by W E Johns
But—and this was the factor that set him hoping again—he was not far off the direct course from Madras to Elephant Island. If the sea remained calm, and if the aircraft did not sink—and bearing in mind the five watertight compartments in the hull he did not think they could all be holed—there was a good chance that one of the Liberators would spot him on its outward run to the island the following day. It would not be able to pick him up, but Biggles would at least know where he was. Curiously enough, the possibility of what did actually happen did not occur to him. The last thing he thought of was that he might be picked up by a ship; and for this reason his astonishment knew no bounds when, just as dusk was closing in, he saw not one but six columns of black smoke appear above the northern horizon. Six hulls, which he soon made out to be six destroyers, appeared under the smoke. They were, he observed, making directly towards him; and with a sinking feeling in the stomach he knew why. There was nothing remarkable about it. The two Mitsubishis would be certain to report their combat. They would report that the aircraft was still afloat. Obviously enemy ships in the vicinity would be sent to the spot.
The destroyers, flying the Rising Sun of Japan, their decks lined with curious faces, came close. One moved alongside. A rope was thrown. Algy took it and was hauled aboard. An officer dropped down to the Gosling, searched it and returned. The destroyer backed away. A gun fired three shots. The Gosling went up in a sheet of flame. Algy was allowed to watch this with an armed escort standing beside him. Then he was marched below, to a cabin in which behind a desk sat an officer of senior rank—judging by the amount of gold braid he carried. Two junior officers stood behind him. At a small table sat a clerk with a writing-pad before him. Algy was searched, everything in his pockets being piled on the table. The senior officer examined everything carefully. This formality over, at a word from him one of the juniors, who apparently had been appointed to act as interpreter, addressed Algy with a curious sing-song intonation.
“You are to tell your name, service and rank,” said he.
Algy gave this information.
“Where are you from?” was the next question.
“I have nothing more to say,” answered Algy.
“It will be better for you if you talk freely,” promised the officer.
“I know; but I prefer to say nothing,” returned Algy.
Upon this there was a brief conversation between the interpreter and the senior officer.
Addressing Algy again the interpreter inquired, “Where do you go and why do you carry petrol?”
“I have already told you that I have nothing more to say,” answered Algy. “In that, as you know quite well, I am within my rights as a prisoner of war.”
There was another conversation in Japanese.
“It will be bad for you if you do not answer questions,” said the interpreter.
Algy nodded. “I know.”
“You will say nothing?”
“Nothing. I have told you all that I am compelled to tell you.”
“You will be sorry.”
“No,” stated Algy. “Whatever you do I shall not be sorry.”
That ended the interview. The escort took charge of the prisoner who was marched out to end a short journey in a small bare cell somewhere in the bottom of the ship. He was locked in. There was no porthole, but light was provided by a small electric bulb behind a grill. There was a bunk. Algy lay on it and gave himself up to the contemplation of his position. Most of his thoughts were naturally of a speculative nature. He wondered where the ship would take him—Singapore, Rangoon, Penang, Japan... it might be anywhere. The flotilla might be at sea for days, perhaps for weeks. He wondered how Biggles would manage without the Gosling and what he would think about its non-return. He wondered if the squadron would ever know what happened to him... and so on.
Time passed. It seemed a long time. Algy did not know how long for his watch had been taken from him. He only knew that it must now be night. It was hot, stuffy, in the cabin. No one came near him. After a while he fell asleep.
* * *
1 See Biggles in the Orient.
CHAPTER XIII
ALGY MEETS A FRIEND—AND AN ENEMY
ALGY was tired, and for this reason he slept long and heavily as he realised in a vague sort of way when he was awakened by a steward who brought a dish of rice mixed with some sort of fish. The escort watched from the door.
“What time is it?” asked Algy.
The steward made signs which Algy took to mean that he did not understand; he did not pursue the matter and the man went out, the escort locking the door behind him.
