37 Biggles Gets His Men

by Captain W E Johns

  Most of them were heaving on their shoulders great wickerwork baskets filled with black bricks they had cut from what later turned out to be an outcrop of lignite. Others were loading themselves up with the tools that had been used for the purpose. At the same time there was a steady movement towards a muddy path only a few yards away from where Biggles and Ginger crouched watching, and it soon became clear that this was the line on which the slaves were being mustered for their march back to wherever they were confined for the night. Filthy, in rags, emaciated, with eyes that seemed dead, they moved in silence, backs bent under their loads like weary beasts of burden—which in fact they were.

  Ginger was staring with mounting indignation at this tragic spectacle when Biggles jogged his arm and whispered tersely: "Come on, this is our chance. Remember you're dumb. Behave as the others. Watch for landmarks." With that he stepped forward and in a moment had mingled with the nearest slaves. Ginger followed automatically, but not until, following Biggles' example, he was loading himself up with spades, did he realise fully the audacious step that Bloc,les had taken. For a second or two his knees went weak from shock; but the sight of Biggles moving wearily but unconcernedly with the rest, brought him to his senses, and he then played his part as well as his thumping heart would permit. Like the rest, keeping near Biggles he found a place in the line as the slave-master strode up brandishing his whip; but really his brain was still in a whirl from the suddenness of the transition. In one stride he had stepped from the peace of the quiet country into a situation so bristling with peril that he wondered if Biggles had any nerves at all. It was typical of him to make such a momentous decision on the spur of the moment. He had known many similar instances, but for sheer bare-faced, cold-blooded effrontery, mused Ginger desperately, this was hard to beat. He grasped Biggles'

  intention easily enough. Instead of crawling about in the marshes looking for the objective they would now march straight to it. This, at any rate, was clearly the scheme, and it was reasonably possible. What worried Ginger was, having got in, how they were to get out. He had often heard Biggles refer to the accepted military maxim of always having a line of retreat, but on this occasion he seemed to have abandoned it. They could not without taking a ghastly risk speak to each other. The wretched slaves had all been silenced by a horrible mutilation. To be caught speaking would therefore invite the same fate, if nothing worse.

  By the time these sinister thoughts had flashed through Ginger's mind the ranks had been closed, and he imagined that the column was about to move off. Not so. To his unspeakable alarm a swart Mongolian came down the line obviously making a count to confirm there were no absentees. This was something which, Ginger was sure, Biggles had not taken into his reckoning; but nothing could be done about it. Apparently the guard discovered that something was wrong for he made a second check. Looking puzzled he went over and said something to the slave-master who was watching the proceedings with an expression of calculating malice. An argument of some sort ensued.

  There was another count. However, in the end it must have been decided that a mistake had been made when the party set out; but the taskmaster was on the right side, having two slaves too many, which was an altogether different thing from being two short.

  Anyhow, he allowed the matter to pass. The order to march was given and the column moved off.

  The simultaneous obedience to the order revealed to Ginger a new risk. The slaves could not speak, but they could hear. They could understand orders, which he, having no knowledge of the language, could not. What would happen, he wondered with mounting apprehension, when he was given an order and failed to obey it. Perhaps it was better not to think about it.

  The human crocodile wound its way across the dreary marshes, colourless in the grey twilight.

  Ginger had in his time undertaken many curious and often unpleasant marches, but this, he pondered morosely, was the worst. The only sounds were the shuffling of feet and the creaking of harness as the guards rode up and down the line. The thing had all the characteristics of a nightmare, and Ginger found it hard to believe that it was really happening. He tried to pick out salient features of the landscape which might later serve as marks, but they seemed few and far between. When the end did finally come he had sunk into such a slough of despondency that he was unprepared for it. It was Biggles arm, knocking against his own, that brought him back to earth.

  They were now in a thickly wooded area, with the track keeping to forest from which the undergrowth had been cleared. Ahead and on either side lights could be seen, all downcast by overhead shades. From their steadiness, Ginger noted with surprise, it was evident that they were electric. Dimly in the shadows he could just discern several large hutments, but nothing could be seen clearly.

  The march ended abruptly. The baskets of fuel were emptied on a big dump of the same material. From a nearby hut came the throb of an engine. Ginger supposed that the fuel was used to drive it. Tools were stacked under a log shelter. The slaves then passed through a gate in a closely. stranded barbed wire fence about ten feet high, into a compound from which came a stench so appalling that for a moment Ginger thought he must be sick. Outside the wire, grass still grew thickly, but inside, from constant trampling, the ground resembled a farmyard. After the prisoners had passed through, the gate was shut, sentries remaining on guard. These, it was later discovered, also patrolled the wire on the outside.

  Ginger took care to keep close to Biggles, for it was evident that if they, lost touch they might find it difficult to get together again. Slowly, for night had now fallen, they inspected their new quarters. There was not much to see. Near the wire on one side was a long open shed, in the manner of a field byre, and this was used evidently for the accommodation of the human animals, for most of the slaves made their way towards it.

