04 Gimlet Mops Up

by Captain W E Johns

  CUB'S paramount sensation as he stepped forward with Gimlet was one of curiosity to see what the men inside were doing. Of course, he experienced that tingling sensation that usually precedes an offensive action, but this feeling only had the effect of putting him on his toes, as the saying is. He had left the bag of bombs in the grass because this was obviously an occasion when they would not be needed, but he had his thirty-eight in his hand, not so much because he intended using it—unless he was compelled to do so in self-defence—as because it gave him confidence.

  They reached the door. It was ajar. Gimlet gave it a gentle touch with his foot and the scene inside was revealed, in the light of a small electric lamp, as clearly as a picture thrown on a screen. One of the men, the nearer, was bending down doing something to a rope. The other was standing at the far end of the building gazing up into the sky, apparently watching for the aircraft to appear. It was this man who saw them first. He may have heard a sound, or caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes; or perhaps it was sheer instinct that made him swing round suddenly; but turn he did, and at once saw Gimlet, who was already inside and still advancing.

  The man's reaction was the natural one. He let out a sharp cry of alarm and his hand flashed to his pocket. From this moment things happened faster than they can be described.

  On hearing the cry, the man with the rope looked up. How much he saw is questionable, for the next instant he went flying backwards as Gimlet's foot came in contact with his chest. Gimlet did not stop. He took two jumps forward, side stepped, and hurled his revolver into the face of the second man, who by this time had drawn a pistol although he had not had time to raise it. Gimlet's revolver found its mark and sent the man reeling. The Nazi's pistol exploded with a dull who of The charge, whatever it was, struck the ground, sending mud flying in all directions. Before he could use it again a tall figure loomed up behind him. There was a thump, a gasping intake of breath, and the Wolf collapsed like an empty sack.

  Cub only saw this in a detached sort of way, because his attention was occupied by the man Gimlet had kicked over. He was not badly hurt, it seemed; but taken entirely by surprise his actions were defensive rather than offensive. He had fallen on the muddy bank with his legs in the water; he tried to get up, at the same time scrambling away from Cub, who made a rush at him. Cub's haste was his undoing. He, too, slipped on the mud, and sprawled flat on the man already there. The result was a wrestling bout which lasted for perhaps ten seconds, at the end of which time Gimlet took a hand in the affair. Cub did not see exactly what happened, but feeling his opponent go limp he scrambled quickly to his feet to see Gimlet bending over him.

  There was no time for explanations, nor even for an examination of the field of conflict, for Copper in a hoarse whisper announced that the aircraft was down on the water.

  Actually, Cub was aware of this, for he had heard the swish of the keel and the surge of water as the machine landed.

  Gimlet gave his orders. He called Trapper. Then he said, "Get those fellows trussed up.

  Put something in their mouths to keep them quiet in case they come round, then dump them in the osiers. Make it snappy. We've only got two minutes." Having said this Gimlet strode to the end of the boathouse that overlooked the lake. Cub followed him to see the machine only forty yards away, surging slowly under short bursts of throttle towards the place where they stood.

  Noticing Cub beside him, Gimlet told him sharply to take up a position at the other door and watch the direction of the windmill. The wisdom of this was evident, as Cub perceived. It was not the moment for they themselves to be surprised by an attack from the rear. He took up his stand, while Copper and Trapper, having tied up their men, dragged them with scant ceremony into the osiers, where they left them.

  By the time this was done a voice was hailing from the aircraft, and it was evident that the affair, far from being finished, had barely begun. As far as Cub was concerned two things were conspicuously clear. The first was that they were now definitely committed to the undertaking, no matter how long the odds were against them. Whether they liked it or not they would have to go on. The second was that the two men who had come down from the windmill had known about the arrival of the aircraft. Their job was to handle it and bring it to its mooring. Much depended now on how many people there were in the machine, passengers and crew. However, there was no time to indulge in speculation on this point.

  Gimlet gave his orders as quickly as the circumstances demanded. Copper and Trapper were instructed to take cover inside the boathouse; they were to watch events, and provide assistance if and where it was most needed.

