Apart from the itinerant monk, who had arrived so early on the scene, not a soul had appeared on the landscape. They might have had the continent of Asia to themselves. However, they did not relax their vigilance on that account. During the heat of the day they sat in the shadow of the aircraft. At night they took it in turns to sleep in the cabin.
Their food supply was getting low but this did not worry them. An ample supply of drinking water was available close at hand. It was not very palatable, being somewhat bitter, but so far they, had suffered no ill effects from drinking it.
Several times they discussed the pros and cons of flying to Nan-hu to see what was happening there. Biggles was against it. He was all for sticking to the letter of the plan as it was understood by themselves and Algy.
There was no guarantee that the monk had reached Nan-hu, that he would ever get there, or if he did, how long the journey would take. If, argued Biggles, they arrived over the oasis before the monk got there, and before the time planned, Algy would be bound to wonder what on earth had happened. If the landing strip was ready—Biggles laid emphasis on the word if—all would be well. They would merely have to land and explain the circumstances. But if it wasn't ready they would merely throw Algy into a state of confusion; after which they would have to return to the plain and risk another landing there having achieved nothing. The landing would always be a risk.
Another point Biggles did not overlook was this. When he had written the message for the monk to take to Nan-hu. he had not ascertained the extent of the damage that the machine had suffered from its collision with the bird; for which reason he had taken the precaution of warning Algy that he might arrive later than the time arranged. Indeed, he had hinted broadly that he might not arrive at all, his purpose in this being to give the people at Nan-hu a chance to make their way to some place where food was available before their own supplies ran out. He wished now that he hadn't introduced this possibility. It might have been better not to send a message at all. But at the time he had acted for the best. As he told Bertie, it is always easy to see mistakes after the event.
However, as the days passed without incident there seemed every reason to hope that by arriving at the rendezvous on time the problem would solve itself.
It was on the morning of the fifth day that the first sign of life appeared in the wilderness that surrounded them. It took the form of a small cloud of dust that moved swiftly from side to side of the basin about a mile distant. It never came any nearer, but passed straight from one range of hills to another. They watched with interest and eventually made it out to be a small party of horsemen, not more than three or four, riding close together.
"Whoever those lads are they're in a deuce of a hurry," observed Biggles.
"They're not coming this way so we've nothing to worry about."
The little party disappeared into the hills and the dust settled.
An hour later the same thing happened again, although this time the party seemed larger. It took the same line and eventually disappeared in the same way.
"There seems to be something going on," remarked Biggles casually. "The nomads who live in these parts may be rough riders, but I can't believe they'd travel lickety-split like that without a good reason."
Bertie said he couldn't agree more. Still, it seemed to be no concern of theirs so he couldn't care less.
Towards sundown the same thing was repeated, but on this occasion the riders were on a course that brought them near to the aircraft. They turned out to be two Kirghiz. They took no notice whatever of the aircraft although they must have seen it, but urging their sweating mounts on with whip and. spur tore past and carried on towards the distant hills. Biggles, who had stood by the aircraft ready for trouble, watched them go with a puzzled frown.
"As I said before there seems to be something going on," he remarked.
"Those chaps were killing their horses and they wouldn't do that for the fun of it. They rode as if the devil himself was behind them."
"Absolutely, old boy," agreed Bertie. "Queer business. They certainly seemed to know where they were going."
The explanation was forthcoming just as the sun was sinking behind the hills like an enormous crimson balloon, flooding the plain with a fiery glow. Out of the purple shadows appeared five more horsemen, riding hard.
But this time they were not Kirghiz. They were Chinese cavalry.
As soon as their nationality became apparent Biggles climbed quickly into the cockpit, telling Bertie to stand by his gun in the rear turret in case there should be trouble, which he fully expected.
As it turned out his fears proved groundless. The soldiers reined in when they saw the machine. For a little while they remained grouped, talking, apparently at a loss to know what to make of the aircraft. Which was understandable. Walking their horses they came to within fifty' yards.
Biggles' hand was on the starter. Bertie crouched behind his guns.
The troops had another discussion which lasted about ten minutes. One of their number came a little nearer, made a wide circle round the Halifax without dismounting, and rejoined his companions. A minute or two later they all wheeled their mounts and rode of at a canter in the direction from which they had come.
Biggles watched them merge into the shades of twilight. Then, satisfied that they had really gone, he climbed down. Bertie joined him. "What do you make of that little lot?" he inquired.
"I think it's pretty clear," answered Biggles. "The Chinese are chasing the Kirghiz out of this particular part of the country. I imagine the riders we saw before this lot came were Kirghiz on the run. The troops didn't know what to make of us. That isn't surprising. One can understand that it would get them guessing."
"They didn't try anything naughty."
"Why should they? For all they knew this might have been one of their own planes, or a Russian, which is practically the same thing."
