Biggles In The Baltic

by W E Johns

  For twenty minutes he cruised on, and then began turning in ever-widening circles, but no sign of the missing boat could he see. Far to the southward a dark grey line marked the position of the enemy coast, and for some time he kept away from it, for he was anxious to avoid being seen from the shore. But presently some floating wreckage attracted his attention, and in order to investigate it he had to approach nearer to the coast. He soon ascertained that the wreckage was not that of the motor-boat, and he was about to turn back towards the open sea when he perceived —what he had already suspected—that the land to the south was not the mainland, but the desolate sandbank on which they had landed the previous day.

  Thinking the matter over, it struck him that it was by no means unlikely that Briny had been driven on to it, for the weather had come from the north, and as he knew from their visit that the sandbank was uninhabited, there seemed to be little or no danger in examining it more closely. With this object in view he began edging cautiously towards it, keeping as far out to sea as would permit a survey of the sandy beach.

  He had followed it for perhaps three miles, and could see in the distance the bay in which they had landed, when a dark-coloured speck that could only be a human being detached itself from the dunes and ran down to the water’s edge.

  Algy could only fly nearer, for, from where he was, recognition was out of the question, but he felt that it was extremely unlikely that an enemy coast-guard would expose himself in such a way, or behave in such a manner, for the figure was now gesticulating in a way that could only mean one thing. So he cut his engine and began to glide down; not with the intention of landing immediately, but in order to satisfy himself that the figure was actually that of the missing sailor. He felt pretty certain that it was, for he could not imagine who else it could be, but a doubt still lingered in his mind because there was no sign of the motor-boat.

  Gliding low over the solitary figure, he saw that it was, in fact, Briny, whose wild manifestations of joy reminded him in some curious way of Man Friday on Robinson Crusoe’s island. A quick inspection of the shore satisfied him that it was safe to land, and in a few minutes the Didgeree-du had run to a standstill on the beach not far from the stranded sailor.

  Briny, grinning broadly, lost no time in reaching the aircraft. ‘How did you know I was here, sir?’ he inquired, saluting.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Algy told him frankly. ‘How did you get here, anyway? Where’s the boat ?’

  ‘I don’t know where the boat is and that’s a fact, sir,’ declared Briny. ‘I swam here.’

  ‘What do you mean—you swam here?’

  ‘Well, sir, it was like this ‘ere, sir. The gale caught me a’beam, and pretty near swamped me. I couldn’t make no ‘eadway against it—although I remember once, off Cape Cod—’

  ‘Never mind about Cape Cod. We’re here. Where’s the boat ?’

  ‘Well, as I was saying, sir, I ‘ung on as long as I could. Then I ran out of petrol, and there I was, adrift as you might say. Then I see this place and thought I’d better get ashore. I couldn’t get the boat in, so I ‘ad to leave her and swim for it. I ‘ad a job to get through the surf meself.’

  ‘You must have nearly lost your life,’ suggested Algy.

  ‘I nearly lost me ‘at,’ returned Briny seriously.

  ‘It would have been a pity to have done that,’ muttered Algy sarcastically. ‘What happened to the boat?’

  ‘She drifted away after I got ashore. Then I ran up here as fast as I could.’

  ‘Why run? What was all the hurry about?’

  ‘Well, you see, sir, you wouldn’t believe it, but I found meself right up against the German liner Leipzig. I knew her in a jiffy. I remember seeing her once, off Cape—’

  ‘Just stick to the story. Where is the Leipzig now?’

  ‘She’s aground, sir, at the entrance to the channel, about four miles down the coast. I reckon she must have gone ashore in the dark at low water. Maybe they’ll float her off when the tide turns. And there’s something else here, too, although you wouldn’t spot it if you didn’t run slap into it, as I did, in a manner of speaking. There’s a big shed round the next bend.’

  ‘What sort of a shed?’

  ‘A building as big as an aeroplane hangar, but not so high. It’s painted all over with brown and yellow stripes. It stands on the edge of the water in as neat a little cove as you ever see.’

  ‘What’s in this shed?’

