climbed out of the Dingo on to the catwalk and made their way towards the depot.

‘That’s something I can’t tell you, the reason being that we’re still under sealed orders. Admittedly they are in my pocket, but I can’t open them until I get instructions.’

‘I suppose the signal will come through in code?’

‘Of course; all messages are in code in war-time,’ answered Biggles. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do except wait, so we may as well go along and see what Briny has produced for lunch.’

‘What about trying out one of the machines?’ suggested Ginger.

Biggles shook his head. ‘No, for two reasons,’ he decided. ‘In the first place, it would be folly to show ourselves except when we are compelled to, and secondly, our petrol supply is not unlimited. As far as showing ourselves is concerned, I have an idea that most of our orders will be for night work, so we had better have a good look at the map.’

‘It’s going to be tricky work finding this lump of rock on a dark night, particularly if, as I presume, we shan’t dare to show a light,’ murmured Algy.

‘It is,’ agreed Biggles, ‘but we shall have to do the best we can. It certainly wouldn’t do to show lights except in dire emergency, because enemy ships might be close in to us without our knowing it, since in war-time ships don’t carry lights, either.’

As they entered the mess Roy ran up with a slip of paper in his hand. ‘Signal, sir,’ he said, saluting briskly.

Biggles took the slip, glanced at it, and taking several envelopes from his pocket, selected one and ripped open the flap. For a minute or two he read in silence. Then, ‘Listen to this,’ he said. ‘It concerns every one. I’ll read it aloud.’

‘ “To Officer Commanding Z Squadron. Standing routine orders.

‘ “1. These orders must be committed to memory by every officer in your command.

‘ “2. This document must on no account be taken into the air. It must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy. In case of doubt it should be destroyed.

‘ “3. As they are at present planned, the duties of Z Squadron will be confined to night operations, details of which will be issued.

‘ “4. Every precaution will be taken to prevent the enemy from becoming aware of the existence of the squadron, or its base. If an aircraft of the squadron is pursued by hostile aircraft the pilot concerned will not on any account return to his base, but will destroy his aircraft on the open sea.

‘ “5. Should the base be located by the enemy it must not be allowed to fall into his hands. All war material must be destroyed, no matter what sacrifice is involved.

‘ “6. Signals. Only in a case of utmost importance should radio equipment be used for transmitting signals. Personal danger does not constitute a sufficient reason to transmit. If information of sufficient importance to warrant transmission is obtained, code will invariably be used.

‘ “7. Further supplies of food, fuel, and war material will be dispatched as the exigencies of the service permit, but it must be assumed that no such stores will be sent.

‘ “8. The greatest possible care will be taken not to violate the neutrality of non-belligerent countries.” ’

Biggles laid the paper on the table. ‘That’s all,’ he said quietly.

‘Quite enough to be going on with, too,’ murmured Algy.

Briny appeared in the doorway. ‘Lunch is ready, gen’l’men,’ he said.