  "They'll know we're not part of their organization as soon as they clap eyes on us," said Cub.

  "I'm well aware of it," answered Gimlet. "All we can do is keep in the shadow as far as possible so they don't get a clear view of us until they're all out, by which time we shall be able to see what we're up against. There may be only one man—the pilot. If so, it should be easy."

  Cub said nothing, but he was thinking fast. From the size of the machine, a flying-boat, it could quite easily hold half a dozen people, and if that turned out to be so, the scrimmage that would inevitably occur in the boathouse was going to be a grim business, particularly if shots were fired. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish friend from foe, and

  both parties might well cause casualties on its own side. However, there was no time to take measures to prevent this. There was no time to do anything, for the machine, still moving slowly, had reached the boathouse.

  A cockpit cover scraped as it was thrown back. The pilot stood up. Cub, standing well back in shadow, could see his silhouette against the sky.

  "Are you there, Karl?" called a voice, speaking in German. Va," answered Cub.

  "Then why don't you show a light, you fool?" demanded the pilot irritably. "You know who I've got on board. Let's have a little efficiency."

  So the pilot was not alone, thought Cub swiftly, as he switched on his torch and directed the beam full on the pilot more with the intention of dazzling him than for any other reason.

  "Be careful where you're flashing that light," protested the pilot, who seemed a bad-tempered fellow. "Catch!" A rope swished through the air and hit Cub in the face.

  However, he caught hold of it, took in the slack and drew the aircraft in. By this time Gimlet had also switched on his torch, so that while those inside the boathouse were in black shadow the aircraft was bathed in light. This, of course, was a tremendous advantage to those behind the torches.

  "Haul away," ordered the pilot. "What are you waiting for?"

  Cub had to put his pistol in a pocket in order to use both hands on the rope. Gimlet came to his assistance and they backed to the far end of the boathouse dragging the machine with them.

  "All right, that's enough," said the pilot curtly, and without giving any warning of his intention, jumped down, landing almost on top of Cub, so that when he looked up their faces were less than a yard apart. For a split second they both stood still, the Nazi and Cub, staring at each other. Cub saw sus picion then fear leap into the Werewolf's eyes.

  His lips parted and he sprang back, his hand going to his pocket. He may have forgotten that there was another man in the boathouse. At any rate he did not see him. He never did see him, for Gimlet, who had taken a swift pace forward, brought his revolver down on the helmetted head and the man collapsed without

  a sound.

  "Get him out of the way," said Gimlet in a low, tense voice, and without waiting to see the order obeyed strode to the cabin door and opened it.

  Copper darted forward, picked up the unconscious man and carried him out of sight.

  With what interest Cub watched the cabin door can be better imagined than described.

  He stared, fascinated, wondering what was going to happen next. In particular he wondered what Gimlet would do, and what he was expected to do. No order had been given, nor could be given. It was one of those occas
ions when every member of the party would have to act on his own initiative.

  Gimlet held the door wide open and stood behind it. At first Cub thought this was a curious thing to do, but then he saw the reason for it. Gimlet wanted to ascertain the numerical strength of the enemy before he tackled him; and just what form the attack would take would depend on the number of men they had to deal with. He turned the beam of his torch on the muddy bank so that those inside could see where to put their feet.

  A man stepped out of the aircraft—a youngish man. In his left hand he carried a black portfolio. Having alighted he turned and held out a hand to someone inside. A second figure stepped out—this time a heavily-built man in a fur coat.

  "Two," counted Cub, praying fervently that there would be no more.

  Another man jumped out—again a young man.

  "Three." The number registered itself on Cub's brain. He was holding his breath under the strain of watching the drama unfold.

  To the third man, yet another one inside handed out two suitcases.

  As the fourth figure emerged, to Cub's unbounded relief he closed the door behind him, indicating that he was the last.

  All four passengers were standing where they had alighted, like four sheep waiting for a shepherd to guide them. It was clear that they had no suspicion of anything wrong. Said the man in the fur coat, speaking in a deep commanding voice: "Where is the pilot? What is he doing? Why does he leave us standing here?"

