Biggles WWII Collection

by W E Johns

  It was now almost dark, and Biggles determined to make his attack on Victoria Point forthwith – before, as he said, the Japanese could come to the island in the native boats, which might happen at any time, and before the Sumatran arrived on the scene to complicate matters.

  To this Ayert agreed. His men, he said, were ready.

  ‘Then let’s get cracking,’ decided Biggles.

  ‘Can I come?’ asked Henry. ‘Tug says he’s going.’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Okay. You may as well bite a Japanese or two as stay here and be bitten to death by mosquitoes.’

  1 R.A.F. abbreviation for the Beaufighter aircraft. A twin-engined night fighter or, as in this case, a very successful anti-shipping fighter. Armed with four cannon in the nose and provision to carry either a torpedo, rockets mounted under the wings or bombs. It carried a crew of two.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE RAID

  IN DARKNESS THAT was almost tangible, and air so heavy with sticky heat that it felt as though it never could have been cool, the Lotus nosed its way unchallenged to the deeply indented coastline of Lower Burma. Dark though it was the silhouette of the land was even darker, dark with a solidity the air did not possess. Sagging palm fronds hung motionless against the heavens like an ornamental frieze cut out of black paper. Nothing moved except the Lotus and an ever widening ripple that started at its bows and ran back as straight as lines drawn with a ruler to fade and at last vanish in the mysterious gloom of the strait. The only sound was the soft throb of the engine running at quarter speed.

  Ayert stood at the wheel, seldom moving, his whitened face giving him the appearance of some frightful pagan idol, his one eye probing the darkness ahead for the mouth of the little river which he had asserted would make an ideal landfall. Nor was his navigation at fault, although the method he employed was not apparent to the men who stood near him. Perhaps there was no method. If there was, perhaps Ayert himself did not know it. Perhaps he was actuated by sheer instinct. However that may be he found the river, and the launch, travelling noiselessly now and dead slow, entered it like a black panther slinking into a cave that hid its den. For a minute or two the launch went on, slowly losing way; then, without shock or jar, it scraped its side against the southern bank.

  ‘Nice work, Ayert,’ commended Biggles quietly. ‘You think the launch will be all right here?’

  ‘No one come,’ answered the bosun. ‘Hide here from Navy gunboat many time. No find.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get along. Lead the way,’ requested Biggles.

  There was inevitably a certain amount of noise – the rasp of steel, the rustle of accoutrements and the patter of sandalled feet – as the commandos rose up from the deck on which they had been lying and climbed over the rail; but once ashore there was no more noise. Ginger felt a cold chill run down his spine as he looked at the whitewashed faces, hideous to behold, filing past him. They did not look much like white men, he thought, unless the faces were those of dead men. They looked more like creatures from another world.

  Ayert and two big Malays led the way through the jungle. The English men came next with Lalla, and the rest followed in single file. Again, how Ayert found his way was a mystery, for there was no track; but he moved with confidence, and Biggles, who knew they were now entirely in his hands, was content to follow. He was only too glad to have a guide in such a place.

  From the place of disembarkation to Victoria Point was, so Ayert had stated, an hour’s march. But here his reckoning was at fault, due perhaps to frequent halts which he called while the ground ahead was reconnoitred or some suspicious sound investigated; as a result, an hour and a half by Biggles’ watch had elapsed before Ayert halted, touched him on the arm, and announced that the settlement lay just ahead. For some time they had been skirting patches of cultivated ground.

  Knowing that Ayert could move with no more noise than a cat walking on a pile carpet Biggles requested him to go forward alone and locate the position of enemy sentries, if any. He had a fair mental picture of the place from a map showing the main features which Ayert had provided, but the first obvious precaution was to ascertain the number and position of enemy troops. Upon this information would the direction of the assault be determined. There seemed no immediate need for haste, and his intention was, as he had told the others coming over, to spend some time getting the men in the best possible positions before striking a blow. Then, at a word, the place could be taken at a rush before the enemy could stand to arms in any sort of military order. That was what he hoped. It was a reasonable if conventional plan, and had it been put into execution it might have succeeded. But in the event things fell out differently, as in war they so often do.

