Biggles Buries a Hatchet Read online

  There was a short pause while these were handed over.

  ‘Now, say this is the coal face,’ resumed Biggles, drawing a line. ‘Here’s our hide.’ He made a small circle. ‘Von Stalhein is clearing a heap of coal where the face has collapsed forming a rough scree by which one can reach the top.’ He marked it on the paper. ‘Beyond that, forty or fifty yards back, is forest. More firs. From what I could see of them they looked pretty close packed. That will be our first objective. If we can reach that we shall have plenty of cover all the way to the river. But that will come later. Now then. Here we have the high ground between the prison and the workings. It isn’t very high, but high enough to prevent the workings from being seen from the prison. It’s carpeted with short thick rhododendron scrub mixed up with old fir loppings, so it should burn freely. With a wind behind it, it should make a really good fire.’

  ‘And plenty of smoke,’ murmured Ginger.

  ‘Exactly. The idea is a smoke screen. You and Bertie will take your places, lying flat in the stuff — in a depression if you can find one — at the same time that Fritz and I go into the hide. To give the fire a flying start I suggest you each take a bottle of petrol and spread it in a line as far as it will go. Then, at nine-fifteen, all you’ll have to do is drop a match on it. I can’t guess what the guards will do when they see the hill on fire and the smoke bearing down on them. It should at any rate cause a diversion and induce them to take their eyes off the prisoners. If they get in a flap so much the better. At all events, with a lot of smoke about, even if it reduces visibility only a little, it should improve our chances of getting to the forest whether our departure is noticed or not.’

  ‘But look here, old boy; what if the prisoners get caught in the flare-up?’ queried Bertie. ‘The poor blighters won’t be able to run with those beastly bangles jangling on their ankles — if you see what I mean.’

  ‘There’s no risk of that,’ asserted Biggles. ‘When the fire reaches the ground that’s been cleared, which is forty or fifty yards from where the men are working, having no more fuel it’ll go out.’

  ‘And having lit our bonfire what do we do?’ asked Ginger.

  ‘Make for the bridge, flat out, and get back here as fast as you can. There should be plenty of smoke between you and the guards, so they won’t see you. There’s a chance you might be seen from the prison, but that’s some distance off, so you should get to the bridge first even if someone comes after you. When you’ve crossed, take to the forest so that nobody will see which way you go: obviously, you’ll do your best not to be seen heading this way.’

  ‘And if we’re intercepted?’ questioned Bertie.

  ‘I’ll leave that to you. I’d shoot my way out, anything rather than be caught.’

  ‘Too true,’ murmured Bertie. ‘How right you are.’

  ‘And what about me and Pat while all this is going on?’ Algy wanted to know.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I shall have to ask you to stay here,’ answered Biggles. ‘If he likes Pat can go ashore and take up a position to watch the track and help us to fight a rear-guard action in the event of our being pursued. I’m not risking leaving the aircraft with no one in it, with the weather as it is. You stand by with everything ready for a quick take-off as soon as we’re all on board. That may not seem very spectacular, but it may turn out to be the most important job of the lot, because whatever happens this business is going to send the balloon up in a big way. Once we’re aboard, the sooner we’re airborne the better our chance of getting clear of the island. We can be sure that telephones and radio will start buzzing, and if there are hostile aircraft within call they’ll soon be after us.’

  ‘And you reckon this scheme will work out like you say?’ queried Pat, dubiously.

  ‘Speaking from experience, if it works out without hitch nobody will be more surprised than me,’ said Biggles, frankly. ‘But one must start with some clear idea of what one’s going to do. If the thing breaks down from an unforeseen cause we shall simply have to make the best of the situation that arises.’ Biggles looked round. ‘Well, that’s about the lot. If anyone isn’t absolutely clear about what he has to do, or has any questions to ask, now’s the time to talk.’

