17 Biggles And The Rescue Flight

by Captain W E Johns

  `They cannot both be mad,' Thirty told himself desperately, swallowing something in his throat. 'What the . . . ?'

  With his brain still reeling, he turned and began slowly to retrace his steps. In such a chaotic mental condition was he that he even looked down at the front of his uniform to see if in some miraculous way it had turned from khaki to grey. He saw that it was still khaki, and the discovery did nothing to elucidate the incredible incident. An uncomfortable sensation in the back made him look over his shoulder. Surely the Germans had realized their mistake by this time, and would be taking aim at him, he thought.

  But the bracken now hid them from view.

  The sensation of unreality that he had experienced when he first found himself in France again swept over him, but he increased his pace and soon arrived back at the spot where he had left the others. They were still sitting on the bank, chatting.

  Rip looked at Thirty's hands. 'Didn't you find the grub?' he questioned, in a disappointed voice.

  `No,' answered Thirty, grimly, 'I didn't.'

  `Why not?'

  Ùnless I'm crazy, there are Boche soldiers along there in that wood.'

  Rip sprang to his feet. 'What!'

  Thirty shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 'There are soldiers along there.'

  `But—did they see you?'

  `Yes.'

  Rip's face revealed his alarm.

  Ìt's all right,' said Thirty in a peculiar voice, 'they are quite harmless.'

  Rip stared at him. 'What are you talking about?' he muttered.

  `He's pulling our legs,' smiled Forsyth.

  `This is no time for fool tricks like that,' returned Thirty angrily. 'I tell you I saw two Huns along there—eating their breakfast.'

  `Then it looks as if we're sunk,' declared Rip hopelessly. 'They'll get Biggles if he tries to land.'

  Ì shall light a fire and stop him; that was the arrangement,' retorted Thirty, bitterly.

  Forsyth scrambled to his feet. 'Where did you say these Germans were?'

  Àlong there by the wood. What are you going to do?'

  Ì'm going to have a look at them.'

  `Don't be a fool.'

  Ì'll—'

  `Hark!' broke in Thirty, tensely.

  From far away, rising and falling on the now gently stirring air, came the low, vibrant hum of aero-engines. `That's Biggles,' declared Thirty. 'That's a Beardmore engine, I'll swear. He must have got hold of a Fee. I'll light a fire.'

  Forsyth ran a few paces along the hedge. 'What are you talking about?' he asked gruffly. '

  There isn't a soul in sight.'

  `Have you got a match?' asked Thirty, wildly. `No.'

  `Have you, Rip?'

  `They're soaking wet.'

  Thirty threw up his hands helplessly.

  `Where are those Boches?' asked Forsyth. 'If there were any about we should see them moving now.'

  Thirty ran to where he was standing and stared along the hedge and the edge of the wood. As Forsyth had said, there was nobody in sight.

  Ì give it up,' muttered Thirty. 'I could have sworn I saw Germans sitting—'

  `Nerves,' broke in Forsyth. 'I've had that happen to me more than once. Fellows in the trenches are always shooting at Huns that don't exist.'

  `You may be right,' returned Thirty, now seriously beginning to wonder if he had been a victim of a hallucination.

  There was no further time for conversation. From out of the western sky appeared four machines, two Camels and two dark-painted Fees. As they watched, Biggles's Camel, distinguishable by its wing-pennants, roared down low over the landing-ground, then zoomed up again.

  Thirty ran into the open, waving furiously.

  Instantly the propellers of the two Fees slowed down, and they began to glide in to land.

  Thirty danced from one foot to the other in his excitement, glancing from time to time in the direction of the wood, for there was not the slightest doubt in his mind that if there were Germans there, their shots would reveal them. They could hardly remain passive while British aeroplanes landed within a hundred paces of them.

  The first of the two Fees touched its wheels, bumped a little, and then ran to a standstill.

  The front cockpit was empty. Thirty dashed up to it. The pilot, his goggles pushed up, was grinning at him. He was a stranger to Thirty, but it was no time for introductions.

