by W E Johns
“That’s what I said.”
“What do you want bombs for?”
“I’m not quite sure, but with these destroyers in the offing they may be useful. Machine-gun bullets are no use against armour plate.”
“You want me to start for India right now?” asked Taffy.
“This minute. I’m worried about petrol. I was relying on Algy for some. An attack now would catch us on one leg.”
“In that case I’ll push along,” said Taffy, and departed.
Biggles turned to Ferocity. “Fill up the other Lightning with what drop of petrol we have left. Take off just before dawn and take care of things upstairs for as long as your petrol lasts. We can’t have enemy machines about while the Sumatran is loading. We must give her every chance to get away. I don’t know exactly when that will be—soon after daybreak I hope. Now everyone had better get to bed. We look like having a busy day tomorrow.”
“With Henry bringing a Gosling there will only be Angus, Tex and Tug, to handle Liberators,” Ginger pointed out.
“When Taffy tells them how urgent things are I reckon they’ll bring one each,” said Biggles. “That will be three, anyway. I shall send them straight back with anyone we can spare. I was hoping we should be able to operate with two pilots aboard each machine, but at the rate things are going we look like being lucky if we can operate five aircraft with one pilot in each. It’s going to be hard work. I may decide to keep one Liberator here.”
“Why?”
“So that we can all get out if the whole thing comes unstuck. I hope you realise that at this moment we have one machine here, a Lightning, with enough petrol for less than half an hour’s flying. That’s bad. I suppose I should have made allowance for the Gosling getting ditched, but one can’t think of everything. Poor old Algy.”
“What are we going to do about him?”
“We can’t do anything while he’s at sea in an enemy destroyer,” returned Biggles moodily. “We shall know when he arrives at Victoria Point because I shall borrow Li Chi’s glasses and keep watch across the strait from the top of the hill.”
“What are you going to do now, old boy?” asked Bertie.
“I’m going down to the cove to speak to Li Chi,” answered Biggles. “You get some sleep.”
He found Li Chi watching the loading of the rubber into the Sumatran. A human chain had been formed and the bundles, weighing a hundredweight or more apiece, were being manhandled from hand to hand. Ayert kept things on the move.
“Tell me this,” said Biggles to Li Chi. “The Sumatran, you remember, was lying out in what you call the channel, waiting for high water to move in close?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean that the water in the estuary is shallow?”
“Not only shallow, but full of shoals—silt brought down by the river. It is a dangerous place for a ship of any size.”
“How deep is the best part of the estuary at low water?”
“Nowhere more than two fathoms—and it is necessary to know just where such places are. That is why ships stay out in the channel. Why do you ask this?”
“Just a minute—let me finish,” murmured Biggles. “The estuary, I take it, is fed by the Pak Chan?”
“Yes.”
“If the water in the river fell suddenly there would be a big drop at the estuary?”
“Naturally. But the river is not likely to dry up at this time of the year.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” declared Biggles. “It is. I’m going to make it.”
“You are having trouble with your intestines again, my friend,” said Li Chi sadly. “In any case, how would the drying up of the river help us?”
“The destroyers are on their way to Victoria Point.”
“They will anchor in the channel.”
“They may, but I don’t think they will. They will have been warned that a British submarine is about. What would you do in that case, if you were in command of the flotilla?”
“If I was not to be at the place for very long I should risk the mud and get into the estuary under cover of the shore batteries.”
“Exactly. Do you remember what Major Marling said about floods, and how he had to dam the river to keep it in its bed? Suppose that dam, or embankment, or whatever it is, was broken down. The water would spill itself over the landscape wouldn’t it? Not much would come down the river. The result would be a sudden drop, a big drop, at the estuary.”
Li Chi drew a deep breath. “What happiness!” he exclaimed. “The destroyers would find themselves stuck on the mud. At that disadvantage you will attack them?”
