by W E Johns
‘I don’t,’ muttered Biggles tensely. ‘All right. Ask Lea for the Star’s last known position, and then send a signal to Commander Sullivan telling him to proceed at full speed to the spot. Let me know that position as soon as you get it.’ Biggles hurried back to the cockpit.
‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ he told Algy crisply. ‘Neither Ginger nor Lea can get a sound out of the Star. No, don’t move; you go on flying. Give her all the throttle and don’t climb any higher; from this height we ought to be able to see the Star in about ten minutes.’
Ginger’s face appeared in the doorway, and he handed Biggles a slip of paper on which he had jotted down the Star’s last position. Biggles passed it to Algy who, after a glance at his chart, altered his course a trifle.
Nothing more was said. The minutes passed slowly. Algy continued to fly, mechanically, depressed by a sudden sense of calamity that he could not throw off. Ginger remained in the cabin, still trying to make contact with the Star, while Biggles sat in the spare seat beside Algy, scanning the sea methodically, section by section, hoping to see the Star’s masts appear above the horizon.
Presently he glanced at the watch on the instrument board. ‘She’s gone,’ he said, in a curiously expressionless voice.
‘Begins to look like it,’ admitted Algy, with fatalistic calm.
‘Go on a bit farther,’ Biggles told him, still hoping against hope that the Star had either altered her course or transmitted her position incorrectly.
But when another five minutes had elapsed they knew it was no use trying to deceive themselves any longer. The Bengal Star had disappeared.
‘Let me have her for a bit,’ said Biggles, and changing places with Algy, he began to climb, at the same time turning in wide circles.
Suddenly Algy, who had opened the side window of the windscreen and was staring down at the sapphire sea, caught Biggles’s left arm with his right hand. ‘What’s that?’ he said pointing.
Biggles, tilting the Nemesis over so that he could look down, followed Algy’s outstretched finger. ‘Wreckage, I fancy,’ he said quietly, at the same time beginning to side-slip steeply towards it.
‘It’s wreckage, there’s no doubt about that,’ observed Algy, moodily, a minute later, when they were not more than a thousand feet above a number of miscellaneous objects that were floating on the surface of the tranquil sea. ‘I think I can see oil stains, too. Is that a man? Look! Yes! By gosh! There’s somebody there. I saw an arm wave. Down you go.’
‘All right. Don’t get excited. I’m going down as fast as I can,’ replied Biggles, pulling the throttle right back and leaning over to see where he was going. ‘We’ve only got to knock a hole in our hull on one of those lumps of timber to complete a really good day’s work,’ he added with bitter sarcasm, as he flattened out and prepared to land. ‘Call Ginger to stand by to help you get him aboard,’ he snapped, as the keel of the Nemesis kissed the water and cut a long creamy wake across its blue surface. The port engine roared, and the wake curved like a bow as the Nemesis swung round to come alongside the flimsy piece of timber to which the sole survivor of the ill-fated vessel was clinging.
‘Look out! He’s sinking!’ cried Algy suddenly.
The sentence was cut short by his splash as he struck the water in a clumsy dive—clumsy because of the movement of the aircraft and the angle at which he had to take off to avoid a bracing strut.
He was only just in time, for the man had already disappeared beneath the water when he struck it. For a few seconds he, too, disappeared from sight; then he reappeared, catching his breath with a gasp, with the unconscious sailor in his arms. ‘Quick!’ he spluttered.
Ginger was already out on the wing, lying flat on his stomach, hand outstretched over the trailing edge. Still clinging to his unconscious burden, Algy seized it, and Ginger began to drag him towards the hull.
At that moment another movement caught Biggles’s eye and he drew in his breath sharply. Cutting through the water towards the commotion was the black, triangular-shaped dorsal fin of a shark, the dreaded ‘grey nurse’ of the deep seas. He did not shout a warning, for Ginger was already doing everything in his power to get Algy into a position from where he might climb aboard, but in a flash he was out on the wing, drawing his automatic as he went. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! spat the weapon, as he opened rapid fire on the swiftly moving target. Whether he hit or not he did not know, but the killer swerved sharply and dived, showing its white belly as it flashed under the boat. Thrusting the pistol back into his pocket, he dropped on to his knees, and reaching down, caught the sailor under the armpits. ‘You help Algy, Ginger,’ he cried, and, exerting all his strength, dragged the unconscious man aboard. The weight on the wing caused it to dip sharply, which made matters easier for Algy who, with much spluttering and grunting, pulled himself up and then rolled over on to his back, panting for breath and retching violently from the seawater he had swallowed.
