Biggles In The Baltic

by W E Johns

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I: THE CALL TO ARMS

  CHAPTER II: ‘Z’ SQUADRON TAKES OVER

  CHAPTER III: FIRST ORDERS

  CHAPTER IV: THE RAID

  CHAPTER V: AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

  CHAPTER VI: A DANGEROUS MISSION

  CHAPTER VII: COMBAT!

  CHAPTER VIII: DISCOVERIES

  CHAPTER IX: WHAT HAPPENED TO ALGY

  CHAPTER X: GINGER GOES EXPLORING

  CHAPTER XI: WHAT HAPPENED TO BIGGLES

  CHAPTER XII: A COLD SWIM

  CHAPTER XIII: AN ALARMING DISCOVERY

  CHAPTER XIV: VON STALHEIN AGAIN

  CHAPTER XV: HAPPENINGS ON THE ROCK

  CHAPTER XVI: STRANGE MEETINGS

  CHAPTER XVII: REUNION

  CHAPTER XVIII: BIGGLES STRIKES BACK

  CHAPTER XIX: MAROONED ON THE ROCK

  CHAPTER XX:

  CHAPTER I

  THE CALL TO ARMS

  As the momentous words ‘England is now, therefore, in a state of war with Germany’ came sombrely over the radio, Major James Bigglesworth, D.S.O., better known as Biggles, switched off the instrument and turned to face his friends, Captain the Honourable Algernon Lacey, M.C., and ‘Ginger’ Hebblethwaite. There was a peculiar smile on his face.

  ‘Well, that’s that. It looks as if we are in for another spot of war flying,’ he murmured with an affected unconcern which did not deceive the others, who realized full well the gravity of the situation.

  ‘Seems sort of unreal, as if something which you thought had only been a dream had suddenly come true,’ remarked Algy quietly. ‘What are we going to do about it?’

  Biggles shrugged his shoulders. ‘For the moment—nothing,’ he answered. ‘This isn’t the time to go worrying the Air Ministry. They know all about us; no doubt they’ll send for us as soon as they’re ready. As far as we personally are concerned, we have this consolation: we do at least know something about the job—I mean, war flying —and that gives us an advantage over those who don’t. We had better stand by in case the Air Ministry tries to get into touch with us. I only hope they’ll let us stick together and not send us to different squadrons. I—’ He broke off as the telephone bell shrilled. ‘Hello, yes,’ he went on, answering the call. ‘Yes, Bigglesworth speaking—right you are, sir, we’ll come right along.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘I’ll give you one guess who that was,’ he said drily.

  ‘Colonel Raymond,’ suggested Algy softly.

  ‘Quite right. He’s already back at his old job on Air Intelligence. He wants us to go along and see him at the Air Ministry right away. Call a taxi, Ginger.’

  ‘Bringing us here doesn’t sound as if we’re going to an ordinary service squadron,’ remarked Algy suspiciously, as they entered the Air Ministry and took the lift.

  ‘We shall soon know,’ returned Biggles briefly, as he knocked on the Colonel’s door.

  Colonel Raymond gave them a smile of welcome as he rose from his desk and came to meet them. ‘Glad to see you all looking so well,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve got a job which I fancy should suit you down to the ground.’

  ‘Not too suicidal, I hope, sir,’ grinned Biggles.

  The Colonel indicated three chairs. ‘I wouldn’t call it suicidal, although I’m not going to pretend that it’s likely to be all plain sailing. If it was I shouldn’t waste you on it, you may be sure. At a time like this we need our best men for special jobs.’

  ‘Nice of you to put it that way, sir,’ acknowledged Biggles.

  ‘I presume that you are willing to come back into the service?’ inquired the Colonel.

  ‘What about Gin—I mean Hebblethwaite? He hasn’t been in the regular service yet.’

  ‘If you take on the job I’ll see that he is gazetted as a pilot officer right away.’

  ‘Good,’ nodded Biggles. ‘What’s the job, sir?’

