by W E Johns
Biggles looked surprised. ‘There’s nothing for you to do here.’
‘I’ve no intention of staying here,’ said the major firmly. ‘I’ve discussed the matter with my son. We shall return to Shansie.’
Biggles looked incredulous. ‘Shansie! Why?’
‘You seem to forget I have my people to look after.’
‘What about the Japanese?’
‘To the devil with them.’
‘Yes, but who’s going to send them to the devil?’
‘I shall, sir. From inside the jungle I shall organize a guerilla war against the scum. They’ll be sorry they ever came to Shansie – yes, by gad! Nothing like sudden death always on the prowl after dark to get a man’s nerves on edge. I had some of that in the old days, so I know – yes, by Jove!’
‘How are you going to get back?’
‘Ayert has promised to find us a prahu.’
‘What about your leg?’
The major flared up. ‘Dammit sir, I keep telling you there’s nothing wrong with my leg.’
Biggles shrugged. ‘Okay – okay, it’s your leg – you should know. If you want to go it isn’t for me to try to stop you. I’ll take you across to the mainland in the Lotus.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, sir. You are engaged in a military operation. Your place is here. We shall go alone. The matter is settled.’
‘In that case there’s nothing more to be said,’ murmured Biggles. ‘I’ll have a word with you before you go about collecting your rubber.’
‘Good man. I was going to suggest it.’
Here the debate was brought to an end by the arrival of Taffy, who had been out watching the Sumatran. He reported that she was well out to sea. Li Chi had signalled that all was well.
‘We’ll have another look at her before nightfall,’ said Biggles. ‘For the moment that seems to be all. We may as well have a spot of lunch. Bertie, stand by a Lightning in case we have visitors. Tex will relieve you in an hour.’
The rest of the day passed quietly. Towards sunset Biggles himself went out in a Lightning to look at the Sumatran which, to his relief, he found still heading west at full speed. He was about to turn back when, to his amazement he saw an aircraft coming from the west. He went to meet it. It was a Liberator. Looking at his watch and making a quick calculation he noted that there had just been time for the first Liberator out that morning to get back. He flew in with the machine. In the cockpit was Ferocity.
‘You didn’t waste any time,’ greeted Biggles, when they met on the runway.
‘We just slung the rubber out of her and refuelled,’ said Ferocity.
One by one, as daylight faded, the other machines came in. Last of all came Algy, to make a night landing. ‘You might have waited until tomorrow,’ said Biggles, as they all went to meet him. ‘No use killing yourself.’
‘I’ve got a message from Raymond, so I thought you’d better have it,’ answered Algy. His eyes were heavy-lidded from weariness, but he said nothing about being tired. ‘It’s about the proposition you put up,’ he went on. ‘There’s nothing doing.’
A frown appeared in Biggles’ forehead. ‘Say that again.’
‘You’re to forget about the destroyers and the troopships,’ reported Algy. ‘You will ignore everything except the rubber until you are forced by enemy action to evacuate the island, or until fresh orders are issued. That’s what Raymond said.’
‘I see, thanks,’ murmured Biggles.
‘I call that pretty good,’ sneered Tex. ‘Forget about the troopships, eh? We’ll be blown sideways out of this dump inside three days.’
‘And the destroyers! What a chance to chuck away,’ growled Tug.
‘We look like getting rubbed out with our own perishing rubber,’ said Ferocity, with bitter cynicism. ‘Trust headquarters to think of something smart.’
Biggles’ eyes narrowed as he looked from one to the the other. ‘What’s all this about?’ he asked sharply. ‘You heard the orders, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’ began Henry.
‘But – nothing,’ rapped out Biggles. ‘If orders say we’re to go on loading rubber we go on loading rubber.’
‘It looks to me—’ sighed Taffy.
Biggles cut him short. ‘How it looks to you has nothing to do with it, Taffy. How it looks to the High Command is what counts. Okay. That’s all. Get these kites1 loaded with rubber. There isn’t room for all of them in the shelter so I shall want some of them off the teak before daylight in case a prowling Mitsubishi comes along with a basket of groceries. If that happened we should have something to moan about. Get weaving.’