“Not on your life. My intestines would be very much out of order if they induced me to do anything as silly as that,” returned Biggles. “This is the point. The sailors would not be able to cross the mud to get ashore if there was trouble there, and if the ships heeled over, as they might, they would find it difficult, if not impossible, to use their guns.”
“You don’t want the sailors to go ashore?”
“I don’t want them to be able to get ashore in force.”
“Why?”
“Because I myself shall be at Victoria Point tonight with volunteers for a commando raid.”
“To prevent an invasion of Elephant Island!”
“Partly. But you seem to forget that a friend of ours will soon be at Victoria Point, a prisoner of war. We must get him away—or try. There is no telling what Tamashoa will do to him when he refuses to co-operate.”
“This is plain war,” said Li Chi. “What about the rubber?”
“I haven’t forgotten it. The arrangements for its shipment still stand.”
“But how will you get the embankment at Shansie broken down? It will mean a visit to Major Marling.”
“I, or someone, will have to fly to Shansie as soon as a machine is available. That should be sometime tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No. You’ll be at sea in the Sumatran—that is, if you are still prepared to go through with it. I’m afraid it will mean going all the way to India, but one of my boys will bring you back in a Liberator.”
“The only thing is, if I go how will you talk to my men? They do not speak English.”
“Ayert does. I want you to leave him here with me, to act as interpreter.”
Li Chi thought for a moment. “We have always sailed together,” he murmured. “Still, no doubt he will stay if I ask him.”
“How long will it take to get the ship loaded?” was Biggles’ next question. “Is there any possibility of getting away by dawn?”
“It might be done if we stopped at a thousand tons,” answered Li Chi thoughtfully. ‘But as the sea is dead calm and should remain so for some time now until the monsoon breaks, I am thinking of taking a deck cargo— perhaps a hundred tons. If we strike heavy weather it would of course have to go overboard. The only thing against it is the delay in getting the ship away.”
“It’s worth the risk,” decided Biggles. “I shouldn’t have thought of it.” He smiled. “That’s the best of having a sailor around. Get away as soon as you can. You know the danger. I’m going to snatch some sleep—you’d better do the same.”
“My friend, five thousand years ago the Chinese taught themselves to do without sleep for long periods,” said Li Chi placidly. “When I was a boy my father made me sit and stare at my great toe for twenty-four hours at a time without moving. That is Chinese training.”
Biggles laughed. “If my father had caught me doing that he would have sent for the doctor.” He returned to the bungalow and without taking off his clothes threw himself on a divan.
He was awakened by the roar of an aircraft, and recognising the voice of the Lightning he hurried out. It was still dark but the stars were paling in the sky. Presently Bertie came in to say that Ferocity had taken off for his dawn patrol. It was nearly six o’clock. Feeling better for the rest Biggles had a bath and felt even better. He had, he knew, a hectic, anxious day
in front of him. The runway was not so complete as he would have liked for the Liberators, but his hand was being forced. Ginger appeared, yawning. Li Chi’s cook brought tea, and soon afterwards Li Chi came in to say that the Sumatran would be ready for sea in an hour.
“Don’t forget to fly a British flag or you may find yourself in a spot of trouble with one of our submarines or destroyers,” warned Biggles.
“I have spent most of my life dodging the British Navy,” said Li Chi, with one of his rare smiles. “Now I should be glad to see it.”
For the moment nothing more could be done. The atmosphere was one of expectancy, due partly to the distant drone of Ferocity’s Lightning high overhead. After breakfast they all went down to the Sumatran where the natives were still toiling.
“I have told Ayert to stay and take orders from you while I am away,’ said Li Chi to Biggles.
Beyond the Isthmus of Malaya dawn had now broken, flooding the smooth water with pink, gold, and the translucent hues of mother-of-pearl. And with it came a growing sound that justified Biggles’ precaution of putting up the Lightning on a defensive patrol.
There he is!” exclaimed Ginger, pointing at a speck of light that was speeding across the sky from the mainland towards the island.
Biggles shaded his eyes. “Kawanishi 94... single-engined three-seater navy type reconnaissance seaplane,” he murmured. “Ferocity should be able to handle him.”
