Biggles In Spain Read online

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1 An Interrupted Cruise

  Chapter 2 A Swim in the Dark

  Chapter 3 A Dangerous Mission

  Chapter 4 Unexpected Developments

  Chapter 5 Goudini Again

  Chapter 6 A Difficult Situation

  Chapter 7 A Nasty Shock

  Chapter 8 Ginger Goes Alone

  Chapter 9 A Lucky Combat

  Chapter 10 More Shocks for Ginger

  Chapter 11 Back to Barcelona

  Chapter 12 A Desperate Expedient

  Chapter 13 A Memorable Night

  Chapter 14 Winged Warfare

  Chapter 15 A Tragic Error

  Chapter 16 In Deep Waters

  Chapter 17 An Unexpected Meeting

  Chapter 18 Behind Barbed Wire

  Chapter 19 A Bitter Disappointment

  Chapter 20 Adios — and Au Revoir

  'Don't move yet. I'm going out of the front door. They'll rush me then. That's your chance to go out the back way. Got that?'

  'Quite clear.'

  'Good! But don't think I'm exaggerating. My chances of getting out of here alive are about one in a hundred. Yours are one in ten. They'll kill you without the slightest compunction if they think you're with me. I don't know what you're doing here, but it doesn't matter. Make for London. If you get there, tell them what happened.'

  From outside came again the wheezing cough.

  'That's Goudini,' said Frazer.

  Ginger stole a glance at the man whom by this time he realized was a British Secret Service agent. There was nothing in his manner now to show that anything unusual was happening. He was leaning back, smoking a cigarette contentedly, his eyes on the ceiling.

  'All set?' he inquired casually.

  'All set,' returned Biggles softly. Then to the others, 'You've heard what has been said. Stand by.'

  Captain W. E. Johns was born in Hertfordshire in 1893. He flew with the Royal Flying Corps in the First World War and made a daring escape from a German prison camp in 1918. Between the wars heFlying and Popular Flying and became a writer for the Ministry of Defence. The first Biggles story, Biggles the Camels are Coming was published in 1932, and W. E. Johns went on to write a staggering 102 Biggles titles before his death in 1968.

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  BIGGLES BOOKS

  PUBLISHED IN THIS EDITION

  FIRST WORLD WAR:

  Biggles Learns to Fly

  Biggles Flies East

  Biggles the Camels are Coming

  Biggles of the Fighter Squadron

  Biggles in France

  Biggles and the Rescue Flight

  BETWEEN THE WARS:

  Biggles and the Cruise of the Condor

  Biggles and Co.

  Biggles Flies West

  Biggles Goes to War

  Biggles and the Black Peril

  Biggles in Spain

  SECOND WORLD WAR:

  Biggles Defies the Swastika

  Biggles Delivers the Goods

  Biggles Defends the Desert

  Biggles Fails to Return

  BIGGLES

  in SPAIN

  CAPTAIN W.E. JOHNS

  Red Fox would like to express their grateful thanks

  for help given in the preparation of these editions to Jennifer Schofield,

  author of By Jove, Biggles, Linda Shaughnessy of A. P. Watt Ltd

  and especially to the late John Trendler.

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ISBN 978-1-4090-4519-9

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  BIGGLES IN SPAIN

  A RED FOX BOOK 0 09 993810 3

  First published in Great Britain by Oxford University Press, 1939

  This Red Fox edition published 2004

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright ©W E Johns (Publications) Ltd, 1939

  The right of W E Johns to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  ISBN: 978-1-4090-4519-9

  Version 1.0

  Red Fox Books are published by Random House Children's Books,

  61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,

  a division of The Random House Group Ltd,

  in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd,

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  and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd,

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  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Chapter 1

  An Interrupted Cruise

  Major James Bigglesworth, known to his many friends (and quite a few enemies) as Biggles, tossed aside the book he had been reading, and stretching out his arms with a gesture of utter boredom, yawned audibly. The movement caused the deck-chair in which he was reclining to creak ominously; the sound brought a muttered exclamation of alarm to his lips, and he relaxed quickly to his original position. The book lay where it had fallen on the deck near his feet, the pages fluttering noisily in the fresh sea breeze.

  'Your book'll be overboard in a minute if you don't look out,' observed Algy Lacey from the next chair of the three that were lined up just abaft the red funnel of the S.S. Stavritos. Ginger Hebblethwaite, Biggles' protégé, occupied the third.

  Biggles made no movement to recover the book although it was clear that Algy's warning was well founded. 'A watery grave would be too good an ending for such balderdash,' he observed coldly.

  'I was told it was a good book,' declared Ginger.

  'The fellow who told you that ought to be made to eat it,' returned Biggles, more than a suspicion of sarcasm and bitterness in his voice. 'And the fool doctor who sent me on this crazy trip ought to be made to eat his instruments,' he continued, as an afterthought.

  'He said you needed a rest,' reminded Algy.

  'I know. I'm getting it. But this life on the ocean wave bores me stiff. Nothing happens. We go on, and on, and on, and still nothing happens.'

