by W E Johns
‘More than a chance,’ declared McAllister. ‘I’ve lived with them for years, so I ought to know. If they don’t wipe out civilization, they’ll kill thousands of people in China and India trying, and so upset things that it will take half a century to recover. They’ll mop up India for a start, if nothing else. They’re used to mountain altitudes, and the Himalayas will no more stop them than a two-foot fence would stop a hunted stag.’
‘Very well, then we’ll take your word for it.’ Biggles turned to the others. ‘I’ve a plan, and one only,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what it is. Afterwards, if anyone can think of anything better, let’s hear it. We can’t take the place by storm: that’s out of the question. The best we can hope for is to put the power-station out of action. That would set them back for a time, anyway. That’s so, Mac, isn’t it?’
‘Correct.’
‘Then we must bust the power-station if we can, and the only way we can do that as far as I can see is to flood it.’
The Professor raised his eyebrows. ‘Flood it?’
‘By causing the lake to overflow. That hole I fell through is a hundred feet lower than the lake. The bank here, which is the nearest point to it, is also lower than anywhere else. If the water rises, it will pour over here first. It will flood the depression behind us, and pour down the hole like the waste-pipe of a sink.’
‘It would,’ agreed Dickpa, ‘if the water overflowed. How are you going to make it do that? I thought you were going to suggest bursting the dam.’
‘That would be the ideal thing, if we had any way of doing it, but nothing short of a heavy charge of dynamite would shift those rocks,’ replied Biggles. ‘I had a thundering good look at them the first time I went there, with that object in view, but I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t be done.’
‘Why not fly back to India and get some dynamite?’ suggested Algy.
‘So we will, if my plan fails, but don’t forget that people will be wondering what has happened to us by this time, and when we turn up some awkward questions may be asked. We may find it more difficult to get out of India next time.’
‘And what’s the plan?’
Biggles pointed to the great spur of rock that overhung the lake. ‘A squib would bring that lot down,’ he declared. ‘And when it falls it’s bound to go into the lake. It will displace thousands of tons of water, and the water has to go somewhere. It’ll go the only way it can – over the bank here and into the depression.
Silence greeted these words. They all looked at the towering mass of rock.
‘That lot going over would be a sight worth seeing, wouldn’t it?’ smiled Ginger at last.
‘It would – from a distance.’
‘It’d certainly make a tidy splash,’ put in McAllister.
But Dickpa looked worried. ‘How are you thinking of doing it?’ he asked.
‘There’s only one way,’ answered Biggles. ‘If we break down all the ammunition we’ve got we can produce a fair pile of cordite. We’ll tamp it into the base, and fire it off.’
‘But you’ve no fuse.’
‘We’ll use petrol. We can lay a train of petrol all the way from the rock to here as we come back. We’ll light it, take off, and hope for the best. We can get everything all ready before we go, engines running, and so on. There won’t be any time to lose.’
‘You’re right, there won’t,’ observed Dickpa dryly. ‘And once we take off, we go straight back home, I suppose ?’
‘That’s the idea. We couldn’t land on the lake again, anyway, and with no ammunition and precious little petrol, we should be fools to try landing anywhere this side of India.’
‘All right, I’ve nothing more to say.’
‘Anyone else any observation to make ?’ asked Biggles.
There was no reply.
‘Very well, then, let’s set about it. Get the tools out, Ginger, and let’s start breaking down the cartridges. Everything goes in – revolver ammunition – Very lights – anything that will help to swell the bang.’
CHAPTER 14
DELUGE
IT took them two hours, working at feverish speed, to complete the job. Biggles and Algy ripped the bullets out with pliers; Dickpa and Malty emptied the cases, and Ginger pressed the yellow cord-like substance, from which the explosive takes its name, into biscuit tins. All camp equipment and everything not required for the journey home was then unloaded and thrown on the bank.
As he worked Biggles kept one eye on the now lowering sky. ‘It looks as if we shall just about be in time,’ he said once, quietly, to Algy.
When all was ready, he siphoned out of the main tank into sundry containers as much petrol as he thought would be needed to lay the train, and then he called the others together.
‘These are the orders,’ he said, ‘and I need hardly say that everything hangs on this thing panning out according to plan. It has got to be timed perfectly. If we aren’t off the water by the time the rock falls – well —’ He made an expressive gesture. ‘Algy, you’ll sit in your usual place in the cockpit, with engines running and everything ready for a snappy take-off. Leave my place ready for me to jump into. We’ll start the engines before I leave to make sure there’s no delay there. Ginger, you’ll come with me and help me carry the stuff. Malty, you’ll remain ashore with the Lewis gun and keep an eye open for Chungs. I’ve left twenty-five rounds in the gun in case of accidents, so if you do have to shoot, use your ammunition sparingly. When you see me coming back within a hundred yards of the machine, abandon the gun and get aboard. We don’t want to lumber ourselves up with unnecessary equipment at this stage. You, Dickpa, and Mac will take your seats in the machine and stay there. Is that all clear? Good! Then we’ll start. Algy, go and get the engines going.’ He glanced up at the sky, now heavy with dark, threatening clouds, but whatever he thought of them, he said nothing. He waited for the engines to start, and then, picking up the tins of cordite, and indicating the petrol supply to Ginger, he set off quickly towards the objective.