He was not a moment too soon, for as he rolled over on the wing the shark swept past underneath it, so close that they could see its evil little eyes turned towards them. It passed on, but the danger was by no means over, for under the weight of the four men the wing dipped down at such an angle that they were all in danger of sliding down it into the sea. Biggles dropped on all fours and began dragging the unconscious man towards the hull. ‘Come on, Algy! Come on, Ginger!’ he cried desperately. ‘Get aboard, or we shall tear the wing off the hull by the roots. I —’ He broke off, staring at a broad crimson stain that meandered along the wing and trickled away between the ribs to the trailing edge, from where it dropped into the sea. ‘Great heaven! Where’s all this blood coming from?’ he cried in a horror-stricken voice. Then he saw, and shuddered. The unfortunate sailor’s right foot had been bitten clean off above the ankle.
Biggles’s manner was peremptory. ‘Ginger, go into the cabin; make it snappy,’ he said curtly. ‘Get out the medicine box. I want lint, iodine, a roll bandage, and a piece of cord. We shall have to get a tourniquet round that leg pretty sharp or he’ll bleed to death. Algy, get into the cockpit and take off the moment I’ve got him inside. Make for the Seafret as fast as you can and land as near to her as you dare.’
Half lifting, half dragging him, he got the injured man into the cabin, where, on the floor, he applied rough but efficient first-aid. He was pale when he had finished, by which time the engines had been throttled back and the angle of the floor told him they were gliding down. He reached the cockpit just as the keel touched the water, and saw the Seafret standing towards them, not more than a hundred yards away. Clambering up on to the centre section as Algy switched off, he beckoned vigorously. ‘Seafret ahoy!’ he roared. ‘Send me a boat. Sullivan!’
The Seafret’s commander appeared on the near side of the bridge. ‘What’s wrong?’ he called through his megaphone.
‘I’ve got a wounded man aboard. Tell your doctor to stand by for an amputation case.’
Quickly the two craft closed in on each other; a boat was lowered from the destroyer, and in a very short time Biggles was standing on her deck while the wounded man was lifted by many willing hands into the sick-bay.
Commander Sullivan looked at Biggles’s strained face and dishevelled clothing with anxious, questioning eyes. ‘Where did you pick that fellow up?’ he asked.
‘He’s one of the crew of the Bengal Star,’ replied Biggles quietly. ‘In fact, he’s the only survivor.’
The naval officer blanched. ‘Good heavens!’ he cried aghast. ‘You mean—’
‘The Star’s gone—sunk—sent to Davy Jones; a few sticks and this poor fellow are all that remain. We saw him in the water, but a shark took his foot off before we could get down to him. Your doctor has got to save his life so that he can tell us what happened. I expect I shall be on board for some time, so you might get your fellows to make my aircraft fast and keep an eye on her while the rest of my crew come aboard. They are wet, so they will probably want to change. Anyway, we shall have to have a conference. I’m
afraid my first effort at naval co-operation has not been exactly successful.’
Algy and Ginger looked at Biggles askance as they came up the steps that had been lowered and joined him on the quarter-deck. For the first time they saw him really agitated. His face was pale, his manner almost distraught, and his hands were clenched.
‘What a tragedy! What a tragedy!’ he muttered, pacing up and down. ‘It’s my fault; I should have foreseen it.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ put in Sullivan, a good-looking fellow in the early thirties, tapping an empty pipe on the rail thoughtfully. ‘You’re no more to blame than any one else. How any one—ah! here’s the doctor. Hello, Doc, how’s the patient?’
The doctor’s face was grave as he hurried up to them. ‘He’s conscious,’ he said, ‘but if you want to speak to him you’d better come right away. He hasn’t long, I’m afraid.’
