Biggles Goes to War

by W E Johns

  ‘Well, I call it a pretty raw deal,’ yawned Algy, tilting the bench back. ‘I always did hate the hour of dawn, ever since I was dragged out to fly before it was light in the old days in France. I shall hate it even more in future.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have to bear many more,’ smiled Biggles.

  ‘I must say I should like to know what Ginger is doing,’ muttered Algy. ‘Poor kid, he’ll be at his wits’ end.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ returned Biggles confidently. ‘If you could see him at this moment I’ll warrant he’s buzzing about like a hornet that has been turfed out of its nest. If they bump us off there will be brick-ends flying in this part of the world until they catch him.’

  Algy nodded moodily. ‘Do we get breakfast, I wonder?’

  ‘They forgot all about dinner, so I should think it is hardly likely.’ Biggles turned an eye to the window. ‘Is it my imagination or is the sky beginning to turn grey?’ he asked.

  ‘Imagination,’ replied Algy shortly, knowing quite well that it was not. ‘What about bashing the fellows on the head when they come in to fetch us?’ he suggested.

  ‘What with?’

  Algy looked around. ‘No, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of weapons, does there?’ he murmured. ‘Pity. I should have liked to knock somebody’s scalp off before the play begins – just to hand out a souvenir or two, if you get my meaning. Hark! Do I hear footsteps?’

  ‘You do,’ replied Biggles, getting off the table.

  ‘Big, heavy footsteps, like soldiers’ boots coming nearer.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’

  ‘Well, you asked me. Here, I fancy, are the gentlemen in blue.’

  A key grated in the lock, and a moment later the door swung open. A warder entered with a lantern. Vilmsky stood on the threshold, in full uniform, his smartness marred by the fact that he had not shaved. Behind him, in the corridor, could be seen a file of soldiers with rifles at the ‘order’.

  ‘Gentlemen, the time has come,’ announced Vilmsky stiffly.

  ‘So I gather,’ replied Biggles easily.

  Vilmsky stood aside. The soldiers tramped into the cell. Two held cords in their hands, and with these they proceeded to tie the prisoners’ wrists. Biggles, knowing that resistance was futile, stood quite still, but Algy would have struggled had not several men held him by the arms and legs.

  The operation completed, Vilmsky stepped forward with two handkerchiefs, folded bandage-wise, in his hand.

  ‘What are those for?’ asked Biggles politely.

  ‘It is customary to blindfold–’

  ‘Forget it,’ Biggles interrupted him curtly. ‘I always like to see where I am going.’

  Vilmsky bowed. ‘As you wish,’ he said.

  The escort fell in on either side of the prisoners, and at a word of command the party moved forward. Down the corridor it marched, and through an open door into a grim-looking courtyard. Across this it proceeded, and came to a halt against a wall on the far side.

  Biggles glanced at the sky. It was just turning pink with the first flush of dawn. ‘If Ginger is going to do the rescue act, he hasn’t much time left,’ he observed calmly.

  Algy said nothing. His face was pale.

  The soldiers fell in line about twelve paces away. Vilmsky, curiously meticulous, dressed them from the right. Satisfied, he snapped an order, and the rifles came to the ‘ready’.

  It was at that moment that Biggles heard an aeroplane approaching. He knew by the sound of the engine that it was flying very low, and automatically he raised his eyes. The machine swept into view, and he felt a twinge of disappointment when he saw that it was a strange type. He noted, too, that it carried the brown crosses of Lovitzna. Vaguely, he had had a fleeting hope that it might be Ginger in one of their machines, although even if it had been it was difficult to see what he could do.

  With the order to take aim on his lips, Vilmsky threw a startled glance upwards, almost as if he feared attack, for the noise of the engine as the machine raced low over the enclosed space was deafening; indeed, the aircraft was so low that its wheels skimmed the battlements of the fort. As it swept over the centre of the courtyard something white fluttered down, and struck the ground not ten yards from the firing party.

