23 Biggles Sees It Through

by Captain W E Johns

  Slowly the avalanche exhausted itself, the lip far out on the ice. Silence fell. Snow which had been flung high into the air began to fall silently on the bare bedrock.

  Algy turned a stricken face to the side of the slope where he had last seen Biggles. There was no sign of him. Nor could he see Ginger. He turned to Smyth. 'We'd better look for them' he said

  ill a hopeless sort of voice. 'You try to find Ginger — I'll look for the Skipper.'

  Before he had reached the place where Biggles had disap-peared Smyth was yelling to him to come back. Shaking like a leaf from shock, he hurried to the spot, to find Smyth clawing frantically at a great pile of loose snow from which projected a leg. It took them only a few minutes to drag Ginger clear. He was unconscious and bleeding from the nose, but a quick examination revealed no broken bones.

  `We shall have to leave him where he is for the moment' muttered Algy. 'Let's see if we can find the Skipper.'

  They made their way over the lacerated ground to where Biggles had last been seen.

  For some minutes they hunted in vain, and then Smyth saw him. Either he had just escaped the avalanche and then fallen, or had been overwhelmed by it and flung clear, for he lay motionless, face downwards, among the debris of rocks and uprooted trees which had surged far out on the ice of the lake. Half sick with dread, Algy turned him over and got him into as comfortable a position as could be arranged. He was unconscious.

  Algy caught his breath when he saw a livid bruise, seeping blood, on the ashen forehead.

  `My God! That looks like concus-sion' he whispered through lips that were as white as Biggles's. 'This is awful. What are we going to do? We've got to get him off the ice, both of them, or they'll die of sheer cold.'

  Algy spoke in a dazed voice. He was, in fact, half stunned by the shock of the catastrophe. Their position had been difficult enough before, but now, with two casualties on their hands, it seemed hopeless, and he was in a fever of dismay. The ghastly part of it was that there was so little they could do.

  As they stood staring down at Biggles's unconscious form a weak hail made them look up, to see Ginger reeling down the hill.

  'Stand still, you fool!' yelled Algy. 'You'll fall and break your neck.' He raced up the hill, for the warning went unheeded. He caught Ginger and dragged him back from the edge of a steep rock on which he was staggering, and forced him to sit down.

  'Did Biggles — get clear?' asked Ginger weakly.

  'Yes, but he's knocked out. How do you feel?'

  Ginger shut his eyes and shook his head. don't know' he muttered. 'My legs are a bit groggy — but I don't think I've done myself — any real — damage. Great Scott! VVhat a dreadful mess.'

  Smyth came up. 'We'd better get them under cover, sir, until we see how badly the Skipper's hurt' he said seriously.

  'Under cover?'

  Smyth pointed to the fuselage of the Blenheim lying flat on the ice. 'Let's get them inside'

  he suggested. 'That will be better than lying out here. Otherwise they're liable to freeze, particularly as the Skipper hasn't got a jacket. He was carrying it, wasn't he? I wonder what happened to it.'

  Algy looked around. don't see it' he said dully. suppose it's buried under all this snow.

  Well, we haven't time to look for it now — we'll get them into the Blenheim. Now I come to think of it, there's a first-aid outfit there — or there should be.'

  They helped Ginger out on to the smooth ice, where they found that he was able to walk unaided, although, in spite of his assur-ances to the contrary, it was obvious that he had been badly shaken, if nothing worse. Biggles was still unconscious, and as he was a difficult load on the slippery ice, they made a rough bed of fir branches and, taking the thick ends in their hands, began to drag him towards the Blenheim.

  They were just about halfway, in the most open part of the lake, when, faintly at first, but developing swiftly, came the roar of an aircraft; and the beat of the engines told them what it was even before it came into view — a Russian heavy bomber. Algy, realizing how conspicuous they were, threw up his hands in dismay. 'We're sunk' he cried bitterly.

  Àlgy!'

  Algy started as if he had been stung, for the word came from the improvised stretcher.

  He saw that Biggles's eyes were open.

