Biggles Delivers The Goods

by W E Johns

  “Shall I ask Ayert to load her up with rubber?” asked Ginger.

  Biggles sat on a log and mopped his face. “Just a minute. I’m getting dizzy. Gosh! This is navvies’ work. Let me think. How are you, Tug?”

  Tug grinned. “Right as rain. Want me to carry on after the others?”

  “Not just yet,” decided Biggles. “You know we’ve lost Algy and the Gosling? That leaves us only the two Lightnings, and I don’t like being stuck here without sufficient transport to get us all away should things come unstuck. I think you’d better hang around for a bit and rest—anyway, until Henry arrives with the new Gosling. I ought to go and see Major Marling but with all this going on here I don’t like leaving. Ginger, I think you’d better go to see Marling. Take one of the Lightnings. It’ll be more likely to get you out of trouble if you run into any than the Gosling, even if you waited for it. Marling said he’d have a landing ground ready and I don’t think he’s the sort of chap to let us down. Anyhow, if you can’t find a place to land you’ll have to come back.”

  “Okay. Just what do you want me to tell him?”

  “For a start, you’d better tell him about Algy, and these destroyers. I’m going to try to get Algy tonight. The destroyers will be in the estuary, I think. They’ll turn their guns on us, to say nothing of putting sailors ashore if there is a rumpus—and there’s likely to be one. I don’t see how it can be avoided. Ask Marling to break down or blow up that embankment that keeps the water in the river. Soon after sundown would be the best time because that would give the destroyers plenty of time to get in. Explain to him that the idea is to get them aground on the mud. It may not work but we can try it.”

  “Shall I go right away?” asked Ginger.

  “You might as well. Keep clear of Victoria Point. Head north for a bit and then shoot straight across the jungle. Keep your eyes skinned for those destroyers; they must be getting close, and you don’t want to have any truck with them. Come straight back after you’ve explained things to Marling. If I’m not here you’ll find me on the hill watching for the destroyers through Li Chi’s glasses. I shall have to see just where they go.”

  “Shan’t be long,” said Ginger, and walked down to his machine. In five minutes he was off, heading north preparatory to turning east.

  Biggles spoke to Tug. “You’d better get some sleep,” he advised. “You’ll find a bed in the bungalow. The cook will give you something to eat.”

  “So you’ve decided to leave my machine where it is?”

  “For the time being. She can’t be seen from top-sides.”

  “I’m not really tired,” declared Tug. “Sure there’s nothing you’d like me to do?”

  “Thanks, Tug. There’s one thing you can do if you feel up to it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Take the spare Lightning and slip out and have a dekko at the Sumatran, to make sure she’s all right. You should find her on a course just south of west, getting on for a hundred miles out. It would be a load off my mind to know that she’s running out of the real danger zone.”

  “It’s as good as done,” said Tug, and walked off to the aircraft.

  CHAPTER XV

  SHOCKS FOR BIGGLES

  AFTER watching Tug take off Biggles looked at his watch and saw that the time was after one o’clock. He realised that he was now the only white man on the island.

  For a little while he sat still, deep in thought. He had no appetite for food. His face, with one of those rare complexions that never seem to get sunburned, was beginning to show signs of the strain imposed by the fast-moving events of the last forty-eight hours. The strain, of course, fell on all, but the responsibility of leadership was his alone. He was driving his pilots hard and he knew it. They had not complained and probably never would complain, but he did not need telling that they would not be able to stand the present pace for very long. The sultry heat was enervating and did not make for clear thinking. Yet decisions, important decisions involving risk of life to others, would have to be made—had already been made, almost from hour to hour.