  The first intimation that the plan might go adrift occurred when Ayert returned in such haste that he made a good deal of noise. From the way he forced a passage through the undergrowth it was clear that he was in a hurry; and when he appeared it was at once apparent from his manner that something of extreme importance was afoot. He beckoned urgently, but all he said – in a voice thick with excitement – was, ‘Quick’. Without waiting for a reply, without waiting for anything, he turned and darted forward, pushing his way through bushes regardless of noise.

  Biggles did not wait for explanations. He followed, as did the others; Ginger with his pulses racing, for he was convinced that something serious had gone amiss. He could not hazard a guess as to what it might be, but he was conscious of an atmosphere of impending tragedy, perhaps disaster. Even so, the sight that met his eyes when a minute later he burst through the undergrowth far exceeded in melodramatic effect anything that he could have imagined.

  They had emerged from the jungle right in the village. At any rate there was an open space with a number of buildings clustered round it. Here, in sharp contrast to the dark silence of the forest, there was light and movement. Of this Ginger was only vaguely aware. His eyes were drawn straight to a central group of figures that in some strange way gave him an impression of actors on a stage.

  There were eight men in the group, not counting a form that lay prone in a grotesque position a few yards away. There was a man who held up a blazing torch. It was this torch that provided the light – or rather, a lurid glow. There was another, a huge man, stripped to the waist, with a curved sword held above his head. And there was a man on his knees with his head thrust forward, a position in which he was being held by two Japanese soldiers. This man – Ginger stared, hardly able to believe his eyes – was Algy. It was plain that his struggles were causing a delay. The titan with the sword was waiting for a chance to strike without risk of injury to the soldiers. The others appeared to be spectators. One was trying to move forward, but was being restrained. Although it lasted only for a second this picture was engraved on Ginger’s brain with the faithfulness of a photographic record. And so unexpected and shocking was it that it seemed to deprive him of the power of movement. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

  From this condition he was jerked with violence by an explosion within a yard of him. The man with the sword staggered slightly, but kept his feet. The point of the sword came to the ground and he leaned with one hand on the weapon while with the other he groped at his side. The soldiers who were holding Algy sprang erect. The man with the torch stood still, but his face turned sharply in the direction of the interruption. The legs of the man with the sword seemed suddenly to crumple, and with an animal bellow he sank to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye Ginger saw Biggles take a pace forward and fire again.

  Just what happened after that was never clear in his mind. It was a confused picture. He found himself running forward with others, shouting. Shots rang out. Japanese soldiers appeared from houses, some armed, some unarmed, some in uniform, some in night attire. He saw Biggles shoot the man with the torch as he bolted. The torch fell to the ground and the light became dim. Henry was running after two soldiers who were making for a large bungalow. Some officers dashed out of this bungalow, and as quickly ran back inside. T
here was no order about anything. To complete a scene of confusion, with an incredible amount of noise the white-faced commandos surged into the picture. Ginger learned afterwards that Ayert, seeing how things were going, had called on them to charge; and this they did. Ginger stood and stared, slightly dazed, wondering which way to go. He heard Biggles’ voice. It sounded angry, and it restored him to something like normal.

  ‘The thing’s got out of hand,’ snarled Biggles. ‘Where’s Ayert?’

  Ginger looked round but could not see the bosun. He saw Algy, looking completely bewildered, rubbing his wrists as he talked wildly to Tug; and, to his astonishment, he saw Major Marling, followed by Lalla, running towards the big bungalow. They both carried rifles.

  ‘Why, there’s Marling,’ said Ginger stupidly. ‘Where the deuce did he come from?’

  ‘He was here with Algy,’ snapped Biggles. Then he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ‘No use trying to do anything with this mob now. We’d better look after ourselves.’

  Algy strode up. He, too, seemed angry. ‘I’m going to get that poodle-faking admiral,’ he raged, and snatching up the executioner’s sword tore towards the bungalow.

