Читать книгу Biggles in the Baltic. A Tale of the Second Great War - W E Johns - Страница 7

Table of Contents

For three days the Boomerang Squadron had no further instructions from London, for which Biggles was grateful, for the respite gave him time to organize things at the base to his entire satisfaction, and gave Ginger’s face a chance to heal. The wound turned out to be a very slight one, no more than a cut from a flying splinter. Even so, in his excited condition it was enough to give him a temperature, and much to his disgust Biggles ordered him to remain in bed for a day. The period of inactivity also gave the Flight-Sergeant an opportunity of repairing the machines, all of which had been more or less damaged by gunfire.

Only one signal was received, and this could not have been more brief. It consisted of a single word, ‘Congratulations’.

‘I suppose that’s from Colonel Raymond,’ said Ginger. ‘How do you suppose he knows how much damage we did—when we don’t really know ourselves?’

Biggles laughed shortly. ‘He knows all right, you can bet your boots on that,’ he asserted. ‘We’ve got agents on the spot, I’ll warrant. Somebody told me that we had an agent at Kiel right through the last war. Anyway, since Headquarters has gone to the trouble of congratulating us, we must have made a nasty mess of the dump.’

One other item of news interested them immensely, and this they received on the ordinary radio, a powerful instrument on which they could get all the world’s programmes. They rarely had time to listen to music, but the news broadcasts kept them up to date on the progress of the war. The item that pleased them most was the story of the raid by R.A.F. Squadrons on the German battleships at the entrance to the Kiel Canal. It had occurred on the same day as their own raid, and Biggles realized that the two raids must have been part of the same plan to destroy the enemy’s equipment in the canal zone.

It was late in the morning of the third day after the raid that the next signal was received. The three pilots were sitting in the tiny mess, listening to Briny, who was describing with a wealth of graphic detail a raid in which he had once taken part against the cannibals of the Solomon Islands.

‘Ten thousand of ’em there was, all as black as midnight, a-dancin’ and brandishin’ their spears; and only me and my old shipmate Charlie to face ’em,’ he declared in a hoarse whisper. ‘ “Charlie,” I sez, “you attack ’em in the flank. I’ll tackle ’em in front. Charge!” I yells, and you wouldn’t believe it——’

‘You’re quite right, Briny, I wouldn’t,’ put in Biggles sadly. ‘Personally I could charge a well-done steak right now, so——’

Roy hurried into the room with the signal. He saluted and handed it to Biggles who, after a glance at the coded message, took it to the records room, the others following. He unlocked the safe, took out the code-book, and the envelope to which the signal referred.

‘They seem to have got our jobs all ready for us before we came,’ remarked Algy.

‘The Colonel as good as told us so,’ reminded Biggles. ‘It was only to be expected. Our people have got spies on the mainland, and probably knew before the war started the most vital objectives which could be reached by a unit stationed here.’ He read the orders in silence, the others watching his face anxiously.

‘Well?’ exclaimed Algy at last, impatiently.

Biggles glanced up. ‘Listen to this,’ he said quietly. ‘ “To Officer Commanding Z Squadron, on detached duty. On the first night after receipt of these instructions on which weather conditions are suitable, you will destroy the tunnel on the Berlin-Hamburg railway at Albeck, about sixty miles from the coast, as shown on the enclosed map. Owing to the depth of the tunnel it is not possible to do this by direct bombing. The only way success can definitely be assured is by placing an explosive charge (case W.D. 6. in your stores) in the tunnel. This will involve landing in enemy territory. A suitable field, one and a quarter miles from the tunnel, is marked in red on the map. You are warned that both ends of the tunnel are guarded day and night by double sentries. The guard-houses are situated as follows. At the northern end, a farm-building seventy-eight yards north-east. At the southern end, a signal box twenty-five yards south-south-east. Receipt of these instructions will be acknowledged by a double A transmitted on the wave-length allotted to you three times at intervals of three seconds.” ’

Biggles finished reading, laid the paper on the desk and tapped a cigarette reflectively on the back of his hand.

‘Very pretty,’ announced Algy cynically. ‘Do they think we possess some means of making ourselves invisible?’

‘That’s all right, old boy, you needn’t come,’ murmured Biggles casually.

Algy started forward belligerently. ‘What do you mean—I needn’t come? You can’t leave me out of a show like this——’

‘I’m sorry,’ broke in Biggles blandly, ‘but I rather gathered from your remark that you’d prefer to stay at home.’

‘Well, think again,’ snorted Algy.

‘And that’s no way to talk to your commanding officer,’ returned Biggles. ‘All right. We’ll tell Roy to send the acknowledgement and then, with the map in front of us, think of ways and means. As a matter of fact, I did a job like this once before,’ he added, as they went to the radio room and gave Roy instructions concerning acknowledgement of the orders.

Roy, with earphones clamped on his head, made a note on his pad. ‘By the way, sir, I’m picking up a lot of Morse,’ he said. ‘I think it’s being sent out from somewhere not very far away. It’s in code, of course.’

