"And leave that rascal the gold? Not on your life," Biggles was emphatic.
"Then let's get the gold on board and take it with us," suggested Ginger. "I'm getting cold sitting here."
"The moment we make a move towards that gold the fireworks will start," answered Biggles. "Now you all know why I'm apparently content to sit here and do nothing. Give me a minute and I may work the thing out."
Nothing more was said. Biggles lit another cigarette. Ginger gazed moodily across the waste of snow, now pink in the glow of a westering sun. It struck him as odd that even here a mere handful of men could not exist without threats of violence. No wonder, he mused, all over the civilised world the atmosphere was brittle with fears and threats of war.
Presently he broke the silence. "Suppose Lavinsky got away in his boats, where would he go?" he questioned. "He's a long way from anywhere."
The Skipper answered. "He'd have no great difficulty in getting to South America—
unless he ran into heavy seas. He's got plenty of stores. Longer trips than that have been made in open boats, many a time, and will be made again, no doubt."
There was another silence. This time it was broken by Bertie. He stood up and buffed his arms. "Well, what are we going to do, old boy?" he asked. "This doing nothing is binding me rigid. It's beastly cold."
Biggles drew a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose we might as well do something," he agreed.
"Let's see if we can get the gold on board. That may stir the enemy into 137
action, anyway. I'm afraid it's going to be a longish job."
Ginger looked at Biggles. "You think that'll be the signal for the enemy to open fire on us."
"I'm pretty sure of it. For what other reason would Lavinsky leave six men on the ridge?
If it was just to watch us, one would have been enough."
"If we can't get the stuff on board we could at least push off," said Bertie cheerfully.
"You seem to be forgetting something," remarked Biggles.
"What's that?"
"Larsen. The idea of leaving the wretched fellow here goes against the grain. But there, we'll talk about that when we've got the gold."
"If they start shooting at us I reckon we can shoot back," put in the Skipper grimly.
"I reckon we can," agreed Biggles. "Our difficulty would be to fight a gun battle and transport the gold here at the same time. We could do it, maybe, but it would be a slow business. Anyhow, let's try it and see what happens. Skipper, you're the strongest man in the party. Suppose you try fetching a bar while we keep you covered. If anything starts, drop the gold and make back for here." He smiled faintly. "When the enemy realises what you're doing it will be interesting to see whether they fire at you or at the aircraft.
At any rate, that should tell us what Lavinsky's orders were to the men he left there."
"Why not let me take the aircraft off the ground and cruise around while the shooting goes on?" proposed Bertie.
Biggles shook his head. "I thought of that. We can't afford the petrol, and it would come to the same thing in the end, anyway. The machine would have to land to 138
pick up the gold. Let's get the stuff here for a start. We needn't load it up. We could soon do that once it's here. If things get too hot, we shall have to pack up, of course. This is no place to have casualties." Biggles reached for his binoculars and focused them on the Svelt. "I wasn't far wrong," he observed presently. "They've lowered a lifeboat. It's on it's way to the ice barrier. Okay, Skipper. Go ahead and fetch an ingot. If trouble starts, drop it and make for home."
"Aye—aye, sir." The Skipper set off across the ice.
That the move was noticed by the enemy was at once apparent, for they had been sitting down, and now stood up to watch. One set, off at a fast pace in the direction of the Svelt.
"He's going to report to the boss," conjectured Biggles.
The remaining five men, after a short discussion, disappeared from sight behind the ridge. But not for long. One by one their heads reappeared and weapons were now in evidence. A shot rang out, and a bullet flicked up some snow fairly wide of the Skipper, who, however, carried on.
"What's he doing?" muttered Biggles. "I told him to come back if shooting started."
"He won't come back until he's got what he went for," asserted Grimy. "I know my old man."
Biggles spoke quietly. "It's a tricky light for shooting, and shooting over snow is always deceptive; but I don't want anybody hit, so we've got to get those fellows off that ridge.
