21 Biggles In The Baltic Page 5

  The field was under them now. Almost imperceptibly the nose of the machine came up as Biggles flattened out. The tail sank a little, but still the machine glided on towards the trees, its wheels about two feet above the grass.

  Ginger held his breath and waited, praying that there were no unseen obstacles, for on the floor of his cockpit rested a small, square wooden case containing enough high explosive to blow the machine to atoms. He breathed again as the wheels touched, bumped gently once or twice, and trundled on towards the trees. He felt the machine strain slightly as the left wheel brake was applied, causing the aircraft to swing slightly so that it finished its run a dozen yards from the trees, facing the open field ready for an instant take-off should danger threaten. Silence fell.

  `Well, here we are,' remarked Biggles quietly.

  `Nice work, chief,' acknowledged Ginger.

  They both got out of the machine, Ginger taking the explosive charge with him, and stood still, listening, peering with straining eyes into the dim moonlight, for there was just sufficient light for it to be deceptive.

  Èverything seems to be quiet; I don't think we were spotted,' said Biggles at last. 'Give me a hand.'

  Slowly, and not without effort, they dragged the machine back into the dense gloom under the trees, leaving it with its nose still pointing to the open field. There was no movement of air, so the question of the direction of the wind did not arise.

  `Good! She'll do nicely there. We'll get along,'

  muttered Biggles softly, and picking up the time-bomb, set off down a hedge that led in the direction of the tunnel.

  They came to a gap, and crawling through it, came out in a lane, which they followed for some distance ; then Biggles cut across country, keeping as close as possible to the hedges, until they came to a slight embankment. 'We're about over the tunnel,' whispered Biggles. 'If we turn right here it should bring us to the entrance.'

  In a quarter of an hour, now moving slowly and with infinite caution, they came within sight of the railway line. Lying flat, Biggles surveyed the scene. There was no one in sight. The guard-house, a square black barn, stood about a hundred yards away, but of the sentries there was no sign. He crept forward for a short distance and again lay still, straining his eyes to find the men who he knew must be there.

  He was still staring into the tricky half-light when the door of the barn was suddenly thrown open; a shaft of yellow light fell athwart the grass, and a peremptory voice, in German, called, 'Keep your eyes open there ; there 's been an air-raid warning.'

  Jawohl,' was grunted in answer, so close to where he lay that Biggles instinctively stiffened.

  The door was closed and the light disappeared. Silence returned. But it did not last long. '

  Did

  you hear that, Fritz ?' said the voice that had last spoken.

  Ja,' came the reply, heavy with boredom, some distance away. 'Anybody would think that the Englanders were coming here. The corporal 's nervous. He ought to go into the trenches for a bit; that'd cure him.'

  Biggles smiled grimly and felt for Ginger. 'I shall have to knock this fellow on the skull,'

  he breathed. 'If he makes one sound we're sunk. Keep close to me.' He drew his revolver, and holding it by the barrel, began to creep forward. He had not far to go. A round forage-cap appeared silhouetted against the sky. Beside it, at an angle, was the black outline of a bayonet.

  For several minutes Biggles lay still, trying to work out the best way of approach, for there seemed to be a low growth of brambles between him and the sentry, and to cross these without making a sound was manifestly impossible. He was still lying there when, from far away, came the drone of an aero-engine, its steady purr punctuated by the dull whoof, whoof, whoof, of archie. He knew that it was Algy, still cruising about watching for a possible signal.

  `Hello, Fritz, here comes the Englander,' called the sentry excitedly. 'Come here, you'll see better.'

  The last word died on the man's lips, for know-

  ing that if the two sentries came together his task would be infinitely more difficult, Biggles had risked all on a desperate chance. The sound of the man's voice deadened the slight crunch of briars as Biggles crept swiftly across them, added to which the sentry's interest was entirely absorbed by the approaching aircraft. He was staring up into the sky when Biggles rose like a black shadow behind him and brought the butt of his revolver down on his head. The man dropped without a sound.