  Gimlet answered the question. Speaking from behind them he spoke in German, and there was a brittle quality in his voice that made Cub's nerves jump.

  "Everyone will raise his hands above his head and stand quite still," ordered Gimlet.

  The words were received with a sort of shocked silence. None of the men moved. It was almost as if their brains had failed to comprehend the order. The only sound was a soft squelch of mud as Cub, pistol in hand, walked two paces nearer. The beam of his torch, held in his left hand, threw the picture into sharp relief.

  "Any man who has not raised his hands in three seconds will be assumed to be resisting arrest, and will be shot forth-- with," went on Gimlet relentlessly.

  Very slowly one man raised his hands. Another followed, and after a short interval, another. Only the man in the fur coat had not moved.

  "Is this a military force?" he inquired.

  "It is," answered Gimlet.

  "Then in the event of surrender I shall be entitled to the privileges of a prisoner of war?"

  "There is no war apart from the one you have thought fit to wage," returned Gimlet grimly. "You are entitled to nothing."

  Cub drew a deep breath. Things were, he thought, going well. And they may have continued to go well had there not at this juncture been an interruption. From somewhere not far away there was a scuffle and a cry of alarm, cut off short. Cub learned subsequently that a man had come down from the windmill, possibly to greet the new arrivals. Copper, who was watching, saw him coming, waited for him and knocked him down, although unfortunately he did not succeed in doing this without a certain amount of noise. Considering everything the noise was negligible, but it was enough to be heard by those inside the boathouse. As far as the prisoners were concerned it seemed to break a spell. Perhaps they thought that assistance was at hand. Be that as it may, as if actuated by a single brain the group broke apart and each man made a dash for liberty.

  Gimlet's gun roared twice. Sparks streamed, smoke swirled. There was the vicious whoof of a gas pistol. Mud spattered. A lump struck Cub in the face, causing him to wince and drop his torch. A dark figure loomed up in front of him, an arm swinging as if to strike.

  Cub fired from the hip and the figure sprawled forward, knocking him down. In the flash of his pistol he caught a fleeting glimpse of someone jumping into the aircraft. As he scrambled up there was a splash, and another splash, followed by the thud of running feet. Came a shout, a shot, and the vibrant twang of Trapper's bow.

  Gimlet appeared, dripping water. Dashing past Cub he went on to the door. Cub followed. Trapper appeared.

  "Did you get him?" Gimlet fired the question.

  "Okay, sir—he's down," answered Trapper dispassionately.

  Gimlet swung round, sweeping the floor of the boathouse with his torch. Two figures lay sprawled on the mud. He picked up the black portfolio that lay near one of them. "There'

  s another one somewhere," he said sharply.

  "He's in the machine," informed Cub, remembering what he had seen.

  They all looked at the aircraft.

  "Look out! Down!" snapped Gimlet, and they flung themselves flat.

  They were only just in time. A machinegun roared, making a terrible noise in the confined space, and a stream of bullets swept over them. A pile of petrol cans at the back of the boathouse came down with a crash. Cub could see the weapon that caused the mischief projecting from a cabin window. He fired at it without effect. Then Copper's Sten gun came into action, tearing wood, fabric and strips of metal from the side of the machine.

  "Outside! Run for it!" yelled Trapper suddenly.

  Cub was already half way to his feet, for he had seen what was about to happen. A stench of petrol filled his nostrils. Blue flames danced in the air as the vapour, ignited by the flash of Copper's gun, took fire.

  There was a wild rush for the door. Again they were only just in time, for hardly were they outside when there was a dull explosion, and in another second the boathouse was a blazing furnace.

  Copper moved towards it.

  "What are you going to do?" demanded Gimlet. "Get those fellows out."

  "Stay where you are. No one could go into that hell and live."

  This was obviously true, for they had to back farther and farther away from the fierce heat.

  "It's no use wasting time here," said Gimlet curtly. "The cat's out of the bag. The windmill must be buzzing. Let's see what's happening there. Cub, fetch the bombs. We're likely to need them now."

  Cub ran to the osiers and returned with the bag.

  "Open order, and swing away to the right so that we haven't the light of the fire behind us," commanded Gimlet. "Keep going until we run into opposition, then take cover.

