14 Biggles Goes To War (2 page)

Chapter 2

Disquieting News

Ten days later, shortly before ten o'clock in the morning, the three airmen were seated round a table in the dining-room at Southwick Airport; a fourth place had been laid, but as yet the chair was unoccupied.

Biggles glanced at his wrist-watch. 'We are a minute or two on the early side,' he observed. 'I don't suppose Count Stanhauser will be late.' The airmen had only discovered their visitor's title after he had departed.

`This looks like him coming now,' said Ginger, who was looking through the window at the railway station in which an electric train had just come to a halt. 'Yes, there he is; he's coming across,' he concluded.

The intervening days between Biggles's swiftly formed decision to go to Maltovia and the present had been busy ones, for there had been many matters to occupy his closest attention. Perhaps the most important item had been the choice of equipment they were to use in Maltovia, for the little state possessed no air force and, consequently, no aeroplanes, and it therefore became necessary for them to supply the deficiency. By arrangement with Count Stanhauser, who was, of course, responsible for the finance, the machines Biggles had selected were all single-seaters of a type that had recently become obsolete in the Royal Air Force, the famous Launcester 'Lance', and three of these now reposed in a closed hangar that had once belonged to a now-defunct air charter company.

This was not all. There had been the matter of mechanics, and to fill this gap Biggles had looked up his old wartime fitter , Flight-Sergeant Smyth, and Corporal Carter his brother-in-law, who had been a rigger in the RAF. Both men expressed themselves delighted at the undertaking. They had already left for Janovica, the capital of Maltovia, by rail, to make the necessary arrangements for the accommodation of the three aeroplanes on their arrival. Thus the Maltovian Air Force comprised a personnel of five, three officers and two other ranks, with three aeroplanes. It was, as Biggles had told the others at a final gathering, 'small, but what it lacked in size it would have to make up for in efficiency.' Count Stanhauser had replied to the effect that money was now being raised in Maltovia, which would, he hoped, enable the tiny air force to expand in the near future; young Maltovians would be selected for training as pilots, and as soon as they were ready to take their places other machines would be acquired.

There were also such matters as uniforms and national markings for the aeroplanes to be considered. In regard to the former, it had been decided to adopt the regulation Maltovian army uniform of a pale-blue jacket, with a small pair of gold wings on the left breast, and breeches with a red stripe, continental pattern service caps and black field-boots. For identification markings on the machines it had been agreed to use the Maltovian national colours of red, black, and green, but these had not yet been put on for fear of international complications while the machines were being flown across Europe.

For the

same reason their uniforms had been packed in their suitcases.

The three airmen rose as Count Stanhauser entered the room and walked over to them.

Biggles pulled out the vacant chair. 'Well, here we are, sir,' he said, smiling cheerfully. '

All present and correct.'

The Count sat down and Biggles signalled to the waiter to serve breakfast.

'So you are all ready for departure?' questioned the Count.

'Everything is settled as far as we are concerned,' answered Biggles. 'Are your arrangements complete?'

'I think so.'

Biggles raised his eyebrows. 'You only think? That isn't enough, sir. On this job we must always be sure. What are you doubtful about?'

The Count looked uncomfortable for a moment. 'It isn't doubt, perhaps, so much as fear, knowing that so much depends upon this issue,' he said quietly. 'The necessity for landing between here and Maltovia was an unexpected difficulty.'

'No single-seater, even with the special long-range tanks which I have had fitted to our machines, could possibly fly all the way from here to Maltovia without an intermediate landing for petrol,' declared Biggles. told you that, and you said you would make arrangements for us to land in Weisheim, which is about half-way.'

'That is true and I have made such arrangements. You warned me, you remember, that in this matter we should have to be very careful because of the suspicion with which military aircraft are regarded in Europe. Bearing this in mind, I have arranged with a friend of ours in Weisheim, who owns a large estate, to have his private aerodrome ready for your reception, with an ample supply of fuel.'

