Biggles Delivers The Goods

by W E Johns

  They had emerged from the jungle right in the village. At any rate there was an open space with a number of buildings clustered round it. Here, in sharp contrast to the dark silence of the forest, there was light and movement. Of this Ginger was only vaguely aware. His eyes were drawn straight to a central group of figures that in some strange way gave him an impression of actors on a stage.

  There were eight men in the group, not counting a form that lay prone in a grotesque position a few yards away. There was a man who held up a blazing torch. It was this torch that provided the light—or rather, a lurid glow. There was another, a huge man, stripped to the waist, with a curved sword held above his head. And there was a man on his knees with his head thrust forward, a position in which he was being held by two Japanese soldiers. This man—Ginger stared, hardly able to believe his eyes—was Algy.

  It was plain that his struggles were causing a delay. The man with the sword was waiting for a chance to strike without risk of injury to the soldiers. The others appeared to be spectators. One was trying to move forward, but was being restrained. Although it lasted only for a second this picture was engraved on Ginger’s brain with the faithfulness of a photographic record. And so unexpected and shocking was it that it seemed to deprive him of the power of movement. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

  From this condition he was jerked with violence by an explosion within a yard of him. The man with the sword staggered slightly, but kept his feet. The point of the sword came to the ground and he leaned with one hand on the weapon while with the other he groped at his side. The soldiers who were holding Algy sprang erect. The man with the torch stood still, but his face turned sharply in the direction of the interruption. The legs of the man with the sword seemed suddenly to crumple, and with an animal bellow he sank to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye Ginger saw Biggles take a pace forward and fire again.

  Just what happened after that was never clear in his mind. It was a confused picture. He found himself running forward with others, shouting. Shots rang out. Japanese soldiers appeared from houses, some armed, some unarmed, some in uniform, some in night attire. He saw Biggles shoot the man with the torch as he bolted. The torch fell to the ground and the light became dim. Henry was running after two soldiers who were making for a large bungalow. Some officers dashed out of this bungalow, and as quickly ran back inside. There was no order about anything. To complete a scene of confusion, with an incredible amount of noise the white-faced commandos surged into the picture. Ginger learned afterwards that Ayert, seeing how things were going, had called on them to charge; and this they did. Ginger stood and stared, slightly dazed, wondering which way to go. He heard Biggles’ voice. It sounded angry, and it restored him to something like normal.

  “The thing’s got out of hand,” snarled Biggles. “Where’s Ayert?”

  Ginger looked round but could not see the bosun. He saw Algy, looking completely bewildered, rubbing his wrists as he talked wildly to Tug; and, to his astonishment, he saw Major Marling, followed by Lalla, running towards the big bungalow. They both carried rifles.

  “Why, there’s Marling,” said Ginger stupidly. “Where the deuce did he come from?”

  “He was here with Algy,” snapped Biggles. Then he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “No use trying to do anything with this mob now. We’d better look after ourselves.”

  Algy strode up. He, too, seemed angry. “I’m going to get that poodle-faking admiral,” he raged, and snatching up the executioner’s sword tore towards the bungalow.

  Biggles shouted to him to come back, but apparently he did not hear. By now the noise was indescribable.

  “Everyone’s gone mad,” rasped Biggles. “We might as well go mad too. Come on !” He ran towards the bungalow.

  Fighting was now going on everywhere. On all sides men were running, yelling. Some were wrestling on the ground. Parangs and rifle butts were rising and falling. The air was full of noise and flying bullets. Ginger saw a Japanese officer dash out of the bungalow and streak for the forest. He did not get far. Half a dozen commandos converged on him and he went down under whirling rifle butts. A number of Chinese coolies had appeared from somewhere and were rushing about striking indiscriminately with shovels and all sorts of agricultural implements.

