19 Biggles Secret Agent

by Captain W E Johns

  Glancing back as he ran, he saw the cars on the road meet and stop about a quarter of a mile beyond the place where he had turned off. A group of figures moved vaguely in the headlights. Hoping that it would take them some time to find his abandoned car he ran on, and without trouble reached the boundary lights of the aerodrome, but was still some distance from the airport buildings. Looking at his watch he saw with alarm that it was ten minutes to twelve. He dared not trespass on the aerodrome both on account of getting in the way of machines landing and taking off, and for fear of attracting attention to himself; he had to follow the wire boundary fence, with the result that it was five minutes to twelve before he found himself near the hangars.

  Several machines were standing on the tarmac, but only about one were there any signs of activity. It was a twin-engined Lockheed Electra, bearing British registration letters; on its nose were the 'arrow and globe' insignia of Planet Airways. The fact that the engines were ticking over was all the confirmation he needed that it was the machine he hoped to find — the London-bound mail plane. Two men were standing near the wheels, holding the cords attached to the chocks. Another, evidently the mechanic who had started the engines, was walking back towards the brightly illuminated booking hall from which two uniformed figures had just emerged and were strolling slowly towards the machine.

  Biggles climbed over the fence and walked towards the machine. He was standing near the cabin door when the two pilots arrived. Seeing him, they broke off their conversation and looked at him curiously.

  `Who are you — what do you want?' asked one.

  Biggles did not recognize either of them. 'I'm sorry,' he said, `but I hoped to find somebody whom I knew.' He dropped his voice. 'I need your help,' he went on. 'I'm a British agent. I have vital information to get home, and the frontiers are closed.'

  `Sorry, but we can't get mixed up in that sort of business,' declared the first officer curtly.

  `Just a minute — have you any proof of what you say?' asked the captain.

  `No, I haven't,' Biggles was forced to admit.

  `Then I'm sorry, but there is nothing doing,' returned the captain. The continent is rotten with refugees all trying to get into England. We've been tricked before, and we're not having any more of it. If you get to London they'll only send you back.'

  `They won't send me back,' announced Biggles grimly. tell you I'm an agent.'

  `What do you want — a lift to London?'

  `More than that, I'm afraid,' murmured Biggles apologetically, Ì've got to pick up three more people from Unterhamstadt.' `Where's that?'

  Ìt's a village near the frontier — about forty miles from here.' Ì've never heard of the aerodrome.'

  `There isn't one.'

  `You're not suggesting that I land my ship in a field, are you?' `That's what it means.'

  `You must be off your head. Look out of the way, we're due off.'

  Biggles glanced towards the airport buildings. He did not move a muscle as he saw several police walk out of the booking hall and stand on the tarmac, staring towards the Electra. There was a shout.

  Biggles looked at the two pilots. 'I think those people are calling you,' he said calmly.

  Both the captain and the first officer turned. 'Yes, I think you're right,' said the captain. '

  You'd better stay here until we come back, then I'll have another word with you.'

  To Biggles's joy both pilots started walking quickly towards the group of officials now coming towards the Lockheed. He did not hesitate. Ducking under the wing, he came up in front of the machine and without warning hit the nearest mechanic under the jaw. He staggered backwards, dragging the chock with him. The second man bolted as Biggles rushed at him. He dropped the cord he was holding. Biggles snatched it up, tore the chock aside, and made a dash for the cabin. It was nearly his last movement on earth; for the first time in his life, although perhaps it was excusable in the circumstances, he forgot the whirling steel propellers. As he ducked under the wing he felt a blast of air on his face, and knew that a propeller blade had missed him by inches. The shock turned his lips dry, but he did not stop.

  Before he had reached the cabin door a crowd of men, the two pilots among them, were racing towards the machine. The leader was not more than twenty yards away.

  Biggles did not bother about closing the door. He made a dash for the cockpit. And not until then did he see that there was somebody already in the machine. A man in a neat blue uniform, with earphones clamped over his head, jumped up from the instrument at which he had been sitting. It was the wireless operator.

