04 Gimlet Mops Up

by Captain W E Johns

  They will do their utmost to kill you. Failing that —as we have seen—they will kill themselves. If you can take prisoners without incurring unnecessary risks—well, do so; but in a business of this sort, my policy would be to shoot first and ask questions afterwards. In the interests of those fellows who have been sentenced to death for doing their duty —indeed, in the interests of society—these fanatics must be wiped out, and I don't care how you do it. Nothing could be too bad for them. Already they have blood on their hands. See that they don't get more. That's all.

  Good luck."

  "They'll get from me what they gave other people," declared Gimlet grimly.

  "That goes for me, too—my oath it does," muttered Copper. "All right," concluded Gimlet. "Now we've got that clear, let's move off."

  CHAPTER XIV

  "LIKE OLD TIMES"

  Fr was shortly after ten when the police car cruised quietly into the hamlet of Reedsholm. A few lights showed, but for the most part the villagers had evidently retired for the night. Gimlet, who was driving, did not stop, but taking the secondary road pointed out by Biggles, went on with dimmed lights through a flat, dreary landscape, for another mile before slowing down to walking speed.

  "We're getting near enough," he remarked. "Better not get too close. Keep your eyes open for somewhere to park the car—either side, doesn't matter which, but we must put it out of sight if we can."

  A good parking place was not easy to find, for the country was open, and being windswept could boast of few trees; but after going on for half a mile or so Cub spotted what Gimlet presently agreed was an ideal place. A farm track branched off from the road, and a short distance from it plunged through a thicket of stunted birches and gorse.

  In the middle of this the car was stopped and they got out. Short of anyone actually walking down the track, an unlikely occurrence at that time of night, the presence of the car would not be suspected.

  Looking round as he stepped out Cub decided that the night was well suited to their purpose. A young moon and occasional clusters of stars played hide and seek behind a high layer of cirrus cloud that was drifting up slowly from the west, so that while it was dark there would be just sufficient light to enable them to find their objective without the aid of flash lamps.

  As far as the landscape was concerned, nothing more dreary and depressing could be imagined, thought Cub, as he gazed around. The country was practically flat, without a conspicuous landmark of any kind. On one side of the road it appeared to be mostly gorse and heather, with an occasional silver birch, stunted and twisted by the wind. To the left, the direction they would have to take, the land fell away slowly to a wilderness of marsh, a vast area of coarse grass broken only by growths of bullrushes, with here and there small pools of water, the result of recent rain, lying pale and stark under the moon.

  Every hollow, no matter how small, was draped in dank mist. Not a light showed. Not a sound broke the sullen silence. A more melancholy spectacle could not have been visualised, decided Cub, as he turned away to help with the equipment.

  "Blimy! This is like old times," murmured Copper softly, as he fingered a Sten gun affectionately. "Do you think we shall need this, sir?"

  "We'll take it to be on the safe side," answered Gimlet. "You haven't forgotten how to handle one, I hope?" he added slyly.

  "There are some things you don't ever forget, sir, and this is one of 'em," answered Copper simply. "What say you, Trapper, old pal? Am I right?"

  "Tch! Every time," agreed Trapper.

  "Are you goin' ter take yer bow-and-arrer?"

  "It may come in useful," asserted Trapper softly.

  "Better take a rifle as well," ordered Gimlet. "What about you, Cub?"

  "I think I shall be able to hold my own with my thirty-eight," replied Cub.

  "All right; then as you haven't much to carry, you can hump these along," requested Gimlet, passing a small but heavy bag.

  "What's in here, sir?" inquired Cub.

  "Grenades," returned Gimlet. "I thought we'd better have a few with us in case we have to do any winkling. It's always a good thing to have any tools you are likely to want with you—one doesn't always have time to go home and fetch them."

  In a few minutes they were ready to march. Gimlet locked the doors of the car and made an unhurried survey of the landscape. Then he looked at his watch. "The time is now ten-thirty," he announced. "We have an hour's march in front of us. I daren't risk taking the car any nearer in case the enemy has scouts out, and over these damp marshes sound travels a long way on a still night. It's an even chance that the whole thing may turn out to be a flop, but it's better not to look at it that way. Bigglesworth knows what he's talking about, so we'll behave as if we knew for certain that the enemy is in force at the objective. In fact, we'll act as though we were in Germany with the war still on. No noise, and no more talking than is necessary, and then speak in whispers. If we draw blank—well, we shall have a good laugh about it. If we are on the right track there'll be nothing to laugh about. Our best chance will be to spring a surprise, and then hit hard and fast. All right. If we're all ready let's move along. The idea is to keep parallel with the road until we strike the track that leads to the windmill. If we tried marching on a compass course across this marsh we might find ourselves bogged. Let's go."

  In single file and in silence, with Gimlet leading, the party set off. Cub took second place and Copper brought up the rear.

