Biggles WWII Collection

by W E Johns

  ‘Because a plane needs petrol to fly.’

  ‘Quite so. You are at Elephant Island?’ asserted Tamashoa, getting his tenses mixed.

  ‘No, I’m here,’ corrected Algy.

  ‘Quite so. Why are you at Elephant Island?’

  ‘I’m not at Elephant Island,’ asserted Algy truthfully.

  ‘There are British officers at Elephant Island.’

  ‘Are there?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  At this juncture it appeared to occur to Tamashoa that he was not getting anywhere, although he could not understand why. The expressions on the faces of his staff did not change. They stood stock still, like dummy figures.

  Tamashoa’s next question showed an unbelievable lack of understanding of the Anglo-Saxon mind. ‘If you will tell me why you were flying, and why British are on Elephant Island with the pirate Li Chi, you shall have your life.’

  Algy shook his head. ‘Has no one ever told you that we do not buy our lives from our enemies?’

  ‘You will not tell me?’

  ‘I will tell you nothing,’ said Algy shortly.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Tamashoa. He turned to the major. ‘Because I am by nature a man of great culture I shall give you another chance to tell me where you put the rubber and rubies of Shansie.’

  ‘And because I am by nature an obstinate man I shall not tell you,’ answered the major frostily.

  Tamashoa said something in Japanese to the N.C.O. He tapped the prisoners on the shoulder and pointed to the window. Understanding that they were to look out Algy went across, as did Marling. The window overlooked the open area behind the bungalow. In it, in the light of a torch, a grim drama was being enacted. Melong’s son was there. His hands had been tied behind his back. He was kneeling. Beside him stood the man with the sword.

  Tamashoa joined the others at the window. ‘Observe what happens to prisoners who are obstinate,’ he said blandly. ‘This man would not speak. If he will not speak he need not live. Soon, unless you can speak, you also will lose your heads.’

  The executioner raised his sword. Algy watched the beginning of the downward stroke and turned away. ‘Ah,’ said Tamashoa. ‘A pretty cut.’

  ‘Scum,’ said Marling in a thin, dry voice. ‘Scum – that’s what they are.’

  ‘Does that help you to find your tongues?’ queried Tamashoa.

  ‘No,’ answered Algy and the major together.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Tamashoa smoothly. He made a theatrical gesture to the escort and returned to his desk.

  The escort closed in and the prisoners were marched out. On the front doorstep the man with the drawn sword was waiting. The N.C.O. spoke to him and he joined the party.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ Algy told the major. ‘Now that I know what these skunks are really like I’d like to have one last crack at them.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve left it a bit late, my boy,’ said Major Marling, without emotion.

  1 Non-eommissioned officer e.g. a corporal or a sergeant.

  2 ‘Very good, sir.’

  CHAPTER 14

  ENTER THE LIBERATORS

  DURING THE TWENTY-FOUR hours Algy had been a prisoner Biggles had not been idle. Many things had happened on Elephant Island. The Sumatran had been captured and taken according to plan to the cove wherein the Lotus lay, where the work of loading her with rubber had begun forthwith, more than a hundred sweating men toiling, not as paid workmen, but as men who derive the utmost satisfaction from what they are doing. As nothing more could be done in this respect Biggles turned his attention to the new state of affairs brought about by the capture of Algy and the loss of the Gosling.

  ‘I don’t quite know what’s going to happen here, but I have a feeling that things are working up for an almighty flap,’ he told the others. ‘What we’ve done has been more or less forced upon us; but it would be silly to suppose that Tamashoa is going to take the loss of two ships lying down. If he has to report the loss to his High Command it will mean considerable loss of face, and loss of face to a Japanese is worse than death. We, shall have to try to do something about Algy. We’ve got to get the Liberators on the move. We’ve got to have petrol and we need another marine aircraft. I hope Li Chi will take the Sumatran to India as planned, but without an amphibian there can be no question of picking him up. He’ll have to go all the way and come back in one of the Liberators later on. We’ve just about enough petrol to get one of the Lightnings to India, so I’d like you, Taffy, to push across right away. Get an amphibian from somewhere. If you can’t get a Gosling get something else. One of the boys will have to bring it over right away. The Liberators had better start, too, right away, leaving at half-hour intervals; as things stand the sooner they leave the better. The first machine will load up with petrol. The second will bring half a dozen H.E.1 bombs – mix ’em up, but I want at least a couple of five hundred pounders.’