  ‘It’s quite clear to me,’ said Fritz, and the others agreed.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Biggles. ‘Then let’s get organized and make ready everything we’re likely to need.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time’s getting on. Those of us who are going on the job have about three hours for a spot of shut-eye. That should be enough. There’ll be plenty of time for sleep when we get to some place where there are beds. You don’t mind swapping clothes with me, Pat?’ Biggles grinned. ‘You can have ‘em back afterwards.’

  ‘Glad to,’ agreed Pat promptly. ‘Brother, do they stink!’

  ‘I can take it. We’re about the same build,’ observed Biggles.

  ‘So what? These weren’t made to measure.’

  ‘And as I’m about the same build as von Stalhein, although he may be a bit taller, with a little mud and coal dust on my face the switch shouldn’t be spotted unless a guard comes close.’

  ‘What if one does?’ asked Pat. ‘What if he spots you’re not wearing shackles?’

  ‘He’ll wish he hadn’t been such a nosy-parker,’ said Biggles, grimly. ‘Get out the tool kit. Ginger, and don’t forget to give Fritz a spare gun for his uncle. I’m going to have a look outside to see what the weather’s doing.’

  He was soon back. ‘It’s dry,’ he reported. ‘The wind’s veered a point and is blowing straight into the estuary. It’s whipping up a bit of a sea, but so far nothing to worry about. If the wind stays where it is it'll be just right for the fire. Which reminds me, Ginger, and you, Bertie. Be sure to start your fire dead in line with the wind, so that the smoke strikes the workings, otherwise if it’ll be no good. Now I’m going to hit the hay. You’d better do the same, Fritz. Whoever’s on guard see that we’re on our feet by four o’clock. I hate being rushed.’

  CHAPTER 12

  A TEST OF NERVES

  IT was still dark, for it was only a little after four o’clock, when those comprising the rescue party, their pockets heavy with equipment, were landed on the track, and after a final word with Pat, who had elected to remain ashore ready to deal with an emergency should one arise, set off on what Ginger knew could not be anything but a desperate sortie however well things might go. Biggles, wearing Pat’s prison outfit, led the way over what was now familiar ground.

  There had been one slight change in the arrangement this at Bertie’s suggestion. It was that he and Ginger, instead of returning direct to the aircraft on the completion of their fire-raising mission, as had originally been planned, should cross the bridge, and keeping under cover in the forest wait there for Biggles’ party to join them. They could then all return home together, making a stronger force to deal with opposition than if they retired independently of each other.

  Biggles agreed, saying he could see nothing against that. In fact, there was much to be said for it.

  It should be said that Pat, in order to remain ashore, had hidden the dinghy in some reeds close in, where it would be ready to hand instantly should it be needed in a hurry when the expedition returned. Biggles thought this was more than likely.

  The weather had not changed in the last few hours. It was still dry, with no sign yet of the promised snow beyond a sky ten-tenths covered with cloud of a density sufficient to black out the moon and stars. A bitterly cold wind, as yet no more than ‘moderate,’ was still coming from the same quarter. It had blown up a short, choppy sea, but nothing that the Otter, designed for hard work, could not face if it had to take off.

  The party moved warily, in silence, of necessity keeping to the track, because movement in the inky darkness, of the forest could not be anything but slow — too slow, since the first essential of the scheme was that they should all be in position before daybreak. Biggles was not worried about having to stay on the waterside track because, as h
e had remarked, at that hour the only people having a reason to be out were search parties seeking Pat, and they would obviously be wasting their time looking for him at night in country where there was practically no open ground. This assumption proved to be correct, and they came within striking distance of the bridge without seeing or hearing anything to cause them uneasiness.

  Biggles now halted the party while he went on alone to reconnoitre. He moved with the utmost caution, advancing a step at a time, pistol in hand ready to act fast should he encounter enemies. But nothing happened. Reaching the foot of the bridge he stopped for a full minute to listen, for with visibility down to a few yards he couldn’t see the far side. He whistled softly, confident that should anyone be there he would be answered. There was no reply, so he returned to the others and by a touch indicated that it was safe to go on.

