42 Biggles Follows On

by Captain W E Johns

  Making no sound, he watched it advance slowly towards the beach until recognition became possible. A low signal whistle, prearranged, brought an answer, and Wung made his way wearily to him.

  'Excuse me, please, for being late,' apologised Wung. 'It was the mud. I could not walk as quickly as I expected, and with the mist it was not easy to keep a straight line.'

  'Otherwise you're all right?' prompted Ginger.

  'Perfectly well.'

  'No trouble?'

  'None at all.'

  'Great work,' congratulated Ginger. 'Come on, let's get home. No doubt you could do with a square meal.'

  'What I need more than anything is hot water to remove this disgusting mud,' said Wung.

  They made their way across the beach to where Bertie was sitting, hunched up, by the dinghy.

  'Come on, you blokes, it's getting chilly,' he complained. 'How's the boy Wung?'

  'Very dirty,' replied the Chinaman.

  'That's what comes of getting mixed up with a bunch of scallywags,' said Bertie cheerfully. 'Get aboard. Any more for the jolly old Skylark?'

  They took their places and, with paddles busy, soon picked up the aircraft where she rode at anchor on a gentle swell. The dinghy was deflated and hauled aboard. The engines growled, and the big machine taxied out towards the open sea. Not until the long low coastline had disappeared from sight did Biggles open up. Then the Scorpion tilted its nose towards the starry sky and swung round on a south-westerly course for its base.

  CHAPTER xi'

  Wung Reports

  six hours later, with the machine snug at her mooring, everyone foregathered in the cabin to hear what Wung had to say. Bathed, rested

  and breakfasted, he was back in his own clothes, and had obviously suffered no ill effects from his exploit.

  'Now, tell us all about it,' invited Biggles, arranging the photographs on the table so that they could be used to demonstrate the report.

  'First of all,' began Wung, 'I can tell you that Ross is there.' 'How do you know that?'

  asked Biggles sharply.

  'I've spoken to him.'

  'You've spoken to him?'

  'Yes.'

  'How did you recognise him?'

  'I was working in the compound when I heard a man call another by the name Ross. I worked my way over to him and, without looking, told him to be ready because friends were near. You should have seen his face!' Wung smiled at the recollection. 'He could not think it was me, a dirty Chinese labourer, speaking in English, and he stared about him as if the voice had come from the air. He needed a tonic, poor fellow, for he looked so lonely and depressed.'

  'He didn't speak to you?'

  'No. I walked on.'

  'What do you mean by the compound?'

  'Within the barbed wire fence that surrounds the prisoners' quarters.'

  'How did you come to be there?'

  'I was working — emptying the garbage cans, and that sort of thing. I have been working all the time. I can't say that I liked it, but it served my purpose well.'

  'How did this come about?'

  'I made my way to the camp shortly after daylight. Without any attempt at concealment, I approached with confidence, knowing that no one would suspect me of being anything but what I appeared to be. There were many others exactly like me moving about, miserable, poverty-stricken inhabitants of the village — one can hardly call the collection of hovels a town. The wretched people were being mustered into gangs for labour.

  There must have been nearly two hundred of them. A nasty-looking man, a North Korean I think, told me to get in my place, so I joined the nearest gang. No one took the slightest notice of me. We were given a miserable ration of rice to keep us alive and then we went to work.'

  'What sort of work are all these people doing?'

  'They're doing many things. It is quite certain that the place is being enlarged, although for what purpose I could not find out. For one thing, a single track railway is being built.

  It is almost complete. From the direction it takes I would think it joins the main Trans-Siberian line farther north. An airfield is also under construction. There is already a landing-field of sorts. It is being improved. All transport comes by air, as one would expect, for there is no road worthy of the name. There is a temporary shelter for an aeroplane. An aeroplane is in it now, but I could not say what sort.

  There is also a petrol store. The first train, which came in while I was there, brought in a load of petrol, also some fuel oil for the engine that makes the electricity. There is also some ammunition, which is stored in the open under tarpaulins.'

