Читать книгу Biggles Sees It Through - W E Johns - Страница 6

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The stars were paling in the sky the following morning when the Blenheim took off from the bleak aerodrome on its dangerous quest. Algy still persisted in adopting a facetious attitude about the whole thing, but he knew well enough the hazardous nature of the enterprise. Biggles had, of course, taken the Station Commander into his confidence to account for their temporary absence, for the supposed site of the crashed Polish machine was nearly three hundred miles from their base at Oskar, and since snow had fallen recently he suspected that it was going to be hard to spot the wreck from the air. But what concerned him most was the probability of running into hostile aircraft on the same mission as themselves, for while he had no fear that they would not be able to hold their own if it came to combat, too frequent encounters would not only diminish their petrol supply, but would seriously interfere with their search.

He flew in a straight line towards a point some distance north of Lake Ladoga, his objective being the area due east of where they had found the dying professor. This was actually about twenty miles inside the Finnish border, but the old man had been so hazy as to his whereabouts that it seemed just as likely that the crash would be in Russia as in Finland.

Reaching the spot, he started to circle, exploring with his eyes the many lakes over which the Blenheim passed; but it was obvious from the start that the search was not going to be easy. Owing to the snow it was difficult to see what was frozen water and what was snow-covered land. In the case of large lakes, the flat surface was, of course, a pretty good guide, but even so it was not easy to see where the water ended and the land began. Many times Biggles brought the machine nearly to the ground in order to make a closer examination of rocks that occasionally formed the shores of the lakes.

‘I don’t think it’s any good going on like this,’ he told Algy at last. ‘We might go on doing this sort of thing for weeks without spotting the crash. Apart from the spare juice in the cans we’re carrying, we’ve only just enough left to get home. We’re over Russia now, anyway.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Land. We shall have to start working these lakes systematically—at any rate, the big ones. We’ll land as near the bank as we dare and then explore on foot. If we draw blank we’ll hop on to the next lake.’

Algy shook his head sadly. ‘Seems a crazy business to me.’

‘Can you think of anything better?’

‘No.’

‘Then don’t be so infernally pessimistic. There is this about going down: the machine won’t be so likely to be seen if we run into a bunch of Russians or Boche. Look at that.’ The sun had just broken through the mist, and he pointed at the shadow of the Blenheim, huge and distorted, as black as pitch against the white background of snow, as it raced along below them. ‘That shadow can be seen for miles,’ he added.

Algy touched him on the arm. ‘Take a look,’ he said, pointing ahead.

Peering through the windscreen, Biggles saw five black specks against the sky high overhead; they were in arrow formation, and were obviously Messerschmitts. Instantly he cut the throttle and glided down, and the shadow on the ground seemed to come to meet the machine. As the wheels touched the surface of the frozen lake, machine and shadow came together and ran on to a stop.

‘We’ll sit here for a bit and hope they don’t spot us,’ said Biggles. ‘I can’t look for a crash and fight five Messers at the same time. I’m not a perishing magician.’ He switched off and the propellers hissed viciously to a standstill. In the silence that followed the drone of the machines overhead sounded like the buzzing of angry hornets.

They watched them for some time without speaking. Then, ‘They’re going over,’ said Algy. ‘What do we do next?’

‘I think we’ll taxi over to those rocks,’ returned Biggles, nodding towards a mass of black basalt that erupted out of the snow on the edge of the lake. ‘Then we’ll have a look at the map and start checking off the lakes one by one.’

‘Okay,’ agreed Algy.

Biggles took the machine to the spot he had indicated and then called the other two members of the crew forward. ‘Well, here we are,’ he said. ‘We shall have to do a bit of exploring on foot. Smyth, you’ll stay with the machine—keep your eyes skinned. Algy, you and Ginger go one way; I’ll go the other; we’ll meet at the far side, and if we don’t find anything we’ll come straight back and hop on to the next lake. Put a white sheet over your shoulders in case those Messers come back.’

They found nothing on the edge of that lake; nor did they find anything at the next, or the next, or the one after that. By mid-afternoon they were weary, and all they had done was to put a number of strokes on the map, indicating the lakes that had been searched.

‘If we’re going back we’d better start,’ opined Algy.

‘We’re not going back,’ returned Biggles, glancing at the sky. ‘The weather looks settled, so we may as well stay where we are.’

