17 Biggles And The Rescue Flight

by Captain W E Johns

  `Possibly.'

  Thirty again turned to the German. 'It will save you the indignity of being searched if you will tell me truthfully whether you have any documents on you to prove your identity.'

  The German smiled faintly. 'And me coming into the British lines? No.'

  À password, perhaps?'

  The German hesitated.

  `To withhold it will mean your death, and the death of another.'

  `The password is— Vorgehen.'

  Àdvance?'

  `So.'

  Thirty turned to Biggles. 'That's all I want to know.'

  `But what are you going to do, in heaven's name?' Ì'm going back to the landing-ground.'

  `But it's trapped! It's stiff with soldiers.'

  Ì am quite aware of it. If I'm not back here in three hours you must take any steps you think proper. Look after the prisoner for me during that time. Maybe he will give you his parole.'

  Ànd then?'

  Thirty looked Biggles straight in the eyes. 'If I manage to get back here with Forty I shall allow Captain Forsyth to take a flight in the machine I come back in—which will be one of the F.E.'s.'

  `You'll let him go?'

  `What else?'

  Biggles raised his hands, palms outward. 'I've nothing more to say,' he said in tones of resignation. Ì shall be the one who is shot before this affair is finished.'

  Another thought came into Thirty's mind. 'How did you propose to get back to your side of the lines when you had done what you came to do?'

  Ì hoped to be able to borrow an aeroplane.' `Didn't you fear that you would be shot down by your own machines?'

  `My headquarters were not likely to overlook such an elementary point,' was the calm reply.

  `What were you to do?'

  The German took a large yellow silk handkerchief from his pocket. 'I should have tied that on the tail of the machine,' he explained.

  `Your Jagdstaffeln know that mark?'

  `Yes.'

  `By gosh! That's worth knowing,' put in Algy.

  The German shook his head. 'The knowledge is of little service to you, otherwise I should not have told you. The colour and the position from which it is exposed are changed every week.'

  Thirty took the handkerchief. 'I'm going now,' he said.

  `Well, good luck,' replied Biggles.

  Àren't you going to take me?' cried Rip.

  `No.' Thirty walked towards the door. As he did so it opened and Major Raymond came in.

  Àh! Here you all are,' he said cheerfully. His eyes swept the room and came to rest on the stranger.

  Thirty felt that the room was spinning round him. He could think of nothing to say.

  Biggles came to his rescue. 'Allow me to introduce a friend of mine,' he said, casually. '

  Captain Forsyth of the Buffs.'

  Chapter 18

  Thirty Goes Back

  To Thirty's unutterable relief the major merely nodded. "Morning, Forsyth,' he said.

  Then, to Thirty, 'Where are you off to?'

  Ì'm just going to see what I can do with a Fee, sir,' answered Thirty, truthfully.

  Ì see. Well, don't let me stop you. I was just passing, so I thought I'd look in. You've nothing to add to what you told me on the telephone this morning?'

  `No, sir. Everything went off all right.'

  `Well, from a conversation I have just had on the telephone' (the major's voice took on a meaning tone), Ì should hardly say that. But all's well that ends well, that's the chief thing.'

  `You don't want me again for anything, sir?' `No—not at present.'

  `Then I'll be getting off in case the Fees are wanted.'

  `Yes, I'll be getting along, too. Just one thing. Will you fellows dine with me at Wing Headquarters tonight?'

  Biggles answered for all of them. 'Thanks very much, sir, we'd like to.'

  `Fine; then that's settled. See you later.' The major hurried away.

  Biggles wiped imaginary perspiration from his brow. `These shocks will be the death of me,' he declared, sadly.

  Thirty took a last look round the room. In his heart he did not expect to see any of the faces again. But he did not say so. With a brief 'Look after Forsyth' he turned on his heel and walked quickly to the nearest Fee, which the mechanics had just finished refuelling.

  He tied the handkerchief to the tail and then climbed into the cockpit.

