17 Biggles And The Rescue Flight

by Captain W E Johns

  Ì haven't overlooked it, but all the same I shall feel happier when I've been over to this place, whether I find Forty or not. I'm sure that his letter meant that he wanted me to go if ever he was reported missing, and if I managed to get to France in the R.F.C. Until I've been I shan't feel that I've done my—er—'

  `Duty,' suggested Algy.

  `Not exactly duty. If I go I shall have the consolation of knowing that I have done all I can.'

  `Yes, I quite see how you feel about it,' said Biggles, softly. 'I should feel the same way about it myself.'

  Àm I to understand that you are not going to have us arrested, then?'

  Ì'm going to forget that I ever saw that newspaper cutting.'

  Ànd you won't stop me from trying to get to Berglaken?'

  Ì'm not going to let you try to get there alone, if that's what you mean. My common sense tells me that you are so new to the game that you'd stand a much better chance of success if some one of experience went with you—a couple of fellows like—er—me and Algy.'

  Thirty's eyes glowed his thanks. Suddenly they moistened. 'It's awfully decent of you—to do—this for me,' he murmured huskily.

  `Rot!' interrupted Biggles tersely. 'If you want to know the truth, my feeling in this matter is that you've put up such a good show getting out here as you did that I should be the last one to send you back to school. I'll help you to find your brother, if he is still alive. On consideration, the scheme is not so hair-brained as it appeared at first sight, due chiefly to the fact, as you have said, that the enemy will hardly expect a British formation so far over their own country. Anyway, the whole thing is a brand new idea, and it is the new idea that gets away with it. I fancy the whole thing will boil down to a matter of perfect timing; I mean, getting there without being seen. Let me think about it for a few hours. There is the matter of the two-seater to be arranged also. I'll slip over to the pool at Amiens. and

  see if I can fix it. We'll have another discussion tonight in my room after dinner. You can wash out now. After lunch you'd both better start practising forced landings. I shall have to make out my report now, or the C.O. will wonder what I'm up to.'

  Chapter 6

  The Great Adventure

  Two days after the events narrated in the previous chapter Thirty and Rip picked up their flying kit and made their way towards the hangars.

  It was dark, although a nearly full moon cast an eerie light over the sombre landscape, for the hour was three o'clock in the morning. Silence, broken only by the distant mutter of guns, and the sinister pour-vous, pour-vous of a Mercedes motor as a German bomber droned on an unknown mission, hung over the deserted aerodrome. Only these sounds, and an occasional flash of greenish light from the direction of the lines, where anxious sentries were keeping watch by the aid of star-shells , told of the unceasing struggle that was being waged only a few miles away.

  Neither of the boys spoke. Thirty was almost overcome by the profound importance of the occasion. He had passed the stage of being excited. Every nerve in his body felt like a steel spring, coiled, tense, straining for relief. For him a dream, an almost unbelievable dream, was coming true; he was going to keep a tryst, a sacred tryst, a vague assignation with some one who meant more to him than any one else in the world, yet who might not be alive. It is hardly to be wondered at that, as he walked towards the silent, camouflaged hangars, looking enormous in the half light, he was obsessed by a feeling of unreality.

  Everything was as dim, as nebulous, as a barely remembered memory—the sheds, the ghostly silhouettes of the machines standing in front of them, the flying kit he carried—

  even himself. Little wonder that he was in no mood for speech.

  The plan of operations, as finally decided upon by Biggles, was this.

  Three machines were to take part in the rescue flight, a Bristol Fighter and two Camels.

  The two scouts were to be flown by Biggles and Algy, since they would be better able than the others to put up a vigorous resistance should the formation be attacked on the return journey; moreover, as they had had more experience they would be better qualified to land them in circumstances that would certainly be difficult. Thirty and Rip were to go in the Bristol, Thirty to act as pilot and Rip as gunner. Biggles had pointed out that although the Bristol was only a two-seater, Thirty and Rip were so slight in build and weight that they did not together weigh much more than one fully-grown man; the machine, carrying no bombs, would therefore be able to carry a third person if necessity arose—as, naturally, they all hoped it would. Two persons in the rear cockpit would, of course, be a tight fit, but Biggles decided that as it was possible it would be better than taking an extra machine.