"They must have seen us getting into the machine."
"Of course they did. They probably took us for Russian officers. After all, the last thing they would expect to find here would be a British aeroplane."
"True enough," murmured Bertie. "They've toddled off, that's the main thing. I thought for a moment we might be going to have a spot of bickering."
"They'd hardly risk shooting without knowing who they were shooting at,"
averred Biggles. "No doubt they're still talking about us. That doesn't matter. Our worry is, will they let it go at that? I don't think so. When they get back to their base, wherever that may be, they'll be certain to talk to people who will make it their business to find out who we are and what we're doing here."
"In that case, don't you think we'd better push off?"
"Push off where? It's no use going to Nan-hu in the dark, and we haven't time to get to Dacca and back here again for our appointment. I don't see any reason to panic, but from now on we'd better keep our eyes open for visitors. They'll arrive here in due course, I haven't the slightest doubt. All we can do is hope that they won't arrive before it's time for us to get mobile. If they'll leave us alone until tomorrow, we'll take off and make for Nan-hu. It would be very awkward indeed if they came during the night, because while we might manage to get off the ground we haven't enough fuel to cruise around for hours waiting for daylight."
"I see what you mean," agreed Bertie.
"Oh well, we shall just have to wait and see," concluded Biggles.
They kept watch until it was quite dark but saw no more travellers.
Silence settled over the solitude. They ate a frugal meal under the stars, for the inadvisability of showing a light was too evident to call for comment.
The night was then divided into two-hour watches, and once more in a solemn hush the long nocturnal vigil began. Biggles, who was taking the first turn of duty, squatted on a wheel and gazed into the gloom. He didn't expect to see anything even if there was anything on the plain to see; it was too dark for that. Relief would come later with the rising of the
moon. Meanwhile, he relied more on his ears to warn him of any movement.
Bertie retired to the bed he had made in the cabin.
The hush did not persist for very long. It was broken by a long drawn out sigh, and cool air playing on Biggles' face told him that a breeze was stirring. At first it was welcome rather than unpleasant, for the air having travelled for miles over sand superheated by the scorching sun of noon, was only cool enough to be refreshing. But by the end of an hour, by which time the sand had given up its heat, it was a different story.
It became so bitterly cold that Biggles huddled on the lee side of an undercarriage leg. Not only was it the temperature that caused him to protect his eyes and ears with his hands. The wind had steadily gained strength. It swept unchecked across the open desert with disconcerting sighs and moans that peopled the lonely spaces with the demons which local lore asserted dwelt there. Biggles didn't mind the demons. He was more concerned with the sand which, travelling on the wind, began to sting his face, and promised uncomfortable flying conditions if it got any worse.
At the end of his watch, when he handed over to Bertie, he expressed his anxiety on this account. However, as they could do nothing about it they could only hope that the wind would expire with the rising of the sun.
"You'd better wake me if it gets any worse," Biggles told Bertie. "There is this about it. I don't think we're likely to have visitors while this goes on. It wouldn't be easy to find the machine even if you knew just where it was standing."
This proved to be prophetic, for the night passed without anything serious happening. Gusts of wind occurred occasionally with the force of half a gale, but generally speaking the weather got no worse, which was as well, for when the dawn burst in the east in a riot of colour this was enough to raise a dust that reduced visibility considerably and blurred the outlines of such objects as could be seen.
It was with a sense of relief that they stood together beside the plane and watched the dawn grow into another day. The sand was irritating, and they could well have done without it, but on the whole, they told themselves, they had been lucky. Visibility at the best was about half a mile, and that was sufficient for any purpose likely to be required.
"Apparently those troops who came along didn't spill the beans about us after all," said Bertie. "If they had, I reckon we should have had callers by now."
Biggles agreed. He said he was no longer perturbed on that score. Now it was daylight they could see far enough to detect the approach of men or horses, so there could be no question of a surprise attack. On the appearance of a force larger than they thought they could handle, if such a thing should happen, he said he would avoid conflict by taking off. He said this with a nonchalance which, as things turned out, was far from justified.
It may seem strange that not for one moment did he anticipate the arrival of a visitor who used the same method of transportation as himself.
Possibly it was because they hadn't seen a sign of an aircraft -since they had left Dacca. Possibly it was because he had a vague notion that as there were no Chinese airfields in that particular region, aircraft never flew over it. However that may be, the fact remains he did not give a passing thought to an aircraft other than their own. For which reason the sudden appearance of one came as a distasteful shock.
It arrived literally out of the blue. After a good look round Biggles had just gone into the cabin with Bertie to drink a cup of tea when with a shattering roar it zoomed low before screaming up in a climbing turn.