Neither he nor Ginger spoke a word during the journey; the task was plain and there was no need to comment. As they reached the formidable mass of rock which they hoped to precipitate into the lake, a flash of lightning forked downwards from the clouds to one of the distant peaks, and a moment later a sullen clap of thunder boomed and echoed through the rocky fastnesses about them.
‘Thunder,’ said Ginger, a trifle nervously.
‘I’m not deaf,’ snapped Biggles, for after the events of the last few days his temper was inclined to be a trifle short.
‘The rock’s swaying in the wind,’ muttered Ginger, paling as he glanced upwards.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stop it if it is,’ grunted Biggles, as he eyed the mass wonderingly, for not until he actually stood beside it did he realize just what an amazing freak of Nature it was, although he recalled that the same thing occurred in a lesser degree in different parts of the world, even in Great Britain. Erosion by wind, and water pouring down the mountain during the spring thaw for countless centuries, had worn away the base of the rock, which at the top was a hundred yards or more across, until it was balanced on little more than a feeble stalk that had cracked in several places under the colossal pressure from above. So frail was the foot in comparison with the huge bulk it carried that, as Ginger had said, it moved slightly as each gust of wind struck it.
‘We’ve got to put the charge in on this side, to make quite certain it falls the right way,’ muttered Biggles.
‘How about this?’ Ginger pointed to a wide crack that gaped open at the very foot. As the mass moved with the wind, the crack opened even wider, and closed again as it moved back ponderously to its original position.
‘The very place,’ declared Biggles. ‘If we stuff the cordite in when the crack is wide open, the hole will automatically tamp itself as the rock comes back into place. Help me to open these tins.’
Working swiftly, they thrust the explosive into the crack, forcing it home with a
piece of sharp stone. Another vivid flash of lightning blazed through the air not far away, and a vicious roll of thunder made the whole mountain tremble. They completed the task with a burst of feverish energy.
‘That ought to do the trick, I think,’ mused Biggles, standing back to survey their handiwork. ‘Now for the petrol.’ He started as another flash of lightning forked downwards almost simultaneously with its accompaniment of thunder. ‘My goodness, did you see that?’ he muttered, in a startled voice. ‘Let’s get a move on. It would be a fluke if the lightning hit the rock just at this moment, but I shall feel happier when I’m a bit farther away from it.’ Picking up a tin of petrol, he splashed some of the spirit over the cordite, and then began to run back towards the lake, allowing the petrol to trickle out as he went.
They were still two hundred yards away from where Malty was standing on guard when another flash of lightning darted down into the mountain, so close to them that they were both thrown off their feet.
Biggles was up first, looking slightly dazed. ‘Quick – the last lap,’ he gasped.
Ginger sprang up, and in the act of passing the final can, happened to glance behind along the way they had come. He turned as white as a sheet. ‘Look!’ he screamed, ‘the petrol’s alight!’
Biggles took one look and saw that he was right; the lightning had fired the fuse. He dropped the can with a crash. ‘Run for it!’ he yelled.
Like mountain goats gone mad they tore towards the boat, leaping from rock to rock regardless of risk, regardless of anything in their frenzied haste to get aboard the Explorer before the charge exploded. As they ran they shouted desperate warnings to the others.
Malty looked up, saw at a glance what had happened, and dived into the hull.
‘In you go, Ginger, and shut the door,’ yelled Biggles, as he took a flying leap into his seat. Without waiting to strap himself in, he moved the throttle wide open, and as the big machine moved forward, swung her round in her own length to get head to wind. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a yellow flame speeding across the rocks; it was within twenty yards of the spur.
Under the impulse of her powerful engines, the Explorer surged forward, leaving a trail of creamy foam in her wake, but she had not reached anything like the speed necessary to lift her from the water when there was a flash, quickly followed by a sharp, ringing explosion.
None of those who saw what followed will ever forget the sight. Their hearts seemed to stop beating. The great spur quivered, hung for a moment, and then, slowly and majestically, swept through the air. It struck the water with a roar like thunder, and was instantly lost to sight in a cloud of spray that rose into the air almost as high as the Mountain of Light. A second later, out of the white mist, a great wall of water emerged and bore down on the amphibian with the speed of an express train.
Biggles knew it would come and had already started to turn before it appeared. His face was grey and his lips were set, for in his heart he thought they were lost. If the wall of water caught them it would be the end; that was certain. An ocean liner would have been thrown on its beam ends and swept from stem to stern by such a wave. The lightly-built flying boat would just crumple up like so much tissue paper. He did not look at Algy. He got the machine round until it was facing in the opposite direction, and saw at once that there was not enough room to get off except at one point. The dam.
Nowhere had he a run of more than a quarter of a mile, which was barely enough to enable the Explorer to get off even if the shore had been flat. But it was not. At all points except at the dam steep banks of rock rose high into the air.