  More than once during the march that followed Cub found it hard to convince himself that this was really happening. Everything conspired to make it seem like a dream—the gloom, the silence, the lack of colour, the vague outlines of the landscape and the apparent lack of anything solid. Together these created an atmosphere of unreality not easy to dispel. More difficult still did he find it to believe that this was happening in England. It was something that belonged to the past, to the period known as the War, a curious interlude in

  his life that was already becoming a memory. It was as though he was in some strange way living something over again, something that had already happened—which in a way was true, for he had made several such marches, with the same companions and in similar circumstances. Instinctively nerves became keyed up, each one super-sensitive, ready on the slightest provocation to play tricks with the imagination. Commonplace features that occurred by the wayside, features that would pass unnoticed or ignored in the broad light of day, became distorted, became objects of suspicion, of apprehension and of fear. A tuft of gorse became a crouching man, and the rustle of bullrushes, moved by an imperceptible breath of air, became the swish of enemy feet advancing through long grass. It was an eerie sensation too, this marching, marching, marching, moving over the ground without seeming to get anywhere—for one aspect of the landscape was as another—towards an objective which, still unseen, lurked somewhere in the mysterious distance ahead. It seemed hours before Gimlet held his right hand high and the party came to a halt.

  Turning left Gimlet gazed steadily for some time, and then pointed to what appeared to be a long strip of grey material lying across the marsh, perhaps a quarter of a mile away.

  "That's Grimston Broad, he whispered. "The windmill is a trifle to the right. We should soon see it against the sky. We'll have a look at the boathouse first. That may tell us something. I think we might try a straight march now. If We strike a wet patch we shall have to make a detour. Keep your eyes skinned."

  Copper was staring into the gloom. "There's no light at the windmill or we should see it.

  "If they're there they'll have the place blacked-out for fear of attracting attention,"

  returned Gimlet. "Let's move on. Open out a bit—say, to intervals of ten yards."

  The march was resumed, in the same order, with even more caution, Gimlet stopping frequently to survey the landscape, crouching when the moon sailed clear of the clouds.

  Cub also examined the ground around methodically, but could not make out a movement of any sort. In the he
art of the lonely waste the silence seemed even more intense, and such sounds as were audible from time to time were so out of place, and so distant, that they might have belonged to another world. Once it was a church clock striking the hour of eleven, and, shortly afterwards, the whistle of a locomotive.

  Before they had gone very far the gaunt sails of the windmill slowly took shape against the sky, like black arms upflung in a sinister 'stop' signal. The actual boathouse could not be seen because a straggling clump of osiers, near which it was situated, intervened.

  Making no more noise than shadows, the party moved nearer and ever nearer to it, and it was during a halt, when they were no more than a hundred yards away, that a minor incident occurred which, for uncanny effect, surpassed anything in Cub's experience.

  It began when the silence was stabbed by a sound that can best be described as a honk-honk. Cub thought it was a motor car sounding its horn, and he went flat, as did the others. Peering over the fringe of grasses in front of his face he stared in the direction of the sound, expecting to see a vehicle. He could see nothing, yet a moment later the sound came again, closer this time, a single honk. This time it came from somewhere in the air.

  Listening with every nerve strained and muscles tense, Cub soon became aware of another sound, a musical swishing hum that rose and fell with machinelike regularity. It seemed to approach so quickly, and was now so close, that instinctively he ducked; and then, as he realised suddenly what it was, his nerves relaxed and drama came near to comedy. Suddenly out of the tenuous mist, to swing overhead not twenty feet above, appeared a skein of geese flying in perfect V formation. As the flight passed over the leader let out another honk-honk, and after the utter silence the sound was so loud and so incongruous that Cub could have laughed.

  The weird noise receded swiftly and the birds were soon lost to sight.

  Gimlet raised himself and gave the advance signal.

  The next five minutes would be, Cub knew, the critical time. If a sentry was on the watch, or should there be anything in the nature of an automatic alarm signal set, it was now that their presence would be discovered. Time seemed to stand still. The forward movement became slower and slower. Gimlet, who was ten yards ahead of Cub, sometimes stopped and spent a full minute staring at the boathouse, which could now be seen, not clearly, but rather as a confused dark mass with its outline broken up by straggling osiers. At a distance of perhaps a dozen paces Gimlet signalled to the others to join him.

  When the party had mustered he breathed: "I'm going on alone now. I can't hear anything, and there are no lights that I can see, but it wouldn't be safe to take too much for granted. Cub, you'll stay here. Trapper will stay with you. Copper, fmd yourself a position out of sight between the boathouse and the windmill. If anyone is here, and bolts, that's the way he'll go. Stop him, but avoid shooting if possible. The more silently we work now the better chance we shall have. If trouble starts in the boathouse you'd better come in. If all remains quiet stay where you are till I come back. Is that clear?"

  "Clear enough, sir," whispered Copper.

  Without speaking again Gimlet moved like a wraith towards the boathouse. Cub was able to watch him for a minute, then the shadow merged into the dark silhouette of the building. His heart began to beat faster now, as it always did on such occasions. He was very conscious of it, but there was no way of steadying it. Each tiny sound, magnified out of all proportion by the situation, reacted on it as on a delicate instrument. There was nothing unusual about this, of course. Suspense is always a greater strain than action.

