Читать книгу Biggles in the Baltic. A Tale of the Second Great War - W E Johns - Страница 5

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By the following morning all the members of ‘Z’ Squadron were fairly settled in their new home and were becoming accustomed to the persistent lapping of the sea against the walls of the cave—a mournful, depressing sound that had disturbed Ginger’s sleep. However, breakfast of ham and eggs, served by the ever cheerful Briny, soon dispelled the gloomy atmosphere.

‘Have you got things sorted out in your department?’ Biggles asked him.

‘Ay, ay, sir,’ answered Briny. This is a picnic to some of the places I’ve served. Why, I remember once in the Red Sea, chasing Arab dhows we was—let’s see, it ’ud be about——’

‘All right, never mind about that now,’ interrupted Biggles.

‘Ay, ay, sir!’ Briny saluted and departed.

The airmen first went to the signals room, where they found Roy busy fixing up an alarum device that would rouse him should a signal come through while he was sleeping. Leaving him at his task, they made their way to the machines, on which the Flight-Sergeant was already working. Continuing along the catwalk, they reached the mouth of the cave and stood blinking in the daylight, notwithstanding that the day was overcast.

Ginger climbed on a rock and surveyed his immediate surroundings. It was not a view calculated to induce high spirits. Under leaden clouds, a dark, choppy sea was beating sullenly at the foot of the cliffs, throwing showers of spray over the natural breakwater and sucking hungrily at festoons of black, slimy seaweed that lined the high-water mark. Above him, sea-birds of many sorts gathered on the numerous ledges or soared in the grey atmosphere like scraps of wind-blown paper. A movement a little farther along caught his eye, and he saw a seal drop into the water.

‘Strictly speaking, we ought to mount a guard here,’ opined Biggles. ‘But if we did none of us would do any work or get any sleep.’

‘I should go off my rocker, anyway, if I had to stand here and stare at this all day,’ muttered Algy.

Biggles considered the heaving water speculatively. ‘I should say that a vessel coming from that direction at night’—he pointed to the north-east—’would see the reflection of our lights. I think it would be a good idea if we got some tarpaulins fixed up over the entrance to the cave.’ He glanced up at the sheer face of the cliff. ‘I don’t think there’s any question of exploring the island,’ he continued. ‘From what I can see of it, only an expert mountain goat could get to the top—not that I imagine there is anything there worth going up for. Well, there seems to be nothing more to see, so we may as well get back.’

On the way he gave the Flight-Sergeant orders about covering the entrance with tarpaulins.

Returning to the depot, they were in time to see Briny walking towards the galley with three fair-sized fish strung on a line.

‘Where did you get those?’ inquired Biggles.

‘Out of the ditch, sir,’ was the brisk answer. ‘I thought that as ’ow we were living with the fishes, as you might say, sir, they ought to do their bit, so last night I dropped in a line or two to try me luck.’

‘Smart work,’ complimented Biggles.

‘Why, lor luv a duck, sir, that’s nothing,’ declared Briny; ‘I’ve kept the whole ship’s company going on fish before to-day.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Biggles incredulously.

Briny looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Of course, they didn’t get much each,’ he admitted. ‘But talking of fishin’——’

‘Yes, all right Briny. Keep the story for a dull evening,’ interrupted Biggles.

‘Ay, ay, sir.’ Briny touched the peak of his weather-soiled cap and went on towards the galley.

‘I fancy he must sleep in that cap,’ murmured Algy; ‘I’ve never seen him without it.’

Further conversation on the subject was prevented by the arrival of Roy with a signal.

Biggles took the slip of paper. ‘This, I fancy, is where we start the ball rolling,’ he said, leading the way to the record office, where he unlocked a small safe and took out a red book carrying on the front, in large letters, the word SECRET. He sat down at the table to decode the message, and for several minutes was busy with pencil and paper.

‘We do our first show to-night,’ he said at last, looking up at the others. ‘Zero hour is ten o’clock, weather permitting. Our objective is an ammunition dump on the south side of the Kiel canal, about three miles from the town. The dump can be identified by four long sheds standing close together, end on. The moon rises early, so we ought to have no difficulty in finding them.’ Biggles filed the message and put the file in the safe.

‘It sounds easy,’ ventured Ginger.

‘It may sound easy, but we may find it otherwise,’ replied Biggles. ‘In all Germany the worst hotbed of archie is at Kiel. Raymond warned me of that. After all, the Kiel Canal is probably the most important artery the Boche possess, so they’ve guarded it with their best anti-aircraft equipment. I think this is where we have to play the old soldier on them; if they hear us coming they’ll knock us to pieces before we get anywhere near the dump.’

‘And what is the “old soldier” in this case?’ inquired Ginger.

‘We’ll climb to twenty thousand, cut our engines fifteen miles away and glide over. With luck they may not spot us until the first bomb bursts. Then the fireworks will start and things will probably get pretty warm. Ginger, you’ll be new to this sort of thing, so I’ll give you a tip. If you can’t get high, keep low—the lower the better as long as you don’t barge into anything. The lower you are the more difficult target you make for the gunners, since they can’t swing their guns about like rifles.’

‘Then we aren’t all going over together?’ put in Algy.

Biggles shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. We should probably collide in the dark. I think the best plan is to go over at intervals of ten minutes. I’ll go first. As soon as I’ve unloaded my eggs the guns and searchlights will be after me; in the din they won’t hear you coming, so you may get a chance to have an unmolested crack at the target. Algy, you’ll follow me. Ginger, you’ll be last, and if things pan out as I imagine you ought to get a clear shot. Take one bomb—a two-thirty pounder. If you lay it near the dump it ought to shake things up a bit. The instant you unload, shove your joystick forward and zigzag for the open sea. Then come straight home. To prevent us landing on top of each other in the dark I’ll get Smyth to signal three flashes with a green light as an all-clear signal. He can stand by with the motor-boat in case any of us makes a dud landing. That’s all. We’d better get ready. Let’s get the target marked on the map for a start.’

The rest of the day passed quickly, with all available hands preparing the machines for their perilous mission. They floated in line, in order of take-off, Biggles’s machine leading, with two 112-pound high explosive bombs under the wings, and a nest of small incendiary bombs between the large twin floats. Algy’s machine carried a similar load; Ginger’s, the single 230-pounder, as Biggles had ordered.

As twilight fell the machines were towed nearer to the tarpaulins which the Flight-Sergeant and Briny had erected in accordance with Biggles’s instructions. Biggles pulled one aside, and stepping into the open, surveyed the deserted sea reflectively; the sun, a ball of glowing crimson, was just sinking into the misty horizon. The wind had dropped and the sea was going down, as it so often does towards evening. He glanced at his watch. The time was eight-thirty. ‘Everything seems to be all clear,’ he remarked. ‘Let’s go and have a bite of food. By the time we’ve finished we shall be all set to give the gentle Hun a taste of his own medicine. I hope he likes it.’