  ‘I dunno, sir. It was dark when I was there. I lay down in the dunes near by, reckoning to have a closer look when it got light, in case there was a dinghy in it. I was trying to find a way in when I see you coming, so I ran down on to the beach so as you’d spot me.’

  ‘Did you find anything else on this bit of no-man’s-land?’

  ‘No, sir, that ‘s the lot.’

  Algy thought quickly. The absence of the motor-boat was now explained, but he was more concerned about the shed Briny had described. That it was a secret supply depot seemed certain, and this, no doubt, accounted for the notice-board forbidding people to land. But Briny’s description of the shed had been vague, and he felt that while he was there he ought to obtain more detailed information, for the Admiralty would be anxious to have full particulars. ‘How far away is this shed?’ he asked.

  ‘About a mile, sir, I reckon.’

  ‘And as far as you know there was no guard over it?’

  ‘I didn’t see a soul, sir.’

  ‘In that case we’ll go along and have a look at it. Get in.’

  Briny started, ‘Get in what, sir?’

  ‘This aeroplane—what else do you think I mean? You can’t see any motor-cars about, can you?’

  ‘What, me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, you. Don’t argue.’

  ‘You don’t mean you’re going to fly there, sir?’

  Algy wasted no more words. He bundled Briny into the back seat, and then, climbing in himself, taxied swiftly along the beach.

  ‘Steady on, sir, me ‘at’s blowing off,’ roared Briny, who was clutching at the sides of the cockpit.

  Algy did not take off, for the short distance he had to travel made it unnecessary, and five minutes brought them to within sight of the building. He saw at once that Briny’s description of it, as far as it went, was correct. The shed was a large but low structure, covering nearly half an acre of ground, built in a dip in the dunes at the landward extremity of a tiny cove so regular in shape that there was reason to suppose that it was artificial. The building stood at the very edge of the water; indeed, it was obvious that at high tide a boat of shallow draft would be able to moor up against the huge sliding doors; yet so cleverly camouflaged was it, in the same drab colours as the surrounding sand, that it would have been possible to fly over it at a low altitude without suspecting that it was there. It appeared to be absolutely deserted.

  Seeing that it was impossible to taxi right up to the shed on the landward side on account of the dunes, Algy took the machine on to the water, and after raising his landing-wheels, made a cautious approach, prepared to take off the instant anyone appeared; but by this time he felt confident that had a guard been on duty he must have heard the approaching aircraft and revealed himself.

  Nevertheless, he did not relax his caution as he taxied on, very slowly, until the Didgeree-du was alongside a wooden landing-stage that now appeared near the doors.

  ‘Go and have a look round to make sure that nobody’s about,’ he told Briny. ‘I’ll stay here in case of accidents. If it’s all clear I’ll join you.’

  Briny was soon back. ‘Can’t see a thing, sir,’ he reported.

  ‘What’s in the shed?’

  ‘I can’t see, sir. There ain’t no winders.’

  ‘That’s queer. You’d have thought there’d have been some sort of lighting.’ Algy got out and tried the doors, but, as he expected, they were locked.

  Meanwhile, Briny had climbed to the top of a dune, high enough to overlook the roof. ‘There’s skylights on to
p,’ he announced.

  ‘Skylights usually are on top, Briny,’ smiled Algy. ‘I’d better have a look. Give me a bunk up.’

  Algy was soon on the roof which, like the rest of the building, was built of corrugated iron. Crawling to the skylight, he peered down through it. For a few seconds he could see nothing, for owing to the inadequate lighting the interior of the shed was in dim twilight. Presently, however, he was able to make out the broad details, enough to tell him that the shed was, in fact, a naval depot —for submarines, chiefly, he thought, judging by the torpedoes and a formidable stack of oil drums. Having seen enough for his immediate purpose he slid off the roof.

  ‘It seems to be an ideal spot to plant a bomb,’ he declared as they went back to the machine. ‘And the sooner the better,’ he added. ‘If we can get rid of this lot, submarines coming here, relying on finding fuel, might find themselves stranded. I should say the sub. we sank was making for this place. Come on, let’s get back; the C.O. ought to know about it.’

