37 Biggles Gets His Men

by Captain W E Johns

  "Anxious? Why should they be anxious? Are you children?"

  "Not exactly, but I promised to be back."

  "Then you are right to go, for a man should always keep his word," averred Petroffsky. "

  Where is your camp? I must call on you."

  Biggles hesitated. This was not because he did not trust the man. Nor did he want to offend him, particularly as he might be a useful ally. On the other hand, he was afraid the Russian might make a nuisance of himself with his noisy braggadocio. In the end he took a chance and supplied the information. "We look forward to seeing you again," he said. "

  But you will appreciate that it would not be to our advantage to have it known that we were here?"

  Petroffsky bowed. "I understand perfectly, sir. Not a word of your presence here shall pass my lips. If there is one man in this devil's dustbin to be trusted, it is me. I, Alexis Petroffsky, am the soul of discretion. Are you sure you won't take a toothful of vodka before you go?"

  "Quite sure, thanks."

  The ex-Cossack's manner became wistful. "You will forgive me I trust for mentioning this matter so early in our acquaintance, but—er—you would not by any chance have —

  er—any chocolate in your pocket?"

  Biggles blinked. "Chocolate?"

  "It is my one weakness," stated Petroff sky apologetically —and not entirely truthfully. "

  All my life I have adored chocolate, and here, alas, none is to be had for love or gold."

  Ginger could not repress a smile. The idea of this big bearded hermit of the wilds pining for sweets struck him as being incongruous to the point of being fantastic.

  "I'm sorry I have none with me," answered Biggles seriously, perceiving that as 'far as the Russian was concerned this was no laughing matter. "But we have some in camp.

  You shall have some when you call."

  Petroffsky beamed. "Now you may be certain of seeing me soon," he declared. "Au revoir. Remember, my rifle is at your command."

  "And my chocolate is at yours," returned Biggles, smiling. "Goodbye for now."

  "Adieu. Keep to the edge of the rushes and you need not fear pitfalls."

  Biggles and Ginger strode on. The rest of the march was made without incident. Just as darkness was bringing out the mosquitoes and fireflies, tired and travel-stained they reached the point of the waterside nearest to the island. A whistle brought over the canoe, and a few minutes later they were in camp, which, said Algy, had been in a fever of anxiety about them. A substantial meal had been prepared, and over it, for the best part of an hour they were kept busy recounting the details of the day's adventures.

  Mayne, of course, was intrigued by the meeting with Petroffsky. "He's a quaint piece of work," he remarked.

  "Quaint!" replied Biggles. "He's more than that. In my opinion he's more than half-way off his rocker. I only hope he doesn't come bellowing about here."

  "He's all right when he's sober," explained Mayne. "It's when he gets a load of that infernal vodka inside him that he's apt to get a bit difficult. In that condition he's liable to do anything."

  "So I imagine," answered Biggles dryly.

  "But look here, old boy, what does all this amount to?" asked Bertie, when Algy had gone off to develop the photographs.

  "If my arithmetic is any good it amounts to this," responded Biggles. "We've come to the right place. At any rate, there's something going on here. The big noise, apparently, is a Chinese bandit, but he, I'd say, is only a stooge. He may be wealthy and he may have big ambitions, but they would hardly run to the kidnapping of British scientists in England and Canada. No. There's somebody behind him, and that somebody is a European. Witness the black fighter. That machine wasn't being flown by a Mongolian tribesman. Put it like this. This fellow Ling Soo, ruler of this particular territory though he may be, is only a puppet. He's usetul in that he can keep the country clear of unwanted visitors. When the white men behind him are ready they'll show him where he steps off, no doubt. I don't think Petroff sky knows this man personally. In fact, he doesn't know much about what's going on—but then, up

  to the present he hasn't been interested. As far as air reconnaissance is concerned the Birada is finished. That means we can do no more flying. The next move will have to be made on foot. We'll use prints of the photos in lieu of maps and do a spot of scouting. I hate walking, but there's no other way."