  Biggles did not speak. He pushed his hand into the man's face and flung him backwards into his seat. Then, dropping into the pilot's seat, he pushed the master throttle open. As the machine began to move forward the wireless operator came up and grabbed him from behind.

  `Look out, you fool, you'll kill us both!' yelled Biggles.

  Which was true enough, for the machine was gathering speed every instant. The wireless operator evidently realized this, for he released his hold. His face was pale with fright. '

  What do you think you're doing?' he shouted.

  `Taking off — it's time you knew that,' snarled Biggles. 'Sit down before you get hurt.'

  `But—'

  `Shut up! Sit down, I tell you.'

  `Who are you?'

  `You can ask the police that when we get home,' said Biggles curtly, as the machine became airborne. 'I'm a British agent, and I've got to get out of the country — quick.'

  Van you fly this kite?'

  Ìf I can't, it's going to be just too bad for you,' snapped Biggles, bringing the machine round on a course for Unterhamstadt.

  The wireless operator, after a helpless shake of his head, sat down at his instrument and picked up the fallen earphones.

  `You'll soon be picking up some interesting scraps of news on that thing,' smiled Biggles, as he settled down into his seat.

  CHAPTER XV

  Reunion

  Ginger might not have admitted it, but when two minutes had gone by after the appointed time his heart began to

  sink. Biggles had not come; and with each succeeding second his advent seemed even more unlikely. That in itself was bad enough, but the fact that the storm-troopers would certainly arrive at the place where they were waiting within the next five minutes made the whole position seem hopeless. Still, he did not say so. He could still hear the dog in the bushes; from time to time it uttered a low growl, but it did not show itself possibly because it was too well trained.

  Ì think we'd better surrender ourselves without causing further trouble,' suggested the Professor, in a resigned voice. Òtherwise it will only be all the worse for us.'

  `Don't you believe it,' growled Algy. 'We'll give these thugs something to remember us by, anyway.'

  As he said the words there came a sound in the still night air that caused Ginger's heart to leap. 'He's coming!' he said, in a tense voice. It was only with difficulty that he restrained himself from shouting the words. 'Listen!' he went on. 'It's a plane. Can't you hear it?'

  `Your faith in your leader is praiseworthy, but even if it is an aeroplane, is there any reason to suppose that he is flying it?' remarked the Professor despondently. 'It might be just a passing machine.'

  Ìt might be, but it isn't,' declared Ginger confidently. 'There you are, what did I tell you?'

  he went on quickly. 'It's coming this way.'

  `That sounds like a twin-engined job to me,' murmured Algy dubiously.

  Ì don't care if it's an Empire flying-boat, I'll bet Biggles is at the stick,' asserted Ginger firmly.

  There was a sudden crashing in the bushes behind them, for they were now standing out in the field, staring up at the sky whence came the roar of the approaching aircraft. The commotion in the bushes increased; a shot was fired. It was followed by a rapid conversation.

  `They are calling attention to the behaviour of the dogs,' translated the Professor. 'They are now coming o
n again.'

  Algy took charge of the situation. 'Lie down, everybody,' he ordered. Then, as they obeyed, he addressed the Professor. 'I can't speak German,' he said, 'so will you shout to them and tell them that the first man who shows himself will be shot? Tell them that we are armed, and that we will fight.'

  The Professor shouted something in German.

  It was as well that they were lying down, for a volley of shots rang out, the bullets zipping viciously through the undergrowth.

  Algy fired back at the flashes. 'Watch for the machine, Ginger,' he shouted, for there was no longer any point in remaining silent.

  The machine's landing,' called Ginger.

  `Take the others with you and run for it as soon as his wheels are on the ground,' roared Algy, without looking round.

  `What about you?' returned Ginger.

  `Never mind me – I'll be along. Give me the Professor's gun –he won't need it.'

  Ginger handed Algy the weapon, so that he now had a gun in each hand. Curiously enough, they had both belonged to von Stalhein. One had been taken from him in the car, and the other Algy himself had taken from the German when Ginger had rescued him.

