Neither he nor Ginger spoke a word during the journey; the task was plain and there was no need to comment. As they reached the formidable mass of rock which they hoped to precipitate into the lake, a flash of lightning forked downwards from the clouds to one of the distant peaks, and a moment later a sullen clap of thunder boomed and echoed through the rocky fastnesses about. them.
`Thunder,' said Ginger, a trifle nervously.
Ì'm not deaf,' snapped Biggles, for after the events of the last few days his temper was inclined to be a trifle short.
The rock's swaying in the wind,' muttered Ginger, paling as he glanced upwards.
Ì'm sorry, but I can't stop it if it is,' grunted Biggles, as he eyed the mass wonderingly, for not until he actually stood beside it did he realize just what an amazing freak of Nature it was, although he recalled that the same thing occurred in a lesser degree in different parts of the world, even in Great Britain. Erosion by wind, and water pouring down the mountain during the spring thaw for countless centuries, had worn away the base of the rock, which at the top was a hundred
yards or more across, until it was balanced on little more than a feeble stalk that had cracked in several places under the colossal pressure from above. So frail was the foot in comparison with the huge bulk it carried that, as Ginger had said, it moved slightly as each gust of wind struck it.
`We've got to put the charge in on this side, to make quite certain it falls the right way,'
muttered Biggles.
' How about this ?' Ginger pointed to a wide crack that gaped open at the very foot. As the mass moved with the wind, the crack opened even wider, and closed again as it moved back ponderously to its original position.
`The very place,' declared Biggles. 'If we stuff the cordite in when the crack is wide open, the hole will automatically tamp itself as the rock comes back into place. Help me to open these tins.'
Working swiftly, they thrust the explosive into the crack, forcing it home with a piece of sharp stone. Another vivid flash of lightning blazed through the air not far away, and a vicious roll of thunder made the whole mountain tremble. They completed the task with a burst of feverish energy.
`That ought to do the trick, I think,' mused Biggles, standing back to survey their handiwork. 'Now for the petrol.' He started as another flash of lightning forked downwards almost simultaneously with its accompaniment of thunder. `My goodness, did you see that ?' he muttered, in a startled voice. ' Let's get a move on. It would be a fluke if the lightning hit the rock just at this moment, but I shall feel happier when I'm a bit farther away from it.' Picking up a tin of petrol, he splashed some of the spirit over the cordite, and then began to run back towards the lake, allowing the petrol to trickle out as he went.
They were still two hundred yards away from where Malty was standing on guard when another flash of lightning
darted down into the mountain, so close to them that they were both thrown off their feet.
Biggles was up first, looking slightly dazed. 'Quick – the last lap,' he gasped.
Ginger sprang up, and in the act of passing the final can, happened to glance behind along the way they had come. He turned as white as a sheet. ' Look!' he screamed, `the petrol's alight!'
Biggles took one look and saw that he was right; the lightning had fired the fuse. He dropped the can with a crash. ' Run for it!' he yelled.
Like mountain goats gone mad they tore towards the boat, leaping from rock to rock regardless of risk, regardless of anything in their frenzied haste to get aboard the Explorer before the charge exploded. As they ran they shouted desperate warnings to the others.
Malty looked up, saw at a glance what had happened, and dived into the hull.
Ìn you go, Ginger, and shut the door,' yelled Biggles, as he took a flying leap into his seat.' Without waiting to strap himself in, he moved the throttle wide open, and as the big machine moved forward, swung her round in her own length to get head to wind. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a yellow flame speeding across the rocks; it was within twenty yards of the spur.
Under the impulse of her powerful engines, the Explorer surged forward, leaving a trail of creamy foam in her wake, but she had not reached anything like the speed necessary to lift her from the water when there was a flash, quickly followed by a sharp, ringing explosion.