  Ginger followed Biggles into tilt bungalow which he saw at a glance had been used as a military depot. Here, too, pandemonium reigned. Japanese were dashing in and out of doors and windows with yelling commandos at their heels. Major Marling was there, sitting in a chair with a rifle held like a shotgun, taking shots at Japanese as they crossed the room from one door to another. Seeing Biggles he announced cheerfully, “Five so far. Like potting rabbits, by gad.”

  Biggles grabbed Ayert as he ran past. “I want you,” he said crisply.

  “Jap man’s chop head off Melong’s son!” shouted Ayert, who seemed beside himself.

  “I’ll chop your head off if you don’t listen to me!” shouted Biggles. “This place is worse than a madhouse.”

  It is doubtful if Ayert understood, but he stopped, breathing heavily. Biggles told him to collect his men and get them in some sort of order.

  “You’ll never stop them now; they’re berserk,” said Marling casually. “The trouble with these chaps is they tend to get out of hand.”

  “Tend to get out of hand!” cried Biggles with bitter sarcasm. “They’re like a lot of wild animals.”

  “Why not? That’s just what they are,” said Marling cheerfully. “They’re having the time of their lives,” he added. ‘Leave ‘em alone for a bit—they’ll mop the place up for you.”

  Algy burst in, eyes wild. “Where’s Tamashoa?” he demanded belligerently. “I can’t find the skunk. I want him.”

  “Okay, help yourself,” said Biggles. “I give up.”

  Henry appeared, driving in front of him at the muzzle of his pistol a Japanese officer who cried aloud in English that he had always been a friend of the British—or something of the sort. The Japanese are supposed not to know fear—a fiction which they themselves may have started; but it struck Ginger that if ever a man looked thoroughly scared it was Henry’s prisoner.

  “Found him trying to burn the contents of the safe,” said Henry.

  “I know that slant-eyed rabbit !” cried Algy. “He speaks English. He’s the interpreter. He’s one of the bunch that sent me out to have my block knocked off.” He addressed the prisoner with harsh precision. “Where’s Tamashoa?”

  The interpreter did not argue. “Gone,” he answered in a voice pitched high with terror.

  “Gone where?”

  “Penang. He attends a conference.”

  “What about?”

  “The forces on Elephant Island.”

  “Don’t tell lies.”

  “He was gone in automobile only a minute before the battle starts,” asserted the prisoner desperately.

  “I think he must be telling the truth or we should have found Tamashoa here,” put in Biggles. “It looks as if it’s his lucky day.”

  Before anything more could be said on this subject Tug came in, his shirt torn and the light of battle in his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Don’t ask me,” returned Biggles. “And don’t you go off again,” he added curtly. “Have you seen Lalla?”

  “He was outside a minute ago making cats’ meat of a Jap who tried to crack his skull with a gun. Why?”

  “Only that I’m going home,” answered Biggles. “I’ve got what I came here for and that’s enough. We’ll set fire to this place and get out. Collect any books and papers you can find and bring them along—they may tell us something.” He turned to the door.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  LI CHI COMES BACK

  ALGY’S rage seemed to have subsided somewhat. “You were just about in time,” he told Biggles. “Things were beginning to look extremely dim. They were just going to chop my head off.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “Did you know
I was here, or was it an accident?”

  “We knew,” answered Biggles. “I didn’t know the major was here though. Nor did I know anything about this head chopping or I should have been here earlier. It shook me when I saw what was happening, I can tell you.”

  “Not so much as it shook me, I’ll bet,” said Algy warmly. “Now you know what Tamashoa does to prisoners who won’t talk.”

  Biggles nodded. “The fellow must be an absolute swine,” he said in a disgusted voice. “You can tell me all about it when we get back. Are you all right?”

  “Right enough. The major’s wounded though—had a bayonet poked through his leg.”

  “Nothing to speak of,” interposed Marling calmly. “Clean forgot all about it in the excitement. Where’s that confounded boy of mine?” He crossed the room to an open window and looked out. “Here, I say, come and look at this,” he went on.

  Biggles strode to the window. It overlooked the estuary. “The destroyers!” he exclaimed. “By thunder! We’ve done it!”