  Seeing that the others had gone he started a rapid fire into the trees, in the direction of the approaching storm-troopers, moving his position after every shot. Ginger's voice reached him He was shouting that the machine was now on the ground.

  `Get aboard!' shouted Algy.

  Ginger emptied his revolver into the bushes. Then, shouting to the Beklinders to follow him, he ran like a deer towards the big machine which was now taxiing towards them.

  The noise of its engine drowned all other sounds. An unknown man in a blue uniform was standing at the cabin door when he reached it.

  `Get in!' shouted the stranger, who seemed to be beside himself with excitement. 'Your boss is at the stick. I shall get fired for this when I get back—'

  `You'll be lucky to get back,' Ginger told him, as he bundled the Professor and his son into the cabin. Looking round for Algy he saw him running a zigzag course towards the machine. A number of men had appeared at the edge of the wood. Spurts of orange flame showed that they were shooting.

  Panting, Algy reached the machine. Ginger helped him in.

  They fell in a heap on the floor. 'All clear,' shouted Ginger from where he lay.

  By the time he was on his feet the machine had swung round and was bumping over the uneven ground for the take-off. The wireless operator was staring foolishly at his hand, from which blood was dripping.

  `Something hit my hand,' he gasped.

  `You're lucky it didn't hit your head,' grunted Ginger as he hurried forward to the cockpit where Biggles was sitting. He grabbed a seat to steady himself as the machine swerved slightly; then the bumping ceased and he knew that they were in the air.

  Ì've got Algy,' he yelled triumphantly in Biggles's ear. `You've what?'

  Ì've got Algy.'

  At first Biggles looked incredulous; then a smile broke over his face. 'Masterly work,' he said. 'Make yourselves comfortable while I take you home.'

  Looking down the lighted cabin Ginger saw that the others were already sitting or reclining in the seats in various stages of exhaustion following the last few hectic minutes. He dropped into the seat next to Biggles. 'By gosh, we've done it, after all,' he cried jubilantly.

  Biggles did not take his eyes off the windscreen. 'I believe you're right,' he said. 'But it doesn't do to pat yourself on the back too soon — not in flying, at any rate. Look ahead.'

  Ginger had been so taken up with what was going on inside the cabin that he had paid no attention to anything else. Realizing that there was a definite reason for Biggles's remark he peered ahead through the windscreen, and stared at what he saw. The sky was divided into many clean-cut sections by the white beams of searchlights. He gazed at them for a moment or two without speaking, noticing that the lights were set in a long, straggling line. 'That's the frontier, I suppose?' he said thoughtfully.

  `That's it,' returned Biggles briefly.

  `They'll have guns there.'

  `You bet your life they will.'

  `Well, we've got to get through 'em.'

  `Right again,' said Biggles. 'We should find this sort of thing whichever way we tried to get out of the country'

  Ginger glanced at the altimeter and saw that they were at four thousand feet. 'We're a bit low, aren't we?'

  Ì daren't risk climbing any higher,' said Biggles, glancing through the side window on his right.

  `Why not?'

  Ìt would take time. I'm going to charge straight across — or try to.'

  `But couldn't we turn back? With a light load like this you could take the machine up to twenty thousand, cut the motors, and then perhaps glide across without being spotted.'

  `Take a look over to the right,' murmured Biggles, without taking his eyes from the windscreen.

  Ginger looked, and saw a number of twin pairs of lights at about their own altitude. His heart missed a beat. 'They're machines,' he said.

  `Fighters, by the rate they're travelling.'

  `They're after us.'

  Ì don't suppose they're just roaring around for the fun of it.' `Shouldn't we do better to put our lights out?'

  `Yes — I was only waiting until Algy had tied Sparks's hand up. I think he got a shot through it. He's just finished, I think.' Biggles turned a switch and plunged the machine into darkness — except, of course, the instrument board.

  Òne of them is getting close; he's trying to work round behind us,' observed Ginger, who was still staring through the window at the enemy machines.