Algy turned away. Knowing Biggles better than the rest he could sense his bitter disappointment. He also knew him too well to comment at that moment.
Major Marling and Lalla departed for Shansie. Biggles saw them off. He did not expect to see them again. ‘If you want anything and can let me know I’ll see what I can do about it,’ he offered.
‘We shall be all right,’ returned the major cheerfully.
Biggles went back to the runway.
For the first time a full squadron was on the island.
1 Slang: aeroplanes.
CHAPTER 20
THE STORM BREAKS
FOR TWO DAYS peace reigned on Elephant Island. In the intervals between the comings and goings of the Liberators, now running to a regular timetable, there might have been no war within a thousand miles. Nevertheless, it was an uneasy peace, and an unnatural one, as Biggles was only too well aware. His eyes were turned constantly, questioningly, towards the mainland.
Work on the runway had stopped. It was large enough for all practical purposes now that every member of the squadron knew where it was, and as residence on the island seemed likely to be curtailed Biggles decided that there was no point in going on with it. He advised Ayert to keep the men employed on the junk which, he said, might be needed earlier than was expected. Reconnaissance sorties – most of them made by himself, for all pilots employed on the trans-ocean run were showing signs of fatigue – revealed that the Sumatran was out of danger unless she fell foul of a remote-operating enemy submarine. Arrangements had been made by Algy, during one of the operational flights, that she should now be safeguarded by India-based aircraft.
Biggles had two worries. The first was, of course, the troop transports, which were drawing near. He had seen them and watched them from a great height. There was nothing he could do to stop them unless he called for special equipment for the purpose, and this, in view of his orders, he would not do. The other was the embankment at Shansie which the Japanese were repairing. This had first been reported by a spy and later confirmed by air reconnaissance. He had no bombs left, or – as he told the others – he would have felt inclined to hinder the work in order to keep the destroyers where they were. Once afloat they would, he felt sure, be used against the island. Yet a request for more bombs would certainly be met with the question, for what purpose did he want them? Should he return a true answer – and he would not return any other – he would be told to get on with his job, which was the transport of rubber. He fretted with impotence. The end seemed to be approaching fast and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. By evening of the following day the transports would arrive. Should they be supported by aircraft it might be difficult to get away. One bomb or shell on the runway would be sufficient to put it out of action.
The failure of Air Commodore Raymond to make any sign that would relieve the tension strained his confidence. He could not understand it. He had never let the Air Commodore down. The Air Commodore had never let the squadron down. Was he on leave? Was he working on another operation? If not, why didn’t he do something? The Air Ministry wanted rubber, wanted it badly. Pure rubber was a bottle-neck in industry. He had sent across nearly three thousand tons, but unless there was a radical change in the situation in the next twelve hours the remaining two thousand tons would be lost, for he had determined to burn it rather than allow it t
o fall into the hands of the enemy. Tomorrow would be the last day. He would begin with the evacuation of the native workmen to other islands, in the Lotus, which could then be scuttled.
As the sun went down, one by one the Liberators came in. They could not return to India that night. The pilots, every one of them, were dead on their feet. Presently one of them would fall asleep over the controls, the inevitable outcome of over-weariness aggravated by strain. As the sun sank into the western ocean he took a last look at the runway, on which three of the Liberators were parked. The Lightnings were there too, and the Gosling, all in the open, for there was no room for them in the shelter. True, they had been camouflaged, more or less, with such materials as were at hand; but this, he knew, was not enough to deceive an efficient reconnaissance pilot. It was a situation he had always tried to avoid, for the war had proved that without air superiority it was impossible to maintain aircraft within striking distance of land-based enemy bombers. Every instinct in him recoiled from having his machines out in the open, but here again there was nothing more he could do except get the aircraft off the ground, en route for India, before daylight. He welcomed the darkness, but it would not last long enough to give the weary pilots the rest they needed.