'What's wrong with that? It sounds an ideal scheme to me,' confessed Biggles. 'You will have to give us the precise position of this aerodrome, of course.'

'I have marked the place on the map which I will give you in a moment. Yet, somehow, I have a feeling of disquiet.'

Biggles glanced at the others. He did not need telling that the Count was holding something back. Turning again, he looked him straight in the eyes. 'Count Stanhauser,' he said in a low voice, 'we all know that by making an unauthorized landing at Weisheim, instead of landing at an official customs airport, we are committing a breach of international regulations punishable by imprisonment; that is a risk we must be prepared to take - if that is what is worrying you. If you are thinking of something else, why not be quite frank with us? By withholding anything, no matter how insignificant it may appear, you must lessen our chances of success.

The old man leaned forward in his chair. His expression was very serious. 'Major Bigglesworth,' he said in a voice so low that it was little more than a whisper, 'I am going to be absolutely honest with you. We have reason to suspect that our lines of communication are being tampered with. It is so hard to know whom we can trust.'

Biggles looked grave. 'You mean that Lovitznian spies are on the job?'

'That is precisely what I do mean.'

Biggles took out a cigarette and tapped it thoughtfully on the table. 'I can't say that I am surprised,' he murmured. 'In fact, I was half prepared for something of the sort. The question arises, how far will they go?'

'They will go to any lengths to prevent the fulfilment of our plans, you may be sure.'

'I don't doubt that. What I really meant was, how acute is the danger? How much does the other side know already?'

'That is a question which, I fear, I cannot answer.'

'But you suspect that there may be a hitch at Weisheim?' 'Frankly, yes.'

`What is the name of the man who owns the place?' 'Baron von Kestler.'

'Have you proof that he is a friend?'

'The Baroness, his wife, is a Maltovian. She has helped us in the past. It was with her, in the absence of the Baron, that I conspired for your landing.'

Biggles was silent for a few moments after his quiet ejaculation. 'Well, we can't hold up things now; we shall have to do the best we can,' he went on. 'What about the position in Maltovia? Is there any reason to suspect treachery or sabotage there?'

'It is hard to say.'

'This is all very vague,' muttered Biggles. 'Can you give us the name of a man there, a prominent man, whom we can trust absolutely? It would be useful to know some one like that.'

`You can trust my nephew, Ludwig Stanhauser, with your life. He knows you are coming.'

'Does he speak English?'

'He was educated in England. It was upon his suggestion that I came to see you.'

`Good! Any one else?'

The Princess. She has also been to England and speaks your language.'

'We are hardly likely to see her, I imagine. Any one else?'

'It would be better, I think, if you pursued this question with Ludwig. After all, it is some time since I was at home in Maltovia, and things outside my knowledge may have occurred. I only know that there is renewed activity on the part of the enemy.'

`What you really mean is, they know we are coming out?'

'I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but it might be so.'

`What gives you that impression?'

`Zarovitch, the Lovitznian minister in London, has returned to Lovitzna. He went hurriedly.'

Biggles frowned. 'The dickens he has. That doesn't sound so good. Well, we can't do anything about it if he has. Anything else?'

Òne more thing I must tell you.' The Count began drawing invisible lines on the tablecloth with a fork. *General Otto von Nerthold, one of our most able military leaders, a true patriot and the strongest man in our country, an officer to whose zeal we owe our defences, was assassinated last night.'

Biggles caught Algy's eye for an instant before he looked back at the Count. `That's bad,'

he said. 'It looks as if the enemy are going to try to win their war by underhand methods.'

`Such is Lovitzna's way, and the way of the big country behind them.'

Ìn which case our straightforward methods may cause them some surprise,' answered Biggles grimly.

`Be ever on your guard.'

It's as bad as that, is it?

Ì fear it is. Tell me, are you armed?'

Biggles made a grimace. 'Yes,' he said slowly, `we are, and it would seem to be as well for us that we are. For risks of war I was prepared, but murder by unseen enemies is unpleasant to contemplate.'

