by W E Johns
‘What’s that, old boy?’ queried Bertie, seriously.
‘The Brigadier, who from his experience must be a pretty good judge of men, didn’t like this fellow Sekunder. He got the impression he was not to be trusted. He didn’t say so in so many words, but it was clear he thought he had a false card up his sleeve to play when it suited him. In short, Sekunder was not what he pretended to be; and that to some extent was proved when the Egyptian Archaeological Society denied all knowledge of him.’
‘As Sekunder wasn’t a pilot it’s hard to see how he could do anything underhand. I mean to say, he’d have to rely on Mander to fly him home.’
‘We have only Sekunder’s word for it that he knew nothing about flying.’
‘You think he might be able to handle a plane?’
‘It’s unlikely, but possible.’
‘But look here; had he been able to fly he wouldn’t have needed Mander. He could have worked on his own — if you get my meaning.’
‘Maybe it was the plane he wanted. Planes are expensive and he may not have had the money to buy one.’
‘Why did he pick on Mander?’
‘Since you ask me I’d say because he was young, inexperienced, and above all, enthusiastic. He would probably have gone anywhere with anybody if the object interested him.’
‘You think Sekunder told a cock-and-bull story?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. On the contrary, I’m pretty sure Sekunder believed the story he told, or something like it, or he wouldn’t have risked his life flying over such dangerous country as this. If he is playing a game of his own the trouble would blow up if something of value was found. The arrangement was, remember, equal shares. Sekunder might try to grab the lot. But all this is guesswork. Let’s wait until we get some evidence before we condemn the fellow as a trickster. The next day or two should provide the answer — if there is one.’
‘There is this about it, old boy; they haven’t been here or we’d have seen signs — litter lying about, and that sort of thing,’ remarked Bertie.
‘Matter of fact, I was rather hoping to find they’d been here because that would suggest this is the nearest water to wherever they were making for.’
‘Would they know about it?’
‘I’d think so. The oasis is big enough to be shown on the map. I reckon it’s a good half a mile long and half as wide, so they could hardly miss it. From what I’ve seen of it it’s some time since anyone was here. You’ll usually find camel dung round any desert water-hole, but what little there is here looks old stuff.’
‘Isn’t that a bit surprising — if you see what I mean?’
‘I don’t think so. After all, the place isn’t on any regular caravan trail; and there’s nothing beyond it for a long way except sand. Why should anyone come here?’
‘Then you don’t think we need mount a guard tonight?’ put in Ginger.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s obvious the place is little used. If some Arabs did turn up there’s no reason why they should do us any mischief. If you take my advice you’ll turn in while the sand is warm. It’ll be perishing towards dawn. It’s not so much the heat of the day that knocks you flat as the drop in temperature after midnight. It can fall as much as ninety degrees. Ginger, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you brewed a dish of tea to replace some of the weight we’ve lost in perspiration. I reckon I’m down ten pounds already. Tomorrow, at sun-up, we’ll start work, leaving everything here as it is. It’s unlikely there will be visitors to interfere with it.’
* * *
1 The Merlin. A twin piston-engined eight-seater originally designed for ‘feeder’ air lines in conjunction with the main air routes. Equipped with every modern device for comfort and efficiency (including a kitchenette and small refrigerator), it has speed combined with a considerable endurance range. It can climb with full load, on one engine if necessary.
2 Point of no return. A distance from which an aircraft would not be able to get back to its base. If it did, its only course would be to continue on regardless of what lay ahead.
CHAPTER 3
AN UNEASY RECONNAISSANCE
The stars were still in the sky although losing some of their brilliance when, the next morning, the airmen were on the move, Ginger preparing coffee and the others removing the protective coverings from the aircraft.
‘This is the only time of day white men can work in a climate of this nature,’ Biggles had said. ‘I want to get back here before the sun is high enough to blister our hides. By noon it’ll be hotter than hell in the open desert.’
‘What exactly is the drill?’ asked Ginger, as they crouched round a small fire with coffee and biscuits, for the thin dawn wind that ruffled the palm fronds was bitterly cold.
‘For a first trip I shall fly a straight course out and back, on a compass course that will take in the most easterly area of the desert to be explored. I shall watch ahead. You two will watch each side. Bertie, you take the port side; Ginger the starboard. In that way we shall look over a lot of ground. If there’s anything to be seen we should see it.’
‘And just what are we looking for, old boy?’ questioned Bertie.
‘Anything that isn’t sand. The chances are that’s all we shall see — sand. Obviously, what we’re really looking for is an aircraft, a Piper Cub, down on the carpet, either in one piece or several. Failing that we might spot wheel marks to show where it landed at some time. One thing we can be sure of is: after the time it’s been away it’ll no longer be in the air.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘Not by a long chalk. According to this chap Sekunder, somewhere out in the blue in front of us there should be a range of hills, mountains or merely rock outcrops. I don’t know. If that’s true, and I see no reason to doubt it as no man in his right mind would start off for a non-existent objective, we should have no great difficulty in finding the hills, anyway. Again, according to Sekunder there should be a conspicuous pinnacle which was to be the final objective. We’ll look for it, because provided the machine behaved properly that’s where we’re most likely to find it. If we locate these alleged hills that’s as far as I shall go. How many trips we shall be able to make will depend, of course, on how far it is to the mountains. All the spare petrol we have is a dozen jerricans. I’d rather not touch that, holding it in reserve for an emergency. We needn’t hump all that extra weight about with us. We’ll leave half of it here, in the tent. No one is likely to touch it. We shall know better how we stand, I hope, after we’ve made our first trip out.’