‘By jingo, if we could read it, it would be useful!’ exclaimed Ginger. ‘Do you think we could decode it?’

‘Not a hope,’ answered Biggles promptly. ‘What point would there be in using a code that could be deciphered by the enemy? The only way official messages can be deciphered in war-time is with the official key, and that’s something we’re not likely to get hold of. I imagine the British government would be only too pleased to pay a million pounds for the German secret code at this moment. All the same, Roy, you can keep a record of any Morse you pick up—one never knows. Get that acknowledgement off right away.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Biggles led the way back to the office and spread the map on the table. ‘All we can do is memorize the spot,’ he said, pointing with his forefinger, ‘and work out the best way of getting to it. We shan’t need three machines; two should be enough, one to do the job and the other to act as a reserve—and possibly a decoy. I’ll think about that. If the weather is O.K. we may as well go to-night and get it over. Algy, go and dig out that box marked W.D. 6. I’ll go and have a look at the sky. No,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘there’s no need for me to go. You go, Ginger, while I have a look at the map.’

Leaving Biggles pondering over the map, Ginger made his way along the catwalk. He stopped for a few minutes to speak to the Flight-Sergeant, who was still working on the Dingo, and then went on towards the mouth of the cave.

Even before he pulled the tarpaulin aside he was aware, from the shrill cries of the gulls, that something unusual was happening outside. Thinking that possibly the cause was a coming change in the weather, for he knew that gulls often get excited at such times, he moved the heavy tarpaulin and looked. Instinctively his eyes turned upwards to the birds. Normally the majority sat placidly on the ledges on the face of the cliff, but now they all appeared to be on the wing, and he was amazed at the number of them. The air was full of whirling white forms, thousands of them, wheeling and at the same time uttering discordant cries of alarm.

At first Ginger could see nothing on account of the birds, but as he stared he became aware that they seemed to be concentrating at two places, not very far apart. Focusing his eyes on the spot, he caught his breath sharply as he perceived the reason for the uproar. Two men in dark uniforms were creeping along a ledge; in their hands they carried baskets in which they were putting something which they were picking up from the rocks.

It did not take Ginger long to realize that they were collecting the eggs of the gulls, which were protesting at the outrage in the manner already described. For a full minute he stared at the two men as his brain strove to grasp the significance of their presence. Unprepared for anything of the sort, he was for the moment completely taken aback; but as his composure returned he realized that a boat of some sort must have brought them, and he looked along the foot of the cliffs to locate it. It was not hard to find. It was a small collapsible canoe. Sitting beside it, calmly smoking a pipe, was a third man.

Again Ginger’s eyes moved, for he knew that such a frail craft could not have made its way to the rock across the open sea, and what he saw turned him stiff with shock. Lying just off the entrance to the cove, not two hundred yards away, was a submarine, its grey conning-tower rising like a monument above the deck. There was no need to question its nationality, for on the side of the tower was painted, in white, the single letter U. Below it was the number 159.

How long the submarine had been there, Ginger, of course, did not know, but it had evidently been there for some time, for several members of the crew were disposed about the deck, sunning themselves in the autumn sunshine, while a line of washing hung between the conning-tower and a circular gun turret.

Ginger was still staring, half-stunned by shock, when he heard a noise inside the cave that galvanized him into frantic activity. It was the swish-swish of an engine as its propeller was turned preparatory to starting, and he knew that Smyth was about to test the Dingo. Releasing the tarpaulin which he was still holding, he tore back along the catwalk and nearly knocked the Flight-Sergeant into the water with the violence of his approach. He was just in time, for the Flight-Sergeant’s hand was already on the starter.

‘Stop!’ he gasped. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ Leaving the mechanic gazing after him, as if he had lost his reason, he dashed along to the records room, where he found Biggles and Algy still poring over the map.

Their eyes opened wide at the expression on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’ snapped Biggles.

Ginger pointed down the cave. ‘There’s a U-boat in the cove,’ he panted.

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Biggles sprang to his feet. ‘The dickens there is,’ he said tersely. ‘What’s it doing?’

Briefly, Ginger described the situation.

‘I’d better have a look,’ muttered Biggles. ‘There seems to be nothing we can do except sit quiet in the hope that it will soon clear off.’

‘Suppose these bird-nesters find the cave?’ asked Ginger.

‘It’ll be the last birds’-nesting they do for a long time,’ promised Biggles grimly.

‘It’s the U 159,’ Ginger informed him.

Biggles clenched his fists. ‘By thunder,’ he swore, ‘here’s a chance. It was the U 159 that sank the liner Arthurnia without warning, so it would be just retribution if we handed it a basinful of the same medicine. It must be on its way back to its depot. Come on.’

He dashed off down the catwalk closely followed by the others, but nearing the tarpaulin he slowed down and peered cautiously round the end of it.

The U-boat was still in the same position, but the men who had been ashore, evidently having filled their baskets, were making their way back in the canoe. Reaching the submarine, they climbed leisurely on board.