Another long weary period elapsed before it was opened again. This time the officer-interpreter was with the escort. He ordered Algy to follow.
“You go on shore now,” said he. “Perhaps now you will speak,” he added, with something like a sneer.
“I don’t think so,” replied Algy evenly.
“Perhaps Admiral Tamashoa make you change your mind,” said the Jap coldly.
That was the first indication Algy had that the destroyer had arrived at Victoria Point. Nearing the deck he saw that it was broad daylight. The destroyers were dropping anchor at what at first appeared to be a land-locked lagoon. Algy had never seen the place before but he supposed it to be the estuary of the Pak Chan River. It was a depressing looking place. On all sides the forest dropped sheer into the sea. A muddy foreshore, on which lay a few dilapidated prahus, was backed by a street of houses, mostly ramshackle. A wooden landing stage—it could hardly be called a pier—thrust its rotting timbers out into the stagnant water. A line of decomposing vegetation followed the high-water mark. There was nothing Eastern about the place. So this, thought Algy, was the place Tamashoa had made his headquarters.
Still under escort he was taken ashore in a boat lowered for the purpose, and at the landing stage was handed over to a squad of Japanese soldiers, who took him to what he learned later had been the bungalow of the District Police Superintendent. There were a lot of Japanese troops about, mostly undersized little men dressed in the shoddiest of uniforms. It struck him there was a good deal of activity although what it was about he did not know.
He finished his short march in what had obviously been the local jail, a little square cell on the edge of an open space behind the bungalow. A small barred window let in a little air, but the place was in a filthy condition and stank abominably. But he paid little attention to such details, for to his astonishment the cell was already occupied, and by a white man. Dressed in a flannel suit, torn and stained with blood, this man sat on the floor trying to bandage a wound in his leg with a piece of old newspaper. Staring at the man Algy was pushed inside. The door slammed. A key turned in the lock.
“Good day to you, sir,” said the wounded man, looking up from his task. “Forgive my not rising, but I’m having a little trouble with my leg. One of the devils stuck a bayonet into it. Damn scoundrel. I was already a prisoner. But allow me to introduce myself. My name is Marling, one time major in His Majesty’s Indian Army.”
“I’ve heard of you,” said Algy. “My name’s Lacey, Flight-Lieutenant, Royal Air Force. A friend of mine has just been to...” Algy glanced round and dropped his voice. “I’m a friend of Bigglesworth,” he went on tersely. “What are you doing here? What has happened at Shansie? Excuse me, sir, but that paper isn’t much use. I can fix a better bandage than that.” Without any messing about Algy ripped a sleeve out of his shirt.
“Thanks. That’s most kind of you,” said Marling. “Shansie, I’m afraid, is finished. Bigglesworth was right. ‘Fraid I was a bit too confident. Still, I did what I could.”
“What happened?” asked Algy, working on the wound.
“The morning after Bigglesworth went a Jap plane came flying over—looking for the Lotus I imagine. We were at work making an aerodrome. If you’ve seen Bigglesworth he will have told you about it. The Jap must have guessed what we were up to. Next thing we knew Japs were dropping on us out of the
sky. Paratroops, I believe they call ‘em. Well, there we were. We had a little affair that lasted about twenty minutes or so, then they caught me.”
“What happened to your son?”
“Wish I knew. Lost sight of him in the scuffle. Last I saw of him he was using a parang with one of my fellows named Melong. Of course, they might have got into the forest.”
This information worried Algy not a little. “Then the Japs have taken over Shansie?” he queried.
“Without a doubt.”
“In that case Biggles—that is, Squadron Leader Bigglesworth—may step into a trap if he goes there to see you.”
“Fraid you’re right, my boy. Can’t do anything about it though, can we?”
“It looks that way, I must admit. Why did the Japs bayonet you?”