‘And sleep in the machine?’

‘Unless you prefer the snow,’ smiled Biggles.

‘To the deuce with that. I’m no Eskimo.’

‘I suggest that we have a bite to eat, a few hours’ rest, and then go on with the job,’ put in Ginger. ‘The sky is clear, so it won’t get dark.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Biggles. So far north, at that season of the year, it would not get really dark, as it would do farther south.

They made a satisfying but not particularly appetizing meal from the stores they had brought with them, after which they lay down in the roomy fuselage to rest.

Ginger, however, could not sleep. Try as he would he could not get comfortable, with the result that he was soon in that unhappy state when he knew that, so far from sleeping, he was getting wider awake. The cold was intense, too, and the silence trying to the nerves. He knew that there was only one thing to do to break the spell, and that was to get up and have a walk round. Very quietly, therefore, he opened the door and stepped down into a twilit world so utterly devoid of life that he shivered. Buffing his arms, he walked up and down for a little while regarding the lonely landscape, wondering, naturally, about the quest on which they were engaged and if they would be successful.

Near at hand, where the ice-surfaced lake met the land, the ground rose steeply to a ridge. He did not know what lay beyond it, and the thought occurred to him to find out. Possibly there was another lake, in which case there was just a chance that it might turn out to be the one they were looking for; and it was really in the hope of finding a speedy solution to their problem that he made his way to the top of the ridge.

Before him stretched a panorama so awe-inspiring in its utter desolation that for a minute or two he stared at it aghast. Seen thus it looked much worse than it had done from the air. Snow covered everything, even the drooping firs that here and there clung to the stark hill-sides.

He was about to turn away when a movement caught his eye, and looking round again quickly he saw that it was a flicker of light. At first he supposed it to be the aurora borealis, but soon dismissed this thought, for he perceived that it was much too low down, and of a warm yellow tint. It appeared to come from behind the next ridge, about a mile away, and as he stood staring he thought he heard a faint sound. Seized by curiosity, he at once determined to investigate. He glanced at the machine, but apparently the others were still sleeping, so without further delay he set off across the snow in the direction of the light.

Before he reached the ridge he had a pretty shrewd idea of what he would see on the other side, for the flicker of yellow light was now much brighter, and it could only mean one thing. Beyond the ridge a fire was burning, and a fire indicated the presence of human beings. Even so he was hardly prepared for the sight that met his startled gaze when, on hands and knees, he topped the rise and looked over.

He found himself staring down into a wide, flat depression, which he knew from experience was another of the numerous lakes with which the district abounded. On the near side of it was a camp of six tents, arranged in a circle round a brightly burning fire, near which also a number of men were congregated. They were only about a hundred yards from where he lay. Faint snatches of conversation reached his ears, and although he could not speak Russian, he recognized the sounds of that language. Ginger noted a line of sledges, six in all, close by the tents. Six tents suggested that there were not less than thirty or forty men in the party, and it shocked him to think that they had been so close to danger without being aware of it. Clearly, Biggles would have to know about this at once.

He was about to turn away when a sound reached his ears that for a moment threw his brain into a whirl. It was the soft hum of wind over the fabric of a gliding aeroplane. The Russians evidently heard it too, for there was a sharp cry and more fuel was thrown on the fire, causing the flames to leap high; all of which suggested at once that the men were desirous of attracting the attention of the ’plane. In fact, it implied that the ’plane was expected.

Ginger lay still, resolved now to learn as much as he could before returning to the others. He had not long to wait. The ’plane passed low overhead and made a smooth landing on the lake, finishing its run not far from the camp. Men ran from the fire and dragged the machine still nearer. Two men got out and walked into the camp, where another man, evidently the leader of the ground party, was standing a little apart from the others.

The first words spoken by the new-comers struck Ginger like an electric shock, for they were in German, in which language the leader of the ground party replied. Stiff with amazement and dismay, Ginger heard one of the new-comers speak again, and at the sound of the voice the muscles in his throat seemed to restrict. The voice was unmistakable. It could belong to only one man. He had heard it too often to have any doubt about it. It was the one man whom they had most cause to fear—their old enemy, Hauptmann Erich von Stalhein, head of the Special Branch of the German Secret Service.