  `There are three of us,' yelled Thirty. 'What shall we do?'

  The pilot grimaced. 'I think I can manage two, but it will be a tight fit,' he replied. `

  Grimsdon, my partner, will take the other. Hurry up.'

  Thirty saw that Rip had run across to the other Fee, which had now landed. The two Camels were circling overhead.

  `Get a move on,' shouted the pilot irritably.

  `We'd better get in here,' Thirty told Forsyth, who was standing beside him. Then he yelled to Rip to get into the other machine, with whose pilot he was now carrying on a conversation.

  `Get in first, Forsyth. I'll sit on your lap,' muttered Thirty.

  Forsyth swung himself up into the nacelle cockpit. Thirty followed, and squeezed himself on his lap. 'Off you go,' he shouted to the pilot, after satisfying himself that Rip had got into the other machine..

  The take-off in the heavily loaded machine was a hair-raising affair. It was not so much the weight that mattered, because a machine that was designed to carry a 230-lb. bomb in addition to its observer, and other equipment, made light of Thirty's nine stone; but the weight was too far forward for the centre of gravity, with the result that the tail swung high and the nose nearly went into the ground, for which the pilot, unaccustomed to such unusual loading, could hardly be blamed. However, after an unpleasant swerve or two and an exceptionally long run, the machine staggered into the air, and after that there was no danger. A Camel soared up alongside, and Thirty found himself looking into Algy's smiling face.

  They saw no enemy aircraft during the journey to the lines, in which they may have been fortunate, for, closely packed as Thirty was with Forsyth, it would have been impossible to manipulate the Lewis gun with which the cockpit was equipped. However, this may have been due as much to Biggles's foresight as to pure luck, for the presence of Mahoney, who met them with six Camels some distance over the lines, no doubt did much to keep the air clear.

  Thirty had no recollection of the last part of the trip. In spite of his efforts to prevent it, he dozed, the inevitable result of sheer weariness and nervous exhaustion after all he had been through during the night.

  He came to with a start as the machine landed, and as soon as it came to a standstill he lost no time in vacating his cramped seat. The other Fee landed. Biggles and Algy walked over, and presently they all forgathered on the tarmac.

  Ì rather expected that Raymond would be here,' observed Biggles, looking round.

  `Do you mind if we go down to the mess and have some breakfast?' asked one of the Fee pilots. 'If there's nothing else we can do—'

  `By all means,' replied Biggles. 'Thanks, chaps, for your help. We shall be along ourselves presently.' He turned to Thirty as the two night-flying pilots strolled away in the direction of the officers' mess. 'How did you get on?' he asked eagerly.

  Ì delivered the goods,' Thirty told him, with a faint smile.

  `Good show!'

  `By the way, meet Forsyth,' continued Thirty. 'I found him waiting on the landing-ground for a lift home.'

  Biggles shook hands with the infantry officer.

  Ì was mighty relieved to see you turn up,' Thirty told Biggles. 'You guessed we were in a mess, evidently.'

  Ì didn't exactly guess,' returned Biggles, lighting a cigarette and flicking the match away. 'When that frightful storm blew up as soon as you'd gone I reckoned you'd be lucky to weather it. Not only that,

  I was pretty certain that if nothing went wrong you'd get off the ground before daylight. I waited here until it was daylight, and when there was no sign of you I thought we'd better come and have a look
at things. We couldn't do any harm, anyway. The first thing I saw when we arrived was your burnt-out machine. That's all there was to it.'

  `Where did the Fees come from?'

  `From 100 Squadron. I tried to get a Bristol, but couldn't, so I rang up Shorty Grimsdon, of one hundred, and asked him to oblige, which, being a good scout, he did. But what are we standing here for? Let's go and sit down in the office. I'd say let's go down to the mess, but we'd better stick around for a minute or two in case Raymond turns up. I should have thought he would be here by now.'

  Ì'll go and ring him up, I think, and tell him everything is O.K.,' suggested Thirty, in a peculiar tone of voice.

  `Yes, I should,' replied Biggles. 'By the way, are you all right?'

  `Yes — why?'