  Vilmsky hesitated, clearly undecided as to whether to proceed with the execution or see what it was the machine had dropped. He looked up again at the aircraft, now banking dangerously, its wing-tip almost touching the wall as it turned. A hand and arm appeared over the side of the cockpit, jabbing downward vigorously. It seemed to decide Vilmsky, who perceived, at any rate, that he had nothing to fear. An order brought the butts of the rifles to the ground again, and he walked quickly to the object that had fallen.

  Biggles, watching, saw him remove what appeared to be a piece of string and a weight, both of which he dropped on the ground in order to unfold a sheet of paper to which they had been attached. For what seemed an eternity of time he stood reading the paper, then he thrust it into his pocket and walked back quickly to the firing party.

  That was, perhaps, the worst moment of all for the prisoners. Both had been resigned, prepared for the worst, but now a ray of hope had shot into the hearts of both of them.

  ‘I wish he’d do what he’s going to do,’ snarled Algy. ‘I don’t mind being shot, but I hate standing here while that rat reads his morning correspondence.’

  ‘It seems to be vastly interesting, whatever it is,’ returned Biggles quietly. ‘Ah, he’s made up his mind. Now we shall know what it’s all about.’

  Vilmsky was, in fact, coming towards them, a dour expression on his face. ‘You are fortunate,’ he said shortly. ‘I have an order from General Bethstein countermanding the sentence until he arrives. In the meanwhile, you will return to your cell.’

  Again the escort lined up beside the prisoners, who were marched back to their room where the cords were taken from their wrists. This done, the soldiers withdrew. Vilmsky closed the door, and they were left alone.

  ‘Who was it, do you think?’ asked Algy breathlessly.

  ‘Ginger.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘I’m not a betting man, but I’d wager what little money I’ve got to an old tyre that Ginger was flying that machine.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Just a hunch, that’s all.’

  ‘Could you see the pilot’s face?’

  ‘No. I caught a glimpse of his head as he flashed over, but it was all smothered up with a helmet and goggles.’

  Algy sat down heavily. ‘What a time we’re having,’ he said wearily. ‘I don’t know about you, but I find this messing about worse than flying in a dog-fight with a jammed gun.’

  ‘Yes, it is a bit harrowing,’ admitted Biggles, resuming his seat on the table. ‘Still, all we can do now is to wait for the next move.’

  An anxious half-hour followed, during which time they conjectured on the identity of the mysterious airman. Then footsteps were again heard approaching down the passage.

  ‘Well, here come the boys in blue again,’ smiled Biggles.

  But this time he was mistaken. A tense moment while the key turned in the lock, and then the door was flung open violently. Ginger burst in. Behind him were the Count, Ludwig, and several soldiers in uniforms they had not previously seen.

  ‘Hello, everybody,’ cried Biggles. ‘You don’t know how pleased I am to see you.’

  Ginger, with an extraordinary expression on his face, sank down on the bench. ‘Strewth!’ he muttered wearily. ‘I’m just about all in.’

  ‘So were we, just now,’ Algy told him grimly.

  ‘Come along,’ said the Count. ‘We can find a more cheerful place than this to talk in, I think.’

  Chapter 21

  All’s Well

  ‘HELLO, WHAT’S HAPPENED here?’ Biggles asked the Count, as they emerged from the corridor into the barrack square, where many soldiers in the new uniform were moving about with a brisk air of activ
ity.

  ‘The barracks have been taken over by the Royal Guards. I am in command of the garrison,’ replied the Count, leading the way to what had been General Bethstein’s private office.

  ‘The deuce you are! What has the general got to say about that?’

  ‘I imagine that the less he says, the wiser he will be,’ answered the Count significantly. ‘He is under arrest for high treason. With Klein and Zarovitch he has been taken to the civil prison for safe custody.’

  Biggles stared. ‘Zarovitch! How the dickens did he get here? What’s happened?’