  The others looked surprised. ‘Did you say bombs?’ queried Ginger.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘What do you want bombs for?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure, but with these destroyers in the offing they may be useful. Machine-gun bullets are no use against armour plate.’

  ‘You want me to start for India right now?’ asked Taffy.

  ‘This minute. I’m worried about petrol. I was relying on Algy for some. An attack now would catch us on one leg.’

  ‘In that case I’ll push along,’ said Taffy, and departed.

  Biggles turned to Ferocity. ‘Fill up the other Lightning with what drops of petrol we have left. Take off just before dawn and take care of things upstairs for as long as your petrol lasts. We can’t have enemy machines about while the Sumatran is loading. We must give her every chance to get away. I don’t know exactly when that will be – soon after daybreak, I hope. Now everyone had better get to bed. We look like having a busy day tomorrow’

  ‘With Henry bringing a Gosling there will only be Angus, Tex and Tug to handle Liberators,’ Ginger pointed out.

  ‘When Taffy tells them how urgent things are I reckon they’ll bring one each,’ said Biggles. ‘That will be three, anyway. I shall send them straight back with anyone we can spare. I was hoping we should be able to operate with two pilots aboard each machine, but at the rate things are going we look like being lucky if we can operate five aircraft with one pilot in each. It’s going to be hard work. I may decide to keep one Liberator here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So that we can all get out if the whole thing comes unstuck. I hope you realise that at this moment we have one machine here, a Lightning, with enough petrol for less than half an hour’s flying. That’s bad. I suppose I should have made allowance for the Gosling getting ditched, but one can’t think of everything. Poor old Algy.’

  ‘What are we going to do about him?’

  ‘We can’t do anything while he’s at sea in an enemy destroyer,’ returned Biggles moodily. ‘We shall know when he arrives at Victoria Point because I shall borrow Li Chi’s glasses and keep watch across the strait from the top of the hill.’

  ‘What are you going to do now, old boy?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘I’m going down to the cove to speak to Li Chi,’ answered Biggles. ‘You get some sleep.’

  He found Li Chi watching the loading of the rubber into the Sumatran. A human chain had been formed and the bundles, weighing a hundredweight or more apiece, were being manhandled from hand to hand. Ayert kept things on the move.

  ‘Tell me this,’ said Biggles to Li Chi. ‘The Sumatran, you remember, was lying out in what you call the channel, waiting for high water to move in close?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does that mean that the water in the estuary is shallow?’

  ‘Not only shallow, but full of shoals – silt brought down by the river. It is a dangerous place for a ship of any size.’

  ‘How deep is the best part of the estuary at low water?’

  ‘Nowhe
re more than two fathoms2 – and it is necessary to know just where such places are: that is why ships stay out in the channel. Why do you ask this?’

  ‘Just a minute – let me finish,’ murmured Biggles. ‘The estuary, I take it, is fed by the Pak Chan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If the water in the river fell suddenly there would be a big drop at the estuary?’

  ‘Naturally. But the river is not likely to dry up at this time of the year.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ declared Biggles. ‘It is. I’m going to make it.’

  ‘You are having trouble with your intestines again my friend,’ said Li Chi sadly. ‘In any case, how would the drying up of the river help us?’

  ‘The destroyers are on their way to Victoria Point.’

  ‘They will anchor in the channel.’

  ‘They may, but I don’t think they will. They will have been warned that a British submarine is about. What would you do in that case, if you were in command of the flotilla?’

  ‘If I was not to be at the place for very long I should risk the mud and get into the estuary under cover of the shore batteries.’3

  ‘Exactly. Do you remember what Major Marling said about floods, and how he had to dam the river to keep it in its bed? Suppose that dam, or embankment, or whatever it is, was broken down. The water would spill itself over the landscape wouldn’t it? Not much would come down the river. The result would be a sudden drop, a big drop, at the estuary.’