At the last words Biggles grew white to the lips. ‘Hasn’t long?’ he echoed. ‘Why, his foot—’
‘The foot’s nothing; I could patch that up. But he’s got a bullet through the stomach, and with the water he’s swallowed that’s more than I or any one else can cope with. Come on.’
‘You fellows had better stay here,’ Biggles told Algy and Ginger, as he turned to follow the doctor and the captain down the companion. ‘It’s no use making a crowd, and I can tell you afterwards what he says.’
The wounded man’s eyes were on them as they walked into the sickroom.
‘May I ask him a few questions, doctor?’ inquired Biggles.
‘Certainly; I’ve told him I was fetching you for that purpose.’
‘What’s your name, laddie?’ asked Biggles in a kindly voice, noticing for the first time that he was little more than a boy.
‘Ladgrove, sir.’
‘Can you tell us what happened this morning? Don’t hurry—just tell us quietly in your own words.’
‘Yes, sir, or I’ll tell you as much as I know of it,’ answered the dying man in a weak voice. ‘It was my watch, and I was in the bows, on look-out, when it happened. It was just before six, I should think. Everything was still and quiet, and I saw what I took to be a fish about a mile to starboard. It was still dark, or, at least, it wasn’t light, and at first all I could see was phosphorescence on the water, like as if it was a shark’s fin or something. Then I see a thing like a pole sticking out and I knew what it was. I didn’t see no torpedo, or nothing. I’d turned round, and was just yelling “Submarine to starboard” when there was a terrific explosion amidships. I believe there was two explosions, but I ain’t sure about that because the first explosion bowled me over and I ‘it my ‘ead a crack on the deck. As I lay there I seem to remember ‘earing another explosion. If I was knocked out it couldn’t ‘a bin for many seconds, because when I got on me feet everything was just the same except that we’d got a bad list, and fellers were coming up from below. I see something else, too. Funny, it was. The wireless aerial was a mass of sparks, blue sparks, like lightning darting up and down. Our engines had stopped, and I could ‘ear the skipper blindin’ the submarine to all eternity and shouting orders.’
The wounded man paused for breath, and the doctor moistened his lips with a sponge.
‘What happened after that?’ asked Biggles.
‘I see some fellers start gettin’ into a boat, but just as they were goin’ to lower away, the Star she gives a quick lurch and threw the fellers ‘olding the ropes all of a ‘eap. The rope slipped at one end and threw everybody in the boat into the sea, the boat being ‘ung up by the bows, if you see what I mean. With that the ship gives another lurch and starts to go down fast by the stern. I see the bows come up clear of the water and steam come pouring out of the ports. I thought to get a lifebelt, but she was going down so fast that I daren’t stay, so I jumped overboard and started swimming as ‘ard as I could. I’d got about fifty or sixty yards when I saw the sub pop up not far away. I see people come out on the deck and ‘eard them talking in a foreign lingo. When I turned my ‘ead the Star had gone, but there were two boats on the water. One wasn’t far away, so I give ‘em a ‘ail and they picks me up. I don’t know who was in ‘er, because just at that minute the sub opened fire on us with a machine-gun.’
Biggles’s nostrils twitched and he caught Sullivan’s eye, while the doctor again moistened the dying man’s lips.
‘They fairly plastered us,’ continued Ladgrove, ‘and before you could say Jack Robinson the boat had sunk under us. I felt a bullet ‘it me in the stomach somewhere, but it didn’t ‘urt much so it can’t be very bad. I caught hold of an oar and ‘ung on to it, and saw ‘em deal with the second boat in the same way. Then for about twenty minutes they cruised round and round shooting at every one they saw in the water. They must have shot a lot of fellers that way, the murdering swine. Every time they came near me I sunk under the oar and ‘eld my breath till I thought my lungs would burst. At the finish the sub made off, so I let out a ‘ail or two, but I couldn’t make no one ‘ear. Then it got light and I could see that I was the only one left. I see the aeroplane coming and waved my ‘and. A bit of luck it was for me and no mistake that you spotted me. I see that shark, too, while you was coming down. It had been ‘anging about for some time, but I’d managed to keep it off by splashing, but suddenly the strength seemed to go out of my legs and I couldn’t splash any longer. I felt the shark pull me under by the foot, and that’s all I remember.’