  Ten minutes passed—it seemed much longer—and then he saw Gimlet coming back. He was walking upright so he knew there was no immediate cause for concern. Indeed, an unpleasant feeling of disappointment, that they had drawn a blank, that this was all a wasted effort, surged through him. This emotion was soon corrected, however.

  "Fetch Copper," commanded Gimlet curtly, as he came up.

  In a minute Cub had carried out the order, and Gimlet led the party into the osiers. "Now listen carefully," he said softly. "I think we're on the right track. There's nothing in the boathouse, but it has been in use quite recently. It has a feeling, a smell, as if people were in there not long ago. It isn't a ruin. It may have been one some time ago, and it still looks like one from the outside, but the inside has been repaired and it is now snug and watertight—and light-proof. The water—that is, the lake—comes right in, and there are recent footsteps in the mud on either side. There's a big store of oil and petrol, which may be aviation spirit—I don't know. The place is being used either for a motor boat or an aircraft—at least, I can't see how it can be anything else. There's an entrance on the landward side but the door's locked. The gable end overhanging the lake is open and I was able to get in by wading. There's nobody there at the moment."

  "Then it's no go, sir," muttered Copper.

  "Not so far as this place is concerned. Whatever type of vehicle is using the place it isn't there now, and without any idea of how long it is going to be away I don't think it would be advisable to sit here and wait for it to come back. We'll try the windmill."

  Cub, who happened to be gazing in the direction of the building, stiffened suddenly. "

  Ssh!" he breathed, catching Gimlet by the arm to add weight to his warning.

  They all stood motionless for several seconds. Then, as nothing happened, Gimlet said quietly: "What was it? Did you think you saw something?"

  "I saw a flash of light," answered Cub. "It may have been a window or it may have been a door opening. I couldn't have been mistaken. There's somebody there."

  "Stand fast," breathed Gimlet.

  They heard a man approaching before they saw him. He stumbled over something and cursed. An electric torch showed for a moment before being switched off again. Then a dark figure separated itself from the black mass of the windmill and the matter was no longer in doubt. A man was coming down to the boathouse. Before he reached it he stopped and looked back. The reason became apparent when a second figure appeared, hurrying, following the same track. He overtook the first man and they continued together. Even more important than their appearance was the fact that they spoke in low tones, and the language they used was not English. It was German. Cub recognised the sound of it although he was not able to distinguish the actual words. Hardly daring to breathe he waited to see what Gimlet would do.

  Gimlet did nothing. He might have been a block of stone for all the movement he made.

  The two men reached the landward side of the boathouse. A key scraped in a lock. A chain clinked. A door rasped as it was pushed open and the men disappeared from sight.

  "We could have grabbed those two," breathed Copper.

  "We shall get them with less noise where they are," averred Gimlet. "Before I start knocking people about I want to be sure that they're the people we're after."

  "They were talking German," said Cub softly.

  "So I heard. But they might be a couple of German prisoners, posted here for land work, sent out by a farmer to do some job or other. There are plenty of German prisoners about.

  "

  "I'd forgotten that," confessed Cub.

  "We shall soon tell from their conversation what they are," asserted Gimlet. "If we decide to nail them we shall handle them better where they are than outside. They didn't lock the door behind them or we should have heard it. Let's go and see if we can find out what they're doing; that will be the guide to our future actions. Quietly."

  This conversation had, of course, been carried on in voices so low that only those for whom they were intended could hear them.

  Gimlet moved forward and the others followed. From a distance of five yards they learned all they wanted to know for the men, behaving as though they were sure they had nothing to fear, made plenty of noise and spoke in ordinary voices as they went about whatever task they had come to do. The language was German, which was as well known to Cub as his own tongue.

  Said one, with a short
laugh: "I'd rather be here in the middle of these damned Englanders than sitting at home being told what I can do by the swines, even if there is a risk."

  "There is no risk here," replied the other. "For us this is the safest place in the world.

  Why should anyone come here? I only wish the Fuehrer was here to see how his Wolves still sharpen their teeth on English bones."

  The conversation was continued on these lines, until Gimlet, who could also speak German, nudged Cub, and laying a finger on his lips moved slowly towards the door.

  At this moment a new sound was borne on a slant of wind to Cub's ears. It was not loud, but it was significant. It was the whine of a gliding aircraft, surprisingly close.

  Apparently the sound was also heard by the two men inside, for one of them said sharply.

  "So! Here they come. Get the lights on, Karl."

  There was a swift movement inside the boathouse, and a split second later the reeds that lined both sides of the lake were illuminated by a pale, ghostly light. Cub knew enough of aviation to realise that these were boundary lights that had been switched on to mark the landing area.

  Gimlet evidently realised it too, for he swung round and whispered tersely: "That machine's coming here. We've got

  to get these two before it lands. Trapper, stand fast to stop either of them getting back to the windmill. Corporal, you take the water entrance, and get them if they try to bolt out that way. Come on, Cub."

  Gimlet moved swiftly towards the door.

  Overhead a shrill whine announced that the aircraft was nearly down.

  CHAPTER XV

  OBJECTIVE A