  More than a little satisfied with the result of his survey, Algy turned the nose of the Didgeree-du to the mouth of the cove, and opening his throttle, roared away in the direction of the base.

  So concerned was he with getting back that beyond keeping a watchful eye on the horizon for shipping he paid little attention to the sea below; so when Briny tapped him on the shoulder and pointed downwards, he followed the outstretched finger with a twinge of anxiety—anxiety that grew rapidly to acute alarm when his eyes found the object that Briny had spotted. Unquestionably, it was the wreckage of an aeroplane.

  Cutting his engine, he side-slipped steeply towards it, and at a thousand feet his worst fears were realized, for showing just above the gently lapping waves was the circular red, white, and blue nationality mark of a British aircraft. For a moment he experienced a feeling of relief as he remembered that the Dingo had been lost, for he assumed, not unnaturally, that this must be the remains of it; but then he recalled that Ginger’s machine had been burnt out, whereas there was no sign of fire on the wreckage.

  As quickly as he dared he put the Didgeree-du down on the water and taxied up to the wreck. One glance was enough to tell him the worst. The machine was one of their own; and if further proof were needed, the boomerang device on the crumpled fuselage, with the name Willie-Willie below, provided it. It was Biggles’s machine. And the reason for its present condition was apparent, for through fuselage and wings were the unmistakable gashes of shrapnel.

  As white as death, Algy flung off his flying-coat and slid into the water, groping blindly for the cockpit. He found it. It was empty, as was the spare seat. Gasping, he returned to the surface, and climbed up on the nearest float of his own machine, from whence he stared at the wreckage as if he could not believe his eyes. His brain seemed paralysed. Biggles had been shot down. That was obvious. And judging from the number of hits registered on the plane, and the mangled condition of it, the crash must have been a terrible one. He tried not to believe it, but there was no getting away from the grim evidence before him.

  It was Briny who discovered that the engine was missing. ‘It looks as though it was chopped out with an ‘atchet,’ he declared in a sombre voice.

  ‘Then that settles it,’ returned Algy miserably. ‘They shot him down and salvaged the engine for their own use. They would, of course.’ He said no more. There was nothing else to say. Minutes passed and still he stood on the float, staring dumbly at the wreck. At last, realizing that no good purpose could be served by remaining, yet hating to leave the spot, he climbed slowly into his cockpit. His eyes wandered over the surrounding sea.

  Briny guessed what he was looking for. ‘It ain’t no use looking for the body,’ he said gruffly. ‘It ‘ud sink. I remember—’

  ‘We’ll get back,’ broke in Algy harshly, and taking off, he raced on full throttle for the base.

  ‘Where ‘s Mr. Hebblethwaite?’ he asked the Flight-Sergeant, who came running along the catwalk to meet them.

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ was the unexpected reply. ‘We haven’t seen him for a couple of hours or more.’

  ‘He didn’t by any chance go with the C.O. after all?’

  ‘No, sir. The C.O. hasn’t come back yet.’

  ‘I’m afraid he—won’t be coming back,’ said Algy slowly. He glanced at the Platypus, the spare machine, still riding at her mooring. ‘Mr. Hebblethwaite must be about somewhere.’

  ‘That’s what we thought, sir, but we can’t find him.’

  Briny and the Flight-Sergeant watched in embarrassed silence as Algy unfastened the strap of his flying-cap and lit a cigarette. ‘The war still goes on,’ he said evenly. ‘It can’t stop because the C.O. is—missing. I am now in command here. Get my machine up to the derrick and sling a torpedo on it.’

  ‘But are you going off again right away, sir ?’ asked the Flight-Sergeant.

  ‘I am,’ answered Algy curtly. ‘You’d better make a thorough search for Mr. Hebblethwaite—he may have fallen and hurt himself. If he turns up tell him to stand by until I return. Those are my orders.’

  The Flight-Sergeant saluted. ‘Very good, sir.’

  CHAPTER X

  GINGER GOES EXPLORING

  HAD Ginger been aware of Algy’s tragic discovery his state of mind would have been more harassed than it actually was—although he would have found it difficult to believe that possible.