  Shoot at anyone you see. The only people here beside ourselves are Wolves and that windmill is the den."

  As a matter of detail, in this statement Gimlet was not entirely correct, as was made evident when a voice, rich with honest Norfolk brogue, suddenly shouted. "What do you fellers think you're a doin' of, eh? Come on, I want you, and you'd better come quiet like.

  "

  Out of the smoke that was drifting across the landscape stepped a policeman, evidently the local constable.

  Cub smiled, for anything more utterly incongruous could hardly be imagined. What amused Cub was the police officer's calm self-assurance as, singlehanded and unarmed, he stepped forward to arrest four men.

  "Well, strike Old Riley!" cried Copper delightedly. "I'll take my oath that couldn't happen nowhere else but in this country." To the constable he said: 'What do you reckon you're goin' ter do, old cock?"

  "Quit fooling, corporal," snapped Gimlet, curtly.

  "What's a-goin' on 'ere?" demanded the constable, taking out his notebook.

  "You won't want that," Gimlet told him. Speaking quickly, in a few words he told the constable what was happening and showed his special police authority. Noting a double row of medal ribbons on the blue tunic he asked the policeman if he would help them with the operation.

  "Have you got a spare rifle, sir?" asked the constable simply.

  "He can have mine," offered Trapper. "My two six-guns and the bow will be enough for me."

  The policeman took the rifle.

  Gimlet turned towards the windmill. "Let's get 'em out," he ordered. "Keep your heads down. Come on." He set off at a run.

  CHAPTER XVI

  OPERATION COMPLETE

  As the party, now increased to five, swung out of the line of the fire and then advanced on the final objecti
ve, it became apparent that the windmill was occupied and that those within had observed the fate of the boathouse. Apart from the noise of the shots this could hardly be otherwise, for the whole area was bathed in a lurid glow, so that even the ancient arms of the windmill became fingers of fire. Nevertheless, thought Cub, it seemed unlikely that those in the windmill could know just how all this had come about, and what was even more satisfactory, they had lost their aircraft, so that should anyone succeed in getting away from the mill he would have no means of leaving the country.

  As they approached the mill a small group of people could be seen standing outside; indeed, one or two actually started towards the fire; but they retired hastily when they saw strangers approaching. Then they all disappeared from sight—presumably into the mill.

  Gimlet now veered off to the right. His object in this, he told Cub who was nearest, was to cut across the old track leading to the road, in case there was any sort of motor vehicle at the mill. He did not think there was; at any rate, if the Wolves possessed a car it had been very little used, or wheel marks would have been observed by the pilots who had made the reconnaissance. Anyway, he was taking no chances. As they reached the track a missile of some sort thudded into the ground not far from Cub. Gimlet heard it and brought the party to a halt, telling them to keep flat but not to bunch together.

  "There's too much light," he averred. "If we try to get any closer we shall be seen, and once they locate us they'll do something about it. Watch out for gas; if you notice anything that looks or smells like it, let me know. We shall be able to move nearer when that confounded fire dies down a bit. Copper, get a little over to the left; Trapper, work a bit to the right, to cover the rear of the building in case anyone tries to bolt from the far side."

  With these arrangements made the party rested, waiting for the flames of the burning boathouse to subside. Already they were not so fierce as they had been, for the structure of the actual boathouse was already consumed; what light remained was mostly caused by burning oil and petrol that floated on the surface of the water. This did not last long, although occasionally a group of dry reeds, touched by the creeping flames, burst into a minor fire, to illuminate the scene for a moment with disconcerting clarity. Watching the mill, more than once Cub thought he saw a movement in the upper part, but not being sure he did not waste ammunition. In the ordinary way, he thought, the operation of taking the mill would have presented no great difficulty, but having seen something of Werewolf methods he was afraid they might have some secret weapon which would take effect before they were aware of it. There was, too, a risk of gas, but he perceived that the employment of this would not be easy on account of the gentle breeze that sometimes stirred the grass. Either by accident, or design on Gimlet's part, they were on the upwind side of the mill, and any gas released would drift away from them.