  Ginger ran over the events of the night for his and Algy’s benefit.

  ‘Great Scott!’ ejaculated Biggles. ‘You certainly have had a time.’

  ‘The biggest shock of the lot came when that hound Bethstein told us that you were due to be shot in half an hour,’ went on Ginger. ‘I don’t mind telling you that I nearly went crazy; there didn’t seem to be any way of getting to you in time to save you. Then I remembered the aeroplane that Zarovitch had come over in, still standing out on the field. The Count made Bethstein write an order cancelling his previous instructions by promising that he would hang him on the nearest tree if he refused. And I believe he meant it. The general thought so, too, for he went pretty white about the gills and signed the order as meekly as a lamb. I dashed up to the machine. The pilot had already been arrested, so I grabbed his flying-kit and over I came, sweating with fright for fear of a forced landing or that I might be too late. I had visions, too, of the message falling into a bush or something and not being found. Then I saw you out in the courtyard and the rest was easy. I was watching so hard to see what Vilmsky would do that I nearly hit a chimney.’

  ‘I saw you,’ answered Biggles. ‘The first rule in the air is to look where you are going.’

  ‘Not having eyes in the back of my head I couldn’t look in two places at once, and I had to see what happened to you,’ replied Ginger. ‘When I was satisfied that you had been taken back inside I went off and landed in a field beside the road, where I waited for the others to come along in the cars. They picked me up, and – well, here we are. You know the rest.’

  ‘Well, laddie, you certainly saved our lives,’ declared Biggles seriously. ‘Things were looking pretty grim when you appeared.’ He turned to the Count. ‘And what is the position now with regard to Maltovia?’ he asked.

  ‘With Bethstein and Klein where they can do no more mischief, I think we shall soon have the situation in hand. The events of the last few hours will shake Lovitzna, particularly when it is known that Prince Zarovitch–’

  ‘Did you say Prince Zarovitch?’

  ‘Yes; didn’t you know? Zarovitch is the family name of the ruling House of Lovitzna. The man you know, Prince Paul, is the king’s nephew.’

  Biggles slapped his thigh. ‘Why, that’s grand,’ he announced. ‘Do you know what I should do if I were you?’

  The Count looked up expectantly.

  ‘I’d have a quick trial and sentence all three of those scoundrels to death for espionage and conspiracy. That will make Lovitzna sit up. When she sends a frantic protest, as she is bound to, reply with an ultimatum to the effect that you will hold up proceedings on one condition only, which is that the whole thing be laid before the League of Nations1 at Geneva for consideration. They will have to agree to that whether they like it or not, and that will give you plenty of time to get things into shipshape order over here. If Lovitzna does not agree to the League’s decision, you will then be ready for anything she cares to start.’

  A smile broke over the Count’s care-worn face. ‘Biggles-worth, I always felt that you should have been a politician,’ he said emphatically. ‘I am certain of it now.’

  Biggles laughed scornfully. ‘Me a politician? Not on your life! I’m a soldier.’

  ‘Never mind,’ went on the Count quickly. ‘The plan you have outlined is our obvious course, so you will forgive me if I leave you now to put it before the new Ministry of Defence without delay. What would you like to do?’

  ‘I would like to go to bed, and sleep and sleep and sleep,’ answered Biggles. ‘Then I should like to wake up slowly, have a hot bath, and then sit down to a square meal. It seems a long time since I saw either a bed or a proper meal.’

  The Count nodded. ‘I think that is the best thing you could do. A car shall take you to your hotel right away. When you have done all the things you mention, come up to the palace. Somebody will be anxious to thank you in person. Bring your mechanic with you. By the way, the one who was hurt is out of danger, I hear. We took him to the hospital.’

  ‘That was Carter,’ put in Ginger. ‘He got knocked on the head. I’ll tell you about that later on.’

  Algy yawned. ‘If we don’t soon go somebody will have to carry me,’ he declared.