  "Are we all going on this beastly jaunt?" inquired Bertie.

  "No. Someone will have to stay in camp to look after the place and operate the canoe. It had better be Algy, since he's O.C. transport. The rest can go—part of the way, anyhow.

  "

  "What exactly are you going to do, if you see what I mean?" asked Bertie.

  Biggles drew at his cigarette. "If you mean have I a plan, the answer is no. All we can do is march to the place where the Birada crashed, or just beyond it, and there establish an advanced base from which we can make sorties to see anything there is to see."

  "What are you going to do about Petroffsky?" queried Mayne.

  "We better ignore him for the moment," decided Biggles. "He shouts too much and he drinks too much. If he comes here, Algy can feed him on chocolates to keep him quiet."

  "And when do we start hiking?" Ginger wanted to know.

  "We might as well start in the morning, the earlier the better. There's no point in squatting here longer than is necessary. We shall have to take some food with us. We may be away for days. I'll think about the equipment we're likely to need. That's enough for now. I'm tired, and I can't stand these mosquitoes any longer, so I'm turning in."

  Biggles put his heel on the stub of his cigarette and made for the tent.

  INTO THE UNKNOWN

  BIGGLES had the expedition afoot at dawn the following morning after a night made miserable by mosquitoes which defeated all the precautions taken against them. It was really a relief for everyone to get up. Although he said nothing at the time, to Biggles these insects were more than a petty

  annoyance. He felt sure that they were the deadly anopheles, and if that were so, then it would not be long before one or the other, or even the whole party, was laid low with malaria. He had taken the precaution of bringing quinine, and his first action was to dole out a ration all round. Apart from this, the march that now lay ahead was a long one, and he was anxious to be on his way. He knew the value of an early start; that time lost in the morning can never be recovered.

  The preparation of food and equipment took a little while, for it was impossible to hazard even a guess as to how long the party would be away. Even if things went well, he reckoned that it could not be less than three or four days. That he had given the matter a good deal of thought was evident from the way he mustered the articles which he thought would be needed. His own and Ginger's kit had to be carefully and securely arranged on belts to go under their shirts, for it included items not normally to be found on the person of a simple Korean hunter; such things as wire-cutters, hacksaws, files and torches, to say nothing of iron rations and automatic weapons. Wrist-watches were put out of sight.

  However, it was a fine morning, and by five o'clock, with long skeins of duck, geese and swans, fighting across a sky all soft pink and gold in an impressive sunrise, the party moved off. Algy transported the expedition to the mainland in the canoe, after which, as arranged, he returned to base.

  "If Petroffsky turns up give him some chocolate and keep him quiet," was Biggles' last injunction to Algy.

  Algy paddled back to the island, while the rest, in single file, with Biggles leading, set off, following the trail made on the previous evening.

  For the first four hours the march was maintained at a steady pace, with five-minute halts every hour for rest, and for loads to be adjusted. The only delay occurred when Biggles thought it advisable to skirt the village of Kossuri to avoid running into Petroffsky, who, with the best of

  intentions, might decide to accompany the party or otherwise embarrass it.

  This
is not to say that the march was a simple matter. Cross-country marches, even in civilised countries, seldom are, but here there were no bridges over the many streams which had to be forded sometimes waist-deep with packs held high to keep them dry.

  Bogs had to be crossed with care, and always there were areas of tall reeds to impede progress. On the dry ground, when it occurred, precautions had to be taken against pitfalls. Biggles employed the same method to detect them as on the previous day. One was passed, on a game trail, in which lay the mouldering remains of what had once been a man. It brought home to everyone the reality of this menace.

