Biggles WWII Collection

by W E Johns

  Biggles nodded. ‘Evidently it was only a rumour – see you later.’ He walked on, well satisfied with his inquiries.

  While it was by no means certain, he thought, it rather looked as if von Stalhein had not come back to Boda; and it was hardly likely that Algy had been captured without Kristen hearing something about it. It might be assumed, then, that Algy was still at large, and since his mission was to find Biggles, it was reasonable to suppose that he would be near the aerodrome – if not actually on it. But where? Where could he be?

  Biggles tried to put himself in Algy’s place, asking himself how he would have acted had the position been reversed. The most reasonable supposition, he concluded, was that Algy would not actually be on the aerodrome, where he would be open to question, but was more likely to be hiding near the boundary, watching and waiting for a chance to speak to him. In the circumstances Biggles thought he might take a walk round the aerodrome boundary, whistling a tune known to both of them; then, if Algy were near, he could reveal himself. But there was something he would have to do first, and that was to endeavour to allay suspicions concerning himself. The best way of doing that might be to ring up the Hotel Port and speak to von Hymann. He could tell him that he had been looking for von Stalhein.

  With this object in view he made his way to the squadron office where, finding the adjutant3 in charge, he asked permission to use the telephone for the purpose of getting into touch with von Hymann at the Hotel Port. Permission was given, but not until he had been subjected to a further difficult cross-examination, for it seemed that the adjutant was also under the impression that it was he who had taken the Messerchmitt. However, Biggles satisfied him by referring vaguely to his Gestapo duties, and put the call through to von Hymann.

  It was answered by von Stalhein. He announced his name.

  Even before his crisp ‘Hello’ had faded from the wire Biggles knew that he had made a blunder. Not so much a blunder, perhaps, as an error of judgement. He felt that he should have thought of the possibility of von Stalhein answering the telephone, since, after the bombing of Stavanger, Oslo was the most likely place for him to go to; and in Oslo he would certainly make for Gestapo headquarters.

  Biggles realized this now, but up to that moment the possibility had not dawned on him. However, he did not lose his head. He could not afford to do so, for the adjutant was watching him curiously. And for this same reason he dare not dissemble by giving a fictitious name. All he dare do was alter his tone of voice, for unless he did so von Stalhein would recognize it at once. He might do so, anyway.

  ‘This is number 2001,’ said Biggles; ‘I wish to speak to Oberleutnant von Hymann.’

  ‘Von Hymann is not here. I am answering for him,’ returned von Stalhein curtly. ‘What did you say your number was?’

  ‘2001.’

  There was a brief pause. Then, ‘What is your name? asked von Stalhein.

  ‘My orders were to use a number only, sir.’

  ‘I am now asking you for your name. What is it?’

  ‘Hendrik – Leutnant Hendrick.’ Biggles could almost see von Stalhein’s face at the other end of the line.

  There was another short pause. ‘What game d’you think you’re playing? You know I’ve been looking for you?’

  ‘So I understand, sir, but it seems that we have just missed each other. I was given a job to do by Oberleutnant von Hymann.’

  ‘Where are you speaking from now?’

  ‘From Boda.’

  Another pause. ‘Indeed! Well, I want to see you, to get details of your adventure in Narvik.’

  ‘You mean about the English spy, Bigglesworth?’

  ‘Yes.’ Von Stalhein’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Would you like me to proceed further with the—’

  ‘No,’ interrupted von Stalhein sharply. ‘Remain where you are.’

  ‘I’ll come to Oslo and report to you if you wish,’ offered Biggles, to gain time.

  ‘No, I’d rather come out to Boda. On no account leave the aerodrome until I arrive.’

  ‘Can I expect you – tonight?’

  There was yet another pause. ‘No, I’m too busy here to leave just now. I’ll be along in the morning,’ said von Stalhein casually.

  ‘Then I’ll wait for you here. Good-night, sir.’

  Biggles hung up, thinking fast. He knew that both he and von Stalhein had been bluffing. No doubt the German had been as taken aback by the call as he had been to hear him answer it. Both had fenced – neither of them could very well do anything else.

