by W E Johns
“I leave it to you,” said Biggles. “You’d better make a signal when we get near or someone may take a shot at us, thinking we are a Jap patrol.”
“I had thought of it,” replied Li Chi.
Biggles yawned. “I think we’ve done a useful trip,” he remarked. “Gosh! I’m sleepy.”
“Sez you,” muttered Ginger. “I must keep awake long enough though to see Bertie’s face when we arrive home in this cruiser.”
CHAPTER X
PREPARATIONS
HAVING gone ashore Biggles and Ginger were walking towards Li Chi’s house when they met Algy and Bertie coming to meet them, for it turned out that they had been told of the party’s return in a Japanese launch. Dawn was just breaking. Li Chi had remained behind to supervise the unloading of the rubber and the camouflaging of the Lotus.
“I say, old boy, where did you pick up the yacht?” asked Bertie enthusiastically.
“We asked the Japs to lend it to us—and we asked in a way that made it difficult for them to say no,” answered Biggles cheerfully. “When did you get back?”
“Late last night,” answered Algy. “There have been several enemy machines—mostly Zeros—over, having a look round.”
“We must expect that,” returned Biggles. “Things are happening.”
“Did you see Marling?”
“Yes. On the way to the house Biggles narrated briefly the events at Shansie. Having gone into the lounge and made themselves comfortable, he resumed. “There are several things I’m anxious to know. First, how goes the runway?”
“It’s advanced enough for single landings, as long as the pilot knows where to look for it. I wouldn’t say it’s ready for the Liberators, but fighters could get in. It ought to be ready for the Liberators by tonight. Work on it never stops.”
“ Good! Did you bring any petrol back with you?”
“As much as we could stow away in four-gallon cans.”
“What’s the position in India?”
“The gang is all ready, waiting for the word to bring the machines over.”
“We’re doing fine,” declared Biggles. “And we shall have to continue like that if we are to get this thing buttoned up. Now listen, everybody. It’s becoming increasingly clear that due to the activities of this skunk Pamboo we shan’t be able to hang around here for as long as we expected; but we’ll carry on as long as we can. The only thing that matters is the rubber and we’ve got to be prepared to take chances in order to get it to India; but I doubt if we shall be able to shift five thousand tons before this place is made too hot to hold us—certainly not if we are to rely entirely on air transportation. There may be other ways. For instance, there’s a thousand-ton enemy supply ship lying off Victoria Point. I aim to snaffle her tonight. To get a thousand tons of rubber off our hands at one go would give us a flying start.”
“By gad! I should jolly well think so—absolutely,” declared Bertie warmly, polishing his eyeglass vigorously. “Do we come on this show?”
“Sorry, no. You’ll have to go back to India to get a couple of Lightnings across. We shall need them.”
Bertie’s face fell. “Couldn’t we call the boys by radio?”
“We could—and tell the Japs where we are and what we are doing,” said Biggles sarcastically. “I’m not going to risk that.”
“Why do you want the Lightnings in such a hurry?” asked Algy.
“I’ll tell you,” answered Biggles. “This is my plan. As soon as it gets dark I’m going to grab the Sumatran—that’s the ship—and bring her here. The work of loading her with the stuff they make tennis balls out of will begin right away. It might be possible to finish the job by dawn, but I doubt it. By that time the Japs will be in a flap looking for her, and as we can’t hide a ship that size it won’t be long before they spot her. Now, if we’ve got the Lightnings here we ought to be able to knock down Japanese reconnaissance machines before they can get the information back to Tamashoa’s headquarters—get the idea? Moreover, the Sumatran will need air cover in case the Japs spot her heading westward and decide to drop cookies1 on her. Frankly, I don’t think they’ll do that, because for one thing they won’t know what has happened, and for another, they’ll hesitate to bomb what they imagine is their property. But the Lightnings will have to escort her until she’s outside the range of enemy bombers. Now you see why it is vital that we should have the fighters here.”