  Colonel Raymond pointed to a map of Europe that nearly covered one wall of his office; its varnished surface was decorated with drawing-pins of different colours, each marking a point of strategical importance. ‘I need hardly say that what I am going to tell you must be treated in strictest confidence,’ he said earnestly. ‘One careless word might undo the work of months. Incidentally, Bigglesworth, I may as well tell you that you were earmarked for this particular job months ago; in fact, it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that the job was specially created for you. What I mean is, had we not known someone capable of handling it we should hardly have dared to formulate such a dangerous plan.’

  The Colonel picked up a long ruler and indicated on the map the area of ocean separating northern Germany from Scandinavia. ‘Here is the Baltic Sea,’ he continued, tracing the coast-lines of Germany and East Prussia. ‘You will readily perceive that anyone operating in these waters would be within easy striking distance of enemy country.’

  A puzzled look came over Biggles’s face. ‘But the Baltic is Germany’s own sea—’ he began.

  Colonel Raymond held up his hand. ‘Not entirely,’ he argued. ‘Germany does, more or less, control the Baltic, but other countries have an interest in it—Lithuania, Latvia, Finland, Estonia, and the Scandinavian countries. You may say, naturally, that they are all neutral. Quite right, they are, and it would be a serious matter if the neutrality of these countries were violated, either intentionally or accidentally. I am now going to let you into a secret so vital that its importance could hardly be exaggerated. Some time ago, perceiving that war might not be averted, we took the precaution of acquiring from one of the countries I have named an uninhabited island so small as to be negligible. Its name is Bergen Ait. It is in fact no more than a mass of rock, quite useless for any commercial purpose. Nevertheless, it embodies a feature that made it worth the large sum of money we paid for it, although here I should say that no one outside the countries concerned is aware of the transaction—that the island is British property, entitling us to use it as a base. It is remote, and in normal times I don’t suppose anyone lands on it year in year out. Naturally, being so small, it could not easily be defended against enemy forces, so its only value to us lies in its secret character. The special feature to which I referred just now is a cave that has been worn into the very heart of the rock by the action of the waves. This cave is large enough to house several aircraft. You will now begin to see what I am driving at.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Biggles quietly. ‘The idea is to establish a base right on the enemy’s doorstep, so to speak?’

  ‘Precisely. From this base raids will be launched on military objectives, some of which have already been decided on, places which could not very well be reached from England or France. We have been preparing this depot for some time. The aircraft are, in fact, already there, as well as other equipment likely to be required, all ready for ‘Z’ Squadron—as we have decided to call it—to take over. I need not describe the equipment in detail now, but in case you wonder—if you go—what the skis are for, I must tell you that in winter the sea is often icebound, and the squadron will be frozen in. For the rest we shall have to rely on the Commanding Officer to use his initiative in dealing with the difficulties and dangers that will certainly arise—events that are impossible to foresee.’

  ‘How is this officer going to get there, since the Baltic is, anyway, at this moment, controlled by the German fleet?’

  ‘There is only one way—by submarine,’ replied the Colonel calmly. ‘The submarine will land the party there—and leave them there.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You understand that the job is essentially one for volunteers; you needn’t take it on if—’

  ‘I don’t think we need discuss that, sir,’ interrupted Biggles.

  ‘Good. I knew you wouldn
’t let us down. Make a list of the personnel you think you will be likely to require and I will arrange with the Admiralty for under-water transport. Don’t take more men than is absolutely essential. The fewer there are the longer the stores will last.’

  ‘One question, sir. I imagine the base is equipped with radio?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘That means we shall get orders from time to time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are we to confine ourselves to these operations, or am I at liberty to take action on my own account —always assuming that such action is, in my opinion, worth the risk involved?’

  Colonel Raymond was silent for a moment or two. ‘That is a difficult question to answer,’ he said slowly. ‘Naturally we are anxious to preserve the secret of the base as long as possible, but if I said "no" to your question it might mean losing a chance to strike a vital blow at the enemy. I shall have to leave it to your judgement. But if you do take on anything on your own account the responsibility will be yours.’

  ‘That’s fair enough, sir,’ agreed Biggles. ‘Are there any special instructions?’

  ‘There are, but I can’t give you them now. You’ll sail under sealed orders, and receive instructions concerning them by radio when you have established yourself at your base. When is the earliest you can start?’