Rushing to the astral dome he saw a black painted jet fighter swinging round as if for a return dive. Although he did not say so to Bertie he thought this dive would be the end of them and he clenched his teeth as he awaited the impact of the bullets. They did not come. Instead, the MiG, as he now recognised the machine to be, roared up again and then began to circle over the Halifax.
"Keep still," he told Bertie tersely. "I don't think he's seen us. He may think there's no one here."
"Where did the blighter come from?"
Biggles was beginning to think more clearly. "My guess is those troops reported a machine here and the local Commissar has sent an aircraft out to check up. I'm pretty sure he didn't arrive here by accident."
"He doesn't seem to be doing any harm."
"Why should he? Why knock a good machine to pieces? Had he spotted us moving about outside, or had we tried to get off, I fancy it would have been a different story. Keep still. There's nothing we can do now. Our best chance is to lie doggo and kid him that the machine has been abandoned. If he thinks that he may go off to report, leaving us alone."
This apparently is what happened. The black fighter continued to circle for a little while, once coming very low, and then made off in a northerly direction.
"He must be based on one of the airfields along the Red Highway,"
surmised Biggles, watching the machine vanish over the mountains.
"What's the drill now?"
"We'll get off right away."
"You think he'll come back?"
"Either that or troops will be sent out. Someone might get the bright idea of dropping paratroops. You may be sure that someone at headquarters will want to know what a British Halifax is doing here. Come on. Let's get weaving."
"You're going straight to Nan-hu?"
"I am, flat out like a cloud of steam. Algy should have got a strip cleared by now. Anyway, we shall have to chance it. You keep that jet off my tail if he comes back and looks like using us as a target."
"Do I let him shoot first?"
"Not on your life. If he comes in range give him a warning burst to let him see we don't like him. If he shoots back or tries to come in let him have a rattle. This is no time for kid glove tactics. Remember, he's got the legs of us. I want to get home and we've a long way to go."
Inside five minutes Biggles was warming up his engines. Another five and the Halifax was racing tail up across the plain. At a thousand feet Biggles turned and headed for the oasis. Not needing altitude he wasted no time climbing but sped straight for the objective.
He had covered about half the distance when the MiG appeared. It was some way off, flying at right angles to his line of flight, so for a few seconds he sheered off hoping to escape observation. But this was not to be, and he knew from the way the black machine turned towards him that the pilot had spotted him.
"Tally-ho! Bandit ahead," he warned Bertie, automatically falling back on the wartime routine.
He held on his course, leaving the initiative to the jet pilot. There was still a chance, he thought, that the man would hesitate to use his guns.
This hope was not fulfilled, either, although the fighter pilot was a little while making up his mind. He swung round behind the Halifax, and sitting above the port side at a distance of about five hundred yards seemed content to watch. This did not suit Biggles at all, for in a matter of minutes he would be over the oasis, and what was he to do then with a hostile aircraft sitting over him? To land and offer himself as a target was out of the question.
In the event it did not come to this. The jet pilot, possibly thinking that the Halifax was trying to escape, or perhaps taking orders from his headquarters over the radio, suddenly launched an attack. But this was such an amateurish effort that Biggles was astonished, and could only conclude that the pilot had had no experience of combat. All the man did was take up a position above and behind the Halifax and then come straight down into the muzzle of Bertie's guns. As a tactical error nothing could have been more fatal—unless, of course, the man supposed the Halifax to be unarmed.
Biggles, watching, judged the moment the jet would open fire, and knowing that this would be from long range, pressed his foot on the rudder bar and saw the tracer pour past his wing tip.
"Okay," he told Bertie over the intercom. "Show him your muscles."
Bertie's guns snarled.
It is unlikely that the jet pilot knew what hit him. He did not alter course. With black smoke streaming aft the f
ighter simply steepened its dive and went straight on into the ground where it disintegrated in a sheet of flame.
"Nice work, chum," Biggles told Bertie, in the unemotional voice of one who has seen this dreadful spectacle many times before.
"Poor show," came back Bertie. "The silly ass must have thought I hadn't any bullets."
"Then he deserved what he got for shooting at us," said Biggles coldly.
"This is no time to be squeamish. I'm afraid some of these new boys have a lot to learn. Keep your eyes skinned. He may have pals around. We're nearly there."
CHAPTER XIII CUTTING IT FINE
AT the oasis, after realising that discovery was now inevitable, that the food cartons had betrayed them as effectually as if they had shown themselves on the ledge, Algy and Ginger retired a little way into the cave behind them.
"We'll have a word with Ming about the secret caves there's been talk about," said Algy. "Of course, if the Tiger destroys the caves anyone inside will have had it; but if he doesn't, there's just a chance that the ladies at least might remain hidden. The alternative is to stay in the open and we might as well shoot ourselves here and now as do that."
46 Biggles in the Gobi Page 12