‘If the mountains are more than two hundred miles from here we shan’t make many trips,’ said Ginger, dryly.
‘You’ve put your finger on our weakest point,’ answered Biggles. ‘Until we know how far it is to the mountains, and established that they are really there, we’re flying blind — so to speak.’
‘And if we spot the machine in the sand are you going to land?’ queried Ginger.
‘At this juncture I’d say not. If the sand was soft we’d simply put ourselves in the same position as the Cub. That would be a daft thing to do. It isn’t as if the crew could still be alive. We’ll leave that until we’ve seen the machine and had a look at the sort of ground it’s standing on. There may be hard patches, but I’m not taking any risks.’
‘I’m with you there — absolutely,’ agreed Bertie.
Biggles got up. ‘All right. Let’s get on with it before the sun starts belting us.’
‘Don’t you think it would be a good thing if one of us stayed here to watch our kit?’ asked Ginger.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if by some wild chance we found the oasis, with Mander and Sekunder on it still alive, I shouldn’t come back here. There’d be no point in it. I’d pick them up and head north for Siwa. Whoever was left here would be stuck for a long time. It’s better the party should stay together.’
‘I see what you mean,’ replied Ginger.
‘F
ine. That’s enough talking. Let’s get away.’
In a few minutes, as the glow of the false dawn spread upwards from below the horizon, the Merlin was racing across the hard sand that had packed down in the dry, treeless end of the wadi. It was on this it had landed, having ascertained from inquiries at Siwa that it was safe.
The air was still cold, and without a breath of wind was as stable as air can be; but they were all aware that this ideal state of affairs would not last long. Once the sun got into its stride the atmosphere would be as choppy as a stormy sea. The great dunes, some of them hundreds of feet high, would see to that. There would be no escaping from the ‘bumps’, for over hot desert country they can be felt at a considerable altitude.
However, for the moment flying conditions were near perfect, and having taken the Merlin up to five thousand feet, from which height in the crystal clear atmosphere it was possible to command a view of perhaps fifty miles in every direction, Biggles settled down to his predetermined compass course. Without a landmark of any sort in sight, there was no other way of keeping track of the aircraft’s position.
Ahead, now, lay the Great Sand Sea, a spectacle no man can contemplate, no matter how he may be travelling, without fear in his heart. Gazing across such a landscape he realizes, perhaps for the first time, how puny he is, and how insignificant the ordinary things of life. Ginger, looking through the window on his side, was very conscious of it; but he did not mention it. Such thoughts are better not expressed while in the danger area.
He was not without experience of desert flying, but this awful expanse of the earth’s surface, this world of silence and the ever-present threat of death by thirst, put ‘butterflies’ in his stomach. He knew that already they were all trusting their lives to a mechanical device commonly called the internal combustion engine; and engines, by their very nature, can never be perfect. Therefore, every change, real or imaginary (it can be either) in the note of the two power units caused his nerves to vibrate like banjo strings.
Biggles flew on at a steady cruising speed, his eyes restless, generally scanning the scene ahead, but constantly switching to the instrument panel to check that all was well.
Broad daylight came swiftly, to paint the mighty dome of heaven a blue of unimaginable intensity; not that this would last long; it would gleam like burnished metal as the sun thundered on to its zenith. Although he was wearing the darkest glasses procurable, Ginger knew better than to look directly at it. One glance can cause temporary blindness, and even permanent injury to the eyes.
The Merlin began to rock, sometimes with a short jerky movement, sometimes as if wallowing on a stormy sea.
For half an hour, during which time the oasis that was their base had faded from sight behind, nobody spoke. Then Biggles said quietly: ‘I can see something ahead. From the way it lies along the horizon it could be a range of hills.’
The others peered into the glare.
‘How far away?’ asked Ginger.
‘It isn’t easy to judge distance in this light, but for a rough guess I’d say the best part of fifty miles.’
‘Reckoning we must have covered more than a hundred, whatever it is in front of us can’t be more than a hundred and fifty miles from where we started.’
‘About that. Not too bad.’
Bertie spoke. ‘That isn’t sand we’re looking at; not even tall dunes. The line is too rough, if you see what I mean. It can only be rocks. Pretty hefty rocks, too. Stretches for miles.’
Biggles agreed. ‘We shall soon know. Watch for a fringe of palms against the sky. Palms would mean an oasis, or water not very far down. If it is an oasis it isn’t shown on any of our maps — not that there’s anything remarkable in that. Half the Sahara has yet to be properly surveyed.’
‘The question is,’ went on Ginger thoughtfully, ‘is this the place Mander and his pal were making for?’