  'Listen' went on Biggles. 'Do exactly as I tell you. There's a gun in my hip pocket — get it out. You've no time to get under cover, so lie down, all of you, as if you were dead.

  Don't move a muscle. There's just a chance that if the pilot spots you he'll land to see what's happened. If he does, stick him up and grab the machine. It's our only chance.'

  Biggles tried to get up, but his face twisted with pain and he fell back again. His eyes closed.

  It took Algy only a moment to secure the pistol. 'You heard what he said' he told the others tersely. 'Lie down and don't move.'

  They all collapsed on the ice just as the bomber swept over the trees. The pilot saw them at once, as he was bound to, and Algy, whose eyes remained open, watched the movements of the machine with breathless suspense.

  Three times the bomber circled, coming lower each time; the third time his wheels nearly brushed them. A white face, fur-rimmed, evidently that of the second pilot, projected from the cockpit and stared down from a height of not more than twenty feet. The bomber went on, reached the end of the lake, turned, and then, cutting its engines, glided back, obviously with the intention of landing.

  'Don't move, anybody' hissed Al 'Wait till I give the word.'

  The bomber's wheels rumbled as they kissed the ice, and the massive undercarriage groaned as they trundled on, the machine finishing its run about fifty yards from the fugitives. There was a brief delay; then a door in the cockpit opened; two men descended and began walking quickly over the ice towards the bodies. Algy's nerves tingled as their footsteps drew nearer. He half closed his eyes.

  The Russians were talking in low tones, evidently discussing the situation. Then one of them must have noticed the avalanche, for he pointed to it. They both stopped, held a brief discussion, and then came on again In short, their reaction to the situation was perfectly natural. There was no reason for them to suppose that they were walking into a trap.

  To his joy Algy saw that neither of them carried a weapon; their hands were empty —

  except that one carelessly swung his gauntlets. They went first to Biggles. The leading pilot knelt to examine him while his companion looked on, a position in which their backs were turned to the others.

  Very quietly Algy stood up, pistol at the ready. 'Don't move,' he said curtly.

  It is unlikely that the Russians understood English, but they knew the meaning of the squat black weapon that menaced them, for the message it conveys is universal. Their eyes opened wide in amazement. Slowly they raised their hands.

  As Ginger and Smyth joined the party Algy stepped nearer to the two Russians and tapped their pockets; then, satisfied that they were unarmed, he indicated that they were to start walking towards the bank. A pilot himself, he felt a certain sympathy for them, and realizing that they had a long walk in front of them before they could get home, he pointed first to the crash and then

  to his mouth in the hope that they would grasp what he was trying to convey — that there was food to be found there.

  The Russians looked at each other, and then back at Algy. One nodded; the other waved his hand in a manner that suggested that he understood.

  All the same, Algy watched them as they walked on, while Ginger and Smyth got Biggles to the bomber and lifted him inside. They called out that they were ready.

  Algy hastened to join them. The engines were still ticking over. He climbed into the pilot'

  s seat and slammed the door. His hand closed over the throttle. 'We're away!' he cried jubilantly.

  The propellers swirled as he opened the throttle and turned the machine to face the longest run that the lake provided. His eyes explored the surface of the ice, for he didn't want
a repeti-tion of the Blenheim disaster; but there were no obstructions. The engines bellowed. The bomber surged forward; its tail lifted, and in a minute it was in the air heading westwards.

  Grinning all over his face, Ginger joined Algy in the cockpit. 'This,' he declared cheerfully, 'is something like it. We ought to be home in a couple of hours.'

  Algy nodded, but without enthusiasm, for he was still a trifle worried. He was wondering what would happen when they came to the Finnish anti-aircraft batteries.

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Bitter Blow

  Af

  lgy breathed a sigh of relief when they roared across the rontier, for now, he thought, if the worst came to the worst, they could at least land with reasonable promise of security. In his heart he was aware that he was taking a risk in remaining in the air, and that in order to be quite safe he ought to land, perhaps near an outlying homestead where they could lie snug until a relief party came for them. Yet every minute they remained in the air took them three miles nearer home, and the temptation to fly on and get as near to their base as possible was irresistible. He flew with one hand on the throttle, every nerve alert; not for a moment did he abandon his attentive scrutiny of the sky or the white landscape that flashed underneath.