What on earth could have brought von Stalhein to a place like this, was the thought that flashed into Ginger’s head. The answer to the question was almost automatic. Obviously he had come to recover the missing portfolio.

For a few minutes longer Ginger watched; then the leaders went into the tent, and as soon as he realized that he was unlikely to gather any further information, he slid back off the rise and raced to the machine.

The others were still asleep, but he awakened them with scant ceremony.

‘Biggles!’ he cried tersely, shaking Biggles’s shoulder. ‘Hi! Wake up. Things are happening—get a move on.’

The others scrambled hastily to their feet, for there was a vibrant ring in Ginger’s voice that bespoke real urgency.

‘What is it?’ asked Biggles sharply.

‘There’s a party of Russians on the other side of the hill. What’s more, von Stalhein is with them.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a fact.’ Ginger described swiftly and briefly what he had seen.

For a moment even Biggles was speechless in the face of this astounding—not to say alarming—piece of information. ‘My sainted aunt!’ he muttered, ‘this is developing into a more desperate business than I bargained for. How far away are they?’

‘Only about a mile. If they happen to march this way they’d be right on us before we could do a thing.’

‘All right—all right. Don’t get excited. We shall have to do something about this. Let me think.’

For a few minutes there was silence while Biggles stared intently at the floor, deep in thought. At last he looked up. ‘Von Stalhein is on the same job as we are, that’s certain,’ he said. ‘If we take off he’ll hear us. Further, he’d hear us every time we tried to get down anywhere near here. In short, once we’re in the air we’re stumped.’

‘If we stay here and they happen to find us, we shall be knocked for six,’ put in Algy grimly.

‘You needn’t tell me that,’ returned Biggles crisply. ‘As I see it, our only chance is to get this party on the run before they know we’re about. If we could do that it ought to give us a little while to carry on the search unmolested.’

‘Yes, but how are you going to do that?’

‘There’s only one way. We’ve got to attack them.’

‘Attack them!’ cried Algy. ‘Four against forty? You’re crazy.’

‘Not so crazy as you might think. We’ve got two machine-guns and a couple of rifles. The enemy won’t know that there are only four of us. Suppose you were in that camp, unaware of a hostile force in the district; then, suddenly, from close range, a brisk fire was opened up on you by machine-guns and rifles. What would you do?’

‘Run,’ answered Algy promptly.

‘Exactly. Those Ruskys will run, too. They’ll suppose that they’re being attacked by one of those flying columns of Finns that have been doing so much damage lately. In their anxiety to get away they’ll abandon their stores. We’ll destroy them, which means that since they can’t stay here without food or shelter they’ll have to return to where they can get fresh supplies. While they’re doing that we shall take the opportunity of finding the papers.’

‘It sounds easy,’ agreed Algy dubiously.

‘Isn’t it a bit thick to open fire on a sleeping camp?’ put in Ginger.

Biggles laughed sarcastically. ‘What d’you think this is—a Sunday-school party? Forget it. This is war, and a surprise attack is what every general dreams about. D’you suppose that if they’d tumbled on us they’d have invited us to pick up our guns and fire the first volley? Not on your life. After the trouble we’ve caused him in the past, if von Stalhein got hold of us he’d shoot us with no more qualms than if we were rabbits—you know that as well as I do. This is a chance we may not get again, and I’m in favour of taking advantage of it. One thing is certain—we’ve got to drive them out before they drive us out; otherwise we might as well pack up and go home.’

‘I think we ought to give them a chance,’ protested Ginger. ‘After all, as long as we can get rid of them, that’s really all we’re concerned with.’

Biggles thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘If we wounded any of them, we should find ourselves cluttered up with prisoners—unless we just left them to die, which isn’t a nice thought. I’ll tell you what. We’ll try shooting high first. If they bolt, so well and good, but if they return our fire we shall have to let ’em have it, and no argument. After all, it’s our lives against theirs.’

‘What about von Stalhein’s ’plane?’ inquired Algy.

‘We’ll attend to that at the same time,’ declared Biggles. ‘A can of petrol should do the trick. Come on, let’s get the guns out.’

In ten minutes they were ready, armed with the two mobile machine-guns they had brought with them, rifles and revolvers, in addition to which Biggles carried a two-gallon can of petrol with the cap already loosened.