None of those who saw what followed will ever forget the sight. Their hearts seemed to stop beating. The great spur quivered, hung for a moment, and then, slowly and majestic-ally, swept through the air. It struck the water with a roar like thunder, and was instantly lost to sight in a cloud of spray that rose into the air almost as high as the Mountain of Light. A second later, out of the white mist, a great wall of water emerged and bore down on the amphibian with the speed of an express train.
Biggles knew it would come and had already started to turn before it appeared. His face was grey and his lips were set, for in his heart he thought they were lost. If the wall of water caught them it would be the end; that was certain. An ocean liner would have been thrown on its beam ends and swept from stem to stern by such a wave. The lightly-built flying boat would just crumple up like so much tissue paper. He did not look at Algy. He got the machine round until it was facing in the opposite direction, and saw at once that there was not enough room to get off except at one point. The dam.
Nowhere had he a run of more than a quarter of a mile, which was barely enough to enable the Explorer to get off even if the shore had been flat. But it was not. At all points except at the dam steep banks of rock rose high into the air.
To attempt to clear them was out of the question. At the dam, however, they broke away into a narrow cleft, leaving only the low wall of the dam to clear. Was the gap wide enough to permit the Explorer to pass through? He did not know. He did not think so, but it was the only chance left. Vaguely he recalled stories he had heard of pilots flying under the Forth Bridge, and between the centre columns of the Arc de Triomphe, in Paris. Not once since he started had he touched the throttle, and now, with engines roaring, he set his nose at the dam. A swift glance over his shoulder showed the mighty wall not more than thirty yards behind, towering
high into the air. He could never have visualized anything like it. It far outstripped his wildest imagination.
A hundred yards from the dam the wave had half closed the distance between them, and was beginning to curl over at the top as if hungry to engulf the flimsy scrap of metal and fabric with its human freight. With joystick well forward, he set his eyes on the centre of the dam and watched it apparently rushing towards him. Within ten seconds their fate would be settled. He could see now that the boat could get through – if she would leave the water. Would she unstick? He eased the stick back gently and the feel of it told him all he needed to know. She had not gathered enough speed to rise in the rarefied atmosphere. Fifty yards – forty – thirty – twenty – he seized the stick firmly, intending to drag her off even at the risk of a stall. Death was staring him in the face; the manner of it was immaterial. He knew now that a crash was inevitable, and braced himself for the shock.
What happened next occurred in a nightmare-like horror of sight and sound. Magically, almost at the moment of impact, the dam disappeared, and he clutched his instrument board with his left hand as his seat seemed to drop out from under him. The sensation was as if the machine had struck an enormous bump. Through whirling wraiths of white mist he saw the walls of the gulch on either side of him, and, with the amazing perception of detail that often comes at moments of great mental strain, he actually noticed the burrow-like hole in the wall through which he and Algy had peered out not many hours before. Below, a great bow of green water curved through the air and plunged into an incredible cauldron of foam with a roar like the end of the world. Then everything was swallowed up in a curtain of blinding mist.
Yet not for a moment did he lose his head. He still held the joystick firmly although it had gone slack in his grasp,
but as he felt
it grow taut again he eased it back, and his nostrils quivered as he felt the machine answer to the control. It shot out of the mist, and the town of the Chungs swam into view below. Whatever was happening behind them, they were saved.
He swept up exultantly over their old landing-ground on the plateau, and then and not before did he allow himself to relax. Indeed, he could not help it, so great had been the strain of the last few seconds. He glanced at Algy, chalk white and sitting bolt upright in his seat, caught his eye and smiled. He knew that, if it were possible, the experience had been even worse for him, for being a passenger he had been unable to do anything but watch and wait for the end.
Algy shook his head sadly and passed his hand wearily over his eyes. Then he leaned over. 'Let's go home,' he shouted above the noise of the engine. 'I can't stand this sort of thing.'
' Go and see how the others are getting on,' shouted Biggles in reply, as he started banking in a wide circle back towards the scene of the maelstrom, to try to see just what had happened.