To attempt to clear them was out of the question. At the dam, however, they broke away into a narrow cleft, leaving only the low wall of the dam to clear. Was the gap wide enough to permit the Explorer to pass through? He did not know. He did not think so, but it was the only chance left. Vaguely he recalled stories he had heard of pilots flying under the Forth Bridge, and between the centre columns of the Arc de Triomphe, in Paris. Not once since he started had he touched the throttle, and now, with engines roaring, he set his nose at the dam. A swift glance over his shoulder showed the mighty wall not more than thirty yards behind, towering high into the air. He could never have visualized anything like it. It far outstripped his wildest imagination.
A hundred yards from the dam the wave had half closed the distance between them, and was beginning to curl over at the top as if hungry to engulf the flimsy scrap of metal and fabric with its human freight. With joystick well forward, he set his eyes on the centre of the dam and watched it apparently rushing towards him. Within ten seconds their fate would be settled. He could see now that the boat could get through – if she would leave the water. Would she unstick? He eased the stick back gently and the feel of it told him all he needed to know. She had not gathered enough speed to rise in the rarefied atmosphere. Fifty yards – forty – thirty – twenty – he seized the stick firmly, intending to drag her off even at the risk of a stall. Death was staring him in the face; the manner of it was immaterial. He knew now that a crash was inevitable, and braced himself for the shock.
What happened next occurred in a nightmare-like horror of sight and sound. Magically, almost at the moment of impact, the dam disappeared, and he clutched his instrument board with his left hand as his seat seemed to drop out from under him. The sensation was as if the machine had struck an enormous bump. Through whirling wraiths of white mist he saw the walls of the gulch on either side of him, and, with the amazing perception of detail that often comes at moments of great mental strain, he actually noticed the burrow-like hole in the wall through which he and Algy had peered out not many hours before. Below, a great bow of green water curved through the air and plunged into an incredible cauldron of foam with a roar like the end of the world. Then everything was swallowed up in a curtain of blinding mist.
Yet not for a moment did he lose his head. He still held the joystick firmly although it had gone slack in his grasp, but as he felt it grow taut again he eased it back, and his nostrils quivered as he felt the machine answer to the control. It shot out of the mist, and the town of the Chungs swam into view below. Whatever was happening behind them, they were saved.
He swept up exultantly over their old landing-ground on the plateau, and then and not before did he allow himself to relax. Indeed, he could not help it, so great had been the strain of the last few seconds. He glanced at Algy, chalk white and sitting bolt upright in his seat, caught his eye and smiled. He knew that, if it were possible, the experience had been even worse for him, for being a passenger he had been unable to do anything but watch and wait for the end.
Algy shook his head sadly and passed his hand wearily over his eyes. Then he leaned over. ‘Let’s go home,’ he shouted above the noise of the engine. ‘I can’t stand this sort of thing.’
‘Go and see how the others are getting on,’ shouted Biggles in reply, as he started banking in a wide circle back towards the scene of the maelstrom, to try to see just what had happened.
As his wing swung clear, exposing the view beyond, his lips parted in an expression of utter astonishment. The lake had disappeared. Where it had been yawned a huge crater, grey with the deposit of ages. A second glance revealed the reason. The dam was no longer there, although the spot was clearly marked by a wide breach in the rocks at the head of the gulch. Had he not known that it could not be so, he would have thought that the tidal wave had washed the dam clean away, but he knew that was not the case, for the dam had burst before the wave had struck it. He could only conclude, therefore, that the dam had collapsed under the pressure of some terrific under-water pulsation.
In the absence of the spur, the riven side of the Mountain of Light stood out stark like a cut cheese. He took all these things in at once, and then his lips went dry as his eyes sought the water and found it. It was pouring from the gulch into the crater on the side of which the town was situated, in a two-hundred-feet-high wall of swirling foam that toppled over as the p
ressure on its flanks was released, and spread itself out in a sea of tossing brown waves and coiling whirlpools. The flood had not yet reached the town itself, but it was perilously near, and the inhabitants were pouring up the hill in order to escape the deluge. At the far end of the crater the water was running like a millrace downhill along the gorge of the centipedes. Already it had almost filled the lower crater near the plateau, and was tearing down the continuation of the gorge towards the plain.
At the opposite end of the turmoil it had reached the foot of the Mountain of Light.
Biggles could not see the entrance to the power-station, so he concluded that it had already been submerged. He felt a nudge at his elbow, and turning, saw Algy beside him.
‘They’re all right – only a bit shaken,’ was his assuring message.
Biggles nodded towards the flood. ‘We succeeded better than we expected,’ he muttered. ‘Did you ever see anything like that in your life? Have a good look, for I doubt if you’ll ever see anything like it again.’
Algy opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. He could only point. All around the upper part of the mountain clouds of steam were gushing from what Biggles had once called blow-holes. It was easy to guess what had happened. Either an explosion had taken place in the power-station or the flooded storage batteries were generating gas that was being forced upwards by the pressure of the water below.
This supposition was supported by the fact that the jets of steam increased in volume and intensity as the water in the crater increased in depth. But even so, the small holes could not emit the gas fast enough, and the thin sides of the mountain began to collapse in several places. Landslides poured down into the water, and these, by causing the water to rise higher, only made matters worse.