  Thirty had a shrewd suspicion that the real reason for this arrangement was the doubt in Biggles's mind as to the likelihood of there being a passenger to bring back. And in this he was right. In his heart Biggles could not help but feel that they would come back empty-handed. Had they been certain that Forty was alive the whole thing would have been different; so it would have been had they merely to pick up a waiting passenger from a distant objective. But the chances were that Forty was dead. Without saying anything to Thirty, Biggles had made inquiries at Forty's squadron, and had learned—to regard the matter in its most optimistic light—that there was no reason to suppose that Forty was still alive.

  The three machines were to take off at two-minute intervals and fly a compass course at a pre-arranged speed and altitude to the destination. There was no question of flying in formation; the darkness made that impossible. But by pursuing the same course at the same speed, at different heights so that there would be no possibility of collision, they ought to arrive over the objective at break of dawn within sight of each other. They would then take up formation, and, cutting their engines, glide down and land. After that, everything would depend upon circumstances. 'Anything might happen,' as Biggles put it, tersely, and, no doubt, correctly.

  When Thirty and Rip reached the tarmac neither Biggles nor Algy had arrived. They were, in fact, a few minutes early. Biggles's mechanic, Sergeant Smyth, was there, with two or three ack-emmas. Thirty, restless with impatience, passed the time by putting on his flying kit, and a few moments later Biggles and Algy arrived.

  Èverything ready, Sergeant?' asked Biggles. Àll ready, sir,' was the crisp response.

  `Good! Then you may as well start up, Sergeant. We are five minutes in front of schedule; still, so much the

  better, that will give us plenty of time to warm up.' Biggles turned to Thirty and Rip. 'On a show like this,' he said quietly, 'everything depends upon carrying out orders to the letter. Any departure from a fixed plan—except, of course, through circumstances beyond control—means increased risks for others. You are absolutely clear about everything? If not, now is the time to speak.'

  Èverything is quite clear,' declared Thirty. `Do you mind my asking if the C.O. knows what we are doing? I saw you talking to him last evening.'

  Ì asked permission to go out on a special mission, and he gave it, imagining no doubt, that as a flight-commander I had a sense of responsibility. If he knew just what we proposed doing he would jump up in the air so high that he would hit his head on the ceiling. I've taken Mahoney into my confidence; he'll explain to the C.O. what we tried to do—if we don't come back. And I may as well say this. The best thing that could happen—apart from your brother—is that we make a success of this show. Afterwards it would be unlikely that headquarters would send you back home. These shows are always the same. Succeed—and you get a decoration, a pretty little cross. Fail—and you might as well get another sort of cross—a wooden one. Frankly, I think your only chance of being allowed to stay out here—getting a commission in the field—is to put up a good show. Well, I think that's all.' Biggles looked at his luminous wrist watch. 'Time's up; let'

  s get away,' he announced, crisply.

  Biggles and Algy walked towards their respective machines for they had all been standing near the
Bristol. Thirty looked at Rip. Then, moved by some impulse, he held out his hand. ' "Thick and thin", old boy,' he said in a low voice.

  `Thick and thin",' echoed Rip softly, and in another moment they were climbing into their seats.

  The engines had already been started and warmed up by the mechanics, so there was no delay. The Bristol was to be the first to take off. A glance behind to make sure that Rip was ready, and Thirty's left hand closed over the throttle. The roar of the engine shattered the silence. The Bristol surged forward with ever-increasing speed; a few slight bumps and it was in the air, climbing slowly towards the lines.

  At two thousand feet, still climbing, Thirty touched his rudder-bar and swung the snub nose round to its allotted course; then he settled himself back for the long flight ahead.

  But he was not to remain undisturbed for long. A few minutes later the white beam of a searchlight stabbed the sky, flashing its question with the 'letter of the night' in the Morse code. The letter was B, one long flash followed by three short ones. Rip, in the back seat, was ready. His signal pistol roared, and the 'colour of the night', red changing to blue, soared like a meteor through the starry sky .