The best way to do that is by enfilading them. Bettie, keep low and see if you can work your way to the end of their line. If you can do that you ought to be able to make things uncomfortable for them. Meanwhile, we'll try to make them keep their heads down from here."
Another shot rang out from the ridge. Another feather 139
of snow leaped up near the Skipper, who ignored it.
"Okay," said Biggles grimly. "If that's how they want it they can have it. Take what cover you can everybody and open fire. Don't waste ammunition. Pick your man and shoot low."
Biggles settled himself behind the case on which he had been sitting, and taking careful aim, fired.
The man who had been his target ducked, but there was no spurt of snow to mark where the bullet had struck. "I think I was over him," Biggles told the others. "Try shooting a foot below the target." He fired again. The head at which he had aimed disappeared, but whether or not the man had been hit there was no means of knowing.
By this time Ginger and Grimy were also shooting, with the result that the heads lining the ridge no longer remained still. Only occasionally did one show, and then for not more than a second.
"I don't think they're in love with their job," remarked Biggles. "Hold your fire until you see something to shoot at. As long as we can make them keep their heads down the Skipper can carry on."
Firing continued in a desultory manner.
Presently the Skipper came back, puffing, with an ingot on his shoulder.
"Nice work, Skipper," complimented Biggles. "Dump it near the machine—somewhere handy for the cabin door. I think we've got the situation pretty well in hand. Feel like fetching another?"
"There's nothing to it," answered the Skipper, grinning, and set off again across the ice.
Biggles, with his rifle at the ready, watched the ridge. From time to time a head would pop up and a shot would be fired, but in such haste that the bullet usually went wide.
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Presently the Skipper came back with another bar. Without waiting for an order he dropped it beside the first and set off again across the ice.
For a little while there was a certain amount of sporadic shooting. Then Bertie was heard in action at the far end of the line. There was a brisk burst of shots, then the shooting died away altogether.
"I think we've got superiority of fire, as they say in the army, opined Biggles. "Grimy, go and help your father. Ginger, I think you might as well go too. I'll hold the fort. If anything serious starts, drop everything and come back at the double."
Ginger and Grimy put down their weapons and went off at a run.
Thereafter, for about an hour, there was no change in the situation. Not for a moment did Biggles take his eyes off the ridge. The stack of ingots near the aircraft grew steadily.
But this satisfactory state of affairs came to an end when Ginger, on one of his homeward trips, shouted to Biggles that the enemy was receiving reinforcements. A boat was on its way across the open water.
Biggles snatched a glance. Out over the sea, beyond the floe on which the others were working, was the lifeboat. It was plain to see what was happening. Lavinsky, apparently, had made his survey of the ice reef, and having heard the shooting, instead of returning to the Svelt was making straight towards the floe from which the gold was being recovered, with the obvious intention of landing on it. By doing this he was saving himself a considerable amount of time. Biggles had relied on this time to finish the job he ha
d started, but it was now evident that it would not work out that way. Another twenty minutes would see Lavinsky and his party on the floe. Not only would that put an end to any further work on it, but, what was far more serious, it would put the camp 141
between two fires. If Lavinsky had found a way through the ice barrier, reasoned Biggles, he would first rush the remainder of the gold and then concentrate his fire on the aircraft. A target of such size could hardly be missed. Once the machine was out of action Lavinsky could pretty well finish things in his own time.
Biggles acted swiftly. To Ginger he shouted : "How many ingots are there left?"
"About half a dozen," was the answer.
"All right. Leave it at that," ordered Biggles. "Start stowing the stuff in the machine." He gave the Skipper and his son the same order when they returned.
No shots had yet been fired from the approaching boat, possibly because the movement of it would make anything like accurate shooting impossible; but Biggles realised that as soon as the men were on firm ice the camp would quickly become untenable. At this juncture Bertie reappeared to report that what looked like the remainder of the ship's company—he had counted seven—were hurrying towards the scene with the apparent object of reinforcing those behind the ridge. These, Bertie said, he had driven to the far end of the ridge where they had found cover behind some broken ice.