Ì would have warned you earlier,' declared the Count sadly, 'but I did not know that matters had reached the stage they have until I received a dispatch this morning. In fairness to you I must offer you the option of withdrawing if you wish.'

'We don't withdraw when once we have started, sir.' 'It brings joy to my heart to hear you say that.'

'We shall endeavour to be worthy of your confidence,' said Biggles seriously. 'You have no more unpleasant news for us, I hope?'

'No, I do not think that I have anything more to say, beyond once more expressing my deepest gratitude for what you are doing, at the same time regretting that our little country is not in a financial position to recompense you more in accordance with your worth.'

Biggles permitted a faint smile to cross his face. 'We are not doing this for money, Count Stanhauser,' he said quietly. 'If you want the truth, we are doing it because there is in us, as there is in most Englishmen, a love of justice, a sense of right and wrong, and sympathy for the underdog. That is why we shall be proud to wear our Maltovian uniforms.'

Tears sprang to the old man's eyes. He was almost overcome by emotion. 'Yes, ... I knew

... that,' he said huskily. 'Then there is nothing more to say except goodbye, and may God go with you to defend the right.'

Ten minutes later the three 'Lances' took up formation over the aerodrome and, with Biggles leading, headed south-east towards the Channel. Below, on the deserted tarmac, a single lonely figure watched them go, his right hand held high in farewell.

Chapter 3

Dangerous Ground

For nearly five hours the three machines bored their way across Central Europe at a speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour over masses of billowy cumulus cloud that was rolling slowly in the same direction as they were travelling. More than once, when the earth was completely blotted out, Biggles was compelled to go down under the cloud bank in order to pick up a landmark to make sure that he was on his course. A glance at the watch on the instrument-board, and a quick mental calculation, told him that they were approaching their destination, and he expressed his relief in relaxation, for, although he had said little about it to the others, he could not entirely rid himself of the fear of a forced landing, knowing well what the result would be. The machines would certainly be impounded if nothing worse.

Indeed, more than once he half regretted the hasty decision that had sent them out on yet another mission; not for himself, but for the others, Ginger in particular. He himself knew only too well what the future was likely to hold, for he no longer had any delusions about war-flying. Algy knew, too, he reflected, and he was well able to take care of himself; but Ginger was young, and, however well he might be able to fly, real war-flying was something new to his experience. The responsibility was on his shoulders, and if anything happened to the lad who was now roaring along near his left wing-tip, he knew that he would never

forgive himself. Therefore doubts assailed him. What would happen if any of them had the misfortune to be forced down in Lovitzna? It was unlikely that they would be accorded the normal treatment of prisoners of war. Caught in arms against another country, it would be useless to appeal to the British Foreign Office for assistance; in any case, his spirit revolted from such a course. Well, time would show. The curious part of the affair was that they were getting nothing out of it. They stood to lose their lives, and against that, to gain nothing - at least, their pay as Maltovian officers, a matter of a few shillings a day, really amounted to nothing. It was always the way when one was fighting for a cause, he thought moodily. Still, it was too late to turn back now.

What sort of reception awaited them at Weisheim, where they were to refuel? He himself had entertained doubts before the Count had amplified them by relating the circumstances of the arrangement. To have the machines confiscated before they so much as reached the country for which they were bound would indeed be a bitter anti-climax. It would not happen if he could prevent it, and to that end he had made certain private arrangements without taking the others into his confidence, the reason for this being that he was anxious not to alarm them.

Another glance at the watch and he throttled back to half-throttle, eased the stick forward, and glided down into the piled-up vapour above which they had been skimming.

In an instant he was swallowed up, but holding the stick steady, in a few seconds he emerged into a dim world, grey in the fading light of the November evening. He was rather sorry about the cloud, for it forced him to fly lower than would have been necessary had the sky been clear, and, moreover, against the grey background the machines would stand out to watchers below as clearly as flies on a ceiling. Yet there was no help for it; he had never before flown over Weisheim, and only by using his eyes could he hope to pick up the landing-ground, which, the Count had informed him, was marked out with the usual white circle.