  Ì thought you were looking a bit odd.'

  `Tired, I expect.'

  Ì see. All right. You'll find us in the office.'

  When Thirty rejoined the others a few minutes later they were sitting in the Flight Office, their flying-kit discarded. He flung his on its usual peg and pulled out a chair from under the small deal table on which lay their log-books.

  `Well, I think I'll be getting along,' announced Forsyth.

  `What's the hurry?' asked Thirty quietly.

  Òh, anxious to get back, you know. My C.O. will be pleased to see me.'

  Ì'd sit still if I were you,' went on Thirty evenly, his eyes on the other's face. There was such a curious inflexion in his voice that Biggles stared at him.

  `No; if it's all the same to you, I'll push along,' mused Forsyth.

  Ìt isn't all the same to me,' said Thirty in a voice that was as brittle as ice.

  Forsyth turned sharply. 'What do you mean?' `You'll sit where you are, that's what I mean,' grated Thirty.

  There was dead silence. Every one in the room stiffened. In Thirty's hand was an automatic, its muzzle pointing unwaveringly at Forsyth's chest.

  Chapter 17

  A Life for a Life

  The silence persisted for a full half-minute, during which time Thirty's eyes never left Forsyth's face. He saw the expression of cheerful carelessness fade, to be replaced by one of cold resignation.

  `What the—?' Biggles's eyes went from the weapon in Thirty's hand to the mark at which it was levelled. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

  `Biggles,' said Thirty, speaking very distinctly, 'a very curious thing happened at the landing-ground this morning. I did not understand it at the time, but I do now. But first let me direct your attention to the uniform the man who calls himself Forsyth is wearing.

  Coming home I sat very close to him, so close that I was able to perceive by the smell of his tunic that it has just been chemically cleaned. Since when have the Germans started cleaning their prisoners' uniforms for them, I should like to know? I know why this one was cleaned, though. If you will examine the front of that tunic very closely you will see that a small hole has been repaired. It isn't easy to see because it has been carefully done.

  It is just over the . . . heart. Just the sort of hole you might expect to be made by a .. .

  bullet. A bullet did go through that tunic—and it went through the heart of the man who was wearing it. I expect it was . . . Forsyth. Forsyth of the 9th Buffs. It made an ugly stain, that bullet . . . a stain that had to

  be rubbed hard with chemicals to remove it. But you can just see the edge of it.'

  Thirty's voice went on inexorably. 'When I was waiting at the landing-ground I walked slap into a Boche. He gave me no more than a passing glance— a very different reception from what a British officer in enemy country might expect. Do you know why?

  I'll tell you. The Boche troops who were there knew that a .. . man . . . in a British officer'

  s uniform, was waiting there, or due to arrive there, to be picked up.'

  Thirty's eyes, cold and hard, stared into those of the man who called himself Forsyth. '

  Am I right?' he asked.

  The other did not answer.

  Àm I right?' Thirty's eyes suddenly blazed, and the words left his lips with a vehemence that made the listeners jump.

  The man he addressed drew a deep breath. He moistened his lips with his tongue. The muscles of his now ashen face twitched. 'Yes,' he said quietly. A ghost of a smile flitted over his face. 'Since we have passed the stage where denial might be of service, I might as well admit that—you are quite right.'

  `You are a spy?'

  The German moved his shoulders an inch. 'And what, sir, are you?' he asked softly.

  Thirty caught his breath. 'That has nothing to do with it,' he answered icily.

  Biggles broke in. 'Go and turn out the guard,' he ordered Rip, curtly.

  `Wait!' cried Thirty.

  Biggles raised his eyebrows. 'I am in command here,' he said, evenly.

  `Yes . . . I'm sorry.'

  Algy spoke for the first time. 'I think I know what Thirty means,' he said, quietly. 'The game is up. The Boche has tried to turn the tables on us. The landingground—for us—is now a trap.'