  Besides it, hard against the fence so that it could be filled from the outside, was a long trough, such as is provided for pigs in a sty. Making their way towards this now appeared two Koreans, each

  carrying two buckets which, judging from the noise when their contents were emptied into the trough, was some sort of slop. Most of the slaves made a rush for it, pushing and fighting like so many animals in their haste to get their share, or perhaps more than their fair share. The weakest got none. Some fell, and lay on the ground making uncouth noises.

  Ginger watched this dreadful spectacle with his gorge rising, yet at the same time with compassion. It is hardly necessary to say that neither he nor Biggles joined in the disgusting scramble. Presently Biggles turned and made his way through the mire to the shelter; but the smell of the place was nauseating, and he went on to the fence where he sank down to rest. Ginger dropped beside him. There was no one near, but for a little while neither spoke. The truth was, Ginger was so utterly weary that he didn't care much what happened next. Overhead the stars gleamed in a cloudless sky. Above the coal-black wall of forest trees came the glow of the rising moon. From the swiftly emptied trough the slaves were drifting towards the shelter, so that soon the compound was deserted. Silence fell. Ginger pulled his thin shirt up above his ears. He was too tired even to think. As from a long way off he heard Biggles whisper: "Well, we're in, anyway.

  " He did not answer. He could, he thought, safely leave the thinking to Biggles. He closed his eyes.

  THE PLOT UNFOLDS

  GINGER had no idea of how long he had been asleep when he was awakened by Biggles squeezing his arm; but he felt that it had not been for very long. Still, he was refreshed, and alert on the instant when he remembered where he was. All was quiet. From the shelter not far away came the uneasy noises of sleeping men.

  Biggles rolled over until his lips were almost touching Ginger's ear. "It's time we were moving," he breathed. "Where to?" asked Ginger, also speaking under his

  breath.

  "I've no intention of spending the night in this filthy pen," replied Biggles. "We'll have a look round and see what there is to see. The camp seems to be settling down."


  "What's the time?"

  "Ten o'clock."

  "How are you going to get out?"

  "Cut the bottom strand of wire."

  "What about the sentry?"

  "He's on the prowl, but he doesn't seem to have a regular beat. I wish he had. We'll wait for him to go past." "Are you coming back here?"

  "Not on your life. I'm not going to spend to-morrow digging lignite."

  "Where are you going to make for when you're out?"

  "Nowhere in particular. It's all the same. There's plenty of cover. The thing is to try to find out if Vale is here, and if he is, make contact with him. That's enough to go on with.

  We must see how he's fixed before we decide on the next move. Quiet! Here comes the sentry."

  Ginger dropped back, feigning sleep. He did not see the sentry go past but he heard him, heard his boots brushing in the grass, the sound quickly fading. He felt Biggles move and a moment later came a snick as his cutters bit through the wire.

  Biggles pulled the strand aside and rolled under the fence. Ginger followed. Biggles replaced the wire in its original position as far as this was possible, although as a matter of detail the long grass which grew under the wire would have made the break difficult to see even in daylight. They sneaked away through the grass, making for the nearest trees.

  Reaching them, Biggles stood up, and the reconnaissance proceeded in more comfortable positions.

  Lights were showing in many places in the trees, most of them coming from the open doors or windows of hutments,

  of which there appeared to be several scattered about, all inside the forest, which explained why they had not been seen from the air. It was evident that any one of these might provide accommodation for the men whom they hoped to find, but there was no indication of which it was most likely to be; so the scouting could only proceed in a haphazard manner, Biggles taking the view that sooner or later they should come to the right one.

  At the door of a hut of some size, just as they were approaching it, two men appeared, and stood for a moment talking in a language which neither Biggles nor Ginger recognised. Presently they parted, one going in and the other walking away into the darkness.

  Ginger found it all very confusing. There was, he felt, plenty to see,but in the darkness under the trees nothing could be made out distinctly. One thing only became apparent.

  The camp was of a considerable size and covered a large area of ground. The huts themselves were of the temporary sort, being built of rough timber apparently cut on the spot, and roofed with thatch or corrugated iron. Many of the huts showed lighted windows, in which, occasionally, the silhouettes of the occupants were framed More barbed wire was encountered. Biggles, unable to find a way round one fence, cut through it, and he and Ginger found themselves in a veritable farmyard with horses, cows and sheep. Later, behind more wire, they could see the shape of-a large house of Oriental design. A sentry lounged at the door. Once they had to lie flat while a party of drunken, brawling Mongolians went past. The incident helped to create in Ginger's mind an impression that they were in a big military camp. For the rest, it was still all very vague.

  Biggles apparently thought so too, for after a

  while he stopped and remarked: "This blundering about isn't getting us anywhere. At this rate we shall still be here when daylight comes. We've got to find out who occupies these huts and keep at it until we strike the one we're looking for. Vale must be here somewhere. I'm going back to the big house we passed just now. It must be the headquarters, or the house of the head man. It would be something if we could find out who he is."

  "There was a sentry," reminded Ginger.

  "I know. That's what makes me think it's a building of importance. We needn't go through the gate; we'll cut the wire and get to the house from the far side."