  He had been awakened by the roar of the two machines taking off to begin the search for Briny; he had guessed what they were going to do and hastily pulled on his slacks with the intention of confirming it. Outside he was met by the Flight-Sergeant, who gave him Biggles’s order that he was to stand fast until the search party returned.

  Annoyed with himself for having overslept, Ginger made his way back to his quarters, finished dressing, and had his breakfast. Thereafter he wandered about for the best part of an hour, killing time by examining the stores and visiting Roy in the signals room. Bored, he was on his way to the mess when it struck him that it was a good opportunity to explore the extremity of the cave—not so much for any particular reason as from idle curiosity. So fetching an electric torch from the stores, he started off over the loose rocks which began where the water ended. It struck him that he ought to have told the Flight-Sergeant where he was going, in case the machines returned before he did, but on second thoughts he concluded that this was unlikely, and proceeded on his way.

  It is often fascinating, if futile, to speculate what might have happened if certain events had gone otherwise than they did, or to trace the tremendous consequences of incidents which, at the time, seemed of trivial importance. Thus it was with Ginger now. Had he returned and reported his proposed expedition to the Flight-Sergeant, the Flight-Sergeant would have known where he was; he in turn would have informed Algy, who, instead of taking off with a torpedo on board, would have first tried to locate him in order to tell him about his discovery of Biggles’s machine. But Ginger did not return, and as he proceeded on over the rocks he would have been incredulous could he have foreseen the result of his failure to do so. It is certain that the history of ‘Z’ Squadron would have been altogether different from what it actually was.

  He discovered, as he rather expected, that beyond the area of flat rock on which the depot was established the cave rapidly diminished in size, closing in on all sides until it was no more than a high, narrow tunnel, the floor of which was strewn with rocks worn round by centuries of erosion. He could not see why this should be, for the sea did not come as far, ending as it did in a rather slimy pool just beyond the depot. However, he assumed that exceptionally high spring tides penetrated farther into the island than they supposed, and made a mental note to warn Biggles of this, for it seemed not unlikely that at such times the floor of the depot would be inundated.

  Thereafter the cave narrowed so rapidly that he was quite prepared for it to end abruptly at any moment; so confident was he that this was the case that he almost abandoned his survey, and it was only b
y the merest chance that he squeezed through a gap and turned the beam of the torch on what lay beyond. To his surprise he found that the cave, while not broadening to any great extent, became very high—so high, in fact, that the light of the torch failed to reach the ceiling.

  The picture that now presented itself was in the nature of a gigantic crack, or fissure, the floor of which sloped upwards. Both the floor and walls of the cavity were polished smooth in a manner that suggested that water was responsible, and again this puzzled him not a little, for he could not imagine that the tide would rise so high. Wonderingly he took a few paces forward, and a clue to the mystery was provided when, stepping on something soft and looking to see what it was, the light of the torch revealed the decomposed carcass of a seagull.

  On the face of it there was nothing remarkable about finding the body of a gull there, for there were legions of them on the outside of the rock, but his common sense refused to accept the obvious explanation—which was that the gull had made its way right up the cave in pitch darkness. Why should it ? He had never seen a gull in the cave, or even one that looked like entering the cave, so why should this particular bird proceed up it so far and then perish miserably?

  A few moments’ reflection were sufficient to cause Ginger to reject the supposition that the gull had flown up the cave. Yet the gull was undoubtedly there. How had it got there? There could only be one answer to that question. There was another entrance to the cave ; it was (he reasoned) through this other entrance that the water had entered, and since water does not run uphill, the other entrance must be higher than the one they habitually used. This at once presupposed that the gull had been carried to its present position by water flowing down through the rock.

  Hunting about, Ginger soon found what he sought—a small pool in a depression in the floor. Dipping his fingers into it, he tasted it, and discovered that it was fresh, without any suggestion of salt. After that, deduction was fairly simple. Somewhere ahead, possibly on the top of the rock, there was a watershed through which rain water made its way down into the cave.