  ‘I gather you’re not very popular at the moment,’ said the German.

  Biggles grimaced. ‘It isn’t my fault. I wasn’t attached to the Gestapo from choice. I’m a pilot. Frankly, the sooner I’ve finished with this Gestapo business and get on regular flying work the better I shall be pleased.’

  The adjutant seemed inclined to be sympathetic. Like most German soldiers he had no love for the Gestapo. ‘I’ll see what I can do about it,’ he promised. ‘Meanwhile, don’t leave the aerodrome.’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Biggles, and went out.

  But he did not go far. He had a suspicion. Whether von Stalhein had recognized his voice or not he did not know, but in any case he would be very, very anxious to see this elusive Norwegian named Hendrik – too anxious to wait until the morning. Biggles knew von Stalhein too well to suppose that he would delay his visit for several hours – time for him to get away. No! It was quite possible that von Stalhein had said that he would not be along that night in order to lull him into a false sense of security. It was far more likely that he would start for Boda forthwith in a fast car.

  A minute later Biggles heard the sound he expected to hear. It was the shrill jangle of the telephone. Standing close to the door he thought, straining his ears, he could hear the adjutant’s end of the conversation.

  ‘You mean Hendrik, sir?’ he was saying. ‘Yes, he’s still on the aerodrome.’

  Biggles smiled grimly.

  ‘Did you say arrest him?’ continued the adjutant in a surprised voice. ‘Of course, sir, if you say so. What is the charge? Leave it until you come – very well, sir. I’ll have Hendrik watched, and if he attempts to leave the aerodrome I’ll have him arrested immediately. You’ll be along in – half an hour. Very good, sir.’ There was a clang as the adjutant hung up the receiver.

  Biggles waited for no more. With the adjutant about to detail men to watch him, and von Stalhein due to arrive in half an hour, he felt that Boda, from being unhealthy, had become malignant. He walked briskly away into the moonlight, realizing that he was now virtually a fugitive, yet forbidden by his code of honour even to attempt to escape while Algy was there looking for him. Where was Algy?

  In sheer desperation Biggles began walking along the boundary of the aerodrome, whistling quietly, aware that now people on the aerodrome were looking for him the very few minutes of his freedom were numbered. He broke into a run, and finally, in sheer desperation, called Algy by name. But there was no reply. Sick at heart he hurried on and completed a circuit of the aerodrome. Looking at his watch he saw that half an hour had elapsed since von Stalhein had hung up. The moon was now high, making it dangerous for him to move about.

  Despondent, and hardly knowing what to do next, he made his way to the hangars, taking care to keep within their deepest shadows. Watching, he saw a car coming up the private drive that led from the main road to the club-house. Outside the orderly room, which was less than a hundred yards from where he stood, it stopped. A slim figure alighted and moved quickly. It was von Stalhein.

  Biggles watched him for a moment with a peculiar smile on his face; then he walked quickly towards the main road. He felt that whatever Algy’s predicament might be, no useful purpose could be served by remaining where he was. He could not stay at Boda. If he did, capture was inevitable, and once that happened all hope of helping Algy – or himself for that matter – would be gone. While he remained at large there was
still a chance – not a very bright one, admittedly, but a slim chance is better than none at all.

  Now in order to reach the main road it was necessary for him to walk across the open moonlit area traversed by the drive. There were no trees, no bushes, nothing to offer cover, for these, as is customary near aerodromes, had been removed to prevent them from becoming obstructions to the movement of aircraft. He had gone only a few yards when there was a shout behind him. Looking back he saw Kristen, running, followed by a car – von Stalhein’s car.

  Kristen shouted. ‘Hi! Stop! They want you in the office.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ muttered Biggles grimly.

  He could, he thought, outrun Kristen, but there could be no escape from the car, which had now increased its speed and was fast overtaking him. Seeing that flight could no longer avail him, he drew his pistol and waited. He was in no mood to face von Stalhein’s triumph.