  “They’ve taken on a queer sort of list, haven’t they?” observed the major.

  “They’re aground,” answered Biggles. “Good thing for us they are, too. Phew! What a target they’d make, helpless on their beam ends. There are the kabangs, too. We heard the Japs were getting them ready to invade Elephant Island.” He beckoned to Ayert and pointed at the small craft now lying high and dry on the mud. “Get your men together and tell them to knock the bottoms out of those kabangs,” he ordered. “Be quick. We’ll meet you outside.” After Ayert had gone he turned back to the others. “Let’s get out of this while the going’s good. No sense in overdoing it. The Japs may come back.”

  “I doubt it,” said Marling. “There weren’t many here, you know—not above forty, I should say. Some are away at Shansie and others are out on patrol.”

  “We’ll get back all the same,” decided Biggles. “Bring the prisoner along, Henry. Maybe he’ll do some more talking.”

  But the prisoner had ideas of his own about this. Suddenly, with the speed of despair, he took a flying leap through the open window. Ginger, who was still holding his pistol, took a snap shot at him but only succeeded in knocking a chip off the sill. Jumping to the window hoping for a second shot, looking down he saw that the wretched interpreter could not have chosen a worse moment for his attempt. Ayert and a number of his men were on their way to the kabangs and the Jap had landed in the middle of them. His cry of fear was cut off by fierce yells of exultation. Ginger turned away quickly. There was nothing he could do about it.

  “He didn’t get far,” he told Biggles. “He nearly jumped on top of Ayert. He’d have done better to jump on a tiger.” He glanced at the major. “These natives are savages,” he observed.

  “Of course they’re savages, my boy,” replied the major sharply. “So would you be a savage had you lived here and seen your friends carved up by this Japanese scum. Why, half an hour ago that infernal rascal stood calmly by and watched Melong’s son decapitated.”

  From outside came a noise of banging and thumping as the commandos joyfully disposed of the invasion craft. Biggles gave them a few minutes, then went to the window and called Ayert. “Get your men together,” he ordered. “We’re going home before those sailors on the destroyers find some way of getting ashore. Any man who stays behind will have to get home as best he can. We can’t wait.”

  “What’s the idea of the white faces?” asked the major.

  Biggles told him.

  “You’ll succeed in your purpose,” declared Marling. “Any Jap who manages to get away to save his face will swear that the post was attacked by a thousand Europeans.”

  “I don’t think many will get away,” said Lalla, who now joined the party.

  After that it was largely a matter of routine. With ferocious threats and some delay Ayert managed to re-muster his men, for although all resistance had ceased they seemed in no hurry to leave. A searchlight coming into action from one of the destroyers hastened them. Casualties, it was now ascertained, had been light. Only five men were missing although several were wounded. These made light of their wounds and laughingly declined medical attention. The general atmosphere was that of a picnic, and the behaviour of the wounded rather like that of children who are stung by nettles.

  “Don’t worry about them,” advised Marling carelessly. “They’ll slap a lump of cowdung or a handful of bruised leaves on their wounds and be all right in a week. Don’t ask me why the wounds don’t turn septic because I don’t know.”

  The march back to the Lotus was made without incident, although towards the finish the major had to accept assistance on account of his wounded leg. To Biggles’ annoyance, the unruly native commandos, flushed with success, abandoned all restraint, and from time to time the forest rang with wild laughter as some man described a personal adventure.

  “Don’t worry,” said Marling to Biggles. “Any odd Japs who happen to be about will run the other way when they hear this din. They don’t like parangs. I do. It’s a nice weapon, particularly for jungle work, and it takes a good man to face up to one. The War Office might do worse than make an issue of them to commando troops. It’s the head they’re laughing at.”

  “Head?” queried Biggles. “What head?”

  “They’ve got a head for a trophy, a souvenir of the occasion. They’re passing it round... great joke.”