From the spot where Ginger had lain they surveyed the enemy camp and saw that it was now sleeping; at least, only one man could be seen, a sentry, who, with a fine indifference to his task, was standing near the fire warming his hands. A yellow light showed through the canvas of the tent von Stalhein had entered.

Biggles gave his orders in a whisper. ‘You stay here,’ he told the others. ‘I’m going to make a detour to get to the ’plane from the far side. As soon as you see the flames, let drive at the tops of the tents—and keep on firing. Yell at the same time. Try to make as much noise as a squadron of cavalry. I shall probably be about a quarter of an hour.’ He glided away below the brow of the hill and was soon lost to sight.

Algy took one machine-gun and Smyth the other. They aligned them on the tents. Ginger had to be content with a rifle. After that there was nothing they could do except wait. The minutes passed slowly. Not a sound broke the silence.

‘The fireworks are about due to begin, I think,’ murmured Algy at last.

Hardly had the words left his lips when a blue flicker of flame lit up the air over the machine; it grew swiftly in volume; then came a whoosh, and a great sheet of flame leapt skyward.

‘Okay,’ snapped Algy, ‘let ’em rip.’

Instantly the still air was shattered with the demoniac rattle of machine-guns. After the silence the din was terrifying. Above the clatter rose the yells of the attackers. The blaze of the now burning aircraft, and the crackle of the bullets in its guns, added to the turmoil.

The effect on the camp was only what was to be expected in the circumstances. Utter confusion reigned. Blind panic followed, and in less than a minute the Russians were in flight, streaming across the snow with bullets whistling about their ears. Never was victory more swiftly or more easily achieved. Complete success had crowned the enterprise.

Biggles dashed up. ‘Cease fire,’ he ordered. ‘They’ve gone and we’d better go steady with the ammunition.’

They waited for a little while to give the Russians a chance to get clear, and then went down to the camp.

‘See what’s on those sledges,’ ordered Biggles. ‘If there’s nothing of any use to us pitch them on the fire. Do the same with the tents.’ He himself went to the tent in which von Stalhein had been in consultation with the Russian leader. He came out stuffing some papers in his pocket, and then helped the others to drag the tent to the fire. In a few minutes all that remained of the enemy camp was a blazing pyre in the centre of an area of trampled snow. Most of the enemy had abandoned their rifles in their haste, and these, too, were flung into the blaze. The ’plane was a glowing heap of metal.

‘I fancy that’s cramped their style for a bit, anyway,’ remarked Biggles with satisfaction as he surveyed the scene. ‘We may as well get back to the machine.’

‘What are you going to do next?’ asked Algy as they approached the Blenheim.

‘As it must be pretty nearly morning, we may as well go on with the search,’ returned Biggles. ‘I’ll just have a look at these papers first.’

Reaching the machine, the others gathered round while Biggles examined the documents he had found in the enemy camp. All except one were in Russian, so as he could not read them he buried them in the snow. The exception was in German, and this he perused with interest, for there was good reason to suppose that it had been brought by von Stalhein.

Actually, it told them little they did not already know. It described the dead professor, referred to the papers containing the results of his experiments, and gave vague directions for finding them. It included a sketch-map showing the position where the professor’s body had been found, proving that—as Biggles had surmised—the body had been located the day before by the Messerschmitt pilot. But there was, of course, no guide to the actual locality of the missing papers, for this was something the professor did not know himself, and Biggles derived a crumb of comfort from the fact that the enemy was in as big a quandary as he was regarding their whereabouts.

Having read the letter aloud, Biggles folded it and put it in his pocket. ‘That doesn’t help us much,’ he remarked. ‘The only thing we can do is to proceed as we did yesterday; but we’d better keep our eyes skinned for any stray Russians who may be about. Von Stalhein of course will come back. He’s that sort of fellow.’

‘By gosh! won’t he be in a tearing rage, too,’ remarked Ginger.

‘As he’s three parts a rattlesnake at any time, I don’t see that he can be much worse,’ returned Biggles. ‘We’d better keep clear of him if we can.’

‘How far will those Russians have to go for fresh stores, d’you think?’ queried Ginger.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Biggles. ‘I don’t think it can be less than a couple of days’ march. Come on, let’s get busy while we’ve got the chance.’