  His face was set in hard lines as he took off. He felt that he had reached the limit of something—he was not sure what. The crucial moment of his life was at hand. The next hour would decide his fate, and Forty's fate. That was all that concerned him. Hitherto he had regarded the war as something impersonal; something which was best regarded in the abstract. Now the war meant him and Forty. For the first time he began to perceive what war really meant; he felt the relentlessness of it—the ruthlessness, the waste, the cruelty, the incredible folly of it. It gave him a shock to realize that he did not really know what everybody was fighting for. Something about Belgium . . . Freedom. He pictured the face of the man who had called himself Forsyth; he was quite young, not much older than himself; he did not look as if he wanted to make a slave of anybody; a few months ago he was probably playing rugger; to-morrow he might be riddled with bullets.

  Yet only a short while before he, Thirty, had been impatient to get to the war. How silly it all was. A wave of despondency swept over him.

  He was, of course, tired; more tired than he knew; yet, strangely enough, he was not conscious of it; on the contrary, he felt curiously alert. His brain thought clearly, intensely. It seemed to be racing inside his head. Every nerve in his body was keyed up, quivering

  like a taut wire in a gale. He could almost feel them vibrating. They made his hands tremble.

  He found a piece of chewing-gum tucked into a slot in the instrument-board. He chewed it gratefully; there was something comforting about it, reminding him of school, and the things he knew and understood.

  He started as a crimson Fokker triplane dropped out of the sky and whirled round him, banking steeply. The pilot raised his hand, and the machine swept away in a climbing turn, beautiful to watch as the sun flashed on its wings.

  Thirty half smiled to himself. The yellow handkerchief was acting like a magic banner.

  He realized suddenly that he was not being archied, and again he knew the reason, finding time to admire the enemy's organization. A single order, a stroke of a pen, and an enemy machine was allowed to fly unmolested through skies that bristled with death.

  Amazing!

  He flew on. One by one the landmarks that he had learnt to recognize slipped away behind him. A two-seater, camouflaged in a fantastic pattern of green and brown, which almost concealed the black Maltese cross on its side, passed him, going the other way; the leather-clad observer was leaning against his gun, his goggled eyes on the British machine. He did not move. The machine swept past and in a few moments was a speck in the distance.

  Thirty leaned over the side of his cockpit and stared steadily ahead. He picked out Belville, a mere cluster of houses set in the green fields. He saw the church, and the silver ribbon that was the river on which, only a few hours before, he had floated on a barge with a

  woman whom he would never see again. What a strange thing war was, he reflected.

  The wood which marked the position of the landing-field appeared out of the haze that shrouded the horizon. He regarded it calmly, although he knew that in a few minutes, when he landed beside it, his life would hang in the balance. He was mildly surprised to find that he felt no fear, although he had every reason for being afraid. For a moment he wondered why, but only vaguely; he was not really interested.

  From a distance of not more than a quarter of a mile he subjected the field to an intense scrutiny. Not a soul was in sight. The wood, the fields around it, the hedges, revealed no sign of life. At some distance to the north a small herd of cattle was browsing in the shade of a spreading chestnut tree; otherwise the landscape was
without movement as it basked in the summer sunshine. But Thirty was not deceived; he knew that within rifleshot many pairs of eyes were watching him. The watchers had not yet seen the yellow signal attached to his tail; nose on to the wood, it would be, of course, impossible, so he made an S turn with the deliberate intention of allowing them to see it. He also watched the hedges closely, thinking that he might see Forty, but no such figure could be seen, so, steeling himself to the perilous task ahead, he throttled back and glided in to a smooth landing.

  Without waiting for the machine to run to a stop he opened the throttle again slightly and taxied towards the edge of the wood, swinging round so that the nose of the machine was pointing towards the open field.

  He had given this matter of how to leave the machine considerable thought, for he wanted to be ready for a

  quick departure should it become necessary; but, on the other hand, he was most anxious not to do anything that might look suspicious. For the same reason he hesitated about switching off the engine, but in the end he did so, realizing that to leave it running would certainly invite comment. Then he jumped down and walked briskly towards the wood as if he knew quite well what it concealed. While he was still some yards away he hallooed loudly.