  'Did you learn what this was for?'

  'No. Every gang worked under a foreman, and I joined a different gang each day in order to cover as much ground as possible. That is how I got into the compound. One of the duties was scrubbing the huts and taking away the rubbish. I am not quite certain how many men live in the compound because they come and go all the time. At present there are not more than twelve. I could judge their nationality by the language they spoke. I made out five British, four Americans, two Frenchmen and one other. At one time there were more than this, but some have moved on. I will tell you where, and why, presently.

  First I must deal with the compound as it is of most importance to you.'

  Wung pulled a photograph towards him and put a finger on the spot.

  'This is it,' he continued. 'First of all, you must understand, there is a barbed wire fence round the whole camp. It is of five strands and does not offer a serious obstacle. It is simply to keep the natives from wandering into the place, I imagine. Within this outer fence there is another, smaller one, also of barbed wire. It is higher and has eight strands.

  Inside are the prisoners' quarters consisting of three wooden buildings, two large and one small. One is a dining and recreation room; another is the sleeping accommodation; the third one is a wash-house. They are all built of wooden planks.'

  'Tell us about the sleeping quarters,' requested Biggles. 'We shall make our raid at night, of course, so that is where we shall find the prisoners.'

  'It is one large room with trestle beds round the wall,' explained Wung.

  'The end is partitioned off to make a small cubicle for the man in charge. At present this is occupied by an extremely unpleasant fellow who, I am sorry to say, is an Englishman. At least, he speaks English. The prisoners call him sergeant. He is a bad man, ugly of face and ugly of temper. It seemed to me that he took delight in making the lives of the prisoners unbearable, shouting at them with much beastly language. This man, by the way, keeps the key of the hut, although the door is seldom locked. It hangs on a nail in his room. Work stops at sundown, when the prisoners, after a meal, retire to the sleeping hut.

  There is only one way in and out of the compound. It is a gate, with a sentry box. A Chinese soldier is always on duty there. He is changed every four hours.'

  'Did you get the actual times?' asked Biggles.

  'Yes. A new guard comes on at midnight. The next one comes at four a.m.

  There are about fifty Chinese soldiers altogether. There is a Russian officer, but what he does I do not know.'

  'From what you tell me, the place doesn't seem very well guarded,'

  observed Biggles.

  'Nor is it. I got the impression, from the casual way things are done, that the last thing the people in the camp expect is trouble. It would be a fairly easy matter for the prisoners to get out of their compound. They would merely need a tool to cut the wire. But even if they did this they would not get far. Where could they go? The land around is absolutely flat, and is either boggy or paddy fields. These stretch for miles, and are more efficacious than iron bars. From the camp one can see for miles.

  If a man tried to run away in daylight he would certainly be seen from the camp. If he tried to travel in the dark he would flounder about in the bogs and perhaps lose his life in one of them. He might also wander about in circles, for there is usually a mist at n
ight. And as I have said, at the finish, where would he go?'

  'What do the soldiers do?' asked Biggles.

  'They kick a football about, mostly. They take turns at guard duty, but it is all very haphazard. Apart from the people I have mentioned there is a fairly large population of men whom I took to be mechanics and engineers in charge of the wireless rooms and the power station. They live by themselves.' Wung referred again to the photograph. 'This is the power station, here. Among other things it provides the camp with electric light. I need say nothing about the village of Kratsen. As you can see, it is some little way away from the camp. Presently I will mark on this photograph the purpose of every building shown on it, so that it can be studied by everyone at leisure.

  After three days in the place I could find my way about even on a dark night.'

  'What is this building over here, standing by itself?' inquired Biggles, pointing.

  'That is the bungalow of the overall commander of the station. I saw him only once, at a distance. I believe he is a Russian. At any rate, he is known as Commandant Kubenoff. It is said that he is usually the worse for drink.'

  'I suppose the camp is on the telephone?'