He found Algy, Bertie and Angus sitting in cane chairs on the verandah talking in low tones. Ginger and Tug lay on the bamboo floor, asleep. Algy said the others had gone inside to sleep – they could not stand the mosquitos. Not that it was much better inside.
Biggles evacuated a six-inch centipede from the verandah with a vicious kick, and, pulling up a chair, lit a cigarette and sat down.
‘I had a look at the transports about an hour ago,’ he remarked evenly. ‘They should be in sight of the island about dawn. If nothing happens in the meantime I reckon they’ll arrive here before noon. With plenty of daylight in front of them the troops will probably land right away.’
‘What do we do – try to stop them?’ queried Algy.
‘With what?’ asked Biggles. ‘If we turned out with all Li Chi’s men we might kill a few Japanese, but it would be the end of Li Chi’s crew and he might not like the idea of our inviting them to commit suicide. That’s what it would mean. It’s no use kidding ourselves. We couldn’t stop the landing, so why try? It would be better to burn the rest of the rubber and give Ayert and his gang a chance to slip away. In the long run they’ll do more good alive than dead. I wish Li Chi was here. It’s his rubber. He might be able to suggest an alternative to burning it. But I’m not leaving it for the Japanese.’
‘We could get a few more tons across tomorrow morning, old boy,’ suggested Bertie.
‘A mere fleabite, but we’ll do that, of course. Our last orders were to go on shipping rubber so we shall go on doing that as long as it is possible. I still can’t help feeling that Raymond will see us through. It isn’t like him to let a unit down.’
‘Aye, but he’s leaving it mighty late,’ put in Angus.
‘Sure there were no fresh orders for me at Madras, Algy?’ queried Biggles.
‘Not a word. Station Headquarters was my last call before I took off.’
‘I see. Well, we shall just have to carry on. There’s nothing more we can do without disobeying orders.’
Tug sat up and stepped into the conversation. ‘I reckon we should be justified in pulling out,’ he opined. ‘If we wait till tomorrow we may wait too long. Those transports are bound to carry guns, and with the rest of the island covered with jungle they would be bound to open up on the lake. It only needs one shell to tear up our landing strip and we’re here for keeps.’
‘I think you’re quite right, Tug,’ admitted Biggles. ‘But it so happens that our orders are to carry on.’
‘Until we’re knocked out by enemy action?’
‘Exactly. We can’t say that the enemy has knocked us out – yet. He isn’t even in sight.’
‘He’ll be in sight tomorrow morning.’
‘A lot of things could happen between now and tomorrow morning. To lose faith in the High Command is bad, Tug.’
‘Haven’t you lost faith in ’em?’
‘No.’
‘If they’re going to do anything why don’t they tip us off?’
‘For security reasons, probably. If the enemy got to know what was cooking we should be the first to suffer. But talking won’t get us anywhere. You fellows had better grab some sleep. Angus, you’re on the roster for the first show tomorrow. Who are the others?’
‘Taffy, Henry, Tex and Tug.’
‘I see. Ginger and Ferocity will cover you in the Lightnings while you get off. I’m going to roost.’ Biggles went into the bungalow, kicked off his shoes, lay down on a mat and was soon asleep.
He was awakened by the roar of a low-flying aircraft. He was up in a flash. He had no idea of how long he had been asleep, but a glance at his watch told him that dawn was not far distant. Pulling on his shoes, but without stopping to lace them, he ran out. The others, too, were astir, asking each other what was happening. Nobody knew. They all gathered on the verandah.
It did not occur to Biggles that the aircraft could be anything but hostile and his first thought was for his machines. ‘Stand by to get off,’ he ordered crisply, and then stared upward, trying to pick out the machine against the star-strewn sky. He could not see it, but the sound told him that it was circling. Grey light beyond the mainland told him that dawn was about to break.
‘I should say things have started,’ he said. ‘Get the Liberators off, you fellows who are going to India. Don’t show lights. No – wait!’ he corrected himself as the machine overhead switched on its navigation lights, which of course revealed its position. A signal light winked.
‘He wants to come in,’ said Ginger.