Biggles counted aloud. "Seven. There are six in the boat. That makes eighteen all told."
Turning to the Skipper who was now helping to load the gold he called: "How many hands had you in the Svelt?"
"Nineteen," was the answer
"Did that include you and Lavinsky?"
"No."
"Then it looks as if he's got nearly everybody here,"
The Skipper paused in his work to answer. "He might as well have them here; there's nothing for them to do on the ship. If they've left anyone it'll be the cook. He's a Chinese, and a very old man at that—that's if he's the
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man who sailed under me. He's deaf, too."
"Good," replied Biggles. "Buck up and get that gold stowed."
"What are you going to do?" asked the Skipper. "This is going to be a hot spot presently."
"I'm going to fly down to the Svelt," Biggles startled everyone by saying.
"What in blazes for?" demanded the Skipper, obviously shaken by a move so unexpected.
"The breeze is off-shore where she lies," answered Biggles. "I imagine Lavinsky will have made her fast with cables fore and aft."
"That's what I should do."
"Then if we cut her free she'll drift away from the main pack."
The Skipper looked aghast at the idea. "But you can't cast away a ship like that," he cried.
"You'd be surprised at the things I can do," replied Biggles grimly. "Lavinsky is done if he loses his ship. When he sees she's adrift he'll have to lay off what he's doing and go back to save her."
The Skipper grinned. "You're right! So he will."
"I'm playing for time," said Biggles. "Look lively with that gold and we'll get cracking.
There's nothing like giving the enemy something he doesn't expect."
There was a little more shooting while the rest of the gold was being stowed, but the range was long, and as far as could be seen the shots did no damage. By this time Lavinsky's boat had reached the far side of the floe, at a point about two hundred yards from the gold, and was making ready to disembark on the ice.
"Why not push off altogether?" asked Ginger. "We've got practically all the gold."
"I'm not thinking entirely of the gold," returned Biggles tersely. "Have you forgotten Larsen? He may be
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dead, but there's a chance that he's still alive, possibly wounded. I shouldn't sleep comfortably in my bed again if I thought we'd left him to the tender mercies of this ship-rat, Lavinsky. As I say, he may have killed him; but if he hasn't, he will. He's not likely to take home someone who could stand as a witness against him."
With that Biggles climbed into his seat and started up. The others got aboard. Ginger, looking through a side window, remarked that the boat's crew was no longer hurrying.
"They think we're going home," said Biggles. "They'll move fast enough when they spot their mistake, I'll warrant."
XIV
WAR ON THE ICE
BIGGLES took off without trouble, and after climbing to a safe height came round in a wide turn. From the air the scene below became contracted into a small area and it was possible to see every member of the enemy forces. Those in the boat had stopped what they were doing to stare upwards as the machine passed over them. Tiny spurts of smoke revealed that shots were being fired, but at such an extreme range and at such a fast-moving target, there was, Ginger thought, no cause for uneasiness.
Biggles paid no heed to those below. His big concern was to put the heavily-loaded aircraft down without damage. In the ordinary way he would not have given 144
such a routine operation a second thought, but so much now depended on the machine remaining airworthy that what would normally be a molehill of anxiety now loomed like a mountain. Everyone realised this, and no one moved or spoke as Biggles brought the machine round in a cautious approach. However, all went well, and Ginger drew a long breath of relief as the machine skidded to a standstill about two hundred yards from the Svelt. Not a soul appeared on deck, nor was there any sign of life in the vicinity.
Grimy, who had brought some boards with him, jumped down and slipped them under the skis. The others were soon out, and Biggles advanced quickly towards the ship, which, as had been anticipated, was moored fore and aft to steel pins driven into the ice.
The Skipper took out his knife and moved towards the nearest rope. Biggles stopped him.
