Biggles In The Baltic

by W E Johns

Seeing his plight, Biggles climbed out, and seizing him by the collar, gave him the assistance he needed. He then helped him into the rear scat.

  There was still one more thing to be done. He dared not leave the Dingo floating derelict on the water, for not only would it certainly lead to inquiries, but it embodied features which German designers would no doubt be pleased to possess. So as soon as he was back in his cockpit he reached for his signalling pistol, and was taking aim at the Dingo’s petrol tank when Algy roared low overhead —so low that it was obvious he was trying to attract attention.

  Biggles looked up, and saw Algy’s gloved hand jabbing frantically towards the south-east. So occupied had he been with his task that he had paid no attention to the horizon; now, looking in the direction indicated, he saw a sight that brought a scowl to his face. Racing towards them through rain that was beginning to fall was a German destroyer.

  CHAPTER VIII

  DISCOVERIES

  IT was typical of him that he finished what he had begun. He took quick aim and sent a flare into the Dingo’s petrol tank. A tongue of flame spurted out. Satisfied that the destruction of the machine was assured, he pushed his throttle open. Simultaneously a spout of water leapt into the air about fifty yards in front. He had heard the scream of a shell, so he was in no doubt as to what it was. The destroyer, seeing that they were about to escape, had opened fire.

  Straight along a trough in the sea roared the Willie-Willie, flinging spray high into the air, with spouts of water rising behind it as the German gunners tried in vain to hit the small, fast-moving target. A giant wave loomed up in front, its crest curling ominously, and it was in sheer desperation that Biggles dragged the joystick back, for he knew that the Willie-Willie could not meet such a sea head-on, and survive. Its floats left the water, and then sank down again as if loath to leave it; they cut through the foaming wave-crest; the machine shuddered and Biggles thought the end had come. An inch lower, and the Willie-Willie must have been dragged down, but as it was the crest thrust the machine upward. For a few seconds it hung perilously near a stall; then the racing propeller lifted the nose and it staggered into the air.

  Gasping his relief, Biggles looked for Algy, and saw him about a thousand feet above, firing long-range shots at the destroyer—not, of course, with any hope of causing damage, but to irritate the gunners and perhaps spoil their aim. Seeing that Biggles was safely off the water, he desisted, and roared down alongside the Willie-Willie.

  Biggles, after a last regretful glance at the destroyer—regretful because he had neither bomb nor torpedo with which to attack it—beckoned to Algy and turned his nose to the west with the idea of leading the captain of the enemy ship to think that they were on their way to England. For one thing was certain: under the eyes that he knew would be watching them he dare not return to the base. In any case, with the sea that was by this time running, he doubted if a landing in the cove was possible. So through a mist of driving rain the two machines roared on into the western sky.

  Not until he was satisfied that they were out of earshot of the destroyer did Biggles begin turning in a wide curve, for it was not his intention to get a great distance away from the base; indeed, as he, had only about an hour’s petrol left in his tanks he dare not go far.

  He was, in fact, in a quandary, and his problem was this. If the rough sea persisted and they returned to the base, it was likely that the machines would be wrecked trying to effect a landing in the cove. By holding on their present course there was just a chance that they might reach a neutral country, in which case, even if they got down safely, they would spend the rest of the war in an internment camp. But they would at least save their lives.

  Biggles did not hesitate for long. He decided to return to the island—if he could find it. He was by no means sure that he could, for the weather was fast getting worse. And it continued to get worse, great masses of cloud rolling across the sky and filling the air with a drenching mizzle that blotted everything underneath. Another thing that worried Biggles was the fact that Ginger was already soaked to the skin, and might well collapse from exposure if he remained much longer in the air. How much petrol Algy still had left in his tanks he did not know, but he assumed that it was no more than he himself had. With one thing and another it was in a very anxious state of mind that he began a wide turn which he hoped would bring them within view of the base.