“Who’s going to take the Sumatran to India?” asked Algy.
“We shall have to fix that up with Li Chi. We’re not capable of handling a big ship.”
“Assuming Li Chi goes, how is he going to get back?”
“I was just coming to that. I’m hoping it won’t be necessary for him to go all the way to India. The first thing you do when you get across is get in touch with the Navy people; tell them what’s happened and ask them to send a destroyer out to pick up the Sumatran. Ask the Air Officer Commanding India to notify Raymond so that he can fix things with the Admiralty. If the Navy will take over the ship it ought to be possible to pick up Li Chi in the Gosling and bring him straight back. I think we might take a chance and tell the boys they can make a trial run with the Liberators tomorrow unless they hear from us that they are not to start. Get back yourself as soon as you can. Taffy Hughes and Ferocity Ferris had better bring the Lightnings across. They should be here before you. We’ll be on the watch for them and make a smudge fire to show them where they are to land. Actually, there are two reasons why we must grab the Sumatran. I’ve told you one. The other is because the Japs are planning an invasion of Elephant Island and I’m hoping that the loss of the transport ship will set them back at least a week. Before that time is up we may be able to hit them another crack. I’ve spoken to Li Chi about his putting spies on the mainland to keep us notified of enemy movements. In a couple of days we ought to have the Liberators on the job shifting the rubber. That’s all.”
“Will Tamashoa wait a week before he attacks?” queried Algy dubiously.
“I think so—if he knows his job. Admittedly, he knows—or he soon will know—that a British force is here but he won’t know in what strength. He’s bound to try to get that information before he attacks.”
Algy nodded and glanced through the window at the sky, now turquoise blue. “Okay. We’d better get off right away.” He looked at his watch. “It’s just turned six. By flying flat out I ought to be across soon after twelve. The Lightnings should be here between four and five. I’m afraid it will be dark before I get back.”
“Why not wait until tomorrow?”
“I’d rather get back.”
“As you like. We’ll put flares out for you. Bring some petrol with you. Shortage of fuel at this juncture is likely to be one of our problems.”
Algy turned. “I could bring more out if I left Bertie here. There’s really no need for him to come.”
“It’s a longish trip. You’ll get a bit browned off by yourself, won’t you?”
“Naturally, I’d rather have company, but if it means a bigger load of petrol—well, I’ll go solo.”
“Here, I say, old boy, that’s a bit tough on you,” broke in Bertie. “You stay here and have a rest. I’ll go.”
“We’ll soon settle that,” decided Biggles. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a coin. “Heads—Algy goes; tails—Bertie.” He tossed the coin. “Heads it is. Algy goes. Bertie, you’ll stay. No doubt we can find you a job.”
Algy turned to the door. “See you later,” he said, and went out.
“Watch your step until you’re out of the danger area,” Biggles called after him. “Enemy air activity may be getting lively.”
“I’ll watch it.” With a wave Algy took the path to the lake.
“Does this mean I can come on the show tonight?” asked Bertie.
“If you like.”
“By Jove! That’s marvellous—absolutely marvellous. Poor old Algy. Dashed hard work, this roaring to and fro across all those miles of drink.”
“We knew that before we started,” asserted Biggles. “I fancy we shall be sick of the sight of the Indian Ocean, or any other ocean, before we’re through with this operation.”
Li Chi came in and reported that the launch had been hauled close inshore, and so covered with verdure that he was not sure if he himself would ever find it again.
“In that case you’d better start looking,” answered Biggles smiling. “We shall need her tonight.”
All hands are at work on the runway and listening posts have been established to report the approach of enemy aircraft,” said Li Chi.
“Good work,” commended Biggles. “With luck we shall have the Liberators operating sometime tomorrow. As long as they can land and get off again that’s all that matters— they will never be here longer than is absolutely necessary. By the way, Li Chi, assuming that we get the Sumatran, where do you suggest we put her? Which is the best place for loading?”