  The thought of Algy a prisoner in enemy hands affected him far more than he was prepared to reveal to the others. Probably they felt the same. While he did not allow himself to dwell upon the possibility of Algy or Ginger becoming a casualty there was always a fear of it lurking in the background of his mind. If one of them went it would make a difference. The others would go on and the war would go on but things would not be the same. In war, duty, as defined by the High Command, made no allowance for personal feelings: they were supposed not to exist; and the British fighting forces in their many wars had established a sort of tradition in this respect. However a man might feel it was considered weak to let others see any sort of emotion. The whole thing was of course a pose. Everyone who had fought an action knew it—commanding officers more than anyone, although the rank and file did not always realise it; did not suspect that behind the dispassionate voice giving orders that would send men to their deaths, a man’s heart was being mauled. Perhaps it was a good thing. If men were going to break down every time a comrade failed to return the will to win would soon break down. After it was all over—well, a man might let himself go. Alexander the Great had shut himself up in his tent for three days. Julius Caesar... Mark Antony... they had broken down and wept, and they were soldiers. Wellington had been unable to restrain his tears after Waterloo—and his troops called him the Iron Duke. Thus pondered Biggles, with gnawing anxiety in his heart, but with hardly a word of reference to Algy on his lips. His job was to get rubber, not indulge in private enterprises to satisfy personal feelings.

  Nevertheless, he mused, without comradeship a war would be hard to fight, and while he was not prepared to jeopardise his mission to save anyone, least of all himself, he was not prepared to let Algy go without making a desperate effort to save him.

  He perceived clearly now the magnitude of the task he had undertaken. It had never looked easy even from the start; but now, with unforeseen difficulties cropping up at every turn it began to look hopeless. He had not made the admission to the others but he had very little hope of getting all the rubber away. The enemy knew that a force led by British officers was on Elephant Island. Obviously, a man like Tamashoa would not allow it to remain there—right on his doorstep, so to speak. An attack in force could be expected almost any time. Even if a landing on Elephant Island was not made it seemed likely that enemy bombers would soon be in action; the opportunity for their employment was too plain to be overlooked. The destroyers, unless they were put out of action, would almost certainly shell the island. Their arrival on the scene was an unexpected complication. The only bright spots that Biggles could see were the completion of the runway, which at least enabled him to operate, and the seizure of the Sumatran, which had cleared nearly a quarter of the rubber immediately available at one stroke.

  Still thinking, with a movement that had become automatic he tapped the ash from his cigarette. Presently, with Li Chi’s binoculars in his hand, he got up and walked to the end of the runway where he expected to find Ayert supervising its extension. The work was going on more slowly now that the logs at the water’s edge had been used; but the men had worked hard and had done a good job. The men were still there, working, but Ayert was not with them. Biggles mentioned his name, whereupon the nearest workman pointed to the shore. Ayert was there, talking with an almost naked coolie.

  Biggles turned to go across to him, but before reaching the spot, he heard Tug coming back, so he waited for the Lightning to land to hear what he had to say. His nerves tightened when he saw the expression on Tug’s face. He ran the last few yards.

  “Sorry, chief, but I’m afraid it’s bad news,” said Tug apologetically, as if it were his fault.

  “Go on,” ordered Biggles tersely.

  “The Japs have collected the Sumatran—or it looks like it,” said Tug. “She’s stopped, with another ship, a bigger ship, drawing up to her. It was hard to see exactly what was h
appening and I didn’t like to go too close in case they opened up on me.... I thought I’d better come straight back to let you know.”

  “Thanks, Tug,” said Biggles quietly. “It’s a nasty crack, but we did all we could. I suppose we were hoping for a lot, to think she might get away. I’d better stick to planes in future. You go and get some rest while you can. Ginger should be back any time now.”

  Tug taxied on to the shelter while Biggles went across to Ayert, whom he imagined was talking to one of Li Chi’s spies that arrived from the mainland from time to time. The bosun saw him coming and walked to meet him.

  “Bad,” said Ayert. “Velly much bad.”

  “What’s bad?” asked Biggles.

  “ Shansie finish. Marling tuan gone. Lalla gone. All gone. All finish. Japs take. Japs stay.”

  Biggles steadied himself. This second blow, coming right on top of the one Tug had just given him, was hard to take. “How do you know this?” he asked Ayert.

  “Man come. He speak.”

