Biggles In Borneo Read online

  “Seems awful to leave them.”

  “It would have been worse for them if we hadn’t arrived when we did,” Biggles pointed out. “They’ve probably got some plan in mind. By sinking the motorboat that was pursuing them we have at least given them a fresh start.”

  Biggles flew back to the little sailing craft and circled it twice. There were three people on it, but, as he had said, there was nothing he could do, so he climbed back up to where the other two Beaufighters were waiting, and continued the patrol.

  The sun was now well above the horizon, and land and sea were revealed in all their primitive loneliness. Biggles continued to follow the coast, now running in a south-westerly direction. There were a few boats in Brunei harbour, of which Ginger made careful note, but there was no aerial opposition. The three Beaufighters sped on under a serene blue sky, and twenty minutes elapsed before Ginger had occasion to speak again.

  “Tally-ho!” he called. “Aircraft on the port bow, about five thousand feet below us. Looks like a Mitsubishi, but I’m not sure.”

  “It’s a Mitsubishi Navy B.96, single-seat fighter,” muttered Biggles. “That’s a ship-plane, which means that there must be an aircraft carrier about somewhere. Keep an eye open for it; it’s probably in Kuching harbour. We’re just coming to it. Ah! The Jap has spotted us.”

  The Mitsubishi came a little nearer for a closer look, then turned and dived away steeply.

  “He doesn’t like the look of us,” muttered Ginger, in a disappointed voice.

  “You can’t blame him for that,” returned Biggles. “Yes, he’s making for Kuching all right. No doubt he aims to tell his folks that we’re about. I think I’d like to convey that information myself.”

  As he spoke Biggles put the Beaufighter in a dive, not too steep, but enough to send the speed indicator soaring. Kuching came into view on the far side of a wide bay.

  “There’s the carrier!” shouted Ginger suddenly. “It’s at anchor. By thunder! Do you see what I see? They’ve got all the machines lined up on deck for an inspection—at least that’s what it looks like.”

  “Let’s see if we can upset the party,” suggested Biggles. Then he spoke to the others over the radio. “Algy, tackle the aerodrome; knock it about all you can. Bertie, stick around and deal with any opposition. Count the warships in the harbour, and anything else worth noting. Here we go.” Biggles steepened his dive, and the Beaufighter went down like a thunderbolt towards the aircraft carrier.

  Ginger had done so much air fighting that it took a good deal to excite him, but the sight of the enemy aircraft carrier, with forty or fifty machines parked on its flying-deck, filled him with a fierce exultation. It was the sort of target every airman hopes to find, but seldom does. That the Japanese, believing themselves safe, had been caught napping was proved at once by the fact that, although the Beaufighters were now down to five thousand feet, there was no sign of anti-aircraft gunfire; and when it came the shooting was wild.

  Twisting and turning like a snipe, Biggles plunged down at the great vessel that lay like a basking whale on the limpid waters of the harbour. Down—down—down he roared, with the earth and the sea with its many craft in some magical way seeming to float up to meet him. Not until he was within a few hundred feet of the water did he begin to pull out, in line with the length of the carrier, and as his nose came level with the flying-deck his guns blazed. The Beaufighter quivered under the recoil of its four cannon and six machine-guns. Tracer bullets streaked like sparks of white fire, and the blazing balls that marked the trajectory of cannon shells followed them to the target. The full blast struck the closely packed aircraft at one end, and the result was as if a hurricane had hit them.

  Lifting his nose a fraction, Biggles carved a path of flying splinters the full length of the ship, and then, zooming, banked steeply so that Ginger could bring his guns to bear.

  This was the moment for which Ginger had waited, and his heart beat a triumphant tattoo as his bullets added to the work of destruction. Flame-shot smoke leapt up in several places. He could see fire running about the deck, and knew that at least one petrol tank had burst. Men were running and jumping among the flames.

  “That’s all!” shouted Biggles, and raced on through the flak that was now mottling the blue with its ugly black plumes.

  “Just one more dive,” pleaded Ginger.

  “No! It isn’t necessary. Half the machines are on fire already, and they’ll never move the others.” Biggles tore on out of range of the guns, calling to Algy and Bertie to follow him.

  Looking back, Ginger could see a great column of black smoke rising from the carrier.

  And that was not the only place from which smoke was rising. Buildings were alight around a level area on the shore which he supposed was the landing-ground.

  Bertie took up formation from above, and presently Algy, with a strip of fabric trailing from his wing-tip, soared up from below.

  “I must have a photograph of this,” Biggles told Ginger, and climbing up to ten thousand feet, he took a number of shots.

  By this time several aircraft were in the air, so Biggles, deciding that it was a case where discretion was the better part of valour, headed away to the south, easily outstripping the Japanese machines that were making a half-hearted attempt to follow.

  “I think they’ll remember our visit,” said Biggles to Ginger.

  “If we never do anything more, I should say our little expedition has been worth while,” observed Ginger. “We must have destroyed or damaged twenty or thirty planes at least on that carrier. They’ll wonder where the deuce we came from.”