  However, all went well, and by eleven o'clock the first objective was reached. This was the blackened area where the Birada had crashed and burnt itself out. This was approached with due care for fear of guards or scouts being placed to watch it. None was seen, although Ginger made a survey of the country around from the top of a convenient tree. After an early lunch the march was resumed, now with all the vigilance of troops moving in hostile territory. Biggles followed the trail made by the Mongolian horsemen, unmistakable in the long dry grass. Not a human being was seen, so Captain Mayne's services as an interpreter were not required, but in many ways his local knowledge was useful, and this alone was sufficient to justify his presence in the expedition. From time to time Biggles consulted the prints taken from the photographs obtained on the previous day. These, too, were a great help, for from them the nature of the country ahead could be determined with more accuracy, and with more detail than would have been possible from maps even if they had been available.

  And so, without accident or a single alarm, a final halt was called on the fringe of a small forest of mixed trees, in which the dark green of walnuts was conspicuous. Here Biggles decided to establish the advanced base, for according to his calculations they were now within five miles of the enemy camp, and rather less than that from the straight trench which had been observed from the air. Nearer, he stated, it would not be safe for the entire party to go, for at any moment now they might come in contact with enemy defences, human or mechanical. In any case it would be better to have someone in reserve in case of accidents as well as a food dump on which to fall back should the need arise. So moving a little way into the trees the expedition, mud-plastered, scratched and insect bitten, sweating in the sultry heat, sat down to rest and discuss over a cup of tea the next move in the plan of campaign.

  So far, averred Biggles, all had gone well, but it was only reasonable to suppose that doubts, difficulties and dangers would now crop up. First of all, he explained, he wanted a close view of the object which from the air he had taken to be a trench. He admitted that it would probably turn out to be something quite different, as he could not imagine what purpose a trench, in that particular place, could serve. It was conspicuous on the photograph, but it was still not possible to make out exactly what it was.

  For rather more than an hour the party lay in the shade of the trees, resting and talking things over, by which time the sun was beginning to fall towards the west. Then Biggles got up and made ready to move on, for from here he and Ginger were to go alone. Bertie and Mayne were to keep watch, make a bough-shelter in case the weather changed, and camouflage the position with such materials as were available.

  "Any idea how long you'll be, old boy?" questioned Bertie.

  "Not the foggiest," answered Biggles. "It all depends on what we find. We might be back in an hour or we might be a couple of days. We'll be back as soon as we can, you may be sure of that. You lie doggo. You know the rule in this sort of show. By day keep your eyes open, and at night your ears."

  "Are you hoping to bring the jolly old scientists back with you?"

  "I'm afraid that's a bit too much to hope for," replied Biggles. "It could happen, but if we can ascertain definitely that they're here, and discover where they're housed, we shall have done enough to go on with. Come on, Ginger.

  We'll take it quietly. This walking makes an old man of me. My legs were made for rudder-bars, not padding the hoof like an animal."

  Leaving Bertie and Mayne in the leafy hide-out Biggles set off at a steady pace with Ginger following close behind. There was this about it, as Ginger remarked. Dirty, and mired to the eyes, they did at least look like what they were supposed to be—two miserable Koreans who had lost their way.

  As far as the actual state of the ground was concerned the going was now fairly good, although there were the usual muddy streams and boggy areas to be crossed with care.

  Otherwise, the country ahead was slightly undulating, most of it deep in dry, rank grasses, a yard or mere high, with taller bulrushes filling the lower ground, and thick jungle of palm and bamboos, sometimes overgrown with wild vines, on the drier areas.

  There were odd trees everywhere, and occasional stands of timber.

  From the top of each rise, approached with due care. Biggles paused to study the ground ahead before advancing. With so much cover, in the ordinary way there would have been little risk of being seen; but to Biggles' annoyance and Ginger's alarm the country was literally alive with game. Pheasants, snipe and wildfowl rose constantly, and this, as Ginger realised, could hardly fail to attract the attention of anyone in the vicinity. There was no way of avoiding this although, as Biggles pointed out, the thing cut two ways in that no one else could move about without a similar disturbance. This, in fact, did happen on one occasion; but it turned out to be a false alarm when the disturber of the marshes was observed to be a lone red wolf, which disappeared instantly when, passing downwind, it caught the taint of human bodies. A little while later a big herd of roe deer, apparently on a migration, passed by a short distance ahead. Game tracks were everywhere, which Biggles remarked was a good thing, because it meant that the track which they themselves were making in the grass would not be noticed.