  ‘Now, sir.’

  Colonel Raymond smiled. ‘That’s a bit too early for me. Today is Sunday; I will arrange for you to embark on Wednesday morning. We’ll have another chat before then; there are one or two minor points I shall have to discuss with you. There is one thing...’

  Biggles waited.

  ‘Frankly, I think it is certain that sooner or later the enemy will discover your hiding-place,’ continued the Colonel, his eyes on Biggles’s face. ‘You may last three months—a month—or only a week; it depends upon how things fall out. We must do the best we can with the time at our disposal. As far as we know, the German Intelligence Service has no suspicion of what is afoot, but one can never be quite sure. Bergen Ait is no great distance from Kiel, where an old acquaintance of yours is in charge.’

  Biggles raised his eyebrows. ‘An old acquaintance? You don’t by any chance mean—’

  ‘Von Stalhein. Erich von Stalhein—no less. He was bound to be given an important command.’

  Biggles smiled faintly. ‘Von Stalhein, eh?’ he murmured reflectively. ‘You know, I’ve almost got to like him. He hasn’t had the best of luck in his encounters with us—’

  ‘It is to be hoped, for your sakes, that he doesn’t have the best of luck this time,’ said Colonel Raymond seriously. ‘He has old scores to wipe out, remember. He’s your worst enemy, and an implacable one. If ever he catches you—’

  ‘We shall have to see to it that he doesn’t,’ put in Biggles lightly.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ agreed the Colonel. ‘Well, that’s all for the time being. I’ll let the Air Chief Marshal know you’re going. You ought to be able to do the enemy an immense amount of mischief before he finds you out.’ The Colonel held out his hand. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘We shall do our best, sir,’ promised Biggles.

  CHAPTER II

  ‘Z’ SQUADRON TAKES OVER

  PRECISELY a week later, a little after sunrise, the small party that comprised ‘Z’ Squadron, R.A.F., stood on a shelf of rock in the sombre heart of Bergen Ait, and watched the submarine that had brought them there creep like a monster of the deep towards the entrance to the vast cavern which the action of the waves had eaten into the islet. From the conning-tower, still open, projected the head and shoulders of the commander, his eyes on those he was leaving behind. He raised his hand in salute. ‘Good hunting, boys,’ he called. The words echoed eerily round the walls.

  Biggles returned the salute. ‘Good hunting yourself, sailor,’ he replied.

  That was all. The naval officer disappeared. The steel cap of the conning-tower sank into its bed; deeper and deeper into the water bored the long grey body of the under-water craft. Presently only the conning-tower could be seen, and as the vessel felt its way into the cove that sheltered the mouth of the cave, this, too, disappeared, leaving the airmen alone in their sinister war station.

  Biggles turned and considered the members of his squadron. They were five all told, Algy and Ginger being the only pilots besides himself. Colonel Raymond had pressed him to take more, but Biggles felt that an outsider might upset the unity of a team which, from long and often perilous experience, had proved its efficiency, a team which had been forged in the fire of loyal comradeship. An extra member who was not in entire sympathy with them might easily do more harm than good, he reasoned, perhaps wisely.

  In addition to the three pilots there was Flight-Sergeant Smyth, Biggles’s old war-time fitter and rigger, whose skill with either wood or metal was almost uncanny, and who could be relied upon to work a twenty-four-hour day without complaint should circumstances demand it. With him was his son Roy, a lad of eighteen who had entered the Royal Air Force as a boy apprentice and had passed out as a wireless operator mechanic. Keen, alert, and intelligent, he promised to follow the footsteps of his father up the ladder of promotion.