  Biggles, who from the missions he had undertaken had become something of a specialist in underground as well as overhead warfare, led the way back to the building he had mentioned. Like the rest, it was well hidden in the trees. From three windows on the same side broad beams of light fell across the uncut grass beneath them. None of these windows was curtained although all were netted against the mosquitoes. One was open.

  Regarding this feature from fairly near at hand Ginger formed the opinion that the windows served a single room, although it would be a room of some length; and this presently turned out to be the case. From within came a faint confused murmur of voices.

  What, or who, Biggles expected to see inside, Ginger did not know. He did not ask. He himself was prepared for almost anything—except, perhaps, what they did actually find.

  He was more concerned with the situation in which he found himself, for it is not to be supposed that moving about the camp was a simple matter. Others were abroad. too.

  They could not always be 'seen, but they could be heard. And there were the inevitable mosquitoes to make life a misery.

  Biggles crept quietly forward to the dark side of the house. Here there seemed to be little risk of being seen by the sentry, who was taking his duties in a most casual manner, smoking and exchanging remarks with passers-by, and between times yawning audible.

  It was obvious that he did not expect to be troubled, and consequently thought his job unnecessary.

  Biggles cut the surrounding wire, went through, followed by Ginger, and then moving with extreme caution made his way to the rear of the house. There was nothing to be learned there, so keeping close to the wooden wall they went on to the side that held the lighted windows. The sills, it was discovered, were about four feet from the ground.

  Reaching the first Biggles sank down and remained motionless. Ginger did the same, glad of a pause, for his

  nerves were now at full stretch and it gave him a chance to steady them.

  While he sat there an extraordinary feeling came over him that this situation had occurred before, although for a little while he could not understand why. Inside, a man was speaking, speaking with what seemed to be some asperity; and it suddenly struck him that, incredible though it seemed, he knew the voice. He knew it, but he could not place it, for somehow it did not fit into his immediate surroundings. Another reason for this, as he realised quickly, was because the speaker, who spoke in German, was interrupted frequently by a curious gibberish which he could not understand. Sometimes it actually overran what the speaker was saying. The effect was peculiar.

  He felt, rather than saw, Biggles rise up slowly for a peep into the room, and even before Biggles had dropped back with a quick intake of breath he remembered the owner of that hard, crisp voice. He was Biggles' opposite number in the Nazi service during the war, now in voluntary exileHauptmann Erich von Stalhein, the efficient, ruthless, aristocratic German agent, with whom Biggles, by reason of the nature of the missions he undertook, had for long been in collision.

  Ginger's first reaction was incredulity, complete and utter. The very idea seemed preposterous. What would the man be doing in that remote part of the globe? But very soon he perceived that, far from his presence there being remarkable, it might even have been expected. The German was now a soldier of fortune and this was just the sort of undertaking towards which, by virtue of his qualifications, he would gravitate. What of his own and Biggles' arrival on the scene? Von Stalhein, he mused, would no doubt think that remarkable, whereas in fact it was not.

  In point of fact, in this respect Ginger was wrong, as he was very soon to learn. Von Stalhein had on this occasion at least foreseen a possibility which Biggles had not—the entry of a personal rival into this distant arena.

  There were other people in the room, for sometimes other voices spoke; and judging from the variety of languages used they were not all of the same nationality.

  Ginger thought he recognised Russian, but there was another that conveyed nothing to him at all. German seemed to be the general language, and from the way sentences were echoed in a curious monotone he was soon able to grasp the situation. What was being said was being tr
anslated by interpreters for the benefit of those who did not speak that particular language. It was confusing, but he was soon able to follow the conversation because it occurred either in German or was translated into it.

  Biggles drew close to Ginger, and cupping his hands round his mouth, whispered: "

  Committee meeting. Von Stalhein's there, and an Oriental who I think must be Ling Soo.

  Ten of 'em altogether . . . some Russians I think. Listen."

  At this period von Stalhein was speaking. Indeed, he seemed to be holding the floor in a voice charged with bitter denunciation. It was plain that he was angry about something.

  But it was the subject of this conversation that shook Ginger more than a little. "Let me remind you," he was saying, "I did not solicit this work. I was invited here. You came to me to take charge of intelligence and security, of which, as apparently you knew, I am not without experience. What co-operation do I get? None. My suggestions are ignored, my orders disobeyed. Information of vital importance is deliberately withheld from me.

  Ach, yes, I am well aware of that. What is the use of employing a specialist if you do not put him in possession of all the relevant facts? How do you expect me to perform my duties efficiently if I am not told the truth?"

  There were protests at this, but von Stalhein silenced them and went on to support his allegations. "When, at your request, I called on your agent in Europe I was assured that your organisation had the official backing of your governments. Aus, you misled me from the outset, for I know now that this is not the case. Certain members of certain governments are involved, I know, but not for the purpose you put forward. Their interests, I suspect, is entirely personal. By the control of atomic weapons they hope to intimidate—or shall we call a spade a spade and

  say blackmail—the rest of the world, to their financial and political advantage. That goes for you, too, of course. But do not misunderstand me. I still find the proposition attractive. I am merely endeavouring to point out that you would do better to trust me and accept my advice."