  Tight lipped with anxiety, Biggles whipped off the man's cap and put it on his own head.

  Snatching up the rifle, with the bayonet fixed, he rose erect just as the second sentry came over the brow of the slope not half a dozen paces away.

  Àh, there you are,' grunted the German as he came on. 'What are you doing ?'

  Biggles dropped the point of the bayonet until it was a foot from the man's breast. 'One sound and you die,' he said sharply in German, and there was a vibrant quality in his voice that confirmed his dire threat. 'Drop your rifle,' he added.

  After his first gasp of astonishment the man made no sound. The rifle fell to the ground with a thud.

  `Now lie down on your face and you will not be hurt,' commanded Biggles.

  The man obeyed.

  `Ginger, pull his greatcoat over his head and tie

  that the machines would be wrecked trying to effect a landing in the cove. By holding on their present course there was just a chance that they might reach a neutral country, in which case, even if they got down safely, they would spend the rest of the war in an internment camp. But they would at least save their lives.

  Biggles did not hesitate for long. He decided to return to the island—if he could find it.

  He was by no means sure that he could, for the weather was fast getting worse. And it continued to get worse, great masses of cloud rolling across the sky and filling the air with a drenching mizzle that blotted everything underneath. Another thing that worried Biggles was the fact that Ginger was already soaked to the skin, and might well collapse from exposure if he remained much longer in the air. How much petrol Algy still had left in his tanks he did not know, but he assumed that it was no more than he himself had.

  With one thing and another it was in a very anxious state of mind that he began a wide turn which he hoped would bring them within view of the base.

  Twenty minutes passed. The wind was now blowing half a gale, bringing with it occasional sleet, and he had to admit to himself that he had no idea of his position. Only one thing was clear, and that was that their condition was little short of desperate ; consequently, when a few minutes

  later he saw land through a hole in the clouds, he lost no time in diving towards it. He knew that it was not Bergen Ait, for it seemed to consist chiefly of a long sandy beach, with flat, marshy ground beyond it; however, since their lives were now at stake, he glided towards it, thankful for the opportunity of getting down anywhere.

  As he drew nearer he was able to make out that the beach fringed a large bay, protected on the windward side by rolling sand-dunes, so that the surface of the water, while not by any means calm, was far less rough than the open sea and offered a fair chance of a landing. Had he been sure that the surface of the marsh was firm he would have risked a landing on it, but he had no means of knowing whether it was hard or soft and he dare not take the chance. The only satisfactory thing about the landscape was that it seemed to be entirely deserted, for he could not see a building of any sort.

  After a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Algy was following, he glided down to a rather rocky landing, and at once taxied to the shelter of the lee shore, where, after a searching survey of the landscape, he turned to see how Ginger was faring, and to wait for Algy.

  Ginger was standing up. His teeth were chattering. Crikey !' he muttered, 'isn't it perishing cold 1 Where are we ?'

  Biggles shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't ask me. All I know is that we're in a lovely mess--

  -or we shall be if this muck doesn't cl
ear off. Here comes Algy ; let's hear what he has to say about it.'

  Algy landed and taxied up to them. He pointed to the sandy beach. 'What country 's that ?

  ' he demanded.

  `Search me,' returned Biggles bitterly. 'As far as I'm concerned it could be pretty well anything except Australia or Canada. We've been going round in circles for the last half hour.'

  `You're telling me,' snorted Algy. 'You nearly got me dizzy. What made you land here, anyway? Are you thinking of doing a bit of paddling on the beach, or something ?'

  Ìf this sea doesn't go down pretty soon you're likely to have all the paddling you want—

  and bathing too,' retorted Biggles. 'I don't know about you, but my main tank is pretty well dry. We can't do anything about it until the clouds lift —not that I think they will, until this evening. The dickens of it is, Ginger's wet through.'