‘Could be. We’ve no means of knowing. If it is it begins to look as if they got there. We’ve seen no sign of the machine. Even if they got to their objective it doesn’t follow they’re still alive. That would depend on whether or not they found water. That stuff, so common at home, takes top priority here. In fact, it’s the only thing that matters.’
‘I believe I can see palms,’ said Bertie.
‘Palms would no doubt mean dates. They could keep going on dates for a while, but they’d still need a supply of that stuff which at home we pour down the sink.’
The Merlin bored on through the now turbulent air, Biggles having to work hard with the control column to keep it on even keel. All eyes were on the horizon which had hardened to a jagged line, like a row of broken teeth. There was no longer any doubt. Before them was a range, or, as the line was not continuous, a series of groups, of gaunt black hills.
‘Keep your eyes open for an aircraft on the ground,’ said Biggles, beginning to lose height and taking up a slightly different course. ‘I’m aiming to strike the hills at the eastern end and work along them from there. I doubt if we shall be able to cover the lot today. We’ll see how we go.’
The picture in front was now fairly clear, and it was not a pretty one. Indeed, it was a scene of such utter and complete desolation, a chaos of sand and rock, not easy to describe. It might have been an imaginative artist’s impression of a newly-born unoccupied planet.
The great dunes fell away in diminishing waves to end at a shallow depression so vast that the extremities could not be traced. The sand, or much of it, appeared to have been blown, or washed, away to leave a comparatively smooth floor that could have been the bed of an inland sea or a once great river. From the centre, like the carapace of a giant crocodile, sprang a broad line of hills, of red and black rocks of all sizes and fantastic shapes. They gave an impression that they were the summits of mountains worn down by the erosion of wind and sand. Much of the ground in the broader parts of the depression presented a curious mottled surface, the result, it was presently observed as the aircraft flew lower, of countless small cracks.
Bertie had been right about the palms; but they were miserable specimens, dead or dying, the trunks grey, fronds brown and in tatters. There was no indication of water. The blast of heat flung up by the blistering rocks tossed the aircraft about like a scrap of paper.
‘We shan’t find anyone here,’ declared Ginger. ‘What a horror.’
‘There must have been water here at some time, and not so long ago; the palms are proof of that,’ answered Biggles, turning the machine to follow the depression.
‘Can’t we go a bit lower?’
‘No, thank you. This is low enough for me,’ returned Biggles grimly. ‘My arm’s stiff as it is, trying to keep us right side up.’ His voice rose to a cry of surprise. ‘Look at that!’ He tilted the aircraft so that they could all get a better view of what had caught his eye.
From between some rocks, apparently alarmed by the machine or its shadow, had broken six white, or pale-coloured, horned animals. They raced away in fantastic leaps.
‘Gazelle,’ said Bertie.
‘Oryx,’ said Biggles. ‘That can only mean there’s water at no great distance. Those pretty little beasts can equal the camel when it comes to endurance without water; all the same, they have to eat and drink some time.’
The oryx bounded into a canyon and disappeared.
‘If, as you say, there must be water in these hills, how about landing and looking for it?’ suggested Ginger.
‘Not on your life. It might be fifty miles away.’
‘I can see places where we could get down. That dry mud, or whatever it is, looks firm enough.’
‘We’ll consider that when we have a reason to land — and it’ll have to be a good one,’ answered Biggles grimly. ‘What we’re looking for is a plane, or the remains of one. Another thing we might watch for is a tall pinnacle of rock that looks as if it might topple over. According to Sekunder, at the base there’s a tomb which should be stuffed with gold and precious stones. That, of course, is what brought him h
ere. Gosh! This is hard work.’
‘How much longer are you going to stick it?’ asked Bertie.
‘I’ve had about enough for one day,’ asserted Biggles. ‘Mark that red cliff, on the left, just in front of us. We’ll come back tomorrow and start again there, working along the hills for as far as they go. If Mander got here, as he hasn’t gone home his machine is bound to be here somewhere. We’ve still a lot of ground to cover.’
‘What are those heaps of white things I can see?’ asked Bertie in a puzzled voice.
‘They look to me like bones, probably camel bones. Of course, we don’t know how long they’ve been lying there, but if I’m right it would pretty well prove there must have been water here at one time.’
‘If camels came here, men must have been here, too.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Well, old boy, that’s pretty obvious. There are no wild camels, and tame camels would hardly come here by themselves. I mean to say — would they?’
‘They might.’
‘Why should they?’
Biggles smiled faintly. ‘That’s a question only a camel could answer. He does nothing without a reason. If you asked me to guess I’d say camels came here for the only thing that really matters in this part of the world — water.’
‘The camel has always struck me as a pretty dumb brute.’
‘In that case you’re right off the beam. Don’t get wrong ideas about the camel. I know he stinks and may have a foul temper; but who wouldn’t, the life he has to lead? Having said that, he’s just about the most perfect example of adaptation to environment you could find. He’s got a lot more sense than a horse. He can do anything a horse can do and a lot of things a horse can’t do.’