  Ahead lay a wide bank of indigo cloud, and he eyed it suspi-ciously, only too well aware of the perils that might lurk in it, for in war, unless he is driven into them by force of circumstances, a wise airman gives clouds a wide berth; they provide cover for prowling scouts. He was now within a hundred miles of home and his common sense warned him to take no chances, so he decided to run under the cloud and then land at the first reasonable landing-ground that he could find, preferably one near a house or village.

  He left it just a minute too long. Where the Gladiator came from he did not see; but a wild yell broke from Ginger, and simul-taneously a slim grey shape carrying Finnish markings seemed to materialize out of nothing. In a flash the Gladiator was on him, its guns rattling like demoniac castanets.

  Algy flicked back the throttle and made for the ground; he would have done so in any case, but he spotted the number 13 painted on the Gladiator's nose, and he knew the man to whom it belonged — Eddie Hardwell, an American volunteer from their own aerodrome, and perhaps one of the most deadly fighter pilots on the front. He had already shot down five Russian bombers.

  Ginger, too, saw the number, and threw up his hands in impo-tence, for although he had a gun he could not, of course, use it.

  The Gladiator's first burst made a colander of the bomber's tail; it swept up and past in a beautiful climbing turn, and then came back, a spitting fury.

  Ginger's presence of mind saved the situation. He knew that this time the Gladiator would rake them from prop-boss to tailskid, in which case only a miracle could preserve them. Breathless from suspense, he climbed out on a wing, scrambled on to the back of the great fuselage, and raised his hands in the air in an attitude of surrender.

  The fighter pilot swerved, suspecting a trick, but as no gun was brought to bear on him he flew closer and, leaning out of his cockpit, jabbed his hand downwards in an unmistakable signal that the bomber was to land.

  Algy did not need telling to go down; he was already going down as fast as safety permitted. He had half a dozen lakes to choose from, for from the centre to the southern end of Finland there is as much water as land. He chose the largest, and as soon as he maw that he was in a satisfactory position for landing he switched off his engines to prove to Hardwell that he was in earnest. A minute later the bomber was trundling over the ice.

  The Gladiator circled it once or twice while the occupants, with the exception of Biggles, got out and stood with their hands up. After that the Gladiator made a pretty landing.

  Revolver in hand, the pilot climbed down and walked over to the party. Suddenly he stopped dead. He blinked, passed his hand over his eyes and looked again

  `Suffrin' coyotes!' he cried. 'What's the big idea?'

  'Easy with the gun, Eddie,' returned Algy. 'We're all here.'

  The American put the revolver in his pocket and came on. 'You guys are sure aimin' ter spill yerselves over the landscape, barn-storming in that Rusky pantechnicon. What's the racket?'

  'No racket, Eddie. We crashed our Blenheim the wrong side of the frontier, and borrowed this kite to get home in.'

  'Okay — I get it.'

  'What are you doing around here, anyway? It isn't your usual beat,' inquired Algy.

  was looking for you,' replied Eddie surprisingly.

  'Looking for us?' Algy was incredulous.

  'Yeah. There's a guy arrived from England asking for you. We told him you hadn't come back, which seemed to upset him, but he asked one or two of us to have a look round to see if we could spot you. The guy he was most anxious to find seemed to be Bigglesworth. Where is he?'

  `He's inside. He got knocked about a bit. What was the name of this fellow from England, did he say?'

  'Sure — said his name was Raymond.'

  Algy gasped. 'Great Scott! Look, Eddie, this is serious,' he said confidentially. 'We've been on a special mission — to get something for Raymond. He's one of the heads of British Intelligence. Well, we've got what we went for, and he ought to know about it right away. Will you do us a favour?'

  'Sure.'

  'Then fly back to Oskar, get hold of Raymond and tell him that we're here. At the same time you might ask somebody to fly out in a Blenheim and fetch us home.'

  'Okay, buddy; I'll get right along.'

