by W E Johns
Speaking in German, he had said in a harsh tone of voice: ‘I’ll tell these young fools of mine to let machines get farther in, in future, before they shoot them down. It’s a good thing you know this country as well as you do, Pallini.’
A voice answered haltingly in the same language: ‘Yes, Hauptmann1 von Zoyton, it is a long way again. It was near here that the last machine was brought down. Fortunately I know every inch of the country, but it is always a good thing to have a light to march on. It makes it easier.’
It was now possible to see that both riders wore uniforms, although it was not easy to make out the details. Ginger watched them go past, with the words still ringing in his ears. Then the second part of the caravan drew in line. It comprised, first, the four camels, but this time the riders seemed to have their bodies wrapped in ragged sheets which reached up to their mouths, leaving only the eyes exposed. Rifle barrels projected high above their shoulders. Behind, striding on sandalled feet, were four other men similarly dressed, acting, it seemed, as an escort for five men who walked together in a dejected little group. Four were civilians and the other an officer, a heavily-built man with a square-cut black beard. Ginger caught the flash of gold braid on his sleeves and shoulders. These, too, passed on, and soon the entire caravan had merged as mysteriously as it had appeared into the vague shadows of the nearest range of hills.
Biggles neither moved nor spoke for a good five minutes after the party had disappeared. When he did speak his voice was the merest whisper.
‘Very interesting,’ he murmured. ‘We’re learning quite a lot.’
‘Who did you make them out to be?’ asked Ginger.
‘Of the two fellows in front, one was a German and the other Italian. The Italian, whom the other called Pallini, was probably a local political officer – that would account for his knowing the country. His companion, you will remember, he called von Zoyton. It may not be the same man, but there has been a lot of talk up in the Western Desert about a star-turn pilot named von Zoyton – he commands a Messerschmitt jagdstaffel2, and has some sort of stunt, a trick turn, they say, that has enabled him to pile up a big score of victories. I’m inclined to think it must be the same chap, sent down here for the express purpose of closing our trans-continental air route. The other mounted fellows, judging by their veils, were Toureg. There were also some Toureg on foot. The five people with them were prisoners, the passengers of the Dragon, on their way, no doubt, to the enemy camp. The beam was put up as a guide.’
‘You seem very sure of that,’ said Ginger curiously.
‘I’m certain of it,’ declared Biggles. ‘You see, the fellow with the black beard was General Demaurice. I’ve never seen him in the flesh before, but I recognised him from photographs.’
‘Is he an important man?’
‘Very.’
‘Then why didn’t we attempt a rescue? We had the whole outfit stone cold. They had no idea we were here.’
‘All right; don’t get worked up,’ replied Biggles quietly. ‘It was neither the time nor place for a rescue. To start with, they were forty feet below us, and to break our legs by jumping down would have been silly. Suppose we had got the prisoners, what could we have done with them? We couldn’t fly five passengers in two Spits, and they certainly couldn’t have walked to Salima Oasis.’
‘We could have fetched the Whitley from Karga.’
‘Long before we could have got it here the Messerschmitts would have been out looking for us. Don’t suppose I didn’t contemplate a rescue, but it seemed to me one of those occasions when restraint was the better part of valour. Don’t worry, our turn will come. We’re doing fine. We know definitely that enemy machines are operating in the desert, and the approximate direction of their base. The only thing we have to reproach ourselves about is the loss of the Dragon, although now we know the technique that is being employed we ought to be able to prevent such a thing from happening again. Cruising about the desert with a compass that is liable to go gaga at any moment is, I must admit, definitely disconcerting; it means that we shall have to check up constantly on landmarks – such as they are.’
‘How about the Messerschmitts – why aren’t their compasses upset at the same time?’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘There may be several answers to that,’ he answered slowly. ‘Their compasses may be specially insulated, or it may be they don’t take off until the beam is switched off. The object of the beam seems to be to bring machines flying over the route nearer to the German base, to save the enemy from making long journeys in surface vehicles to the scene of a crash.’