  Biggles shouted to him to come back, but apparently he did not hear. By now the noise was indescribable. ‘Everyone’s gone mad,’ rasped Biggles. ‘We might as well go mad too. Come on!’ He ran towards the bungalow.

  Fighting was now going on everywhere. On all sides men were running, yelling. Some were wrestling on the ground. Parangs and rifle butts were rising and falling. The air was full of noise and flying bullets. Ginger saw a Japanese officer dash out of the bungalow and streak for the forest. He did not get far. Half a dozen commandos converged on him and he went down under whirling rifle butts. A number of Chinese coolies had appeared from somewhere and were rushing about striking indiscriminately with shovels and all sorts of agricultural implements.

  Ginger allowed Biggles into the bungalow which he saw at a glance had been used as a military depot. Here, too, pandemonium reigned. Japanese were dashing in and out of doors and windows with yelling commandos at their heels. Major Marling was there, sitting in a chair with a rifle held like a shotgun, taking shots at Japanese as they crossed the room from one door to another. Seeing Biggles he announced cheerfully, ‘Five so far. Like potting rabbits, by gad.’

  Biggles grabbed Ayert as he ran past. ‘I want you,’ he said crisply.

  ‘Jap man’s chop head off Melong’s son!’ shouted Ayert, who seemed beside himself.

  ‘I’ll chop your head off if you don’t listen to me!’ shouted Biggles. ‘This place is worse than a madhouse.’ It is doubtful if Ayert understood, but he stopped, breathing heavily. Biggles told him to collect his men and get them in some sort of order.

  ‘You’ll never stop them now; they’re berserk,’ said Marling casually. ‘The trouble with these chaps is they tend to get out of hand.’

  ‘Tend to get out of hand!’ cried Biggles with bitter sarcasm. ‘They’re like a lot of wild animals.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Marling cheerfully. ‘They’re having the time of their lives,’ he added. ‘Leave ’em alone for a bit – they’ll mop the place up for you.’

  Algy burst in, eyes wild. ‘Where’s Tamashoa?’ he demanded belligerently. ‘I can’t find the skunk. I want him.’

  ‘Okay, help yourself,’ said Biggles. ‘I give up.’ Henry appeared, driving in front of him at the muzzle of his pistol a Japanese officer who cried aloud in English that he had always been a friend of the British – or something of the sort. The Japanese are supposed not to know fear; but it struck Ginger that if ever a man looked thoroughly scared it was Henry’s prisoner.

  ‘Found him trying to burn the contents of the safe,’ said Henry.

  ‘I know that rabbit!’ cried Algy. ‘He speaks English. He’s the interpreter. He’s one of the bunch that sent me out to have my block knocked off.’ He addressed the prisoner with harsh precision. ‘Where’s Tamashoa?’

  The interpreter did not argue. ‘Gone,’ he answered in a voice pitched high with terror.

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Penang. He attends a conference.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘The forces on Elephant Island.’

  ‘Don’t tell lies.’

  ‘He was gone in automobile only a minute before the battle starts,’ asserted the prisoner desperately.

  ‘I think he must be telling the truth or we should have found Tamashoa here,’ put in Biggles. ‘It looks as if it’s his lucky day.’

  Before anything more could be said on this subject Tug came in, his shirt torn and the light of battle in his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ returned Biggles. ‘And don’t you go off again,’ he added curtly. ‘Have you seen Lalla?’

  ‘He was outside a minute ago making cats’ meat of a Japanese who tried to crack his skull with a gun. Why?’

  ‘Only that I’m going home,’ answered Biggles. ‘I’ve got what I came here for and that’s enough. We’ll set fire to this place and get out. Collect any books and papers you can find and bring them along – they may tell us something.’ He turned to the door.

  CHAPTER 18

  LI CHI COMES BACK

  ALGY’S RAGE SEEMED to have subsided somewhat. ‘You were just about in time,’ he told Biggles. ‘Things were beginning to look extremely dim. They were just going to chop my head off.’

  ‘So I noticed.’