“The cove where we have moored the Lotus. It has this advantage. The rubber is not far away. My junk is in the same cove.”
“I see.” Biggles then explained his plan in detail and concluded by asking Li Chi if he or Ayert, the only master mariners available, would mind taking the Sumatran to India, pointing out that Naval co-operation might make it unnecessary for him to go all the way.
Li Chi expressed his willingness to do this.
“Then that’s about all we can do for the time being,” said Biggles. “The next thing is to get some sleep. I’ll leave it to you to choose the best men for the attack on the Sumatran.”
“How many shall we need ?”
“Are you coming?”
Li Chi smiled. “It will be like old times.”
“Fine. A score of men should be enough. The ideal thing would be to choose men who know how to work a ship. Those men we brought from Shansie should be useful. Marling said that some of them were engine-room men. If we get away with the ship they could stay on board. There should be a nice parcel of prize money for them to, share out, later on.”
Li Chi bowed. “I’ll see to it. One other thing. These Liberators that are coming. Will there be crews with them —gunners, and so on? I ask because if so it will be necessary to prepare accommodation.”
“No,” answered Biggles. “What little servicing will have to be done here we can do ourselves. The machines carry enough fuel for the round trip. Overhauls or repairs will have to be done at the base in India.”
After this debate Biggles and Ginger went off to snatch a few hours’ sleep, leaving Bertie on duty, to rouse them should any development occur. When they awoke, late in the afternoon, he had nothing to report except that work had been suspended several times due to the proximity of enemy aircraft; some had been sighted; some had made a reconnaissance of the island. “Looking for their bally lugger,” conjectured Bertie.
“They’ll be looking for bigger fish by tomorrow, I hope,” remarked Biggles, putting on his shoes.
“The Sumatran is still in the same place.”
“How do you know?”
“You can see her through Li Chi’s binoculars from the top of the hill. We’ve just had a dekko at her.”
Li Chi came in to announce that all arrangements for the raid were complete. The men had been detailed and were looking forward to it. “Seizing a ship is a thing they understand,” said he, ingenuously. “We Chinese believe it is a good thing to start an enterprise with full stomachs,” he went on. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes.”
“I’m ready,” Biggles assured him.
Half-way through the meal there came an interruption. It was expected, and the roar of low-flying planes sent them running out to see two Lightnings circling round, wing-tip to wing-tip.
Those on the ground ran down to the lake, lit a smudge fire and took up positions on the edge of the runway to make its position clear. The fighters landed, and under Biggles’ directions taxied to the frame shelter that had been prepared. Taffy Hughes and Ferocity Ferris, smiling broadly, jumped down, both talking at once, obviously in high spirits.
“See anything on your way over?” asked Biggles, when greetings had been exchanged.
“Water, look you—nothing whatever but water,” said Taffy in a disgusted voice.
“Where did it all come from?” asked Ferocity, plaintively.
“No one knows. Perhaps there was nowhere else to put it,” returned Biggles brightly. “Come up to the mess and have a plate of fish with bamboo shoots.”
“How about filling the machines’ tanks first?” suggested Taffy.
“No hurry about that. They won’t be needed until morning. Speaking of petrol, go easy on it; we’ve none to waste.”
“Algy’s bringing some more across,” stated Ferocity.
“Had he started back when you left?”
“No, but he reckoned he wouldn’t be long.”
“Did he tell you what was cooking?”
“You bet he did.”
“Then there is no need for me to repeat the story,” said Biggles.
“Are we going on this show tonight?” inquired Taffy.
“No,” replied Biggles. “You’ll stay here and have a nice night’s sleep. You may have plenty to do in the morning.”
“Doing what?”