  'It is rather a bore, but what do you want the skipper to do—run the ship on a rock or something?'

  'That would at least provide a little active entertainment. This sitting here doing nothing all day is giving me the jitters. The one thing I've never been able to do is nothing. I've done that now for five days and that's just about four days too long.'

  'Try looking at the sea,' suggested Ginger.

  'For what purpose? Do you suppose I've never seen the sea before? The trouble with the sea is that it always looks the same. One wave may be a bit bigger than an
other, but when you have seen one you've seen the lot. You can have them all, large and small, as far as I'm concerned.'

  No one answered, so Biggles was left to ponder on the reason for this unusual voyage. It was a simple one. A recurrence of fever, picked up during one of his trips to the tropics, had sent him, for the first time in many years, to see a doctor for treatment. Every day for a fortnight the doctor had plied him with a concoction of quinine, at the end of which time he announced that his patient was clear of fever, but would profit from a sea voyage.

  Ginger, who had done very little sea travelling, voted the idea a good one. Algy had agreed. So Biggles acquiesced, and four days later found them on a Greek cargo boat, homeward bound to Athens, from where they proposed to return by air. Biggles had firmly refused to travel on a cruise ship. They had now been at sea for five days, and Biggles was beginning to find the monotony irksome. The rock of Gibraltar, which they had passed the day before, had provided a brief interval of interest; but now it was far astern, and the next port of call, Marseilles, two days ahead.

  Ginger walked to the rail and pointed to a faint smudge on the northern horizon. 'There's land,' he remarked. 'It ought to be Spain.'

  'It is,' agreed Biggles briefly.

  'I wonder how the war's going on there*?'

  * Spanish Civil War 1936-1939. A war fought in Spain between the republicans, aided by volunteers from many countries, and General Franco and his Nationalist supporters backed by Hitler and Mussolini. Eventually, Franco won.

  'That's the sort of thing you would wonder about. It would not surprise me if you were also wondering how you could find your way into it.'

  'I wouldn't mind having a look at it, anyway,' admitted Ginger frankly.

  'Then you can put it right out of your mind, my lad,' said Biggles firmly. 'We've done quite enough barging into other people's wars. So just relax, and thank your lucky stars you have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and then eat and sleep again. Hullo! What's that?'

  Biggles and Algy joined Ginger at the rail as the hum of a distant aero engine was wafted to their ears.

  'Air France trans-Mediterranean air mail, for a guess,' suggested Algy, shading his eyes with a hand, the better to see the approaching speck.

  'It's coming this way,' put in Ginger.

  Now, it is a curious thing, but no matter how long a man may fly, however familiar aircraft may be to him, he cannot resist looking up at a passing aeroplane. The three airmen moved along the deck to a position where their vision was not interrupted by the rigging.

  'He's certainly coming this way,' agreed Algy. 'He wasn't at first, but I saw him alter his course a little just now. Maybe he's having trouble with his engine. Hullo, he's cut it!' he went on quickly as the drone of the engine died away. 'He is certainly making for us.'

  'They evidently think so on the bridge,' observed Biggles, as several orders rang out, to the accompaniment of the engine-room bell.

  'They seem to be getting quite excited about it, too,' remarked Algy.

  'It doesn't take much to get a Greek excited,' murmured Biggles.

  'They are certainly getting worked up about it,' declared Ginger, as a fresh volley of orders was shouted from the bridge. Several of the crew who had been below came bustling up on to the deck. From languid mid-afternoon quiet, the ship had suddenly become a hive of activity.

  Biggles puckered his forehead in a frown. 'Yes,' he said wonderingly, staring at the members of the crew, who were running to and fro casting furtive glances upwards, 'I'm no alarmist, but this begins to look more like panic than excitement. What's the idea? I fancy there's more in this than meets the eye. That machine is coming from the direction of Majorca. Franco has got a base there. By Jove, I wonder if it has anything to do with that old boy with the grey beard who came aboard at Gib!'

  Algy looked at Biggles sharply. 'Why should it?'

  'Because he's a Spaniard, or I've never seen one. He spoke in Spanish to the fellow who came to see him off.'

  'You mean—?'

  'Maybe I'm talking through my hat, but it just struck me that there might be something in it. What I mean is, maybe there is something or somebody on board this ship whom General Franco or the Catalonian Government doesn't want to reach port. A lot of ships have been bombed lately in these waters—even British ships.'

  'You mean—you think this fellow might be going to bomb us?' cried Ginger aghast.

  'Nothing he did would surprise me very much,' confessed Biggles. He raised his hand and pointed to the oncoming machine. 'One thing is certain,' he went on. 'He's making for this ship. It's a military machine, too—a two-seater. I can see the rear gun.'

  Algy clutched Biggles' arm. 'You're right,' he said sharply. 'Those are bombs under his wings; they look like two hundred-and-thirty pounders—one on each side.'

  They all started violently as a machine-gun started chattering somewhere in the fore part of the ship.

  'What the devil!' cried Biggles angrily.