  'Yes.'

  'You were going to say something about the prisoners who have been to the camp but are no longer there?' prompted Biggles.

  'Oh yes. The talk is, these are the men who are trusted by the Communists. They are taken to Korea where, in captured uniforms of the United Nations, they are infiltrated through the lines to act as spies and saboteurs. A North Korean boasted to me of this.

  The headquarters of these renegades happens to be in his own village, a place on the coast called Fashtun, near the Russian frontier.'

  'We'll bear that name in mind,' said Biggles grimly. 'Anything else, Wung?'

  'That is all I can think of for the moment. No doubt other minor points will occur to me from time to time. I can tell you the names of most of the men in the camp should you require them. I often heard them being called.

  Every little while one is taken to the broadcasting room, where, I understand, he is made to read from a paper. There is much secret grumbling about this; but to refuse means death.'

  Was one of the names that you heard Macdonald?' asked Biggles.

  Wung thought for a moment. 'No. I don't remember hearing that name.'

  'Never mind,' said Biggles. 'You've done a great show, Wung. With the information you have provided, the job of cleaning up the place shouldn't be difficult. Personally, I see no reason why we shouldn't get on with it right away. The governing factor is the weather.

  At the moment it's fair. Should it change, we might have to hang about for weeks, and in that time alterations in the camp might throw our plan out of gear. I propose, therefore, that we should crack in tonight, and get the business over. Has anyone an objection?'

  Only Wung answered. 'I think you're right,' he said. 'I have no definite information, but when I left there was an atmosphere of expectation about the place, as if some change was contemplated.'

  'Very well,' resumed Biggles. 'Let's get the thing into line. We have two tasks. The first, is the rescue of Ross, and any other British or foreign troops who have had enough of Communism. If they all decide to come we may find ourselves overloaded — but we'll deal with that if and when it arises. The second part of the operation is the silencing of the propaganda factory. By dividing our force into two parts I see no reason why both jobs shouldn't be worked together. One part can work the rescue, and the other, the demolitions. As we have brought all the equipment likely to be required, and plenty of hands, that resolves itself into a matter

  of timing. I will lead the rescue party. Captain King will be in charge of the demolition squad. Has anybody anything to say about that?'

  'It seems the obvious way to go about it,' observed Gimlet.

  'Then we'll work out a time-table on those lines,' asserted Biggles.

  'There is one other point that had better be settled here and now. The total force available will comprise eight bodies,1 but not all of them will be able to go to the objective. One of my party will have to stay with the aircraft. Someone else will have to stand by the dinghy to deal with possible interference. That means that six men will be available for the actual raid.'

  'But am I not allowed to come?' put in Wung, in a disappointed voice.

  'You've already done your part,' Biggles told him. 'Do you want to come?'

  'Of course.'

  'Fair enough,' agreed Biggles. 'That suits me. Knowing the ground so well you'll be useful as a guide. Algy, as second-in-command, I shall have to ask you to remain in charge of the machine.'

  'This being second-in-command does me out of all the fun that's going,'

  protested Algy.

  I'm aware of it,' admitted Biggles. 'But in a military operation either the first or second in command should remain in reserve in case things come unstuck. Ross is a personal affair of mine so I intend to go to him.

  That means you'll be in charge during my absence.'

  'Okay,' agreed Algy.

  'A member of the demolition party will have to remain with the dinghy or I may find myself short-handed,' went on Biggles. 'That means that seven will go forward. That won't be too many, either, because there will be a fair amount of stuff to carry. Wung, knowing his way about, will act as liaison between both parties. I shall try to time our arrival on the coast for midnight. Allowing an hour and a half for the march we ought to be at the objective by one-thirty. An hour should be enough for the job. That means we ought to be back at the aircraft by four. But I'll work out the time-table with Gimlet. He knows how long it will take him to fix his fireworks.

  Now let's have something to eat. After that we'll see about getting ready.'