‘You’ve no idea what nationality the people in the submarine were, I suppose?’ asked Biggles. ‘I mean, you didn’t recognize the type of boat or the language used by the crew?’
‘No, sir, except that they seemed to be little fellows and rattled away like they might have been Japs, or Chinks.2 Can I ‘ave a drink, doctor?’
The doctor looked at Biggles. ‘Any more questions?’ he said quietly.
‘Just one,’ answered Biggles. ‘Tell me, Ladgrove, did you happen to make a note of the course taken by the submarine when it went off?’
‘Yes, sir, I can tell you that. It was due south-east. I know that because I watched it till it was out of sight, and it seemed to be going on a steady course.’
‘Thanks,’ nodded Biggles.
‘I hope you’re going ter get these blighters, sir,’ called Ladgrove, as Biggles turned to follow Commander Sullivan towards the door.
‘Yes, we’ll get them,’ smiled Biggles, and then, making his way to the deck, he stared with unseeing eyes at the blue water.
Ginger watched him curiously for a moment, and then nudged Algy in the side. ‘Don’t tell me the skipper’s crying,’ he whispered.
Algy glanced up. ‘Shouldn’t be surprised,’ he said moodily. ‘I saw him do that once before, in France. Heaven help these skunks who sunk the Star if ever he gets his hands on them; they’ll get little mercy from him now. Better not speak to him for a bit.’
The doctor joined them on the deck.
‘I suppose there’s no hope for him?’ asked Biggles quietly.
‘He’s dead,’ answered the doctor shortly.
* * *
1 New Commissions, or appointments to a new command in the Army, RAF or Navy are officially published in the Gazette, a government newspaper for this purpose.
2 Slang: offensive terms for Japanese and Chinese.
Chapter 4
‘Reported Missing’
Half an hour later, after a hasty toilet and breakfast, they all forgathered in the captain’s cabin to discuss a revised plan of campaign made necessary by the loss of the decoy ship.
It was not a cheerful gathering, for the fate of the crew of the Bengal Star, in particular the captain and wireless operator whom they knew, weighed heavily upon them.
‘Well,’ began Sullivan, looking at Biggles questioningly, ‘where do we go from here? I can see you’re a bit upset, which is not to be wondered at, so I’ll take this opportunity of saying that you can still count on me to the bitter end.’
‘Thanks, Sullivan,’ answered Biggles simply. ‘
We’ve started badly, but we haven’t finished yet, not by a long shot. I have only one fear, and that is that the people at home will recall us when they hear what has happened. As a civilian I could ignore such an order, but not as a serving officer—and a senior one at that—as I am now.’
‘You’ll tell them, then?’
‘We shall have to. A thing like this, involving loss of life, can’t be kept secret. Naturally, the public will not be told the truth, for that would warn the enemy that his scheme is discovered; but I think I can leave that to the discretion of the Foreign Office. I expect they’ll break the news gently by allowing it to be known that the Bengal Star is overdue, and finally report her missing, believed lost. But she hasn’t been lost in vain. For the first time there is a survivor to say what happened, and give us the direction taken by the enemy craft. You’ll notice they’ve changed their plan. Instead of sending out a false SOS they contented themselves with jamming Turrell’s equipment so that he couldn’t broadcast a message. You remember what Ladgrove said about sparks flying up and down the Star’s aerial? That would account for the terrible noise that startled your own operator. It was the submarine soaking the air with electricity. The Germans used to do that in France, to drown messages sent out by artillery cooperating machines—but that’s immaterial now. The chief thing is, we know the direction taken by the submarine, which give us a rough idea where to look for her, so the sooner we start the better. But first of all I think I shall run down to Singapore and have a word with the R.A.F. people there, to let them know we are about and that there is a chance we may need help.’
Sullivan suddenly sprang to his feet. ‘By Jove! that reminds me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I forgot about it for the moment; I’ve a letter here for you.’
‘A letter!’
‘Yes, I picked it up at Akyab on the way down. It had been sent out by air mail, and the post office people there asked me if I had seen anything of you. They were going to forward it on to Singapore, but I told them I’d take it as I should probably be seeing you. Here it is.’ He opened a drawer and passed the letter to Biggles, who raised his eyebrows wonderingly.