"Just a minute," he said. "I'm going to see if Larsen is in that ship. Lavinsky must have spoken the truth when he said he'd found him, otherwise he wouldn't have known about the gold; and I don't know where else he could be. You know your way about the ship, Skipper, so you'd better come with me. Ginger, you follow behind and guard our rear, just in case someone is hiding and tries to pull a fast one on us. Bertie, you'll stay here and keep an eye on things."
There was still no sign of life on the ship so it did really seem as if the entire crew had gone ashore. A rope ladder hung over the side down to the firm ice. Biggles went up it quickly and stood looking about until the Skipper and Ginger had joined him.
"Anyone at home?" called Biggles sharply. There was no answer.
Biggles walked on to the companion-way, but before going below he stopped to gaze across the water in the
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direction of Lavinsky's boat, which, being at the outer edge of the floe, could be seen beyond a projecting ice-cliff. Ginger looked, too, and smiled as he saw that the men who had disembarked were now back in the boat, which, judging from the flash of oars, was making back for the Svelt at top speed.
Biggles laughed softly. "If we've done nothing else we've given Lavinsky a fright," he observed. "No doubt he thinks we're about to set fire to the ship and leave him here—and it would serve him right if we did. But let's go below. You lead the way, Skipper. You'll know where to look for Larsen if he's here."
The Skipper now took the lead. "Aye. I reckon I know where he'll be, if he isn't dead and under the ice," he agreed, as they reached the foot of the steps. "Stand fast while I go and look. There's no need for everyone to go." He strode on and disappeared from sight.
He was away about five minutes. When he came back his face was pale with anger. "Just as I thought," he said in a hard voice. "They'd put him in irons."
"What about the key?" asked Biggles quickly.
"I've got it. I found it in Lavinsky's cabin. Let's go and get him out."
"How does he seem?"
"Quiet as a lamb, and no wonder," replied the Skipper grimly. "He's been wounded, and he's half dead from loss of blood. His shirt's stiff with gore. As near as I can make out he got a bullet jus
t under the shoulder. He's in a pretty mess, one way and another."
Biggles drew a deep breath. "Okay," he said quietly. "Let's get him up. We'll take him straight to the aircraft and fly him home. Ginger, you stay here and watch the passage in case of accidents. Lead on, Skipper."
Ginger took out his pistol and remained where he was while the others went on. He had not long to wait. Very
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soon they reappeared, half carrying, half supporting a body that looked more dead than alive. Ginger did not stop to look at the unfortunate sailor closely, but taking the lead went back to the deck.
It took all hands to get the helpless Swede down to the ice, for although he was emaciated he had a big frame, and the heavy clothing he wore would alone have made a load. However, the job was done and the man carried half way to the aircraft. Then Biggles called a halt while the Skipper went back to cut the Svelt adrift. This did not take long, for the vessel, with an off-shore breeze on her quarter, was already straining gently at her mooring ropes. The Skipper did some quick work with his knife and the ship was free. She began at once to move slowly away from the ice.
"That should give Lavinsky something to think about," observed Biggles with satisfaction, looking in the direction of the boat, which was now about half way to the ship.
The shore party, Ginger noticed, were also about half way, strung out like runners at the end of a long race.
"We ought to be away before they get here," said Biggles, "Come on, let's keep going."
The transportation of the sick Swede to the aircraft was continued, and in a little while he was made comfortable on a bed of blankets on the floor of the cabin.
"Now let's see what we can do for him in the way of first aid, or he looks like passing out before we can get him to the Falklands," said Biggles. "I think we've got time."
The medicine chest was produced, and Biggles was opening it when he paused, sniffing the air. "Can I smell
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petrol?" he asked sharply, a quick frown lining his forehead.
There was a brief silence. Then Ginger answered: "Yes, I think you can."
"See if you can locate it," ordered Biggles.
Ginger went off while Biggles, with the Skipper's assistance, set to work on the wounded man. The wound, it was soon discovered, had not even been bandaged.
36 Biggles Breaks The Silence Page 13
