by W E Johns
“They couldn’t do enough for me,” declared Ginger. “All the same, the skipper, Captain Garnet, looked a bit shaken when I suggested that he might lend us a squadron of Fulmars.”
There was a shout of laughter.
“You mean—you had the brass face to suggest that?” cried Biggles incredulously.
“Why not?” returned Ginger calmly. “If you don’t ask you don’t get—at least, that’s my experience. Anyway, he got in touch with Australia, where, apparently, they are amused at the idea of this outfit sitting right across the Japanese lines of communication. The answer came back that we were to hang on; moreover, we were to be given all possible assistance until replacements arrived. Mind you,” continued Ginger, “I had a lot of useful information to pass on. The Higher Command was interested to hear about the concentration at Brunei, for instance. They were positively tickled to death about the breaking up of the rubber convoy in Malaya.”
“I like your cheek,” put in Biggles. “You seem to have collected all the glory and whatnot for yourself.”
“Oh no,” contradicted Ginger. “I gave you the credit.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway—go on.”
“Well, the upshot of the whole thing was this. Replacements for the machines we have lost are on the way. I also gather that some big bug is coming here, to get all the dope from you as to the actual position at Lucky Strike.”
“What machines are they sending?” asked Biggles.
“I don’t know—they didn’t say. Naturally I pointed out to Captain Garnet that you blokes were sitting here under a steady rain of bombs without being able to do a thing about it. It seemed certain that there would be another raid about dawn, so if he could lend us his Fulmars for an hour or two it might make the Japs hold their breath until our new machines arrived. It would give us a chance, at any rate. Captain Garnet agreed, but the snag was, never having seen Lucky Strike aerodrome, he was doubtful if his boys would be able to find it. I offered to show them the way, whereupon he lent me a Fulmar for my own personal use. Nice of him—wasn’t it?”
“It certainly was,” agreed Biggles.
“Well, you saw what happened,” resumed Ginger. “We took off at a time which I judged would enable us to arrive here about dawn. As everybody hoped, we found the Japs already here.”
“What’s happened to the Fulmars?”
“They’ve gone back—except the one I flew. The Old Man was firm on that point. After all, he’s got a carrier to look after, and he daren’t risk flapping about the Indian Ocean with half his fighters here. He said the Fulmars were to come here, do their stuff, and then go back. They’ve gone. Of course, the Japs don’t know that; they’ll think the Fulmars are still here, so they’ll think twice before they try another raid. Our new machines should be here any time.”
“What about the Liberator?”
“I told Captain Garnet that we hadn’t too much fuel and oil, so he sent it on to Darwin by a spare pilot. In any case, he didn’t want his ship cluttered up with a kite that size. I understand the pilot will bring it here when he’s loaded up, so you had better be on the lookout for him. I told him we’d put up a smoke signal to show him the place. I thought that wouldn’t matter now the Japs know we’re here, anyway. That’s about all; so now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to sleep for about three weeks.”
“Don’t you want anything to eat?” asked Biggles.
Ginger grinned. “No, sir. I had enough grub on that carrier to last me quite a long time. They do themselves very well on carriers—at least, the Aussies do. I thought of you all when I was having ham and eggs—”
A yell of indignation cut off Ginger’s story.
“All right, you’ve done a good job, Ginger; you’d better get some rest,” ordered Biggles.
Ginger staggered to a camp-bed and in a moment was fast asleep.
He had six hours of unbroken rest, and was then awakened by such a roar of aircraft that he tumbled out of bed in affright before he was fully awake. Running out, he found everyone on the edge of the aerodrome in a state of enthusiastic excitement. And the reason was not hard to find. Circling the landing-ground which, almost as a challenge to the enemy, had been made conspicuous by a smoke fire, was a formation of seven machines—a Liberator and six Beaufighters. The Liberator landed first, taxied up to the trees, and then disemplaned so many senior officers that Biggles affected horror. “For the love of Mike!” he gasped. “They must be going to make this place General Headquarters of the Eastern Command.”
Among the officers Ginger recognized Wing-Commander Crane, who had organized the Malayan operation, and the American General Barton. These were not entirely unexpected, but he certainly did not expect to see Air Commodore Raymond, of the Air Ministry, who waved a friendly greeting. The Beaufighters landed in turn, and from them stepped a dozen grinning officers of the Royal Australian Air Force.
“And this was supposed to be a secret aerodrome,” sighed Biggles, as he stepped forward to meet the officers. He paused, his head on one side, as from the west there came a long roll as of distant thunder.
“It’s all right,” said Aix Commodore Raymond brightly. “Now you’ve been good enough to tell us what is happening at Brunei, three squadrons of Liberators are unloading some quite big bombs on them. Where can we have a conference?”
Biggles indicated a palm-thatched hut that had survived the bomb raids. “This is the best I can do, sir.”
“Never mind, you’ll soon be having something better,” said the Air Commodore, as the senior officers moved towards the hut, Biggles with them, leaving the rest of the junior officers to guess the object of the mission.
It was an hour before the staff officers emerged. They went straight to the Liberator and departed, taking the Australian pilots with them. After the big machine had taken off Biggles called his squadron together and addressed them.