‘They seem to be in no hurry,’ observed Biggles anxiously. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have them hanging about for some time. Ginger, send the Flight-Sergeant to me.’

Presently the Flight-Sergeant came at the double, and Biggles gave him orders in a low voice. ‘Get an armour-piercing bomb on each machine and cast off ready for instant action.’ He turned to the others. ‘If she finds the cave we shall have to go for her,’ he explained. ‘There are probably forty or fifty men on board, so if they once got ashore we shouldn’t have a chance. They’d radio our position to Germany, anyway, and probably plaster us with that heavy gun on the bows. Our machine-guns wouldn’t be much use against that. I’m still hoping they’ll go without finding us.’

An hour passed, and still the submarine gave no indication of departure. Another hour went by; the washing was taken in and the deck cleared, but not until mid-afternoon did the sinister craft begin to turn slowly towards the open sea.

Biggles breathed a sigh of relief. ‘She’s going,’ he said. ‘That’s the best thing that could happen for everybody.’

With her steel deck awash, the submarine ploughed its way slowly towards the south, the airmen watching it with mixed feelings of relief and regret, for such a mark might never again present itself.

Ginger, who had fetched a pair of binoculars, steadied himself against the rock and brought them into focus. ‘How far is it away do you think?’ he asked Biggles.

‘About a couple of miles—why?’

‘It’s stopped—at least, I think so. Yes, it has,’ declared Ginger. ‘There seem to be some officers on deck—they’re looking at something on the water. By gosh! It’s coming back.’

Biggles grabbed the glasses—not that they were really necessary, for what Ginger had said was obviously correct. The submarine had swung round in a wide circle and was returning over its course.

‘What’s the idea?’ asked Algy. ‘What could they have seen to bring them back?’

Biggles snapped his fingers. ‘I’ve got it,’ he cried. ‘Look!’ He pointed at an iridescent stain that drifted from the mouth of the cave and spread in a long wavy line towards the southern horizon. ‘They’ve spotted that oil,’ he added sharply. ‘They’re on their way back to see where it’s coming from. It’ll bring them straight to the cave. Quick! The machines! We’ve got to get that sub. or it’s all up with us. Pull that tarpaulin out of the way, Smyth.’

There was a rush for the machines. Biggles was away first, as he was bound to be, for the Willie-Willie was nearest the entrance and blocked the way of the others. The roar of its engine drowned all other sounds. Leaving a wake of churning water behind it, the machine shot through the entrance to the cave and raced on over the cove. It bumped once or twice as it struck the swell of the open sea, and then, after climbing for a moment or two at a steep angle, made straight for the U-boat.

Biggles knew that there was no time for tactics. In the first place the members of the submarine crew must have heard his engine start, and no doubt they could now see him. That was not all. He knew that he had got to send the U-boat to the bottom before a wireless message could be sent to the shore, or a flotilla of destroyers would be round the islet like a pack of wolves round a wounded deer. It was in an attempt to prevent this happening that Biggles roared straight at the submarine.

From a distance of a quarter of a mile he could see the gun-crew feverishly loading their weapon, and more in the hope of delaying them than hitting anybody, he brought his nose in line and fired a series of short bursts from his machine-guns. Whether it was due to this or an order from the commander he did not know, but the men suddenly abandoned their weapon and bundled into the conning-tower. The top closed and the U-boat began to submerge.

But by this time Biggles was over it. His bomb hurtled down. He zoomed away swiftly, banking steeply on the turn so that he could see what happened. What he saw brought a grim smile to his lips. As quick as he had been, the others were not far behind him. The Didgeree-du and the Dingo, in line, swept over the patch of swirling water. Two great columns of smoke and spray shot upwards. The stern of the U-boat rose high out of the water, the propellers racing; higher and higher it rose until it was almost vertical; then it plunged downwards and disappeared from sight.

For a little while Biggles continued to circle, the other machines following him, in case there should be any survivors; but there were none, and in his heart he was relieved, for they were in no condition to take care of prisoners. A final glance at the wide patch of oil that marked the last resting-place of the U-boat and he turned back towards the islet. Without waiting for the others to land, he raced straight on into the cave, and, jumping out, ran on to the radio room.

‘Did that submarine manage to get out a signal?’ he asked Roy sharply.

‘Yes, sir. It was very short though—not more than three or four words, I should say, although as they were in code I don’t know what they mean. I’ve got a record of the letters though.’

‘I see,’ said Biggles slowly, and returned to the catwalk where the others were just coming ashore.

‘What you might call short and sweet,’ remarked Algy.

‘Short, but not very sweet,’ answered Biggles. ‘Ah, well, that’s war. If it hadn’t been them it would have been us. That’s what they’ve been handing out to unarmed ships so they could hardly complain. The Admiralty will be glad to know that one raider is out of the way. It seems to be a case where we might risk transmitting a signal. But come on, we’d better get ready for this show to-night.’