  Li Chi drew a deep breath. ‘What happiness!’ he exclaimed. ‘The destroyers would find themselves stuck on the mud. At that disadvantage you will attack them?’

  ‘Not on your life. My intestines would be very much out of order if they induced me to do anything as silly as that,’ returned Biggles. ‘This is the point. The sailors would not be able to cross the mud to get ashore if there was trouble there, and if the ships heeled over, as they might, they would find it difficult, if not impossible, to use their guns.’

  ‘You don’t want the sailors to go ashore?’

  ‘I don’t want them to be able to get ashore in force.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I myself shall be at Victoria Point tonight with volunteers for a commando raid.’

  ‘To prevent an invasion of Elephant Island!’

  ‘Partly. But you seem to forget that a friend of ours will soon be at Victoria Point, a prisoner of war. We must get him away – or try. There is no telling what Tamashoa will do to him when he refuses to cooperate.’

  ‘This is plain war,’ said Li Chi. ‘What about the rubber?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten it. The arrangements for its shipment still stand.’

  ‘But how will you get the embankment at Shansie broken down? It will mean a visit to Major Marling.’

  ‘I, or someone, will have to fly to Shansie as soon as a machine is available. That should be sometime tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘No. You’ll be at sea in the Sumatran – that is, if you are still prepared to go through with it. I’m afraid it will mean going all the way to India, but one of my boys will bring you back in a Liberator.’

  ‘The only thing is, if I go how will you talk to my men? They do not speak English.’

  ‘Ayert does. I want you to leave him here with me, to act as interpreter.’

  Li Chi thought for a moment. ‘We have always sailed together,’ he murmured. ‘Still, no doubt he will stay if I ask him.’

  ‘How long will it take to get the ship loaded?’ was Biggles’ next question. ‘Is there any possibility of getting away by dawn?’

  ‘It might be done if we stopped at a thousand tons,’ answered Li Chi thoughtfully. ‘But as the sea is dead calm and should remain so for some time now until the monsoon breaks, I am thinking of taking a deck cargo – perhaps a hundred tons. If we strike heavy weather it would of course have to go overboard. The only thing against it is the delay in getting the ship away.’

  ‘It’s worth the risk,’ decided Biggles. ‘I shouldn’t have thought of it.’ He smiled. ‘That’s the best of having a sailor around. Get away as soon as you can. You know the danger. I’m going to snatch some sleep – you’d better do the same.’

  ‘My friend, five thousand years ago the Chinese taught themselves to do without sleep for long periods,’ said Li Chi placidly. ‘When I was a boy my father made me sit and stare at my great toe for twenty-four hours at a time without moving. That is Chinese training.’

  Biggles laughed. ‘If my father had caught me doing that he would have sent for the doctor.’ He returned to the bungalow and without taking off his clothes threw himself on a divan.

  He was awakened by the roar of an aircraft, and recognising the voice of the Lightning he hurried out. It was still dark but the stars were paling in the sky. Presently Bertie came in to say that Ferocity had taken off for his dawn patrol. It was nearly six o’clock. Feeling better for the rest Biggles had a bath and felt even better. He had, he knew, a hectic anxious day in front of him. The runway was not so complete as he would have liked for the Liberators, but his hand was being forced. Ginger appeared, yawning. Li Chi’s cook brought tea, and soon afterwards Li Chi came in to say that the Sumatran would be ready for sea in an hour.

  ‘Don’t forget to fly a British flag or you may find yourself in a spot of trouble with one of our submarines or destroyers,’ warned Biggles.

  ‘I have spent most of my life dodging the British Navy,’ said Li Chi, with one of his rare smiles. ‘Now I should be glad to see it.’

  For the moment nothing more could be done. The atmosphere was one of expectancy, due partly to the distant drone of Ferocity’s Lightning high overhead. After breakfast they all went down to the Sumatran where the natives were still toiling.