  He crossed the bridge first. The others followed one by one so that presently they stood close together on the far side.

  ‘I’m glad that’s over,’ said Biggles. ‘I don’t mind telling you I was scared stiff of that bridge. Had anyone been about it would have been here. Well, this is when we part company.’ He pointed. ‘There’s your hill,’ he told Bertie and Ginger. ‘When you get in position keep still and keep your heads down. Don’t try to see what’s going on. If you can see the enemy he can see you. Curiosity at this game can lead to trouble.’ He stared hard at Bertie’s normally slim figure. ‘What the deuce have you got in your pockets?’ he inquired, curiously.

  ‘Just one or two odds and ends, old boy, that I thought might come in handy,’ replied Bertie, carelessly.

  Biggles looked at him suspiciously. ‘Don’t get up to any foolery.’

  ‘Have a heart, laddie,’ returned Bertie in a pained voice. ‘Would I be such an ass as to fool about at a time like this? I’m all of a dither.’

  ‘Okay,’ concluded Biggles. ‘Off you go, and good luck.’

  Bertie and Ginger moved off, and in a few strides had disappeared as completely as two stones dropped in the sea.

  ‘Come on, Fritz,’ said Biggles, to his one remaining companion. ‘We’re all right for time, and I can’t imagine anyone being here at this hour in such miserable weather.’

  However, they did not relax their caution, and well before the first grey streak appeared in the sky, the dismal herald of another day, they were in their hide, building up the entrance hole as well as they could from the inside. Biggles smeared his face with a handful of mud and Fritz laid on the ground the tools he would need to relieve his uncle of his leg-irons.

  Slowly the day dawned under a sky the colour of lead, but even then it seemed a long time before the head of the column of slave workers and their armed escort topped the rise, presently to disperse to their customary places at the diggings. This was a great relief to Biggles, who had been on tenterhooks for fear there might be a change, or in such ominous weather conditions the men not turn out at all.

  There was in fact one thing different from the previous day. A second man was put on to help von Stalhein clear the coal from the scree. His job was to pull out the larger pieces of coal by hand and tumble them to the bottom where von Stalhein could reach them more easily and load them on his barrow. Biggles was concerned but not alarmed. It meant that after he had changed places with von Stalhein there would be moments when he would be near this man. What the man would do if, and when, he realized that his companion had in some miraculous way changed his identity, was a question for which there was no answer. Biggles did not think he would betray him intentionally; he was more afraid that by his behaviour the man would attract one of the guards’ attention and give him away by accident. However, as nothing could be done about this situation it had to be accepted. What was more important, the number of guards on duty remained the same, the nearest taking up his position, as before, nearer a larger gang.

  The day’s work began. The time by Biggles’ watch was a few minutes after eight. Von Stalhein came along with his first load. It might have been imagination but it struck Biggles that he looked a little more alert than when he had last seen him.

  As the barrow went slowly past the hide Biggles said in a low voice. ‘We’re here. All goes well. Zero hour one hour from now. Fritz is with me. More next time.’

  It took von Stalhein about ten minutes to stack his load, and another five to return to the scree. With the barrow empty, and the going slightly downhill, he went back rather faster than he came and there was less time for conversation. In fact, all Biggles said was: ‘If there’s trouble or if work is called off come here. Fritz has a gun for you.’

  Von Stalhein did not answer.

  The next time, pushing slowly with another full load, as he drew level with the hide with the mound between him and the guard. Biggles continued: ‘When I give the word you will come in here from this side and I shall take your place. Fritz will cut off your chain.’

  Still von Stalhein made no reply. He went on with his task without pause as if Biggles had not spoken.

  All Biggles had to say after that was: ‘In forty minutes from now the hill behind us will be set on fire. Whatever orders are given when the smoke comes down ignore them. Come here.’