‘Why do they want to visit the crash, anyway?’
‘To collect any mails or dispatches that are on board.’
‘Of course, I’d forgotten that.’ Ginger stood up. ‘As nothing more is likely to happen tonight we may as well be getting back.’
‘Not so fast,’ answered Biggles. ‘We can’t take off yet, or the noise of our engines will be heard by von Zoyton and his party. We don’t want them to know we’re about. Still, we may as well get back to the machines.’
Biggles got up and led the way back to where the two Spitfires were standing side by side, looking strangely out of place in such a setting. He squatted down on the still-warm sand and allowed a full hour to pass before he climbed into his cockpit. As he told Ginger, he had plenty to think about and plans to make. But at length, satisfied that the desert raiders were out of earshot, he started his engine. Ginger did the same. The machines took off together and cruised back to the oasis, which was reached without mishap, to find the others already making arrangements for a search as soon as it was light.
‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ muttered Algy. ‘At the rate we were going there would soon have been no squadron left,’ he continued, inclined to be critical in his relief. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Sit down, and I’ll tell you,’ answered Biggles, and gave the others a concise account of what had happened.
Tug Carrington made a pretence of spitting on his hands. ‘That’s grand,’ he declared, balancing himself on his toes and making feints at imaginary enemies. ‘Now we know where they are we can go over and shoot them up.’
‘Tug, you always were a simple-minded fellow,’ returned Biggles sadly. ‘As you know, I’m all for direct methods when they are possible, but there are certain arguments against your plan that I can’t ignore. To start with, there is no guarantee we should locate the enemy’s base – you can be pretty certain it’s well camouflaged – whereas they would certainly see us. It is, therefore, far more likely that we should merely reveal our presence without serving any useful purpose. When we strike we want to hit the blighters, and hit them hard, and we shall only do that by being sure of our ground. Make no mistake; if von Zoyton is here with his jagdstaffel, we shan’t find them easy meat. They had a reputation in Libya. No, I think the situation calls for strategem.’ Biggles smiled at Algy. ‘I wonder if we could pull off’ the old trap trick?’
‘Which one?’ asked Algy, grinning. ‘There were several varieties, if you remember?’
‘The decoy.’
‘We might try it. But what shall we use for bait?’
‘The Whitley.’
‘You must think von Zoyton is a fool. He wouldn’t be tricked by that.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of sending it through in its. present war paint. By washing out the ring markings, and giving it a set of identification letters, we could make it look like a civil machine. Let’s try it. After all, it can but fail. Remember, the Boches don’t know we’re here. Bertie, you’ve had a quiet day. Do you feel like playing mouse in a little game of cat-and-mouse?’
Bertie polished his eyeglass industriously. ‘Absolutely, old top,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll play any part you like, you bet I will, if it means hitting von what’s-his-name a wallop.’
‘That’s fine,’ returned Biggles. ‘This is what you have to do. Go to Karga. Tell Angus what’s in the wind. Get all hands working on the W
hitley, making it look as much like a civil machine as possible. Then, at dawn, take off and fly it through. You’ll have to work fast. Come over here at about ten thousand, and then head for the danger zone.’
‘Here, I say, what about some guns?’ protested Bertie.
‘You can stick as many guns in as you like, as far as I’m concerned,’ granted Biggles. ‘Angus will provide you with some gunners. But don’t go fooling about. You’re not supposed to fight. Leave that to us. We shall be upstairs, waiting for the Messerschmitts. Angus can send out a radio signal that you’re on your way. If von Zoyton picks it up he’ll soon be after you. Is that clear?’
‘Absolutely, yes, absolutely,’ murmured Bertie. ‘What fun! Here I go. See you in the morning. Cheerio, and so forth.’
The others watched him take off and disappear in the starry sky towards the east.
Biggles turned away. ‘All right, chaps, go to bed,’ he ordered. ‘We have a busy day in front of us tomorrow.’