  Twenty minutes passed. The wind was now blowing half a gale, bringing with it occasional sleet, and he had to admit to himself that he had no idea of his position. Only one thing was clear, and that was that their condition was little short of desperate; consequently, when a few minutes later he saw land through a hole in the clouds, he lost no time in diving towards it. He knew that it was not Bergen Ait, for it seemed to consist chiefly of a long sandy beach, with flat, marshy ground beyond it; however, since their lives were now at stake, he glided towards it, thankful for the opportunity of getting down anywhere.

  As he drew nearer he was able to make out that the beach fringed a large bay, protected on the windward side by rolling sand-dunes, so that the surface of the water, while not by any means calm, was far less rough than the open sea and offered a fair chance of a landing. Had he been sure that the surface of the marsh was firm he would have risked a landing on it, but he had no means of knowing whether it was hard or soft and he dare not take the chance. The only satisfactory thing about the landscape was that it seemed to be entirely deserted, for he could not see a building of any sort.

  After a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Algy was following, he glided down to a rather rocky landing, and at once taxied to the shelter of the lee shore, where, after a searching survey of the landscape, he turned to see how Ginger was faring, and to wait for Algy.

  Ginger was standing up. His teeth were chattering. ‘Crikey!’ he muttered, ‘isn’t it perishing cold! Where are we?’

  Biggles shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t ask me. All I know is that we’re in a lovely mess—or we shall be if this muck doesn’t clear off. Here comes Algy; let’s hear what he has to say about it.’

  Algy landed and taxied up to them. He pointed to the sandy beach. ‘What country’s that?’ he demanded.

  ‘Search me,’ returned Biggles bitterly. ‘As far as I’m concerned it could be pretty well anything except Australia or Canada. We’ve been going round in circles for the last half hour.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ snorted Algy. ‘You nearly got me dizzy. What made you land here, anyway? Are you thinking of doing a bit of paddling on the beach, or something?’

  ‘If this sea doesn’t go down pretty soon you’re likely to have all the paddling you want—and bathing too,’ retorted Biggles. ‘I don’t know about you, but my main tank is pretty well dry. We can’t do anything about it until the clouds lift —not that I think they will, until this evening. The dickens of it is, Ginger’s wet through.’

  ‘Then why not run up on the sand? There ought to be some driftwood about; if there is we could light a fire and warm ourselves.’

  Biggles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a harassed frown lining his forehead. ‘If it happens to be a neutral country there’ll be a fine old stink if anybody sees us.’

  ‘From what I can see of it there’s going to be a stink anyway. I’m all for going ashore.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Biggles. ‘If the sand is firm we could take off from the beach.’

  No more was said. They taxied the two machines to the edge of the surf, where, lowering their wheels, they ran up on the sand. By the time they had looked about them the rain had stopped, although billowing clouds sweeping low over the sea restricted visibility to about a mile.

  ‘If this stuff will lift a little higher we ought to be able to find our way back to the island,’ declared Biggles cheerfully, glancing upward before turning to scrutinize the landscape; but all that could be seen was a long strip of drab yellow sand, unbroken by a footmark and backed by bleak dunes that ended in a fringe of coarse grass.
A more desolate spot it would be hard to imagine, for there was not a building of any description in sight, or any other mark of human occupation. Which, of course, suited them very well. There was plenty of driftwood along the high-water mark, so in a short time a brisk fire was burning, with the stranded airmen huddled around it. And there they remained all day, going farther and farther to collect fuel as their stock ran low, noting with satisfaction that between occasional storms the weather slowly improved, with a corresponding extension of visibility.

  On one such wood-collecting excursion Ginger found himself near the sand-dunes, so more from a spirit of idle curiosity than definite reconnaissance he climbed to the top of the highest and surveyed the view inland. He discovered that, as not infrequently happens, he could see farther across the landscape than he could over the sea, and thus it was that an unsuspected feature was revealed, a feature that at once explained the desolation. It seemed that they were not on the main-land at all, but on a sandbank about half a mile wide, and of such length that it could almost claim the description of an island.