  “What man?”

  “Spy man from Victoria Point. He swim out in old canoe to north side of island then come walking. Man say Japs all talking. Say Shansie finish.”

  “And the Japs are still there?”

  “Yes, tuan. Japs there. Planes—many planes.”

  “I wish I’d known this half an hour ago,” muttered Biggles. He was thinking of Ginger. “Thanks for the information, Ayert. Thank man for coming. Good work.”

  Ayert grinned. It was clear that as far as he was concerned this was all part of the day’s work.

  But Biggles did not smile. The situation was too serious, and seemed to be deteriorating, as the official bulletins put it, faster than he could cope with it. Ginger had gone to Shansie and there was nothing he could do about it. However, it did not seem sufficient reason for abandoning his plan. On the contrary, there was now all the more reason why he should go on with it. He asked Ayert if he would go with him to the top of the hill to watch for the destroyers. Ayert, who knew every inch of the water, would be able to tell him what might not be apparent through the glasses. The big bosun acquiesced readily, and they were walking towards the track that led up the hill when the roar of an aircraft flying flat out brought Biggles round, staring, hoping. His face lit up when a Lightning came skimming over the treetops to make a quick, rather risky landing on the runway. Biggles dashed down to intercept it. As he drew near he noted bullet-holes in the tail unit, but Ginger held up his thumbs to show that he was all right.

  “Watch your flying,” commanded Biggles crisply. “We can’t afford crack-ups here.”

  “Sorry, I was in a hurry,” said Ginger, jumping down.

  “I know—that’s when you make mistakes. Bear it in mind. I hear the Japs are at Shansie.”

  Ginger’s eyebrows went up. “How did you know?”

  “One of Li Chi’s spies just came in with the news. It is a fact, then?”

  Ginger nodded. “Too true.”

  “Away goes my plan for busting the embankment and spilling the water.”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “What happened to you at Shansie?”

  “Nothing very much—except that I had the shock of my life. I got there all right, and seeing that the rice had been cut I was going down, thinking Marling had fixed the landing ground like he promised, when some silly fool opened up on me with a machine-gun. If that hadn’t happened I should have landed and stepped right into it—the last thing I was thinking about was Japs. As it was I grabbed altitude in a hurry, I don’t mind admitting. Looking down I spotted Jap planes parked about under the trees. Zeros, I think they were, but I couldn’t be sure—I was in too much of a hurry. Some machines were starting up so I skidded out of the locality.”

  “Considering you didn’t land you’ve been a long time.”

  “I did a few circuits round the jungle and explored the river for quite a way to see if I could see anything of Marling or Lalla,” explained Ginger.

  “Did you?”

  “Not a sign. I could see some machines in the distance, looking for me I fancy, so I came home—not direct, in case I was followed, but via the northern end of the Archipelago. I saw the destroyers. They were south of me, heading down the strait towards Victoria Point.”

  “Good enough,” said Biggles. “You’d better put some patches on those holes in your tail. Then if you like you can join me. You’ll find me on the hill with Ayert. By the way, I’m afraid we’ve lost the Sumatran.”

  “What!” Ginger looked shocked.

  “Tug went out to have a look at her—found her hove-to with a big transport beside her.”

  “Heck! After all our sweat—”

  “I know. It’s a black show. I don’t know what we shall do about Li Chi. I may get Tug to slip out again presently before it gets dark, to see what the ships are doing—which way they’re going. I must get along now.” Biggles strode off to Ayert, who had waited.

  Ginger repaired his machine in the improvised hangar. Tug, who walked in before he had finished, helped him. Then, as Biggles had not returned, they walked up to the top of the hill where they found him lying in a glade with Ayert beside him, looking out to the east across the strait. The land beyond had been thrown into sharp relief by the sun setting behind them.

  “We were just coming down,” announced Biggles. “Have the destroyers arrived?”

  “Yes. You can’t see them now—the trees are in the way. As I expected they’ve gone right into the estuary.”