They watched. There was no sign of the Lightning for it was too high to be seen, and the drone of the lower Kawanishi now drowned the purr of its engine. But this state of affairs did not last long. This time it was Bertie who pointed. A tiny speck was falling diagonally out of the sky towards the Japanese aircraft. Here comes Ferocity,” he said, adjusting his eyeglass. “I should say he’s got a sitter.”
Faintly to the ears of the listeners came the long-drawn-out howl of the diving fighter.
The Kawanishi came straight on in level flight, a clear indication that the machine above it had not been seen. It is likely that the attentions of the crew, as Biggles had predicted, were concentrated on the scene below without a thought of danger.
“Ferocity’s taking a chance with the rear gunner,” observed Ginger critically, as the Lightning, now clearly revealed, came on down in a steep curving dive that brought it behind the enemy aircraft.
“He can probably see what the rear gunner’s doing—we can’t,” said Biggles.
The combat, if combat it could be called, lasted about five seconds. The Lightning went in close before it opened fire. There was no return fire from the enemy machine. Tracer streaked. A few pieces fell off the Kawanishi. There was a short burst of fire from the rear gun, but the tracer went so wide of its mark that it was evident the gunner had fired in desperate haste. No second opportunity was afforded him to correct his error. The Kawanishi’s tanks exploded and the machine began to fall, a ball of fire, towards the sea.
“No time to use their brollies,” murmured Bertie. “The doctor won’t be able to do anything for them, by Jove!”
“Take a lesson from it,” advised Biggles. “Wherever you are, never take it for granted that you’ve got the sky to yourself.”
The Kawanishi fell into the sea about a mile from the nearest point of the island, leaving a long black plume of smoke to mark its passing. A cheer went up from the natives who had paused in their work of loading.
Ferocity landed and taxied quickly to the shelter. The others went along.
“Nice work, Ferocity,” congratulated Biggles.
“I thought I’d better come in—juice is running low,” said Ferocity casually.
“Quite right. It’s ten to one the Japs will wait for their machine to come back before sending out another. That will give us breathing space. You’d better stand by though —in case. The first Liberator should be along presently with some petrol.”
An hour later, with no danger threatening, the Sumatran steamed out of the cove with Li Chi on the bridge, a grinning, dirty but picturesque crew lining the rail, and more than a hundred tons of deck cargo giving her an untidy, top-heavy appearance. Li Chi took a course, on Biggles’ advice, south of west, to avoid any chance of running into the enemy destroyers. While those ashore stood watching—Biggles with a good deal of anxiety, for the ship looked as helpless as a maimed sheep—a Lightning appeared in the western sky, flying low and flat out. It landed and Taffy leaned out. He waved and climbed down. His face was set in hard lines from the strain of his double flight; his chin was unshaven and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot. He swayed slightly on his feet as he made his report. It amounted to this. A Gosling was being sent up from Ceylon to Madras. Henry Harcourt was waiting for it and would bring it across as soon as it arrived. Three Liberators were coming out—as many machines as there were pilots available. He had pushed on ahead of them. “By the way,” he concluded, “I noticed a lot of smoke away up to the north about ten minutes ago, look you. I kept clear of it.”
“That’ll be the destroyers,” said Biggles. “Grab some breakfast and have a rest while you can.”
There were now two Lightnings on the island but the fuel was low in the tanks of both.
This, however, was remedied when half an hour later the first Liberator arrived. Markers were put out for it. For Biggles, who stood watching, the actual landing was a brief period of acute suspense, for as yet there had been no proof that the runway would stand up to the strain imposed on it by an aircraft of the weight of a Liberator. The timber landing area sagged a little, that was all, and he drew a deep breath of relief when the powerful wheel-brakes came into action to pull the machine up with a fair margin of safety. He hurried down to greet the pilot, the others following. It was Angus. He climbed up beside him and directed him to the shelter.