“I suppose you’re wondering what this is all about?” he began. “It won’t take long to tell you. The Higher Command is so satisfied with the way we’ve established ourselves here that they came to look at it with a view to making it a regular station, regardless of the fact that it is no longer secret. I told them that provided an adequate supply of machines and stores could be maintained, there was no reason why the station should not carry on indefinitely. But it won’t be as it has been hitherto. The head lads have decided that if the thing is worth doing it’s worth doing properly. Engineers are coming out to surface the aerodrome, and Australian troops will soon be coming along to defend it against ground attack. Two Australian squadrons of fighters and a squadron of bombers are moving in. In other words, Australia is taking over, which means that we shall be recalled. I understand that in the first place we shall go down to Darwin for a rest—until they think of something else for us to do. In the meantime, until the new equipment arrives, which I gather will be pretty soon, we are to carry on. As you will have noticed, we now have something to carry on with.” Biggles pointed to the six Beaufighters. “If the Japs try any more raids they’ll find something waiting for them. Personally, after this morning’s affair with the Fulmars, I don’t think they will. For the moment there is only one urgent job, and that is to give air support to Rex, and make life miserable for the enemy troops who are trying to make their way here on foot. I don’t think they’ll get here anyway, because the monsoon is in full swing farther north and presently it will start raining here. The rain will turn the forest into a quagmire. Rex promised to let me know, and put up some smoke signals when he makes contact with the enemy; but I think it’s a bit too early for that, so while we are waiting let’s get things ship-shape.”
It was not until late that evening that the first native runner arrived from Rex. He brought a written message. From this it was learned that the enemy had made some progress, and had concentrated in a valley the position of which was shown on a sketch-map which was enclosed. Suba’s warriors were anxious to attack, but so far they had been restrained, and were watc
hing the enemy from a nearby hill. The place was about thirty miles distant from Lucky Strike.
“This seems to be the moment we’ve been waiting for,” declared Biggles. “If the enemy are in concentration they should make an easy target. We’ve got half an hour before sunset—just nice time.”
The Beaufighters covered the thirty miles to the enemy camp in just six minutes. There was no difficulty in finding it, for the troops, who could not have expected an attack from the air, had cleared an area of bamboo, and had lighted cooking-fires, thus making themselves conspicuous. The six Beaufighters tore down on them with their guns streaming.
Never was a surprise attack more devastating in its instant effect. There was no respite for the Japanese troops, for as the six Browning machine-guns in the wings of each aircraft ceased firing, the guns in the rear power-operated turrets came into action; and they remained in action until the forward guns were brought to bear again. For five minutes the Beaufighters slashed the Japanese camp with a hail of bullets, and that, Biggles decided, was enough. He knew that Suba and his warriors were about, and could be relied upon to take care of those troops who had bolted into the forest for shelter.
Well satisfied, he turned for home, which was reached just as darkness was closing in.
“I think that will do for to-day,” announced Biggles.
It was the last offensive flight made by the members of Biggles’s squadron on the island of Borneo, for the following morning the new aircraft began to arrive from Australia, and Biggles handed over to the commanding officer, a Squadron-Leader of the Royal Australian Air Force. In the afternoon the bombers arrived, and with them the transport plane that was to take the members of the departing squadron, and the guests they had collected, to Darwin. Biggles insisted on awaiting the return of Rex, who had not yet come back from his sortie in the jungle. He thought he might wish to leave the island with him. In this, however, he was mistaken.
During the afternoon a triumphant war-song announced the return of Suba and his warriors. Rex, mud-splashed from head to foot, arrived with them and Biggles put the question to him.
“Thanks all the same, but I think I’ll stay here,” decided Rex. “I know the natives and their language, so I can serve the country best by staying on and helping the new squadrons in the same way as I helped you. Besides,” he added, “Suba has made me his blood-brother, and I’m getting quite fond of him—although I must confess that I don’t approve of some of his habits. Look at him.” Rex pointed to where Suba, Kalut and the warriors were dancing round an object that had been impaled on the point of a spear.
“What on earth is it?” asked Ginger casually, and then fell back, grimacing in horror. “It’s a head,” he gasped.
“Yes, and I think I’ve seen that face before,” put in Algy.
“You’re right. It’s Yashnowada,” confirmed Rex. “Suba made a bee-line for him when we attacked the camp after you had shot it up. It’s no use pretending to be sorry for Yashnowada. He invited himself here, and he did at least die quickly, which is more than can be said for some of his victims.”
“I suppose you’re right,” agreed Biggles. “All the same, I don’t exactly admire your taste in friends; but then, you’ve been here for a long time, so you are probably used to this sort of thing.” Biggles held out his hand. “Well, good-bye, Rex, and good luck.” He turned to the transport plane, the engines of which had been started. “Get aboard, everybody,” he ordered. “Let’s go and see what Australia looks like.”
“After Borneo it should look pretty good,” said Jackson as he went aboard.
“Sure, that’s not a bad idea,” asserted Bill Gray.
“Okay by me,” said Pat Flannagan.
Fee Wong helped his brother into the machine. “Velly good,” said he.
“Quite a party,” observed Biggles, smiling, as he closed the door.
THE END