1 German rank equivalent to Captain.
2 A hunting group of German fighter planes. A staffel consisted of twelve planes.
CHAPTER 5
THE DECOY
THE NEXT MORNING, while the sky was turning from pink to eggshell blue and the palms were nodding in the dawn-wind, Flight-Sergeant Smythe reported to Biggles, who, with the four pilots who remained with him, was at breakfast.
‘Signal, sir, from Karga. British aircraft, G-UROK is on its way to the West Coast,’ he reported.
‘Good. Stand by for further signals.’
The flight-sergeant saluted and retired.
‘All right, you chaps, there’s no hurry,’ went on Biggles, lighting a cigarette. ‘It will be some time before Bertie gets to the danger zone. I’ll just run over the programme again to make sure you understand the scheme – we don’t want any mistakes. What eventually happens must, of course, largely depend on how many machines von Zoyton sends up against the Whitley – assuming that he will try to stop it. As he sent three against the Dragon – Ginger saw only three, you remember – he’ll probably use the same number again. Three fighters certainly ought to be enough for one commercial aircraft, which he will, we hope, take the Whitley to be. We shall meet the Whitley about fifty miles or so east of here. I shall take up a position immediately above it, at twenty thousand, with Ginger and Tug. Algy, you’ll take Tex with you and sit up at twenty-five thousand, a trifle to the north, always keeping us, and the Whitley, in sight. We shall take on the Messerschmitts if they turn up. Your job, with Tex, is to see that none of them get home – cut off anyone who tries. That, I am well aware, sounds optimistic, and we may not be able to do it; but we must try, because if we can prevent any of the enemy from getting back it will still leave all the cards in our hands. It will be von Zoyton’s turn to start worrying – wondering what happened to his machines. If any of his machines do get back it will be open war in future, because he’ll know there’s a British squadron on the job. Speaking from experience, I should say that when the Messerschmitts go for the Whitley they won’t look at anything else, for the simple reason, not having had any opposition before, they won’t look for it this time. We should be on them before they know we’re about – perhaps get one or two at the first crack. If a combat starts, you, AIgy, and Tex, will get between the Nazis and home, although as I said just now, much is bound to depend on how many of them there are, if, in fact, they show up. If they don’t, well, no harm will have been done, and we shall have to think of something else. And now, if that’s clear, we may as well get ready to move off. We’ll leave the ground in half an hour; that will give Bertie time to get to our area. Algy and Tex will take off first and go straight up topsides; the rest of us will follow.’ Biggles finished his coffee, stamped his cigarette end into the sandy floor, and led the way to where the machines were parked under camouflage netting.
One by one they were dragged clear. Algy and Tex climbed into their seats. Engines sprang to life, and the machines taxied out to the clear sand. In a few minutes they were in the air, with their wheels, no longer required, tucked away. The other three machines followed, and flew eastward, climbing, and taking up their battle stations. These attained, all five machines, taking their lead from Biggles, settled down to steady cruising speed. The desert, Ginger noticed, was much the same as that on the western side of the oasis.
It was nearly half an hour before the Whitley came into view, but once seen, the distance between it and its escort closed swiftly. It took no notice of the five machines above it, but held steadily on its course. Biggles swung round in a wide semi-circle, throttled back to the same speed as the decoy, and the trap was ready to spring.
For a long time nothing happened. The oasis came into view some distance to the south, but still the six machines went on, and on, until Ginger began to fear that the scheme had failed. Surely, if the Messerschmitts were coming they would have appeared by now? Suddenly the rocky country appeared ahead, and his nerves tingled, for it told him they were off their true course; the magnetic interference had been switched on, which suggested, if it did not actually prove, that the enemy was aware of the approach of a British aircraft.