“Starting at the crack of dawn you’ll take turns doing patrols at twenty thousand over the island to deal with any intruder who tries to get a squint at what’s going on here. It shouldn’t be difficult. The fellow in the aircraft won’t be expecting you. He’ll be looking down at us. You’ll be looking down at him. The great thing always to remember is, we don’t want our machines to be seen landing or taking off from here. The longer we can keep the enemy guessing the better. But time’s going. We shall soon have to get cracking. Algy won’t be here for some time yet. If he’s late we shan’t be able to wait for him. Where the Sumatran is concerned every hour of darkness counts. If we go before he comes you’ll have to put marker flares out for him. You’ll hear him coming.”
This Taffy and Ferocity promised to do.
Twilight was falling when the conference came to an end.
* * *
1 R.A.F. slang for bombs.
CHAPTER XI
GINGER GETS A SHOCK
AT eight o’clock, in the heavy sultry darkness that marks the first hours of tropic night, by the light of a firebrand Biggles inspected his coloured commandos and expressed himself satisfied. The inspection took place in a forest glade near the cove in which the Lotus had been hidden.
The scene was one Ginger would never forget. It was one that few white men are privileged to witness, and in modern times might occur once in a lifetime. The selected men, a round score of them, standing in a rough line leaning on their weapons, were as motley a crowd as a Hollywood film director could have imagined; as ill-visaged, ill-dressed and ill-shod a gang as Morgan’s buccaneers must have been after their march to sack Panama. The flickering yellow light of the torch fell on shining sweaty faces that were all shades between yellow and brown. For the most part they wore the sarong, or the ragged remains of one; but in addition, as if in honour of the occasion, each man had produced some piece of frippery with which to bedeck himself—a brilliant sash or a gaudy handkerchief. For weapons each warrior had made his own choice, and the result was, to say the least of it, spectacular. Cold steel, in the form of parangs, or the ghastly Malay kriss, was conspicuous, for in view of the proximity of the enemy coast Li Chi had pointed out the necessity for silent action. White teeth flashed in eager anticipation of the onset which—as Li Chi said—was the sort of warfare these men understood, the sort that had been played by their ancestors for centuries, even until recent times. If, said he naïvely, they had made piracy a national sport among themselves, how much greater must be their satisfaction in having this opportunity to strike back at the rabble that had overrun their country, burnt their kampongs, seized their sampans and stolen their wives?
Ayert, making the air reek with one of his eno
rmous home-made cigars, his mutilated face looking more demoniacal than ever, limped up and down the line keeping some sort of order—at no small risk, it seemed to Ginger, of losing his remaining eye; for from time to time a pirate would swish his parang through the air, either to test it as a musician might tune his instrument before a concert, or out of sheer light-heartedness. Li Chi, still in his yellow kimona, stood watching, calm, his face expressionless.
The background was appropriate to the scene. The towering trunks of forest trees, overhung and looped with the endless rattans, might have been the masts of a fleet of sailing ships, with rigging awry after an action. Lower, through the fronds of the decorative tree-ferns, fireflies flickered like will-o’-the-wisps.
The three white officers who were to accompany the raid would not have passed muster for a ceremonial parade. All were without jackets, shirt sleeves rolled, throats bare, waists belted to carry small-arms. Their faces, arms and necks had been blackened with charcoal, commando style, not for effect, but because white skin can be seen at night more easily than black. Taffy and Ferocity stood on one side, watching, as did the entire native population of the island, comprising, as it was now revealed, more than a hundred men. They had paused in the labour of piling Li Chi’s rubber at the water edge ready for loading into the Sumatran. Algy had not yet returned. Biggles decided not to wait for him. “We ought to be back in a couple of hours or so,” he told Taffy.
“I hope so, by gad,” muttered Bertie. “I feel an absolute scallywag. If my old mare could see me she’d jump clean over the paddock gate. And I don’t like our shipmates. The blighters stink—absolutely stink.”
“You asked to come,” Biggles pointed out.
“Oh yes, rather. Wouldn’t miss this show for worlds—no bally fear,” returned Bertie. “But I wish it wasn’t so beastly hot.”
Biggles turned to Li Chi. “The men know exactly what they are to do?”
“To the letter. My friend, not even you could teach them anything about this business.”