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Raid

  It was shortly after midnight, in the soft moonlight, when the Scorpion, after a long glide, brushed its keel gently on the sullen waters of the Yellow Sea within a short distance of the flat Manchurian coast. The anchor found bottom at six fathoms, and the aircraft swung gently to a flowing tide. Not a light showed anywhere, near or far, on land or sea.

  Without fuss or bustle the dinghy was launched, and Gimlet's party, with its rather heavy equipment, moved off. In twenty minutes the squat little craft was back to take the remainder of the force ashore. Algy remained in the cockpit with a Thermos flask of tea for company.

  All was quiet on the beach. A quick reconnaissance was made from the top of the dunes, but nothing was seen, so loads were distributed, and with Wung leading, a prismatic compass in his hand, the party went forward in single file. It was Cub who, to his disappointment, had been allotted the task of mounting guard over the dinghy, for the reason that his older comrades were better able to carry the batteries, coils of wire, explosive charges, and other equipment. He remained at his post, a rifle across his knees.

  The march that followed was a matter of wearisome necessity. It was heavy going all the way, as from Wung's experience they all knew it would be. The ground was sheer marsh. There was no actual standing water, but the earth was soft and treacherous under a blanket of spongy sphagnum moss. The only things to thrive in it were a coarse grass, which grew in awkward tussocks, and short rushes, apparently some sort of iris from the flowers it bore. The air was dank and chill. What it would be like when the icy hand of winter settled on it Ginger could only imagine. The prisoners, he pondered as they trudged on, would need their fur caps and heavy coats. They would also regret their folly when they found that this insalubrious area of the earth's surface was to be their home.

  Over the vast plain hung a mist of varying intensity. For the most part visibility was limited to about a hundred yards. Beyond that everything was dim and vague. If it made the going uncomfortable, as it did, it made amends by screening their approach. At intervals long skeins of migrating geese could be heard passing overhead.

  Two rests were taken before Wung announced that the immediate objective was no
t far ahead. This was the ruins of a peasant's hovel, built of turves, now crumbling. It stood about a hundred yards from the outer wire. Wung had come upon it, and used it, on his first sortie. He had drawn attention to it on one of the photographs as a useful place to make a dump from which to operate. The suggestion had been accepted.

  The dilapidated dwelling loomed up, a mere blob rising a few feet above the level ground in a featureless landscape. Some way beyond it two lights grew slowly in the mist. One of them, Wung stated, came from the commandant's bungalow; the other from the radio station, which operated day and night. There was no sign of movement anywhere so loads were dropped while a general survey was made, Wung indicating the positions of the most important buildings. In the direction of the little township that gave the place its name all was dark and silent. It might not have been there for all that could be seen of it.

  After a short rest Gimlet said he would be moving on. In working out the details of the scheme it had been decided that, as he had the most work to do, he should have twenty minutes clear start. Both parties were to rally on the ruined hovel in the event of trouble, or, if all went well, on the completion of their respective tasks. The explosive charges would then be fired, to be followed at once by the retreat to the coast.

  Copper and Trapper were already on their knees arranging the batteries.

  This done, they moved off with their leader under Wung's guidance, uncoiling wire from a drum as they went. In a few minutes they had disappeared in the darkness.

  Biggles, Bertie and Ginger squatted on mud bricks that had fallen from the walls until the twenty minutes grace had expired. Then Biggles rose to his feet. 'Time's up,' he said softly, and walked on towards the outer fence of the camp. It could not yet be seen, but its position was known.

  There had been some discussion before the start as to how to make the best of Wung's local knowledge. At the end it had been decided that he should go with Gimlet, who had several objectives beside the radio station and its pylons. It was intended, if possible, to deal also with the power house and the petrol and ammunition dumps. Trapper, too, was to cut the telephone wires. Thus it was hoped that by destroying all communications nothing would be known of the raid, outside the station, for some time — long enough, at all events, for the Scorpion to reach its base without fear of interception by enemy aircraft.