  ‘I’ll drive you down,’ offered Ludwig, as they moved towards the door.

  There is little more to tell. The crisis passed, as Biggles had prophesied, as soon as the Lovitznian government realized into what a dangerous position its prince had placed himself. It accepted the Maltovian ultimatum unconditionally, and the whole case was submitted to the League of Nations, who demanded that all preparations for war should cease while the circumstances were examined.

  On the day following the events narrated in the foregoing chapter, the three airmen, with Smyth in attendance, reported at the palace, where they were graciously received by Princess Mariana, who thanked them in terms of sincere regard for what they had done, and with her own hands pinned on their breasts the Maltovian Order of Saint Peter which was the highest decoration the country could bestow. She concluded by asking them to remain in the country until things were quite settled, and to occupy their time by organizing a Royal Air Force on British lines.

  To this Biggles agreed readily, and his task was made easier when the League of Nations not only issued a verdict in favour of Maltovia, but awarded an indemnity, to be paid by Lovitzna, for what had transpired. A part of this money was allocated to the Air Arm for the purchase of aeroplanes and the training of pilots.

  They were still in the country when the forthcoming marriage of Ludwig and his princess was announced, and they were invited to the ceremony. Bethstein and Klein they saw only once again, and that was when they gave evidence at their trial for high treason. They were found guilty and sentenced to death, and in due course met their fate in the very courtyard where Biggles and Algy had so nearly met theirs. Zarovitch was permitted to return to Lovitzna after signing a document to the effect that he would never set foot in Maltovia again.

  Their work finished, Biggles at length asked permission to return to his own country, and this was, of course, granted. The occasion was made a bank holiday, for the whole story having been published, they were regarded by the entire nation, rightly perhaps, as the saviours of their country. The procession to the station was in the nature of a Roman triumph, the princess, her consort, and the Count accompanying them on to the platform, where they were the last to shake hands with them.

  As the train steamed out of the station to the cheers of the populace Biggles sank back on his seat and lighted a cigarette. ‘Well, you fellows, I hope your craving for adventure has now abated somewhat,’ he murmured.

  ‘I think we’ve had enough to go on with for a bit,’ agreed Algy.

  Ginger smiled. ‘Where do we go next?’ he inquired.

  Biggles shook his head sorrowfully. ‘The trouble with some people is that they are never satisfied,’ he said sadly.

  1 An organization of independent countries which operated from 1920 to 1946. It was replaced by the United Nations (UN).

  About the Author

  Captain W. E. Johns was born in Hertfordshire in 1893. He flew with the Royal Flying Corps in the First World War and made a daring escape from a German prison camp in 1918. Between the wars he edited Flying and Popular Flying and became a writer for the Ministry of Defence. The first Biggles story, Biggles the Camels are Coming was published in 193
2, and W. E. Johns went on to write a staggering 102 Biggles titles before his death in 1968.

  BIGGLES BOOKS

  FIRST WORLD WAR:

  Biggles Learns to Fly

  Biggles Flies East

  Biggles the Camels are Coming

  Biggles of the Fighter Squadron

  Biggles in France

  Biggles and the Rescue Flight

  BETWEEN THE WARS:

  Biggles and the Cruise of the Condor

  Biggles and Co.

  Biggles Flies West

  Biggles Goes to War

  Biggles and the Black Peril

  Biggles in Spain

  SECOND WORLD WAR:

  Biggles Defies the Swastika

  Biggles Delivers the Goods

  Biggles Defends the Desert

  Biggles Fails to Return

  BIGGLES GOES TO WAR

  AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 409 02339 5

  Published in Great Britain by RHCB Digital,

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  A Random House Group Company

  This ebook edition published 2011

  Copyright © W. E. Johns, 1938

  First Published in Great Britain by Oxford University Press, 1938

  Red Fox edition published 2004

  The right of W. E. Johns to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.