  ‘Did you know I was here, or was it an accident?’

  ‘We knew,’ answered Biggles. ‘I didn’t know the major was here though. Nor did I know anything about this head chopping or I should have been here earlier. It shook me when I saw what was happening, I can tell you.’

  ‘Not so much as it shook me, I’ll bet,’ said Algy warmly. ‘Now you know what Tamashoa does to prisoners who won’t talk.’

  Biggles nodded. ‘The fellow must be an absolute swine,’ he said in a disgusted voice. ‘You can tell me all about it when we get back. Are you all right?’

  ‘Right enough. The major’s wounded though – had a bayonet poked through his leg.’

  ‘Nothing to speak of,’ interposed Marling calmly. ‘Clean forgot all about it in the excitement. Where’s that confounded boy of mine?’ He crossed the room to an open window and looked out. ‘Here, I say, come and look at this,’ he went on.

  Biggles strode to the window. It overlooked the estuary. ‘The destroyers!’ he exclaimed. ‘By thunder! We’ve done it!’

  ‘They’ve taken on a queer sort of list, haven’t they?’ observed the major.

  ‘They’re aground,’ answered Biggles. ‘Good thing for us they are too. Phew! What a target they’d make, helpless on their beam ends. There are the kabangs too. We heard the Japanese were getting them ready to invade Elephant Island.’ He beckoned to Ayert and pointed at the small craft now lying high and dry on the mud. ‘Get your men together and tell them to knock the bottoms out of those kabangs,’ he ordered. ‘Be quick. We’ll meet you outside.’ After Ayert had gone he turned back to the others. ‘Let’s get out of this while the going’s good. No sense in overdoing it. The Japanese may come back.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Marling. ‘There weren’t many here, you know – not above forty, I should say. Some are away at Shansie and others are out on patrol.’

  ‘We’ll get back all the same,’ decided Biggles. ‘Bring the prisoner along, Henry. Maybe he’ll do some more talking.’

  But the prisoner had ideas of his own about this. Suddenly, with the speed of despair, he took a flying leap through the open window. Ginger, who was still holding his pistol, took a snap shot at him but only succeeded in knocking a chip off the sill. Jumping to the window hoping for a second shot, looking down he saw that the wretched interpreter could not have chosen a worse moment for his attempt. Ayert and a number of his men was on their way to the kabangs and the Japanese had landed in the middle of them. His cry of fear was cut off by fierce yells of exu
ltation. Ginger turned away quickly. There was nothing he could do about it.

  ‘He didn’t get far,’ he told Biggles. ‘He nearly jumped on top of Ayert. He’d have done better to jump on a tiger.’ He glanced at the major. ‘These men are savage,’ he observed.

  ‘Of course they’re savage, my boy,’ replied the major sharply. ‘So would you be savage had you lived here and seen your friends carved up. Why, half an hour ago that infernal rascal stood calmly by and watched Melong’s son decapitated.’

  From outside came a noise of banging and thumping as the commandos joyfully disposed of the invasion craft. Biggles gave them a few minutes, then went to the window and called Ayert. ‘Get your men together,’ he ordered. ‘We’re going home before those sailors on the destroyers find some way of getting ashore. Any man who stays behind will have to get home as best he can. We can’t wait.’

  ‘What’s the idea of the white faces?’ asked the major.

  Biggles told him.

  ‘You’ll succeed in your purpose,’ declared Marling. ‘Any Japanese who manages to get away to save his face will swear that the post was attacked by a thousand Europeans.’

  ‘I don’t think many will get away,’ said Lalla, who now joined the party.

  After that it was largely a matter of routine. With ferocious threats and some delay Ayert managed to remuster his men, for although all resistance had ceased they seemed in no hurry to leave. A searchlight coming into action from one of the destroyers hastened them. Casualties, it was now ascertained, had been light. Only five men were missing although several were wounded. These made light of their wounds and laughingly declined medical attention. The general atmosphere was that of a picnic, and the behaviour of the wounded rather like that of children who are stung by nettles.