  In this way a distance which Ginger reckoned to be about four miles was covered, and there was still no sign of human activity or handiwork. To all intents and purposes they had this lonely world to themselves. The terrain ahead looked much the same, except that it seemed to be getting more thickly_ wooded. On the right, the long arm of the lake lay like a sheet of turquoise glass, its shallow edges lined with countless birds of the wader class, feeding, squabbling, or in the case of the cranes, standing on one leg regarding the scene with expressions of utter boredom. To the left the country was mostly flat marsh and bog, although in the far distance a range of mountain peaks provided a serrated skyline.

  During one of the now frequent halts Ginger remarked that if they went on any farther they would certainly not get back before nightfall. To this Biggles replied that it mattered little as a moon, nearly full, would provide as much light as they would need. He also pointed out that when it became dark any area of human habitation would almost certainly be marked by lights. Thus, darkness might serve them better than daylight, although he admitted that a light at night was a dangerous mark on which to march, since it was impossible to judge its distance, a bright light miles away having the same effect as a dim one near at hand. "Of course," Biggles went on, "the enemy may have imposed a black-out, although in such a remote spot as this it would hardly seem necessary. In any case, as the war proved, a one hundred per cent black-out is almost impossible to achieve. I once carried out some tests from five thousand feet and had no difficulty in spotting a fellow lighting a cigarette a couple of miles away, if there were no other lights about. According to my reckoning," he concluded, changing the subject, "that trench, or whatever it is, can't be far ahead. Let's carry on."

  Grey dusk was now taking possession of the land, with seemingly endless wedges of wildfowl winging overhead to an unknown destination. Their raucous cries filled the air with clamour, and it must have been for this reason that other sounds, which otherwise must have been audible, were not noticed for some time.

  Biggles and Ginger were picking their way through a thick belt of bulrushes that fringed a brook when Biggles,

  who was slightly in fro
nt, turned a puzzled face. "Listen;" he ordered. "Can you hear a queer sort of noise a little way ahead? It isn't birds—or is it?"

  Ginger listened, although as a matter of fact he had already noticed the sounds to which Biggles had alluded. They were intermittent, not continuous, and when they occurred they were more like the barking troop of apes than the gabble made by a colony of birds.

  However, not having the least idea of what it could be he could only grimace and shrug his shoulders.

  Biggles went on slowly for about fifty yards and then came to a dead stop, sinking lower in the rushes and at the same time making an urgent signal to Ginger to do the same.

  Ginger crouched, but went on slowly until he was at Biggles' side, when, peering through the screen of slender leaves, he saw the answer to not one, but two problems. First, about forty yards away in the open was what Biggles had taken to be a trench. It was not a trench, but the mistake was understandable. It was in fact the black face of what he took to be a peat hag, such as he had seen in Scotland. It formed a straight cliff some ten feet high and extended for seventy or eighty yards. On it a gang of men, some forty or fifty strong, were working—or more correctly had been working, for they were now backing away carrying their tools with them. The majority were obviously Koreans, but there were others, native types. He assumed they were Orochons, or similar local tribesmen, who had been captured and put to work. One thing was certain. This was the slave gang, for standing at intervals armed with rifles, were guards, men of the same Mongolian cast of features as those who had beaten up the two Korean merchants. They may have been the same men, for some horses were tethered close at hand. The big man in charge was certainly he who had wielded the whip on that occasion. He still carried the whip.

  Standing by his horse he was barking orders, as were also his assistants. The effect of this was to create a babble which at once explained the mystery of the sounds that had brought Biggles to a halt.

  The slaves, apparently, had just finished their labours, although this is not to say that they were allowed to rest.