As his wing swung clear, exposing the view beyond, his lips parted in an expression of utter astonishment. The lake had disappeared. Where it had been yawned a huge crater, grey with the deposit of ages. A second glance revealed the reason. The dam was no longer there, although the spot was clearly marked by a wide breach in the rocks at the head of the gulch. Had he not known that it could not be so, he would have thought that the tidal wave had washed the dam clean away, but he knew that was not the case, for the dam had burst before the wave had struck it. He could only conclude, therefore, that the dam had collapsed under the pressure of some terrific under-water pulsation.
In the absence of the spur, the riven side of the Mountain of Light stood out stark like a cut cheese. He took all these things in at once, and then his lips went dry as his eyes sought the water and found it. It was pouring from the gulch into the crater on the side of which the town was situated, in a two-hundred-feet-high wall of swirling foam that toppled over as the pressure on its flanks was released, and spread itself out in a sea of tossing brown waves and coiling whirlpools. The flood had not yet reached the town itself, but it was perilously near, and the inhabitants were pouring up the hill in order to escape the deluge. At the far end of the crater the water was running like a millrace downhill along the gorge of the centipedes. Already it had almost filled the lower crater near the plateau, and was tearing down the continuation of the gorge towards the plain.
At the opposite end of the turmoil it had reached the foot of the Mountain of Light.
Biggles could not see the entrance to the power-station, so he concluded that it had already been submerged. He felt a nudge at his elbow, and turning, saw Algy beside him.
' They're all right – only a bit shaken,' was his assuring message.
Biggles nodded towards the flood. 'We succeeded better than we expected,' he muttered. '
Did you ever see anything like that in your life? Have a good look, for I doubt if you'll ever see anything like it again.'
Algy opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. He could only point. All around the upper part of the mountain clouds of steam were gushing from what Biggles had once called blow-holes. It was easy to guess what had happened. Either an explosion had taken place in the power-station or the flooded storage batteries were generating gas that was being forced upwards by the pressure of the water below.
This supposition was supported by the fact that the jets of steam increased in volume and intensity as the water in the crater increased in depth. But even so, the small holes could not emit the gas fast enough, and the thin sides of the mountain began to collapse in several places. Landslides poured down into the water, and these, by causing the water to rise higher, only made matters worse.
Biggles shuddered. ' Fancy being inside the mountain now !' he shouted.
Algy replied with a grimace that expressed his feelings.
`Well, I don't think they'll start any world-conquest for a bit,' continued Biggles, as he swung low over their old camping-ground, and applied left rudder to bring the machine on what he knew from the landmarks to be the homeward course. Automatically, his eyes went to the compass. The needle seemed to be strangely steady. It did not even vibrate in its customary manner. 'What's the matter with the thing?' he thought, as he deliberately banked slightly to see what the result would be. The needle did not move.
His heart gave a lurch when he realized that the instrument was out of order, and what the consequences were likely to be. He glanced at the sky and then at the ground. The thunderstorm still persisted, with vivid flashes of lightning darting into the ground on all sides, but this did not worry him. It was the fact of the sky being completely covered by sombre, solid-looking cloud that caused the corners of his mouth to turn down and a frown to furrow his forehead. He nudged Algy on the arm and put a finger on the glass of the compass.
Algy looked, leaned forward for a closer view, and understanding what had happened, opened his eyes wide. 'What are you going to do ?' he shouted.
Ì shall have to go down,' answered Biggles shortly; and cutting the throttle, he began losing height, with his eyes searching the ground for a likely landing-place.
It was not necessary to look far, for before them and on all sides stretched the rolling plain. There appeared to be no rocks or other obstructions, but in the circumstances, and knowing what a dire calamity a faulty landing would mean, he was by no means happy.
He lowered the wheels, but for nearly five minutes he circled low over the place he had chosen before he would risk landing.