  'Look out!' yelled Algy, as the aeroplane tilted its nose down in a steep dive, straight towards the ship.

  Pandemonium brook loose in a din of shots, yells, and curses, but it was drowned in an ear-shattering volume of sound as the pilot of the machine opened up his engine. Its shadow flashed across the deck.

  Biggles flung himself flat as a bomb detached itself from the port wing of the machine and hurtled down-ward. The others threw themselves beside him, their arms folded over their heads.

  There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the fast-diminishing roar of the aeroplane. Then the ship reeled and shuddered from stem to stern, as the bomb exploded somewhere amidships. There was a shrill hiss of escaping steam, and then a clatter as debris rained down on the deck.

  Biggles was up in a moment, hurrying towards the spot where the bomb had exploded. Ginger would have passed him, but Biggles caught him by the arm and flung him back as a red-splashed scene of horror met his eyes.

  'Watch out!' cried Algy tersely. 'Curse the fellow, he's coming back!' He pointed to the bomber, which was now banking steeply. Its nose swung down as it came in line with the ship, which had taken on a list that dragged it round in a wide curve.

  Biggles' face turned pale; his lips set in a hard line, and he looked around with the sharp movements of a man who needs something urgently. His questing eyes came to rest on what they sought—the machine-gun which they had heard a moment or two earlier. He saw at a glance that it was a type unknown to him, but the spade grips and metal belt were familiar, and since the gun was already loaded he had no doubt about his ability to use it. 'Take what cover you can,' he snapped to the others, and vaulted over a splintered lifeboat to the gun. A member of the crew was half crouching, half lying, behind it, moaning feebly, his face buried in his hands. A thin trickle of blood oozed from between his fingers, and Biggles, investigating, found that the fellow's cheek had been gashed by a splinter. It was not a serious wound, so, with scant ceremony, Biggles dragged him aside and crouched behind the blue barrel of the gun. His fingers whitened as they took a holding*.

  * When it is fired, a machine-gun jerks about violently, due to the recoil of the swiftly successive shots. In order to keep the barrel steady on the target it is necessary to drag on it with a good deal of force. This is called 'holding'.

  The aircraft was already within effective range, its nose tilted in a steep angle of dive. Above the roar of the engine came the wail of wind-torn wires and struts. The pilot was coming down straight over the stern of the vessel, offering what was, in effect, a sitting shot. That is to say, it was not necessary to move the barrel of the gun in order to keep the sights aligned.

  Even as Biggles' thumbs pressed the double thumb-piece, he saw the bomb sail down from the wing of the attacking machine, but he continued to fire. Fifty rounds poured through the blue barrel in four seconds of time, but somewhat to Biggles' surprise the machine did not swerve an inch from its course. He knew that his shots were hitting the target, and only when the
dive steepened suddenly did he realize what had happened. He had hit the pilot, who was no longer master of his machine. Simultaneously with this thought came the realization that the aeroplane would crash on the deck of its victim.

  There was no time to do anything but dive for what cover was available. A swift rush across the now steeply sloping deck, and he flung himself behind the funnel. An instant later the decks heaved under him as the bomb exploded, and before the noise of falling debris had subsided came the splintering crash of the machine tearing through the rigging. The forward wireless mast was flung against the funnel, and while Biggles rolled clear of the flying splinters came the dull whoosh of exploding petrol.

  Biggles, scrambling to his feet, saw that the deck was aflame with flowing petrol. 'Algy! Ginger!' he yelled.

  The others came crawling from the hatch behind which they had taken cover.

  'Lifebelts!' jerked out Biggles. 'This way. We've got about two minutes.'

  Ignoring the captain and the surviving members of the crew, who were frantically trying to launch a life-boat, he made his way to the lifebelt locker abaft the wrecked bridge. He passed a lifebelt to each of the others and proceeded to put on his own.

  'What about a boat?' said Ginger.

  'Look!' Biggles pointed to the crew. 'They'll never get that boat on the water. There! What did I tell you?' he said, as the bow of the boat swung down, throwing those who were already in it into the water. 'Come on, let's get clear. She'll roll over any moment now.'

  As he spoke Biggles kicked off his shoes. The others did the same, and then, climbing over the rail, ran down the side of the heeling ship into the water.

  'Keep together,' ordered Biggles as he struck out in a steady breast stroke away from the doomed vessel. Not until he was at what he considered a safe distance from it—for he was well aware of the vortex caused by a sinking ship, a vortex that would drag down every-thing that came within it—did he slow down. Turning, he looked at the stricken vessel.

  It presented a terrible picture, a spectacle that none of them would ever forget. She was going down by the nose, her stern, with its twin propellers, being high in the air. Explosion followed explosion, mingled with the hiss of escaping steam. The entire deck, or that part of it that had not yet been submerged, was a sheet of flame. The petrol had even run down into the water, where it lapped against the iron sides of the ship as if impatient to conclude the work of destruction. Screams arose from the members of the crew who had been overtaken by the ever-spreading tide of burning spirit. Helpless, the three comrades could only watch.