  Actually, Biggles did make one more remark, and he did so because not by the flicker of an eyelid had von Stalhein indicated that he had heard the instructions. Biggles knew all about his old enemy’s ice-cold imperturbability, but even so he was a little worried and wanted to make sure that von Stalhein had grasped the plan. Moreover, an awful doubt had assailed him that von Stalhein had no intention of taking orders from him. It would be in keeping with his stubborn character. Had Fritz not been there he might even have supposed that von Stalhein intended to betray him for the sheer satisfaction of seeing him in the slave gang, so that their careers would end together as had more than once been prophesied. But Biggles dismissed this as an unworthy thought. Anyway, the presence of Fritz ruled that out. However much von Stalhein might hate him. Biggles, he would hardly condemn his nephew to a living death.

  Anyway, as von Stalhein went past the next time Biggles said: ‘Do you understand?’

  Von Stalhein spoke for the first and only time. And he did not waste words. ‘Yes,’ he answered, succinctly.

  That was all. He passed on.

  Biggles began to count the minutes. There were still twenty to go. Fritz’s face, close to his own, was pale with suppressed excitement.

  Biggles frowned at him. ‘Keep calm,’ he ordered. But even he was beginning to feel the tension. There was still time for things to go wrong.

  At ten minutes to nine he saw a single small flake of snow come drifting along on the wind. One flake. But it was enough to bring his lips together in a hard line. He knew more would follow, and snow at this moment was the last thing he wanted. If nothing else it would damp the herbage and prevent it from burning freely. Most of all he feared that if it started to snow in earnest the prisoners would be called together for fear some of them should try to escape under cover of it. Flurries appeared, patches of tiny flakes spinning and whirling in the still breeze. So far these were not thick enough to affect visibility, but it was obvious that the predicted storm had arrived, or the advance guards of it. The sky was deep indigo.

  It still wanted five minutes to nine, but he resolved to act at once. He was well aware of the risks of changing a plan when others were involved, but in the circumstances these seemed not so great as waiting for the worst to happen. He was sure the prisoners would not be allowed to go on working in a snowstorm that looked like persisting for some time. With so few guards too many of them would be out of sight.

  Wherefore he said to Fritz, ‘The next time your uncle goes past I shall call him in. He can’t know the exact time, so it can’t affect him. He’ll be ready.’

  At this juncture von Stalhein was loading his barrow. It was full, so it would only be two or three minutes before he passed the hide on his next trip to the stack. Unfortunately, perhaps trying to appear zealous to the watc
hing guard, he put on one lump of coal too many, with the result that the barrow overturned, spilling its contents. The accident could not have occurred at a worse moment. Biggles hoped the guard would ignore it. But no. He shouted something. What he said was not understood by Fritz, who did not hear clearly. It may have been a warning to be more careful. Had the matter ended there no harm would have been done; but it did not. The guard, possibly looking for an excuse to exercise his authority, followed up his shout by striding to the scree and hitting von Stalhein a vicious cut across the back with his whip. Von Stalhein, who was bending over his task as he reloaded the barrow, did not see the blow coming. He nearly fell. Not a sound left his lips. He carried on with his work as if nothing had happened. This seemed to spur the guard to fury. He struck again. This time von Stalhein saw the blow coming, and throwing up an arm to protect his face took the blow on it. Still he made no sound.

  Fritz, who was by this time quivering with rage, started to move, but Biggles held him back. ‘Keep still, you fool,’ he hissed. ‘Do you want to ruin everything?’

  Fritz sank back, breathing heavily. ‘The swine,’ he grated.

  The guard stood over von Stalhein while the barrow was reloaded and started on its short journey to the stack. Then he retired, slowly, not to his original position but to a spot somewhat nearer.

  ‘I’m going to press on regardless,’ Biggles told Fritz, grimly. ‘It’s now or never.’