The wheels touched softly, and he breathed more freely as the Explorer slowed down and finally ran to a standstill, although not until he was on the ground did he realize how hard the wind was blowing. He glanced around, and satisfied that they had no enemies to fear, he went through into the cabin. Algy followed.
The others looked up in surprise as he entered.
`What's the matter? Why have you landed?' exclaimed Dickpa.
`The compass isn't functioning,' replied Biggles briefly. `But is the compass vitally necessary ?' asked Malty. `What do you suppose it's there for – an ornament ?'
answered Biggles.
`But if you continued to fly south-west, you'd be bound to strike the Himalayas sooner or later. You couldn't miss them.'
`Not if I continued to fly south-west, of course I couldn't,' retorted Biggles coldly. `What do you think I am, a pigeon? Could you point to the south-west?'
They all trooped out on to the short grass. Malty looked back at the now distant mountains, faced about and pointed.
À bit more to the left, I should say,' observed the Professor.
`To the right, you mean,' corrected Algy.
`Precisely,' put in Biggles. Now perhaps you understand. Even with the mountain as a guide no one is sure to within an angle of thirty degrees. What do you suppose it will be like in half an hour, when we are out of sight of the mountains, and only the plain, which all looks alike, underneath us? Add to that the fact that a thirty-mile-an-hour wind is blowing, and we have only just enough petrol left to reach India by flying in a dead straight line, and it should not be hard to see what will happen if we drift off our course. I saw a little of the Himalayas as we came over them, and what I saw makes me confident that they're easier to fly over than walk over – which is what we should have to do if we were forced to land this side of them through running out of juice. As I have told you before, I'm a pilot, not a chamois.'
`Perhaps the sun will come out presently,' ventured Ginger optimistically.
The Professor glanced up at the clouds. 'You could keep a fairly straight course if you could see the sun, I suppose?'
Of course. The thing would become simple'
Às Ginger has said, it may come out presently.'
On the other hand, it may not. I don't want to appear unduly pessimistic, but judging from the look of things up topsides, the sun will have to put in some spade-work if it is going to break through
that muck today.'
`Couldn't you get above the clouds ?' suggested Malty.
`We're already at fourteen thousand feet,' Biggles reminded him. 'That is the altitude of the plateau on which we stand. The ceiling is, for a guess, two thousand feet above us.
By that I mean the bottom of the clouds. Judging from my experience, I should say that those clouds are five thousand
feet thick if they're an inch. That takes us to over twenty thousand feet, which is a bit beyond us, I'm afraid.'
`Let's have a look at the compass,' broke in Ginger. `Perhaps the needle has stuck.'
`Be careful what you're doing,' Biggles warned him. `They're tricky things. I wouldn't touch it, and that's a fact. I once took one to pieces, and when I put it together again I had enough bits left over to make two wireless sets and a gramophone.'
Biggles, Ginger, and Algy returned to the cockpit, while the others went into the cabin out of the icy blast.
Ginger tried tapping the side of the instrument, but the needle was as rigid as if it was screwed down. Then, without warning, as they watched, it vibrated violently, and then flashed round in a swift semicircle. Again it quivered, and then began a series of rapid jerks.
Biggles put his hand to his head, eyes agog. 'Great goodness!' he gasped. ' Did you ever see anything like that? The thing must have got a bug in it. This isn't a compass, it's a stop-watch. I can't bear to look at it. Wait a minute! What an ass I am. I'd forgotten about my pocket compass.' He groped under his coat and took out the instrument, glanced at the dial, shook it and looked again. ' No use,' he said briefly. ' Funny thing, but this one's stuck, too.' Then he sprang upright, a look of understanding dawning in his eyes. He darted through the low doorway into the cabin, where the Professor and Malty were examining with interest the pieces of stalagmite he had brought from the cave. 'What are you doing with that ?' he shouted.
06 Biggles Hits The Trail Page 15