  With an abruptness that startled him, a German officer, a Leutnant, stepped out of the bushes, followed by two or three soldiers, including the one whom he had seen eating his breakfast sausage earlier in the day. Inside the deep shade of the wood he could just make out the grey forms of more soldiers.

  The presence of the man whom he had already seen gave him an unexpected opportunity of establishing his bona fides , which he was not slow in seizing. 'Finished your sausage?'

  he called, cheerfully.

  The soldier grinned and nodded. `Jawohl ,' he said.

  Thirty turned to the officer, but before he could speak the other addressed him. There was a look unpleasantly like suspicion in his eyes.

  `Why are you here?' he asked, shortly.

  Ànd why should I not be here?' demanded Thirty, coolly.

  The German looked at the aeroplane, then back at Thirty. 'You are soon back.'

  Ì have to pick somebody up.'

  `Pick somebody up?'

  `Yes.'

  Ì have received no such orders.'

  `Well, I did, and that's all I'm concerned about.' `May I remind you that you have not yet given the password?' returned the officer, stiffly.

  Thirty gave it, and the other's manner relaxed.

  `We have to be careful on this job, you know,' he explained.

  `You'd be careful if you had my job, I can assure you,' returned Thirty, with a grin. 'Aren'

  t you going to offer me some beer while I'm waiting for my man to arrive? You haven't seen him, by any chance?'

  `What sort of man is he?'

  `Something like me—a little older. But there, men in British uniforms can't be so common about these parts that there could be any mistake.'

  The officer looked at Thirty with an odd expression on his face. 'What is his name?' he asked.

  Ì don't know his real name, and that's a fact,' admitted Thirty. 'We have no names, you know. The one I am to pick up will be called Captain Smithson where we are going.'

  The German beckoned. Thirty followed, thinking that he was about to be offered some beer. He was quite unprepared for the shock awaiting him. Inside the wood, sitting on a fallen tree with his chin cupped in the palm of his hand, was Forty.

  Thirty's brain reeled, yet he realized that everything now depended on Forty's behaviour.

  If he took his cue, all might yet be well, but if he failed .. .

  Forty stared at his brother as though he had been confronted by a ghost. Still staring, he rose slowly to his feet.

  Thirty greeted him easily, but with well-affected

  puzzlement. 'My dear old boy, what on earth are you doing here like this?' he asked, speaking, of course, in German. Then, as if he suddenly understood the situation, he whirled round on the German officer and went on swiftly, without giving Forty a chance to speak. `What is the meaning of this?' he demanded harshly. Àm I to waste my time here through your blundering clumsiness? This matter is urgent. I am told to pick up a man here; I even ask you about him, yet you stand there like a fool, saying nothing. Well, if there is a row about the delay, you'll get the blame, not me.'

  Tut . . . he's under arrest.'

  Ùnder what?' Thirty shouted the words.

  Àrrest.'

  `You're mad. This is the man I am to pick up.' `Then why didn't he say so?'

  `Do you suppose we go about shouting our plans to the world? He was quite right to say nothing, but if it had been me, I should. Why don't you read your orders?'

  Ì was told to look out for an escaped prisoner,' muttered the German, sullenly. 'I was told nothing about your coming back to pick up another man.'

  Thirty snorted with disgust. 'No wonder things go wrong, when simple orders like these are bungled. All right. Say no more.' Thirty turned to his brother. 'Are you ready?' he asked.

  `Yes, quite ready.'

  Thirty's heart glowed with relief. Forty had taken the cue.

  But the German had not finished. 'Why didn't you tell me you were expecting to be picked up?' he demanded of Forty.

  `Because I wasn't anxious to be picked up, that's why,' growled Forty. 'I'm about sick of these jobs.'

  Thirty regarded him coldly. 'If that's how you feel you'd better go and report to headquarters,' he snapped.

  `You needn't trouble to do that,' put in the German. `Here is Colonel Thonberg coming now.'

  Thirty looked up. Coming down a path through the wood was a typical German of high rank, followed by his staff.