  “Does that matter now we can’t get Marling to make a breach in the embankment at Shansie?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m not admitting yet that we can’t breach the embankment. I’ve had a word with Ayert. He’s helped me to make a rough plan showing the exact position of the spot. He knows it. Apparently there are sluices for irrigating the paddy-fields. I imagine these are the fields where the rice has been cut to provide a landing ground. Where did you see the Jap planes? Here—show me on the sketch-map.”

  Ginger marked the spot.

  “Couldn’t be better,” declared Biggles.

  “What do you mean—couldn’t be better?”

  “The paddy-fields run along under the embankment. If the bank went the fields would be flooded. I imagine that if the bank went suddenly there would be a pretty serious flood. Anything on the paddy-fields would be washed away. Get the idea?”

  “You mean—the Jap planes would get washed out?”

  “Yes, and any Japs who happened to be near them. Ayert reckons that four or five feet of water, to say nothing of odd crocodiles, would sweep across those fields if the bank burst.”

  “How are you going to make the bank burst?”

  “With a stick of bombs, I hope. I had a vague notion of doing it that way if Marling couldn’t handle the engineering side of the operation. That’s one reason why I held the Liberator back.”

  “It would be asking for trouble, wouldn’t it, flying low across what is virtually a Jap airfield?”

  “I don’t think so. If the machines happened to be in the air it might be awkward, but at sundown the chances are they will be on the ground. If they are on the carpet the flood should hit them before they can get off. By busting that bank we might in fact kill two birds with one brick—wash the Zeros away and ground the destroyers. That makes almost any risk worth while. I’m going to try it.” Biggles rose. “You two can help me bomb up.”

  “What about coming with you?” suggested Tug.

  “I don’t mind one coming, but the other will have to stay here to meet Henry—and tell the others what happened in case we don’t get back. The Gosling should be here pretty soon. If things go right the trip to Shansie shouldn’t last more than half an hour. You’d better toss to see who’s coming; that’s the fairest way.”

  Ginger and Tug tossed. Ginger won.

  “If you knock the bank down how long will it be before the effect is felt at the estuary?” asked Ginger, as they made their way back to t
he lake.

  “I don’t know—it’s hard to say,” returned Biggles. “Not long, I fancy. The river should go on falling for some hours.”

  “What about Algy?” asked Tug.

  “All we can do is make a raid on Victoria Point,” Biggles told him. “It’s going to be a tricky business, particularly as we don’t know just where Algy will be. I’ve discussed that with Ayert, too. He’s of opinion that they’ll put him in the local jail. Ayert is going to pick fifty of his best men for the job. Some have rifles of their own; others will be dished out with the Jap rifles we captured at Shansie. My idea is to go across in the Lotus, strike the coast some distance above the Point, and march down.”

  “Then what are you going to do—rush the place?”

  “Probably. It all depends on how things go. You may notice that Ayert is smiling. He thinks this show is going to be a great joke. We have agreed that our best chance is to start a panic among the Japs, if we can, and grab Algy before they have time to reorganise The enemy is more likely to crack if he thinks he is being attacked in strength by white men, than by natives; so instead of us painting our faces black I have suggested that we reverse the process and paint the faces of our coloured comrades white. That’s what tickles Ayert. He says he has plenty of whitewash. Actually, there’s a dual purpose in the scheme —I might say a treble purpose. We shan’t be so likely to shoot each other in the dark—which is the easiest thing in the world in a night operation—and it should give Tamashoa something to think about. If he can be kidded into believing that the attack was made by a strong force of white troops he’ll assume that they jumped across from Elephant Island; and if he believes there is a strong force of white troops on Elephant Island he’ll think twice before he attacks it. He’ll probably send for reinforcements. That’ll mean delay, which will suit us fine. It’ll give us a chance to shift some of this perishing rubber. I’m beginning to hate that word. If I get out of this mess I’ll never use an india rubber again. Come on, don’t stand there grinning; give me a hand to bomb up. I want to get this job done before daylight goes.”