Biggles knew the direction from which trouble would come, if it came, and his eyes focused themselves on the sun-tortured atmosphere that quivered above the rocky hills to the north-west; and watching, his eyes lit up in a smile of satisfaction as they found what they sought. Three specks were racing towards the Whitley, looking, from his superior altitude, like three winged insects crawling swiftly over the sand. Concentrating his attention on them he made them out to be Messerschmitt 109’s. They were flying lower than he expected, which suggested, as he had predicted, that they were supremely confident, and had no doubt as to the result of the encounter with the big British machine. Biggles watched them, doing no more for the moment than alter his course slightly to put his machine – and at the same time those of his followers – in line with the sun. He waited until the Messerschmitts were about a mile away, and then, after a hand signal to Ginger and Tug, flying wing tip to wing tip on either side of him, he pushed his control column forward, and with his eyes on the leading Messerschmitt roared down in an almost vertical dive.
At this juncture an unexpected development brought a frown of anxiety to his forehead. The three Messerschmitts parted company, giving Biggles the impression that only one was going to attack while the other two would act as shepherds to prevent their apparently easy prey from escaping. What upset Biggles was the leading Messerschmitt’s obvious intention of launching its attack from immediately below the Whitley. It was tearing down in a steep dive, obviously gathering speed for a vertical zoom, and it seemed as if this might happen before Biggles could get within effective range.
And this. in fact, did happen, although the attack did not end as Biggles feared it might, and as the Messerschmitt pilot evidentally thought it would. The Whitley, which had been cruising along as unconcernedly as a seagull, suddenly skidded round on its axis, and then banked sharply. A split second later. a cloud of tracer1 bullets burst from three places in the Whitley, converging on the Messerschmitt which, after a convulsive jerk at this unexpected reception, tore out of the field of fire like a scalded cat. Biggles’ face broke into one of its rare grins of delight at this unexpected performance on the part of Bertie, whom he could imagine sitting at the controls of the Whitley with an irate, monocled eye on his attacker.
Biggles’ smile soon faded, however. The matter was too serious. The other Messerschmitts had also seen what had happened, for they had turned smartly towards the Whitley with the clear intention of attacking it on two sides. It was impossible for Biggles to watch all four machines, so leaving Ginger and Tug to deal with the two outside Messerschmitts he went straight at the leader who, having recovered somewhat from his fright, was returning to the attack with a greater exercise of caution. Pursuing the Whitley it is doubtful if he thought to look behind him; indeed, he could not have done so, or he would have been boun
d to see Biggles; and had he seen him he would have taken evasive action. As it was, he offered a perfect target, and as there are no rules in air combat, Biggles did not hesitate to take advantage of it.
Closing in to within a hundred feet to make sure there could be no mistake, he took the Messerschmitt in the red-crossed lines of his sight, and fired. It was only a short burst, but it was enough. It is doubtful if the Nazi pilot knew what had hit him. Pieces flew off his machine; it fell over on one wing, and slipped into a spin; one wing broke off at the roots, and the fuselage, spinning vertically round its remaining wing, its engine racing, plunged like a torpedo into the sand. Biggles knew that the pilot must have been killed by his burst of fire, or he would have baled out, or, at any rate, switched off his engine.
All this had happened in less time than it takes to tell. Even while his opponent was spinning Biggles had snatched a glance at the sky around him, for in modern air combat every second is vital. The scene had entirely changed. A second Messerschmitt, trailing behind it a sheet of white flame, was plunging earthward. Ginger and Tug were turning away from it, which told Biggles that they had both attacked the same machine, which was a mistake, for it left the third machine a chance to retreat, a chance it had not hesitated to take. Nose down, it was racing towards the north-west
Again Biggles smiled grimly as he saw the Whitley in futile pursuit; as well might a frog have tried to catch a greyhound. Biggles, too, turned instinctively to follow the escaping machine, although he was doubtful if he would be able to overtake it – not that it really mattered, for looking up he saw Algy and Tex coming down like a pair of winged bombs to cut it off. Having the advantage of many thousands of feet of height, they would have no difficulty in doing this. The plan was working smoothly.