  As the car drew level a head appeared at the window, and he saw that the driver wore a German uniform greatcoat.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’ said a calm voice, in English.

  For a split second Biggles stood transfixed, his lips parted, his expression almost one of idiocy. Then he gulped, and flung himself into the car.

  The driver was Algy.

  ‘Where would you like to go, sir?’ he inquired whimsically, after the manner of a taxi-driver.

  ‘Anywhere,’ gasped Biggles, ‘but get going and make it fast.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ Algy swung into the main road and pressed the accelerator flat.

  1 Slang: parachute.

  2 Anti-aircraft fire.

  3 Officer appointed to assist the Commanding Officer with correspondence and paperwork.

  CHAPTER 10

  ON THE RUN

  FOR PERHAPS A minute neither Biggles nor Algy spoke. As a matter of fact it took Biggles that time to recover from the shock. Then, ‘Where the dickens did you spring from?’ he inquired.

  ‘Oh, I was just hanging around, you know, in case I was wanted,’ returned Algy lightly.

  ‘Where did you get that uniform?’

  ‘It’s only a greatcoat. I borrowed it from the souvenir chest of the ship I was in.’

  ‘Oh, yes – I remember now; Ginger told me about it,’ nodded Biggles. ‘Where did you get this car?’

  ‘It was standing outside station headquarters.’

  ‘You know to whom it belongs?’

  ‘Too true I do. I saw von Stalhein get out.’

  Biggles laughed hysterically. ‘Strewth! Last night I pinched his plane; now we’ve got his car. We shall have to drop him a line and thank him for providing us with transport.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ continued Algy, ‘I was hanging around near headquarters hoping to see you – which I did. I saw you break cover and make for the road, and it was obvious that you were in a tight spot. Von Stalhein’s car was standing where he had left it, so, knowing how you hate walking, I thought I might as well bring it along.’

  ‘Thanks, laddie,’ said Biggles seriously. ‘You were just about in time. Things were getting hot – too jolly hot.’

  Algy grinned. ‘So I gathered. But isn’t it time we decided where to go?’

  ‘Ginger’s waiting for us in the fiord,’ declared Biggles. ‘We ought to try to get to him, but I’m afraid we should never get there in this car. Von Stalhein will get on the phone and warn his patrols to be on the look-out for us. Of course, it would take a bit of time to warn everybody, so there’s a chance that we might reach Oslo. If we go on at this rate we ought to do it in twenty minutes, and that will hardly be long enough for von Stalhein’s crowd to get barricades up. Make for Oslo.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Let’s wait until we get there before we decide that. We may have to leave the car and hide, and hiding will be easier in a city than in open country. We’ll make for the harbour. There were some flying-boats there the last time I saw the place. For your information, I’m a member of the Gestapo; I mention that because I’ve got a pass in my pocket which may help us.’

  ‘Will it still work, do you think?’ queried Algy. ‘Won’t von Stalhein take steps to have the bearer of it arrested?’

  ‘Unquestionably; but with the country in this state it will take him a bit of time to notify every German in Norway. Speed now is everything.’

  ‘So you’ve seen Ginger? What had he got to talk about?’

  ‘He gave me the low-down on everything. Afterwards I sent him to England with some information, and when he came back he brought me over to Boda. He should be back at the fiord now. Unfortunately I got there too late to stop you coming to look for me. Incidentally, in the information I sent back to Raymond I told him about Boda, and suggested that our bombers came over and knocked the place about a bit. That was one of the reasons why I was in a hurry to get you out of it.’

  ‘This may be our boys coming now,’ put in Algy, peering upwards through the windscreen.

  Looking through the window, Biggles saw that the sky was ablaze with searchlights. At a terrific height specks of flame marked the burst of anti-aircraft gunfire.

  ‘By Jingo! You’re right! Those are our fellows,’ declared Biggles. ‘They’ve come at a good moment. When they start dropping their loads on the aerodrome the people there will have something else to think of besides telephoning Oslo about us.’

  ‘I hope a bomb lands right in von Stalhein’s lap,’ muttered Algy vindictively.