  Forty sprang to the Leutnant. 'Don't tell him what I said,' he implored. 'If you do he'll have me shot.' Then, to Thirty, 'Come on, let's go before he can ask us why we are dallying here.' With a furtive glance in the direction of the staff officer he started off towards the machine.

  Thirty threw a last word at the Leutnant, who seemed to be at a loss to know what to do. '

  It would be better to say nothing at all,' he said, tersely; 'otherwise we may all get in a mess.'

  The German nodded curtly.

  Thirty waited for no more, but set off at a run towards the Fee, overtaking Forty just before he reached it. 'Swing the prop,' he hissed. 'Jump in when she starts. It's going to be touch and go.'

  Forty did not answer. As Thirty scrambled swiftly into his seat he ran to the propeller, which, in the case of an F.E., is behind the engine. He dragged the big blade round and paused as it picked up the compression. 'Contact!' he yelled.

  Thirty's hand was on the contact-switch but he seemed incapable of moving it. His eyes were fixed on

  the far hedge over which a formation of Albatros Scouts was gliding.

  A sudden outcry behind him brought him to his senses. Snatching a glance over his shoulder, he saw the German staff officer, followed by a crowd of soldiers, burst out of the wood.

  `Contact!' he shouted hoarsely, knowing now that the lives of both of them depended on whether the engine started.

  His relief when it did was such that for an instant his senses swam, and for one ghastly moment he thought his overwrought nerves had broken down and that he was going to faint. But the spectacle of Forty tumbling into the gunner's seat brought him round with a rush.

  `Let her go!' yelled Forty frantically. 'What are you waiting for?'

  Thirty bit his lip and shoved the throttle open. The engine roared, but the sharp crack of rifle shots could be heard above it. A shot tore through the fabric just above his head; another ripped a long splinter out of the interplane strut near his left arm; yet another smashed against the rudder-bar causing the now racing machine to swerve. Forty, who was standing up ramming a drum of ammunition on the gun, nearly went overboard; only by a desperate clutch at the side of the cockpit did he save himself.

  To Thirty, as he pulled the joystick gently backward, the w
hole thing became a nightmare. His actions as he lifted the machine off the ground were made without thinking; they were purely mechanical. With dispassionate interest he saw the Albatroses fly past him. He became aware that Forty was aiming his gun, and struck him a violent blow to make him desist. He realized, of course, that Forty knew nothing about the yellow signal. To Forty's stare of anger and amazement he bellowed, '

  Don't shoot,' knowing that if he did the German pilots would certainly return the fire.

  Forty realized what was intended, even although the reason was something he could not be expected to understand. In any case, by this time the brightly painted machines had passed on.

  Thirty, looking back, saw the leader glide in and land on the field he had just left. The others remained in the air, circling. He knew well enough what would happen, and he thought he had better acquaint Forty with the distasteful truth in case he had not realized it. Beckoning him to come nearer, he bellowed in his ear, 'They'll come after us.'

  Answered Forty, 'And they'll catch us.'

  Thirty nodded, and settled himself down for the race to the lines, making no attempt to climb, but keeping the joystick pressed forward so that the machine almost brushed the tops of the trees over which they passed.

  Chapter 19

  Through Thick and Thin

  Thirty knew instinctively that the arrival of the staff officer in the wood had some direct bearing on himself, or Forty, or on both of them. That his mission was urgent was plain from the way he strode down the path. It was obvious, therefore, that half a dozen words with the Leutnant in charge of the vigilance party would be sufficient to reveal the true situation. It was equally obvious that the staff officer could order the Albatros Staffel to pursue them and spare no effort to destroy them. It was unfortunate that the Albatroses had arrived just at the critical moment, but it could not be helped. It was unreasonable, reflected Thirty, to expect the luck to be all on one side. On the whole things had gone as well as he could have hoped.

  Forty was leaning out of his cockpit looking back under their tail. He drew himself in, caught Thirty's eyes, grimaced, and crossed his fingers—a common signal meaning '

  Enemy aircraft'. Then he examined his gun.