  The only other member of the squadron was an old naval pensioner appropriately named William Salt, already known to them as ‘Briny’, a nickname which he had carried for nearly half a century in the Navy. Nobody knew just how old Briny was, but he was apt to boast that he had started life as a boy in the days of sail, when steamers were few and far between. Biggles had applied to Colonel Raymond for a cook, feeling that one was necessary to save the others wasting valuable time in the kitchen. Briny had been, in fact, the cook on Colonel Raymond’s private yacht; owing to the war the yacht had, of course, been laid up; Briny had put his name down for service and Colonel Raymond had recommended him confidently, despite his age, saying that he possessed a store of practical knowledge, apart from cooking, that would be useful to them. His only failing was (he warned them) a weakness for ‘reminiscencing’, but this was balanced by a shrewd cockney wit that might amuse them on their dreary station. So Briny had, to use his own expression, ‘pulled up ‘is mudhook’ and come along.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ announced Biggles. ‘There’s little I can tell you that you don’t already know. It may be rather alarming to be stationed in what are practically enemy waters, but no doubt we shall get used to it. We have this satisfaction: instead of being a mere cog in a vast machine, we are, as it were, a detached unit fighting a little war of our own, the success of which will largely depend on ourselves. I’m not going to make a speech, but there is one point I must mention. On a job like this, where everyone is in close contact with everybody else, ordinary service discipline is bound to be relaxed. This calling people by nicknames, for instance—as far as I, as commanding officer, am concerned, this may continue except when a person is actually on duty; or, since we shall all be on duty all the time, perhaps I had better say engaged on specific duty under my direct orders. Cooped up as we are, each is too dependent on the others to bother about ceremony, but I don’t think familiarity need interfere with the efficiency of the unit. I know you’ll all do your best. In the event of casualties, the next in order of seniority will, of course, take over. That’s all. Roy, take over the radio room and stand by for reception of signals. Briny, you’d better get the galley functioning. The rest come with me; we had better make ourselves familiar with the layout of the depot before we do anything else.’

  The servicing of the base at Bergen Ait had been carried out by the Admiralty, who, as usual, had done their job thoroughly. The islet itself was, as Colonel Raymond had said, merely a mass of rock rising to several hundred feet above the sea, the nearest land being the enemy coast of East Prussia. Less than a mile in circumference, for the most part the cliffs were precipitous, sterile, the home of innumerable sea-birds. Here and there, however, erosion had caused the cliffs to crumble, so that they lay in terrifying landslides to the water’s edge.

 
One such collapse had flung a mighty spit of rocks some distance into the sea, so that a small cape, perhaps two hundred yards in extent, was formed. This served as a breakwater and at the same time formed what was, in effect, a cove that could be used as a harbour, but only when the sea was reasonably calm. In bad weather, or when the wind was blowing directly into it, the cove (so the Admiralty had informed Biggles) became a seething cauldron, dangerous for any type of craft. Even in fair weather the tides raced into the cove with considerable force, and it was no doubt due to this that the rock had been undermined, forming the cave, which, being at an angle, could not be seen from the open sea. One glance had been sufficient to warn Biggles that should an aircraft be caught out in bad weather it would be utterly impossible for it to get back into the cave. Indeed, as he had surveyed the scene from the submarine, he suspected that the natural risks of operating from such a base were likely to be as dangerous as the enemy. On the other hand, these very hazards had their compensations, in that they were likely to keep enemy shipping at a distance.

  Although the entrance of the cave was low—hardly large enough to admit an aircraft at high water—inside it was as lofty as a cathedral, and ran back, diminishing in size, for a considerable distance, although the farther extremity had not yet been explored. It was obvious that, except at one place, the walls of the cave had dropped sheer into the water, but an artificial shelf (promptly named the ‘catwalk’ by Briny) had been cut to enable those inside to reach the bay. This shelf also served as a quay for mooring the aircraft and a small motor-boat.

  At one spot, however, a flaw in the rock had left a more or less flat area, about half an acre in extent, and every inch of this space had been utilized for the erection of several low wooden buildings. On inspection these turned out to consist of a small but well-fitted workshop and armoury combined, a mess-room with sleeping quarters and a record office attached, and storehouse packed with food, mostly tinned, although there were sacks of potatoes, onions, and other vegetables. The radio room stood a little apart, and from this also was controlled the electrical equipment both for lighting and for running the lathe in the workshop. A small oil engine, dynamo, and storage batteries were housed in a recess cut in the rock. Nearby was a rather alarming ammunition dump, long sleek torpedoes lying side by side with bombs of various sizes—high explosive, incendiary, and armourpiercing—as well as cases of small-arms ammunition. Another hut contained spare parts and medical and photographic stores.