  The questing beam disappeared with the peculiar suddenness of its kind, and the Bristol roared on, unmolested by the waiting archies.

  A few moments later, however, another beam flashed, this time from some distance ahead. Another joined it, and another, the three wedges of white light `scissoring' in a criss-cross pattern as they tried to get the night-bird in their grip. They gave Thirty the impression of giant forceps, trying to close on him and crush him to death.

  A number of dull crimson sparks some distance away attracted his attention, and he looked at them curiously; but when, shortly afterwards, a vivid orange flash lacerated the indigo sky not far away, and he heard the dull whoof of an explosion, he knew that the sparks were bursting archie shells in a new guise. He perceived quickly that those which burst at a distance were crimson, while those that were nearer were various shades of red from scarlet to orange. Few shots came near him, however; presently the waving searchlight beams were left behind and he bored into the eastern sky with more confidence.

  Knowing that they were either over Germany or very near to it, Thirty looked down with fresh curiosity, but he could see little. He appeared to be flying across the top of an immense bowl, the bottom of which was submerged in vague blue-black shadows. A broad river which he knew must be the Rhine coiled like a piece of silver tape across the mysterious depths. Here and there a spark of yellow light, from the window of an isolated dwelling, glowed in the darkness. That was all. With frequent glances at his compass to check his course, he flew on, conscious of a strange sense of power. Below were thousands of human beings, each

  one an enemy, yet not one could stop him, he thought.

  He looked at his watch and saw that he had been in the air for fifty minutes. The sky ahead had begun to pale, and the stars to lose their brilliance, and he knew that dawn was not far off. He stared about him, hoping to see the two Camels, but the light was as yet too dim for him to see any distance and there was no sign of them in his proximity. The Bristol was alone in a lonely world of its own. Twisting his body in the small space available, he looked back at Rip, thinking, perhaps, to restore their mutual confidence by a nod, or a signal. But Rip was looking back over the Bristol's tail; with his left hand resting on the gun mounting, and his right hand on the edge of the cockpit, he stood motionless; he might have been a dummy, so still did he stand.

  The sky to the east was now turning to pale lavender, and Thirty looked around anxiously for the Camels, for he knew that he must be nearing Berglaken; already he could see the pine-covered hills ahead, with drifts of pale grey morning mist lying in the valleys. His hand moved to the throttle, and simultaneously a Camel appeared at his starboard wing-tip with a suddenness that made him catch his breath. He stared at it unbelievingly, for a moment before he could have sworn that he was alone in the sky. He had no idea of where it had come from, and a wave of depression ran over him as he realized that it might so easily have been a Boche plane. 'My goodness! I've certainly got a lot to learn yet,' he thought gloomily. He was not surprised to see a second Camel swim into view on the other side of him; it was rather like a goldfish floating in a bowl.

  Looking at it closely he was somewhat concerned to see Algy's mouth opening and shutting as though he were gasping for breath; Algy looked across at him, and raised his left hand in a gesture that was something between a salute and a wave. With a mild shock Thirty understood the facial contortions: Algy was singing. Then, suddenly, his mouth closed, and he pointed. Following the direction Thirty saw that Biggles's Camel was sinking into the void, and he knew that he had cut his engine. Swiftly he retarded his throttle and, as the roar of the engine died away, pushed the joystick forward. The Bristol's blunt nose sagged, and the machine began to lose height.

  As he glided down Thirty studied the ground; it all looked strange and mysterious, and at first he could recognize nothing; but as he continued to stare he picked up his first landmark—two small lakes connected by a narrow canal that gave the whole thing the appearance of a dumb-bell—he remembered it perfectly, for he had fished in the lakes many times. Once having got his bearings he was able to pick up other features he knew— a narrow road which wound through the wooded hills, ruins of a once noble schloss , and a brook. He knew, therefore, just where to look for the proposed landing-place, and smiled his relief to see that it was still there; he did not, of course, expect to find that it had gone, but it gave him a queer thrill to see that it was unchanged, that it was exactly as he had visualized it. The hut, however, he could not see, for the valley in which it stood was still enveloped with ground-mist.