  Eddie returned to his machine. It raced across the ice, swept into the air and nosed its way into the western sky. In a minute it was out of sight.

  The others returned to the bomber. Ginger was now practi-cally normal, but Biggles was still in a bad way, and seemed only semi-conscious. The others did what they could to make him comfortable. Some peasants, seeing the Finnish uniforms, went off and came back with a doctor. A woman brought a can of hot soup.

  The doctor examined Biggles thoroughly, and finally announced that apart from the blow on the head he was suffering only from shock. At least, no bones were broken. The blow on the head had been a severe one, and had it not been for the fact that Biggles's skull was exceptionally hard, it would certainly have been frac-tured. He dressed the wound, bandaged it, and gave the patient a pick-me-up. The effect of this, followed by a bowl of soup, was instantly apparent, and Biggles's condition improved visibly. In two hours he was able to sit up and announce that, except for a splitting headache, he was all right.

  It was at this moment that the roar of aircraft overhead announced the arrival of the relief party — Eddie's Gladiator

  followed by a Blenheim. Eddie, it transpired, had come back to ',how the Blenheim just where the Russian bomber had landed. In a few minutes Colonel Raymond could be seen walking over lip ice. He nodded a greeting to Algy, but was too perturbed for conventional pleasantries. He went straight to Biggles.

  'Are you all right?' he asked quickly.

  Biggles smiled wanly. 'Not so bad,' he answered. 'Silly, wasn't it, giving myself a crack on the nut just as the show was practically over. It was a sticky business, too, largely as a result of running into our old friend von Stalhein.'

  Colonel Raymond started. 'What! Is he here?'

  "I'm true he is.'

  'Then those papers must be even more important than we at first supposed. Did you get them?'

  'Of course — otherwise we shouldn't have come back.' 'Where are they?'

  Biggles held out his hand to Algy. 'Give me my jacket, laddie, will you.'

  Algy looked puzzled. A strange look came into his eyes. 'Your jacket — yes — of course. I — er — well, that is — Ginger, where did you put Biggles's jacket?'

  Ginger looked round the cabin, then back at Algy. 'Jacket?' he echoed foolishly. `Now you mention it, I don't remember seeing it.'

  An awful look came over Biggles's face. He staggered to his feet, glaring at Algy. 'Did you come back here without my jacket?'
He spoke slowly, in a curiously calm voice.

  Algy had turned pale. — I suppose we must have done,' he faltered.

  Biggles sank back like a man whose legs will no longer support him.

  I remember now,' resumed Algy. 'You see, after the avalanche we were too concerned about getting you to the Blenheim to bother about your jacket. I remember looking for it, but it didn't seem to be about, so — well, we didn't bother any more about it.' In a few words he described what had happened. After all, I didn't know the papers were in your jacket pocket, although I suppose I might have guessed it,' he concluded.

  It was muggy, and we were carrying our jackets over our arms when the avalanche hit us,

  ' Biggles told Colonel Raymond bitterly. I shouldn't have taken my jacket off, of course, but how the dickens was I to know that we were going to get smothered under a perishing landslide?'

  The Colonel's face expressed disappointment, but he was too much of a soldier to waste time in useless recriminations. He spoke to Algy. 'You say you couldn't see the coat after the avalanche?'

  'No, sir. Had it been there I could hardly have failed to see it.' 'Then it comes to this. The jacket must be still there, buried under the snow.'

  I don't think there's any doubt about that,' answered Biggles gloomily. Then, suddenly, he laughed. 'Forgive me,' he implored the Colonel, I can't help it. It's the daftest thing I ever did or ever heard of If you only knew what we went through to get those confounded documents — and now we rush back home and leave them lying in the snow like a lot of waste paper. You must admit it has its funny side.'

  Colonel Raymond looked doubtful.

  It's all right, Colonel — don't worry; I'll slip back and fetch them,' promised Biggles.

  Òh, no, you won't. I'll go,' declared Algy.

  'Better let me go,' put in Ginger. 'I know exactly where Biggles was lying, and the jacket can't be far away.'