  ‘I have told Ayert to stay and take orders from you while I am away,’ said Li Chi to Biggles.

  Beyond the Isthmus of Malaya, dawn had now broken, flooding the smooth water with pink, gold, and the translucent hues of mother-of-pearl. And with it came a growing sound that justified Biggles’ precaution of putting up the Lightning on a defensive patrol.

  ‘There he is!’ exclaimed Ginger, pointing at a speck of light that was speeding across the sky from the mainland towards the island.

  Biggles shaded his eyes. ‘Kawanishi 94 . . . single-engined three-seater Navy-type reconnaissance seaplane,’ he murmured. ‘Ferocity should be able to handle him.’

  They watched. There was no sign of the Lightning for it was too high to be seen, and the drone of the lower Kawanishi now drowned the purr of its engine. But this state of affairs did not last long. This time it was Bertie who pointed. A tiny speck was falling diagonally out of the sky towards the Japanese aircraft. ‘Here comes Ferocity,’ he said, adjusting his eyeglass. ‘I should say he’s got a sitter.’

  Faintly to the ears of the listeners came the long drawn out howl of the diving fighter. The Kawanishi came straight on in level flight, a clear indication that the machine above it had not been seen. It is likely that the attentions of the crew, as Biggles had predicted, were concentrated on the scene below without a thought of danger.

  ‘Ferocity’s taking a chance with the rear gunner,’ observed Ginger critically, as the Lightning, now clearly revealed, came on down in a steep curving dive that brought it behind the enemy aircraft.

  ‘He can probably see what the rear gunner’s doing – we can’t,’ said Biggles.

  The combat, if combat it could be called, lasted about five seconds. The Lightning went in close before it opened fire. There was no return fire from the enemy machine. Tracer streaked. A few pieces fell off the Kawanishi. There was a short burst of fire from the rear gun, but the tracer went so wide of its mark that it was evident the gunner had fired in desperate haste. No second opportunity was afforded him to correct his error. The Kawanishi’s tanks exploded and the machine began to fall, a ball of fire, towards the sea.

  ‘No time to use their brollies,’4 murmured B
ertie. ‘The doctor won’t be able to do anything for them, by Jove!’

  ‘Take a lesson from it,’ advised Biggles. ‘Wherever you are, never take it for granted that you’ve got the sky to yourself.’

  The Kawanishi fell into the sea about a mile from the nearest point of the island, leaving a long blank plume of smoke to mark its passing. A cheer went up from the natives who had paused in their work of loading.

  Ferocity landed and taxied quickly to the shelter. The others went along.

  ‘Nice work, Ferocity,’ congratulated Biggles.

  ‘I thought I’d better come in – juice is running low,’ said Ferocity casually.

  ‘Quite right. It’s ten to one the Japanese will wait for their machine to come back before sending out another. That will give us breathing space. You’d better stand by though – in case. The first Liberator should be along presently with some petrol.’

  An hour later, with no danger threatening, the Sumatran steamed out of the cove with Li Chi on the bridge, a grinning, dirty but picturesque crew lining the rail, and more than a hundred tons of deck cargo giving her an untidy, top-heavy appearance. Li Chi took a course, on Biggles’ advice, south of west, to avoid any chance of running into the enemy destroyers. While those ashore stood watching – Biggles with a good deal of anxiety, for the ship looked as helpless as a maimed sheep – a Lightning appeared in the western sky, flying low and flat out. It landed and Taffy leant out. He waved and climbed down. His face was set in hard lines from the strain of his double flight; his chin was unshaven and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot. He swayed slightly on his feet as he made his report. It amounted to this. A Gosling was being sent up from Ceylon to Madras. Henry Harcourt was waiting for it and would bring it across as soon as it arrived. Three Liberators were coming out – as many machines as there were pilots available. He had pushed on ahead of them. ‘By the way,’ he concluded, ‘I noticed a lot of smoke away up to the north about ten minutes ago, look you. I kept clear of it.’

  ‘That’ll be the destroyers,’ said Biggles. ‘Grab some breakfast and have a rest while you can.’