  ‘That would be a pity,’ protested Biggles reproachfully. ‘It would take half the interest out of life.’

  ‘It would make life a thundering sight easier,’ snorted Algy. ‘I’m all for a quiet life, and this is not my idea of it.’

  ‘By gosh! Look at that flak!’ broke in Biggles. ‘There’s a chance that when von Stalhein tried to get through to Oslo he found all the wires engaged, giving air-raid warnings. Hullo! There goes the first crump1,’ he went on quickly as the flash of an exploding bomb lit up the sky.

  ‘Shall we stop and watch the raid?’ suggested Algy.

  ‘Not on your life. I was caught in one at Stavanger last night, and that will last me for a long time. Let’s push on to Oslo.’

  As they sped down the road Biggles gave Algy a brief account of his adventures since he last saw him at Narvik, and Algy described his, although having talked to Ginger, there was little that Biggles did not know.

  By the time these notes had been exchanged they were running through the suburbs of Oslo. They were stopped only once, at a cross-roads, but the Gestapo pass worked as usual. Whether von Stalhein had been unable to get through to Oslo on the telephone, or whether his conversation, or the subsequent arrangements, had been upset by the raid, they did not know, but it was evident that the patrol knew nothing about the car being taken. As far as the occupants were concerned, as both were – or appeared to be – in German uniforms, there was nothing in their appearance to arouse suspicion.

  Biggles guided Algy to the port, and thence to the lane from which he had watched von Stalhein and Brandt emerge from Gestapo headquarters.

  ‘This will do,’ he said. ‘Stop here. It’s unlikely that anyone will touch the car. Let’s walk.’

  They got out of the car, closing the doors, and stood for a moment while they made a quick reconnaissance. Everything seemed quiet. There were a few soldiers about, and two storm-troopers were as usual on duty outside the Hotel Port. Biggles pointed out the building to Algy and told him what it was.

  ‘Never mind about that – where are these planes you spoke about?’ demanded Algy impatiently. ‘I’m getting nervous.’

  Biggles’s eyes explored the harbour, but not a single machine could he see.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ he said simply.

  ‘What!’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true. The last time I was here there were at least a dozen machines on the water. If it comes to that, there were also far more vessels here then than there are now. Where the dickens have they all gone? S
omething must have happened. Just a minute – you wait here. I’m going to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By walking across to those troops and asking them – or listening to their conversation. I’ll also have a good look at the harbour and make sure that there isn’t a machine available.’ Biggles walked away.

  He was gone about ten minutes.

  ‘Here, don’t leave me like that again,’ protested Algy when he returned. ‘I can’t speak German like you can, and if I’d been questioned by anybody I should have been sunk. Well, did you find out anything?’

  ‘Yes. It seems that we’ve landed an expeditionary force – in fact, two or three as far as I can make out. The nearest is just south of Bergen. Another landing has been made at Trondheim.’

  ‘How does that help us?’

  ‘It doesn’t, unless we can get to one of those places. But it’s worth knowing.’

  ‘Did you find a machine, that’s what I want to know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what? We can’t stay here. We’ve got to get some place, and before daylight, too. I’m nearly asleep on my feet, anyway.’

  Biggles thought for a moment. ‘The question is, dare we use the car?’

  ‘It’s risky.’

  ‘There’s no doubt about that, but we shan’t get far on foot – even when we’ve decided where to go.’

  ‘How far away is Bergen?’

  ‘The best part of a hundred and fifty miles, but I gather that the landing has been made somewhere south of the actual town, so the distance may not be more than a hundred and twenty or a hundred and thirty miles.’

  ‘That’s a long way. How far is it to Ginger – to Fiord 21?’

  ‘About thirty miles farther on to the north. Our nearest point of contact with our people is Bergen. We might try getting through that way. If we can’t, we’ll go on to Fiord 21. We shall have to go on there sooner or later, anyway, to make contact with Ginger and let him know that we’ve got clear of Boda; but since Bergen is nearer, we might borrow an aircraft or get someone to run up to the fiord with a message for Ginger.’