“Wanted me to tell ‘em where I’d hidden my rubber and my rubies.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“Tell them? No fear. Won’t get a word out of me, blast them. I’ve had a set-to with this fellow Tamashoa. He didn’t get anything out of me, either. I told him what I thought of him. Scum of the earth, my boy. That’s what they are. Always said so. How did they get hold of you?”
Algy gave a brief account of his misfortune.
“Bad luck. Damn bad luck. Tamashoa will be seeing you. Won’t get anything out of you though, I’ll bet.”
“Not a word.”
“That’s the spirit. Don’t talk to the scum.”
“Have you any idea of the time, sir?” asked Algy as he finished the bandage.
“Sun’s going down—must be nearly six o’clock. Soon be dark. Devil of a place to pass the night. Place stinks.”
At this point the door was opened and a Japanese non-commissioned officer appeared, behind him an escort of four soldiers with bayonets fixed. With a very dirty finger he beckoned to the prisoners in turn.
“I suppose he means we’re to go with them,” said Algy. “You’d better not move with that leg, sir, or you’ll start it bleeding again.” He tried to point this out to the N.C.O.; and he may have succeeded; but if he did the only effect it had on the Jap was to cause him to cross the cell and drag the major roughly to his feet.
Algy started forward, his face flaming resentment; but Marling spoke to him sharply. “Steady, my boy, or they’ll stick a bayonet into you, too. I can manage.”
The prisoners—Marling limping, with a hand on Algy’s shoulder—had not far to go. They were marched to the front door of the bungalow where a sentry stood on duty. As they entered a small party emerged, obviously another prisoner with an escort. The prisoner in this case was a Burmese youth. With the escort there was a burly Jap, stripped to the waist, carrying a drawn sword—a heavy curved weapon.
As the two parties passed Marling spoke to the prisoner, who answered, “Baik, tuan.1”
“That was Tapil, Melong’s eldest son,” Marling told Algy. “Apparently they caught the lad. Tamashoa has been trying to get him to talk.’
“What was that fellow doing with the drawn sword?” asked Algy.
“You’ll probably find that out soon enough, my boy,” answered the major.
The party came to a halt outside a door. The N.C.O. knocked and went in. He came back and motioned the prisoners forward. Prisoners and escort went in.
Seated at a desk was the man Algy supposed to be Tamashoa. Several members of his staff stood behind him in attitudes of respectful attention. He was not what Algy expected. He thought to see a man of a size and general appearance in proportion to his rank, instead of which the admiral was a smooth-faced, foppish-looking little man of barely middle age, absurdly overdressed by European standards. His uniform was as impressive as that of a cinema attendant. The breast was hung with medals and studded with orders. When the prisoners entered he was reading a document—or for effect, making a pretence of doing so. This he continued to do for a full two minutes, during which a silence, embarrassing in its intensity, persisted. At length Tamashoa deigned to look up. He laid the paper aside and with his elbows on the desk looked at Algy.
“Answer questions,” he said, in fair English. “What were you doing in airplane?”
“Flying,” answered Algy.
Tamashoa appeared to see nothing facetious in this answer. Not a muscle of his face moved. “Quite so. What were you doing in sea?” he asked.
“Swimming,” replied Algy.
“Quite so. I mean, what are you doing here?” queried Tamashoa.
“Standing,” replied Algy evenly. He did not smile.
“Why?” asked Tamashoa.
“Because no one has offered me a seat.”
To Algy’s astonishment, at a movement from the admiral a chair was brought and he was invited to sit. He gave the chair to the major, whereupon another chair was brought.
“You see we understand the courtesy,” said Tamashoa smoothly. “Why did you carry petrol?”
“Because a plane needs petrol to fly.”
“Quite so. You are at Elephant Island?” asserted Tamashoa, getting his tenses mixed.
“No, I’m here,” corrected Algy.
“Quite so. Why are you at Elephant Island?”
“I’m not at Elephant Island,” asserted Algy, truthfully.
“There are British officers at Elephant Island.”
“Are there?”
“Why!”
“You tell me.”