  `Then why not run up on the sand? There ought to be some driftwood about; if there is we could light a fire and warm ourselves.'

  Biggles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a harassed frown lining his forehead. 'If it happens to be a neutral country there'll be a fine old stink if anybody sees us.'

  `From what I can see of it there's going to be a stink anyway. I'm all for going ashore.'

  Àll right,' agreed Biggles. 'If the sand is firm we could take off from the beach.'

  No more was said. They taxied the two machines to the edge of the surf, where, lowering their wheels, they ran up on the sand. By the time they had looked about them the rain had stopped, although billowing clouds sweeping low over the sea restricted visibility to about a mile.

  Ìf this stuff will lift a little higher we ought to be able to find our way back to the island,'

  declared Biggles cheerfully, glancing upward before turning to scrutinize the landscape; but all that could be seen was a long strip of drab yellow sand, unbroken by a footmark and backed by bleak dunes that ended in a fringe of coarse grass. A more desolate spot it would be hard to imagine, for there was not a building of any description in sight, or any other mark of human occupation. Which, of course, suited them very well. There was plenty of driftwood along the high-water mark, so in a short time a brisk fire was burning, with the stranded airmen huddled around it. And there they remained all day, going farther and farther to collect fuel as their stock ran low, noting with satisfaction that between occasional storms the weather slowly improved, with a corresponding extension of visibility.

  On one such wood-collecting excursion Ginger found himself near the sand-dunes, so more from a spirit of idle curiosity than definite reconnaissance he climbed to the top of the highest and surveyed the view inland. He discovered that, as not infrequently happens, he could see farther across the landscape than he could over the sea, and thus it was that an unsuspected feature was revealed, a feature that at once explained the desolation. It seemed that they were not on the mainland at all, but on a sandbank about half a mile wide, and of such length that it could almost claim the description of an island.

  Beyond it lay a narrow strait, with what he took to be the mainland in the background—a foreshore as low and desolate as the sandbank on which he stood. And he saw something else, something that aroused his curiosity more than a little, although the object was commonplace enough. It was merely a notice-board on the edge of the sandbank ; but it seemed to be in a well-kept condition, and he wondered, naturally enough, for what purpose a board should be erected in such a place, since it was hard to imagine that anyone would come there unless compelled to do so—as they had been—by bad weather.

  The notice-board stood some distance away, facing the strait, and his curiosity was such that he felt compelled to examine it more closely; at any rate, the language used would tell him what country they had invaded, he reflected ; it might even give them the name of the locality, which would be a valuable guide to help them to find the base. So, keeping a careful look-out, he set off across the soaking grass.

  The board proved to be at a greater distance than he had judged; however, he encountered no obstacles, and the end of ten minutes' sharp walking saw him standing in front of it.

  One glance was sufficient to tell him on whose territory they had landed, for apart from the unmistakable German letters, the order concluded with the two familiar words, 'Heil Hitler.' For the rest, unable as he was to read German, he could only recognize the word verboten, which he knew meant forbidden.

  He made a note of the text for Biggles's benefit, and was about to start on the return journey when, like a colossal apparition, out of the mist at the northern end of the strait came the last type of vessel he expected to see in such a place. It was a liner, and a huge one at that. He wasted no more time, but bending low, raced back towards the camp as fast as his legs would carry him.

  As he topped the last rise he saw Biggles coming to meet him, and Algy's attentive position near the machines suggested that they had become alarmed by his absence.

  `What is it ?' asked Biggles crisply, knowing from Ginger's attitude that something was amiss.

  `We're on an island,' puffed Ginger. 'There 's a channel on the other side. There 's a whacking great liner going through it.'