  Ì'm not thinking about the landing-ground,' cried Thirty, almost hysterically. 'Haven't you realized yet what this means? They've got Forty. They'll shoot him. They'll—'

  Àll right, pull yourself together,' broke in Biggles sharply. He turned to the prisoner.. '

  May I assume it is correct that your people have arrested Captain Smithson for espionage?'

  `You may assume what you like,' was the calm reply.

  Thirty handed his automatic to Biggles. 'Will you allow me to ask the prisoner—my prisoner—a few questions?' he demanded.

  `Can it serve a useful purpose? This matter is now outside our hands.'

  Ìt may,' returned Thirty. 'Nobody knows about this prisoner—yet.' He turned to the German, who was regarding him stolidly. 'You know that after you are handed over it will only be a matter of hours before you are shot?' he inquired, sharply.

  Òf course. People who undertake our work must be prepared for that.'

  Thirty ignored the oblique reference to his own activities. 'You would, I imagine, be interested in saving your life?'

  `Naturally.'

  `What are you getting at?' demanded Biggles.

  `Please,' implored Thirty. He returned to the prisoner. 'I was thinking we might exchange a life for—a life,' he said in a low voice.

  `You mean—exchange this fellow's life for Forty's?' asked Biggles.

  `Yes.'

  `But you can't do that sort of thing.'

  Ì'd do anything to save my brother—anything,' declared Thirty passionately.

  The German started slightly at the words 'my brother'. Àh!' he exclaimed softly.

  `You'll get yourself shot before you're through—in fact, all of us,' Biggles told Thirty grimly.

  `Nothing of the sort. No one need know of this.' Thirty again addressed the prisoner. 'If we are going through with this we must understand each other,' he said. 'I am not asking you to betray your side. You need say no more than is necessary for me to save my brother's life. Neither side would gain anything if you both died; they would gain an advantage if you both lived. Is my brother a prisoner?'

  `No.'

  `Where is he?'

  `No one knows. He escaped.'

  `Did he know that his reason for being in your country was known to you?'

  `Yes.'

  `But you don't know where he is now?'

  `We assume that he will make for the landing-ground where I was picked up.'

  Ànd that is why the soldiers are there—to arrest him when he comes.'

  `So.'

  Ànd what part were you to play in this?'

  `None. A means was provided for the department for which I work to place a man within your lines. I was

  chosen. The choice was not mine. I was a tutor of English at Heidelberg University.

  Also, I am able to fly.'

  Thirty thought swiftly. It struck him that the man standing before him could not be known to the soldiers, or
he, Thirty, would have been taken for an escaped prisoner when he came face to face with the German by the hedge. He realized now that the German soldier was prepared to see a British officer there, but could not recognize him personally. He proceeded to confirm it.

  `The troops at the landing-ground do not know you by sight?'

  `They have never seen me. I have never seen them.' `They mistook me for you?'

  `That is what occurred to me at once when you reported that you had seen a German soldier at close quarters, and he ignored you.'

  `They were expecting you?'

  `They had been warned, of course, that a man wearing a British uniform would be there, or would shortly arrive; otherwise my life would have been in danger.'

  Thirty could now understand the whole situation. He went on swiftly.

  `Were they told to expect one only, or how many?' Ì do not know that.'

  Thirty felt that the man was speaking the truth.

  `You say they are waiting for my brother. He will be in British uniform. How were they to know which was you, and which was him? Why did they not take me for him?'

  Ì can only suppose that when they saw a man strolling along the hedge in broad daylight they did not

  imagine that it was an escaped prisoner. Therefore it must be me. They know now that I have gone. When another comes, perhaps creeping up the hedge, they will know it is the man they seek.'

  Àh! I understand. Do you know of the other landing-grounds?'

  `We know everything. Your brother was suspected. A valuable British officer was placed in his cell with him—also a microphone was hidden in the wall.'

  Thirty caught Biggles's eyes. 'We were afraid of that.'

  Biggles shook his head. 'Really, Thirty, you can't go on with this,' he said. 'It's against all

  —'

  Ì don't care what it's against. Do you want to see Forty shot?'

  Òf course not.'

  Ìf no one ever knew about this, don't you think it would be a fair exchange?'