  Carefully, flying no faster than was necessary in order to reduce noise to a minimum, Thirty nosed

  down towards the landing-ground. The needle of his altimeter crept back, and the panorama began to assume a more normal appearance. It all looked very peaceful. As far as he could see there was not a single vehicle on the one road that threaded its way across it; this did not surprise him, for, apart from the very early hour, the district was a lonely one, because the hills made it unsuitable for agricultural purposes.

  Slowly the Bristol sank towards the green turf, Thirty tense in his seat, knowing how much depended on a good landing. A blunder resulting in a broken undercarriage would see him and Rip stranded in the heart of the enemy's country, with a likelihood of their being shot as spies if they were captured. Apart from which, the discovery of a British machine by one of the charcoal-burners who lived in the hills would be all that was necessary to start a hue and cry, so that far from rescuing Forty, if he were in the hut, they would only make his hiding-place untenable.

  But Thirty's fears were soon set at rest; the Bristol bumped, swayed a little over the uneven ground, and then trundled to a standstill almost in the shadow of the firs that flanked the open space on which he had landed.

  With a musical hum of wind in their wires the two Camels came in together. Neither Biggles nor Algy blipped his engine; they both allowed their machine to run to a stop wherever they would, although in neither case were they far away.

  Thirty and Rip had already jumped out and, in accordance with the plan, as soon as Biggles's machine was on the ground they ran across to it and helped him to drag it as far into the trees as was possible, where it was left with its nose pointing in the direction of the

  open heath, ready for a quick take-off should it become necessary. Algy had joined them, and all four now handled the other two machines in the same way. Not until the three machines stood in line did they pause from their activities.

  `Listen!' said Biggles quietly.

  They all stood still for two or three minutes, but the only sounds were the chirping of birds in the trees, and the babble of an unseen brook somewhere near at hand.

  `Good!' said Biggles at last, satisfied that all was well. 'I think we've pulled of
f the first part as well as could be expected; we couldn't have made less noise. Now for the hut.

  Have your automatics ready, but remember, no shooting unless we run into armed men.

  Peasants, or labourers, or whoever live in these woods, are not likely to attack us; if they see us they'll be more scared than we shall be; but if we are unlucky enough to run into any Boche troops, why, then, shoot out and shoot to kill. They will, for we are just as much at war here as if we were in the trenches. Rip, you'll stay here. You remember what you are to do?'

  `Yes.'

  `What?'

  `Stand by and keep guard and be ready for a quick start-up. If I hear shouting, or if you shoot, I am to start up the Bristol and take station by the prop . of your machine ready to swing it. If the machines are discovered I am to fire three quick shots.'

  `Right,' said Biggles. 'Let's go. Lead the way, Thirty.'

  Chapter 7

  Neck or Nothing

  Closely followed by Biggles and Algy, Thirty struck off at as fast a pace as was compatible with caution along the base of the hills, but before he had gone very far he turned sharply to the right into a deep valley, through which gurgled a brook, with dense fir-clad banks on either side rising to a height of two or three hundred feet.

  It's rough going,' he warned the others. 'Our best plan is to follow the brook. There is no path.'

  Biggles nodded without speaking, and they went on.

  As Thirty had said, the going was rough, and it was clear that the only living creatures that normally moved in the valley were the rabbits whose burrows were everywhere, and the speckled trout that darted for cover under the overhanging banks as the airmen splashed along the boulder-strewn bed of the stream.

  Ì used to come here after these fish,' explained Thirty.

  `You're after something more important than fish now,' Biggles told him. 'Watch your step amongst these rocks; a twisted ankle wouldn't make things any easier.'

  Nothing more was said for perhaps ten minutes, by which time they had climbed a spur of rock that barred further progress along the brook. Lying on the top, Thirty parted the heather that sprouted out of every cranny, and pointed.