  Biggles's face expressed amazement, but he dashed up the slope, and throwing himself down, peered through the long grass. 'Well, upon my life, if it isn't the Leipzig!' he gasped. 'She 's the swell German luxury liner. You remember she disappeared after leaving South America about three weeks ago. The Navy's been scouring the seas for her. So she 's got away, after all. I should say she 's going to Danzig, now the Germans have captured the city. They'll probably use her as a troopship. What a tragedy we haven'

  t a torpedo with us. What a target she makes! But what 's the use of talking. Even if we took off now, and found the base right away, it would be dark before we could get back.'

  For some minutes they lay still, watching the great ship creeping majestically down the channel.

  `Why were you away so long ?' asked Biggles presently.

  Ì went to have a look at that notice-board over there.'

  `Notice-board ? Where ?'

  Ginger pointed. 'There it is. I went to see what was written on it. It's in German, so we're it round his neck with the belt,' went on Biggles. `Now tie his wrists behind his back with your handkerchief--pull it tight.' He opened the flap in the butt of the rifle and took out the cord pull-through used for cleaning the barrel of the weapon. Kneeling, he wound it twice round the sentry's ankles and knotted it.

  Now these operations had taken perhaps two minutes, and all the time the aeroplane had been drawing nearer. And that was not all. The door of the barn had been thrown open, and half a dozen men poured out, talking excitedly, staring up at the sky. A telephone bell jangled. As if this were not enough, the rumble of a train could be heard approaching the southern end of the tunnel.

  Biggles snatched up the time-bomb. 'If either of these fellows moves hit him on the head,

  ' he said grimly. 'If those guards come this way, leave me; make for the machine and save yourself.' Before Ginger could answer he had scrambled down the slope and disappeared into the tunnel.

  With his heart beating painfully from suppressed excitement, Ginger squatted beside the sentries, watching the men outside the barn, for in them lay the greatest danger. Once one of them shouted something, presumably to the sentries, but as Ginger could not speak German he did not know what was said, and could only remain silent. Overhead, the aircraft was now turning for home.

  Ginger waited. A minute passed; it seemed an eternity of time. Another minute went by.

  What on earth was Biggles doing, he wondered feverishly ? If he wasn't quick he would be knocked down by the train. Then, to add to his panic, one of the men outside the barn detached himself from the group and hurried down the line towards him.

  Ginger drew his revolver and curled his finger round the trigger. Why didn't Biggles come ?

  The man gave a shout and broke into a sprint, and the next instant the rea
son revealed itself. Biggles came panting up the embankment. 'Run for it,' he gasped.

  The man on the line shouted again. It was answered by others. A shot rang out.

  `Keep going,' panted Biggles, as they tore through the brambles and made for the hedge that led in the direction of the landing-ground.

  Ginger, snatching a glance over his shoulder, saw a line of figures on the top of the embankment, but the next second he was flung flat on his face as the ground rocked to the roar of an explosion that nearly burst his eardrums. Dazed, he staggered to his feet.

  Biggles caught him by the arm. 'Keep going,' he said again.

  If there was a pursuit Ginger saw no more signs of it. His knees were weak under him by the time they reached the field in which the plane had been left. Gasping for breath, for they had crossed a

  ploughed field and their boots were caked with mud, he staggered on. Biggles, too, was puffed, and had to slow down. The group of trees that concealed the machine was still some distance away, but they plodded on, keeping close to the hedge. Once an aeroplane, its navigation lights ablaze, roared over them.

  `They've got fighters up, looking for Algy I suppose,' panted Biggles. 'They'll be after us, too, presently,' he added, as they reached the machine, still standing as they had left it.

  `Have we got navigation lights on ?' asked Ginger suddenly. 'I forgot to look.'

  `Yes—why ?'

  `Then why not switch 'em on and fly low ?'

  Biggles stared. 'Have you gone crazy ?'

  shouldn't be surprised, but I was thinking that they would take us for one of themselves and leave us alone.'

  Biggles laughed aloud as he scrambled into his seat. 'Brilliant idea,' he declared. 'We can always switch the lights off if the dodge doesn't work. Come on—let's go.'