  “What!” For the first time Biggles really grasped what the major was talking about. “I’ll stop that,” he declared.

  “I wouldn’t try—you might lose your own. They do things without thinking when they’re in this mood.”

  Biggles steadied himself and walked on. “Who’s head is it?’

  “Apparently it belonged to that spy fellow, Pamboo.”

  “Of course, he was at Victoria Point,” murmured Biggles. “I was so taken up with other things that I forgot all about him.”

  “Why worry?” said the major carelessly. “Nothing like removing a man’s head from his body to prevent him from causing further mischief.”

  Biggles smiled wanly. “I can’t argue against that.”

  “Everybody fights a war his own way,” asserted Marling. “That’s the Malay way. This is their theatre as much as ours, so who are we to quibble?”

  “There’s something in that,” acknowledged Biggles. “But I don’t like loose heads about.” He marched on.

  Everybody was in good heart when the Lotus was reached, for the expedition had been a complete success. Under Biggles’ firm orders embarkation proceeded quietly. When all were aboard Ayert took the wheel and the launch crept away into the night as noiselessly as it had appeared.

  Rather more than an hour later, with a crescent moon rising out of the sea, after cruising down the western coast of the island the Lotus turned into the little cove that had provided so secure a berth. An instant later a shout, shrill with alarm, came from the look-out. It brought the white officers, who had been resting on the deck, to their feet, swaying as the Lotus yawed when Ayert spun the wheel to avoid collision with a big dark shape that loomed suddenly ahead.

  Biggles reached the rail in a stride. “Watch out !” he exclaimed, in a voice brittle with alarm. “It’s the Sumatran.”

  This dramatic announcement was followed by a brief period not far removed from consternation. It was assumed naturally that the ship was in enemy hands. Even Biggles did not question this foregone conclusion, and remembering that the Sumatran carried deck armament he was shouting to Ayert for full speed out of the vicinity when a hail came floating across the water to bring him round in a posture of incredulity..

  “That was Li Chi’s voice,” he asserted wonderingly. The hail came again.

  “It is Li Chi,” vowed Ginger.

  “What the deuce...!” For once Biggles was completely at a loss. He stared at the larger craft apprehensively, as if suspecting a trap; but he answered the hail and asked Ayert to close with the ship. In a minute or two after a cautious approach they were
alongside.

  “What are you doing?” called Biggles, above a babble of excited conversation.

  “Waiting for you,” came the answer in Li Chi’s voice.

  “What’s gone wrong?”

  “Nothing. For once things have gone right,” stated Li Chi, who could now be seen looking down from the rail. “Come aboard and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “I still don’t understand it,” muttered Biggles, as he accepted the invitation, having told Ayert to proceed to the shore when they were aboard.

  In a few words, with his hands tucked into his sleeves, Li Chi explained, and Biggles no longer wondered why he had failed to guess the reason for the Sumatran’s return. Things had happened that were hardly to be expected.

  “I was just getting out the danger zone, as I thought, when we sighted a big ship hull down over our port bow,” said Li Chi. “I turned away, but she quickly overhauled us and made a signal that we were to heave to. We had no choice but to obey. Then, as she came up, I saw with joy and amazement that she was flying the white ensign. She was the Lochavon Castle, an armed merchantman, out from Perth, West Australia, for Calcutta. At the point where she intercepted us she was off her course, but her skipper told me that he had received a radio signal from the Admiralty to pick us up. And do you know for what purpose?”

  “I couldn’t guess,” murmured Biggles.

  “To take over our rubber and proceed direct to England with it.”

  “Well, I’ll go hopping,” breathed Tug.

  A smile broke slowly over Biggles’ face. “Good for the Navy,” he observed. “Somebody has done some quick thinking—but then, the Navy’s good at that. What about you, Li Chi?”

  “There were no orders. I fancy it was supposed that I would take the ship to India. The captain thought that was the intention. But as I say, there were no orders, so I decided to come back for another load of rubber—why not?”