At this juncture it appeared to occur to Tamashoa that he was not getting anywhere, although he could not understand why. The expressions on the faces of his staff did not change. They stood stock still, like dummy figures.
Tamashoa’s next question showed an unbelievable lack of understanding of the Anglo-Saxon mind. “If you will tell me why you were flying, and why British are on Elephant Island with the pirate Li Chi, you shall have your life.”
Algy shook his head. “Has no one ever told you that we do not buy our lives from our enemies?”
“You will not tell me?”
“I will tell you nothing,” said Algy shortly.
“Quite so,” said Tamashoa. He turned to the major. “Because I am by nature a man of great culture I shall give you another chance to tell me where you put the rubber and rubies of Shansie.”
“And because I am by nature an obstinate man I shall not tell you,” answered the major frostily.
Tamashoa said something in Japanese to the N.C.O. He tapped the prisoners on the shoulder and pointed to the window. Understanding that they were to look out Algy went across, as did Marling. The window overlooked the open area behind the bungalow. In it, in the light of a torch, a grim drama was being enacted. Melong’s son was there. His hands had been tied behind his back. He was kneeling. Beside him stood the man with the sword.
Tamashoa joined the others at the window. “Observe what happens to prisoners who are obstinate,” he said blandly. “This man would not speak. If he will not speak he need not live. Soon, unless you can speak, you also will lose your heads.”
The executioner raised his sword. Algy watched the beginning of the downward stroke and turned away.
“Ah,” said Tamashoa. “A pretty cut.”
“Scum,” said Marling in a thin, dry voice. “Scum—that’s what they are.”
“Does that help you to find your tongues?” queried Tamashoa.
“No,” answered Algy and the major together.
“Quite so,” said Tamashoa smoothly. He made a theatrical gesture to the escort and returned to his desk.
The escort closed in and the prisoners were marched out. On the front doorstep the man with the drawn sword was waiting. The N.C.O. spoke to him and he joined the party.
“I’m sorry about this,” Algy told the major. “Now that I know what these skunks are really like I’d like to have one last crack at them.”
“I’m afraid you’ve left it a bit late, my boy,” said Major Marling, without emotion.
* * *
1 “Very good, sir.”
CHAPTER XIV
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ENTER THE LIBERATORS
DURING the twenty-four hours Algy had been a prisoner Biggles had not been idle. Many things had happened on Elephant Island. The Sumatran had been captured and taken according to plan to the cove wherein the Lotus lay, where the work of loading her with rubber had begun forthwith, more than a hundred sweating natives toiling, not as paid workmen, but as men who derive the utmost satisfaction from what they are doing. As nothing more could be done in this respect Biggles turned his attention to the new state of affairs brought about by the capture of Algy and the loss of the Gosling.
“I don’t quite know what’s going to happen here, but I have a feeling that things are working up for an almighty flap,” he told the others. “What we’ve done has been more or less forced upon us; but it would be silly to suppose that Tamashoa is going to take the loss of two ships lying down. If he has to report the loss to his High Command it will mean considerable loss of face, and loss of face to a Jap is worse than death. We shall have to try to do something about Algy. We’ve got to get the Liberators on the move. We’ve got to have petrol and we need another marine aircraft. I hope Li Chi will take the Sumatran to India as planned, but without an amphibian there can be no question of picking him up. He’ll have to go all the way and come back in one of the Liberators later on. We’ve just about enough petrol to get one of the Lightnings to India, so I’d like you, Taffy, to push across right away. Get an amphibian from somewhere. If you can’t get a Gosling get something else. One of the boys will have to bring it over right away. The Liberators had better start, too, right away, leaving at half-hour intervals; as things stand the sooner they leave the better. The first machine will load up with petrol. The second will bring half a dozen H.E. bombs—mix ‘em up, but I want at least a couple of five-hundred-pounders.”
The others looked surprised. “Did you say bombs?” queried Ginger.