  Beyond it lay a narrow strait, with what he took to be the mainland in the background—a foreshore as low and desolate as the sandbank on which he stood. And he saw something else, something that aroused his curiosity more than a little, although the object was commonplace enough. It was merely a notice-board on the edge of the sandbank; but it seemed to be in a well-kept condition, and he wondered, naturally enough, for what purpose a board should be erected in such a place, since it was hard to imagine that anyone would come there unless compelled to do so—as they had been—by bad weather.

  The notice-board stood some distance away, facing the strait, and his curiosity was such that he felt compelled to examine it more closely; at any rate, the language used would tell him what country they had invaded, he reflected; it might even give them the name of the locality, which would be a valuable guide to help them to find the base. So, keeping a careful look-out, he set off across the soaking grass.

  The board proved to be at a greater distance than he had judged; however, he encountered no obstacles, and the end of ten minutes’ sharp walking saw him standing in front of it.

  One glance was sufficient to tell him on whose territory they had landed, for apart from the unmistakable German letters, the order concluded with the two familiar words, ‘Heil Hitler.’ For the rest, unable as he was to read German, he could only recognize the word verboten, which he knew meant forbidden.

  He made a note of the text for Biggles’s benefit, and was about to start on the return journey when, like a colossal apparition, out of the mist at the northern end of the strait came the last type of vessel he expected to see in such a place. It was a liner, and a huge one at that. He wasted no more time, but bending low, raced back towards the camp as fast as his legs would carry him.

  As he topped the last rise he saw Biggles coming to meet him, and Algy’s attentive position near the machines suggested that they had become alarmed by his absence.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Biggles crisply, knowing from Ginger’s attitude that something was amiss.

  ‘We’re on an island,’ puffed Ginger. ‘There’s a channel on the other side. There’s a whacking great liner going through it.’

  Biggles’s face expressed amazement, but he dashed up the slope, and throwing himself down, peered through the long grass. ‘Well, upon my life, if it isn’t the Leipzig!’ he gasped. ‘She’s the swell German luxury liner. You remember she disappeared after leaving South America about three weeks ago. The Navy’s been scouring the seas for her. So she’s got away, after all. I should say she’s going to Danzig, now the Germans have captured the city. They’ll probably use her as a troopship. What a tragedy we haven’t a torpedo with us. What a target she makes! But what’s the use of talking. Even if we took off now, and found the base right away, it would be dark before we could get back.’

  For some minutes they lay still, watching the great ship creeping majestically down the channel.

  ‘Why were you away so long?’ asked Biggles presently.

  ‘I went to have a look at that notice-board over there.’

  ‘Notice-board? Where?’

  Ginger pointed. ‘There it is. I went to see what was written on it. It’s in German, so we’re evidently in Germany. The only word I knew was verboten, but I made a note of the rest.’

  He recited the words.

  ‘That simply means “landing forbidden—anyone trespassing will get it in the neck”—or words to that effect.’

  ‘Why should people be forbidden to land on a place like this? Who would want to land, anyway?’

  ‘It’s no use asking me,’ returned Biggles briefly. ‘Wait a minute though,’ he added. ‘There must be something here people are not allowed to see, and if that is so we ought to find out what it is—although goodness knows what it can be.’

  They watched the liner disappear into the mist and then returned to the machines.

  Algy greeted them impatiently. ‘I reckon we could get off now,’ he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the sky. ‘It has started to get dark, so if we hang about much longer we shall have to stay all night.’

  `Yes, we’ll go,’ agreed Biggles. ‘All the same, there’s something queer about this place, so I think we ought to come back later on—probably to-morrow—and give it the once-over. Just a minute.’ He climbed into the cockpit of the Willie-Willie and took his map from its pocket. Opening it fiat on the ground, he studied it closely. ‘This must be where we are,’ he announced, pointing to the coast of East Prussia. ‘This island here must be the island we’re on—here’s the strait—see ? That gives us a line to Bergen Ait. Come on, let’s get home.’