“I’m carrying a load of petrol,” announced Angus. “Tex and Tug are following me,” he went on, as they climbed down, Angus buffeting himself to restore circulation. “No doot Taffy told ye about Henry waiting for the Gosling? That leaves two Liberators at Madras waiting for pilots. I’m sorry aboot Algy. Taffy told us.”
Biggles nodded. “It’ll make us short-handed. I must have been crazy to think that ten of us could handle a job of this size. I didn’t allow for casualties. Still, having started, we shall have to go on. Sorry, Angus, but I’m afraid you’ll have to go straight back. It isn’t only a matter of getting a load of rubber across; we’ve got to get the others across so that we can start operating at full strength. Ginger will stay here with me. Now we’re all right for petrol we’ll handle the Lightnings—should it become necessary. But we’d better get the petrol unloaded; we may need it any time now. Ferocity shot down a Kawanishi a little while ago and I fancy the enemy will soon be sending another machine over to look for it.”
The petrol which the Liberator had brought was unloaded and dumped and the tanks of the two Lightnings were filled, these tasks occupying some time. Hardly were they finished when a drone in the west announced the arrival of another Liberator. They all stood waiting while the machine came in. Suddenly Biggles swung round and stared towards the east.
“Confound it!” he snapped. “Just what I didn’t want to happen.” He pointed at a speck in the sky that was moving towards the island from the mainland. “If that Jap sees the Liberator land our game will soon be up,” he went on tersely. “He mustn’t see it. I’ll go after him. Ginger, take the other Lightning and get out over the strait in case he dodges me.”
The two Lightnings took off one behind the other. Biggles swung round in a steep climbing turn to the north. Ginger, holding his machine low, tore out across the strait for some distance before starting to climb. By now it was possible to identify the enemy plane as a Zero, flying at about ten thousand feet; but this time the pilot was wide awake and not to be caught. He must have seen the Lightnings—or one of them—for he turned suddenly and made for home, nose down. With plenty of height to spare Ginger realised that pursuit was futile—unless he followed the Zero to its bas
e, which he felt sure was not Biggles’ intention. He saw Biggles turning back towards the lake so he did the same thing. The Liberator was landing so they had to wait for it to get clear before they could get in. They found Tex O’Hara in the shelter.
“What goes on?” demanded Tex. “You seem kinda busy.”
“We’re a sight too busy,” answered Biggles. “Instead of a quiet little hide-out this place is developing into a major airport. Did you notice a ship heading south-west as you came over—she’d be about twenty miles out?”
“Sure I saw her.”
“Was she all right?”
“I didn’t notice anything wrong.”
“That’s something, anyway,” murmured Biggles. “She’s carrying eleven hundred tons of rubber, which is so much less for us to lug across. Pity that Zero got away, but I don’t think it saw very much. What have you brought, Tex?”
“Cookies. You asked for ‘em. What in thunder do you want ‘em for?”
“I just thought they might be handy. Let’s get them down and out of the way. I want these machines out of the way, too. Angus, see about loading up with rubber. Taffy and Ferocity will go back with you. Same with you, Tex. You can take Bertie. Take turns at the stick and you’ll get a rest. Ginger, slip along to Ayert and tell him to get his boys hauling the rubber.”
“What do we do when we get back to India?” asked Tex.
“Turn round and come back. You’ll have to rest, of course, but don’t waste time. Sorry to rush you, boys, but we’ve got to get the job going—and going fast. Once the Japs rumble what’s happening here, and as far as they’re concerned Elephant Island must be beginning to stink, this place is going to be anything but a health resort.”
With the help of Ayert’s men the bombs were unloaded and rubber was being packed into both machines when the next Liberator arrived, and landed, with Tug Carrington at the controls. There was no room for it in the shelter so it had to wait outside. Biggles stood and watched the eastern sky with a worried frown until Angus announced that he was ready. Biggles waved him away. With Angus went Taffy and Ferocity. Tug taxied in. Soon afterwards Tex went off, taking Bertie. Tug’s Liberator was relieved of its burden of fuel and oil.