  Ì'm watching him '

  Ì wish we had a gun,' said Ginger wistfully.

  `The trouble about wishing is, it doesn't get you anywhere,' murmured Biggles dryly.

  `That fellow's closing in. I believe he can still see us.'

  `He's close enough to see our exhausts. Tell me when he gets within range. Maybe I can show him something.'

  `How far are we from the frontier?'

  `Ten miles She's taking all I can give her, so we ought to be across in two or three minutes.'

  `Look out! He's shooting!' yelled Ginger suddenly.

  The words had barely left his lips when the machine banked steeply and then plunged downward. He had to clutch at his seat to remain in it. He lost all sense of direction, and even the relative position of the machine with the ground. Hardened air traveller though he was, his stomach seemed to come up into his mouth.

  Quivering, the machine returned to even keel.

  `Gosh! If you do that again I shall be sick,' gasped Ginger, looking around for the searchlights in order to find out which way they were travelling. The lights were straight ahead, groping towards them.

  Van you see that fellow who was shooting at us?' asked Biggles.

  `No — yes, there he is. The searchlights have just picked him up. He's miles above us.'

  Ginger glanced again at the altimeter and saw that they were down to two thousand feet.

  Half a dozen searchlights were now stabbing the air around them.

  The noise of the engines died as Biggles cut the throttle. The machine banked vertically to the right and began gliding parallel with the line of lights. Looking back, Ginger saw that the beams had concentrated on the area they had just left. The sky was filled with crimson flashes, and he knew that the guns were in action.

  The nose of the machine tilted down.

  Ginger looked at Biggles. There was a curious smile on his face. He appeared to feel Ginger looking at him, for he glanced up and caught his eyes. 'This is like old times,' he said cheerfully.

  With the machine still gliding Biggles began picking his way with uncanny skill through the beams. 'Tell everybody to hold on to something if a light picks us up,' he told Ginger.

  if that happens I shall make a rush for it, but I may have to throw the machine about a bit.

  '

  Ginger obeyed the order and returned to
his seat. `My goodness, we're low,' he said, looking down.

  `When there are guns about, if you can't get high, keep low,' muttered Biggles. And at that moment a groping light swung round and caught their wing-tip. It overshot, but the operator had evidently seen them, for the beam swung swiftly back towards them.

  The Lockheed's engines burst into a bellow of noise. The nose tilted down steeply.

  Down — down — down.

  Ginger held his breath, torn between looking at the jagged bursts of flame outside, and the air-speed indicator, the needle

  of which had crept up over the three hundred mark. He flinched when something struck the machine with a harsh, tearing crash.

  Biggles eased the stick back. Again the machine quivered as something struck it. 'Are the others all right?' he asked calmly.

  Ginger peered down into the darkened cabin. 'Yes,' he said. `The Professor's got his hands over his face. He looks frightened to death.'

  `So do you,' grinned Biggles.

  `You don't look so good yourself,' snorted Ginger, marvelling at the way Biggles threw such a big machine about, for it was never on the same course for more than a moment.

  Looking around he saw that the lights were no longer in front of them. A black mass seemed to rise up on their left. 'What's that?' he cried in alarm.

  Ònly a mountain,' Biggles told him. 'I shot through a pass.' He brought the machine to even keel, but continued to bank steeply, first one way and then the other.

  The lights are behind us,' said Ginger.

  `Quite right,' replied Biggles. 'We've crossed the frontier. We are over France.'

  `They are still shooting at us.'

  `The French will soon be shooting at them if they don't pack up,' growled Biggles, sitting back in his seat and taking a deep breath. 'I think the worst is over,' he murmured.

  Ginger put his head out of the side window. 'The lights are going out,' he said as he drew it in again. 'Where are you going to make for?'

  Biggles tried the controls carefully and studied the instrument board before he replied. '

  Croydon,' he said.

  `Croydon!'

  `Yes. I'm not landing anywhere this side of Dover if I can prevent it. When I step out of this machine I want to feel good English soil under my feet.'