  In a few minutes both machines were in the air, racing low over the uneasy water on a northwesterly course. The weather was still thick, but the clouds had lifted somewhat and were broken in many places, a condition which suited Biggles well, for although he flew through the open spaces, he kept close to the clouds, prepared to take cover in them should danger threaten.

  However, they saw no craft of any sort, either in the air or on the sea, and twenty minutes’ flying on full throttle brought them to within sight of their rocky home. The sea, while by no means as tranquil as they would have wished, had gone down considerably, and landing in the cove presented no great difficulty or danger.

  Not a little satisfied at their safe return, Biggles taxied into the cave, calling loudly for Briny. Instead, the Flight-Sergeant answered his hail. ‘Where’s Briny ?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘He’s gone, sir,’ answered Flight-Sergeant Smyth.

  ‘Gone ? What do you mean—gone ?’

  ‘We thought you were down on the water somewhere. I told him you hadn’t enough petrol to remain up all this time, so he took the launch and went to see if he could find you. I stood by here in case you returned.’

  Biggles regarded the Flight-Sergeant seriously. ‘Then heaven only knows what’s happened to him,’ he muttered. ‘What time did he start?’

  ‘It’d be just before lunch-time, sir.’

  Biggles made a despairing gesture. ‘Then he must have run out of petrol by this time. I expect he found the sea got too rough for him and had to run before the wind. Well, we can’t do anything about it now,’ he added after a glance at the mouth of the cave. ‘It’s nearly dark. We’ll look for him in the morning—that is, if he doesn’t come back during the night. You’d better look over these machines. We’ve lost the Dingo. By the way, before we left I told Roy to send a signal that we had got hold of the German naval code. Do you know if he sent it ?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The message was acknowledged.’

  ‘Good.’ Biggles turned to Ginger. ‘You go and get some dry clothes on,’ he ordered, ‘then join us in the mess. It’s about time we had something to eat.’

  CHAPTER IX

  WHAT HAPPENED TO ALGY

  WHEN at daybreak the following morning Biggles was informed that Briny had not returned he m
ade immediate arrangements for a search. ‘It’s a nuisance because there are other things we should be doing,’ he told Algy, for Ginger, tired out, had not awakened. ‘We ought to explore that Sandbank to see what the notice is about,’ he continued. ‘And there is a chance that we might overtake the Leipzig and plunk a mouldy* in her ribs. Further, I don’t like this flying about in daylight; we are bound to be spotted sooner or later if we go on like this; the original idea was that we should only fly at night. However, while there’s still a chance that Briny is drifting about in the boat we can’t do other than try to find him. There’s no need to wake Ginger. He can do with a rest. Two machines will be enough, anyway; there should always be one in reserve. I’ll leave orders that Ginger is to stay where he is until we return.’

  ‘We’d better go in different directions,’ suggested Algy.

  ‘More or less,’ agreed Biggles. ‘The gale came down from the north so the boat should be somewhere south of here. I’ll cover the south-west. You take the south-east.’ So that there could be no mistake, he marked the two sections lightly on his map with a pencil. ‘If we find the boat, and it isn’t too far away, we might try to tow it back—providing, of course, that the water is calm. Otherwise we shall just have to pick Briny up and abandon the boat. Come on, let’s get off. I’m glad the weather is better, but it’s getting late in the year and I wouldn’t trust it too far. By the way, I’ve got Roy on decoding all the Boche messages that he has picked up; they may reveal something that needs our urgent attention so we’d better not be too long away.’

  In a few minutes both machines—the Willie-Willie and the Didgeree-du—were in the air, heading away from the base on their respective courses. The sky was clear except for wind-torn streaks of cirrus cloud at a great altitude, but it was not long before the machines were out of sight of each other.

  Algy, as arranged, continued to fly south-east, and, having climbed to 5,000 feet, settled down to study the surface of the ocean, which stretched away to the horizon, unbroken as far as he could see by a vessel of any sort.