‘More likely it’s a Japanese who wants to know just where we are,’ grated Tug, and then ducked as the aircraft skimmed low overhead.
‘It’s a Marauder1!’ shouted several voices together.
‘Get the flares out,’ ordered Biggles, and there was a rush for the runway.
Five minutes later the machine landed. With his torch Biggles guided it on to the shelter end of the runway. The engines were cut. Two passengers climbed down. One was Air Commodore Raymond, and the other Li Chi. A curious hush fell when Biggles’ torch revealed the Air Commodore, his uniform as immaculate as if he were arriving at an Air Ministry conference.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ greeted the Air Commodore. ‘Hope I didn’t give you a fright?’
‘Matter of fact, sir, you did,’ returned Biggles. ‘We’re getting into the way here of thinking all machines are hostile. How did you get hold of Li Chi?’
‘The Navy has taken over the Sumatran. They brought Li Chi into Madras in an aircraft. I found him waiting there for a lift back so I brought him along. I was coming over. Here are some of the latest newspapers – I thought you’d like to see them.’
‘Er – thanks,’ answered Biggles.
‘Everything all right here?’
‘So far,’ replied Biggles cautiously.
‘The Ministry is satisfied with the way things are going,’ went on the Air Commodore. ‘You’ve done well. Getting hold of the Sumatran wasn’t on the schedule and the Admiralty were inclined to be a bit uppish at first about airmen playing at sailors, but I smoothed things over by pointing out that it had saved you a lot of work. How about a cup of tea? I could do with one.’
Li Chi called for the cook and ordered tea for all.
‘I’m glad to hear that the Ministry is satisfied with the way things are going,’ said Biggles softly, but with a note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. ‘They are far enough away to get a comfortable view of the operation.’
‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy here?’
‘Not entirely,’ admitted Biggles. ‘We had a feeling that within the next few hours things might get a big difficult.’
‘I gathered that from your report. I shouldn’t worry. The great thing is to keep up the flow of rubber
.’ The Air Commodore looked at his watch. ‘By the way, can we see Victoria Point from here?’
‘You can see it from the hill, but not, of course, with any detail.’
‘Then let’s go up the hill,’ suggested the Air Commodore. ‘We should be able to see what I came over to watch.’
‘Hadn’t I better get my crews off to India?’ questioned Biggles.
‘No desperate hurry. They can go presently. They might like to stay and see . . .’ The Air Commodore broke off, gazing towards the west, from which direction now came a faint drone which, rising and falling, increased swiftly in volume.
‘Let’s go on up the hill or we shall miss the fun,’ said the Air Commodore.
Biggles picked up his binoculars and the whole party walked briskly to the top of the hill. By the time they had reached it the first rays of the rising sun were lancing the eastern sky with shafts of blue, pink and gold. All the time the drone in the west had been growing, until now it was not so much a drone as a deep, vibrant roar.
‘There they are,’ said the Air Commodore. He looked again at his watch. ‘Right on time,’ he added.
The others had already seen to what the Air Commodore had referred – a swarm of aircraft flying in two perfect formations at a tremendous height. With the new-born sun lighting their metal fitments with sparks of fire the aircraft forged on through the crystal-clear air, with the majesty of battleships, towards Victoria Point.
‘Forts2,’ breathed Tex.
‘Thirty-six,’ counted Ginger.
‘I asked for enough – to make a proper job,’ murmured the Air Commodore.
‘Strewth!’ exclaimed Tug.
The Air Commodore threw him a glance. ‘You seem surprised to see them?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t see why you should be. We received the report about the destroyers. You didn’t suppose we should throw away a chance like that, did you?’
‘No, sir.’
Biggles smiled faintly.
There was no more talking, for the Fortresses were now approaching their objective. Faintly across the water came a sound, a thin, long-drawn-out whine. The ground beneath the leading formation seemed to rise up in a mighty cloud of smoke and fire. The earth continued to erupt for a full minute. Across the strait came a sudden gust of wind, bearing on it a long rumble as of distant thunder.