  “That’s what I want them to wonder, and I aim to keep them wondering,” answered Biggles, and turned inland over the jungle.

  “Going home?” inquired Ginger.

  “Yes. We’ve done a useful morning’s work, and there’s no sense in overdoing it. Algy has got a wing damaged. We’d better get back.”

  Biggles altered course several times on the return journey in order to confuse watchers on the ground, for to fly straight would mean leaving a definite track. The mist, Ginger noticed, had gone from the valleys, and the peak of Mount Mulu, a useful landmark, rose up like a blue tooth on the horizon.

  Twenty minutes later, with Lucky Strike aerodrome in view, Biggles gave the order for independent landing, and one by one the Beaufighters glided down to their nests.

  Algy’s machine, it was ascertained, was not badly damaged, and the ground crew were soon at work on it.

  “How did it go?” asked Taffy.

  “Come in the mess and I’ll tell you about it,” answered Biggles, handing his camera to Flight Sergeant Smyth, “Everyone make out his combat report while the show is fresh in mind. Then, I think, a spot of breakfast is indicated.”

  A check-up revealed that the show had been more successful than Ginger had supposed. Algy had set fire to several machines standing on the aerodrome as well as shot up the hangars. He had also sprayed a parade ground where a number of Japanese soldiers had assembled. Bertie had shot down a flying-boat which had been unlucky enough to arrive while the attack was in progress. As he put it: “The jolly old pilot seemed to be all at sea, as if he couldn’t make out what was happening—if you get my meaning? The silly ass didn’t wonder long. I hit him a crack amidships and he fell on the pier.”

  “Did anyone count the warships?” asked Biggles.

  “I made out two beastly destroyers, a gunboat and two transports,” said Bertie.

  “That’s what I thought,” replied Biggles. “The photographs should give us confirmation. Well, considering that I only intended to have a look round, to get our bearings, we’ve made a good start. At any rate, we’ve let the Japs know we’re about. Apart from the damage we’ve done, our sudden arrival at a place so remote from a British base will probably upset all their calculations. The commander-in-chief must be very worried, wondering if and when the same sort of thing is going to happen again.”

  Rex Larrymore grin
ned. “When is it going to happen again?”

  “Tomorrow, I hope,” answered Biggles. “There are several places that should provide us with plenty of meat. I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything for those fellows in the sailing-boat.”

  “That reminds me,” put in Ginger. “I’ve got a suggestion to make. It occurred to me on the way home.”

  “Let’s have it,” invited Biggles.

  “It struck me as a pity that we couldn’t drop something to the fellows in the boat — I mean food in particular. Don’t you think it would be a good idea for each machine to carry what we might call an emergency box, containing iron rations, medical supplies and so on? Then, if one of us had to make a forced landing, the others could drop their boxes as well, so that the people on the ground would have a supply to go on with — enough to keep them alive until they could be rescued. In the same way, if we saw any white folks on the ground —and there must be quite a number who have escaped, or who are trying to escape from the Japanese—we could be really helpful.”

  Biggles nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “You might see about it right away.”

  CHAPTER IV

  THE WAR-DRUMS SPEAK

  THE following day, splitting his force to obtain quick results for the Higher Command, Biggles obtained photographs of Singapore, Algy confirmed the damage at Kuching, while Bertie made a reconnaissance over Surabaya, in Java. All three machines returned safely, without combat, which caused Biggles to remark that most of the front line aircraft were probably in the more active theatres of war—China, Burma and Timor. If the presence of the British squadron resulted in some of these machines being recalled, so well and good.

  He also stated that he intended to wait for the Liberator to return before undertaking further operations, in the first place because he did not want to run the petrol supply too low, and secondly, he thought it was likely that the Liberator would bring special instructions.

  “Now the Higher Command knows we are here you can be pretty sure they’ll start asking us to do things,” he remarked.

  “Too true, old warrior, too true,” murmured Bertie sadly.

  “Still, that’s what we’re here for,” Biggles pointed out.

  Later in the day, hearing laughter, Ginger strolled over to the native village to find Tug Carrington, with Rex Larrymore acting as interpreter, giving several warriors lessons in the art of boxing, which was to them something entirely new. Most of the village had turned out to watch. There were cries of delight and amazement as time and time again a warrior would strike—none too gently—at Tug, but hit nothing more substantial than air; for Tug, balanced lightly on his toes, not only avoided the clumsy blows with professional ease, but landed a couple of punches before the discomfited warrior could recover—much to the joy of the spectators.

  Tiring of this sport, Ginger strolled on a little way into the forest, which he had not yet properly examined. It surpassed anything he could have imagined. Everywhere, on the ground and in the trees, were great humps and mats of moss from which sprouted uncouth pitcher plants and orchids. The picture presented was artificial rather than natural; with a moss-encrusted roof, supported by mossy columns, the forest looked more like a fairy grotto than a jungle. On examination Ginger found the moss to be the home of countless small insects and reptiles. He took care not to disturb them.

  The sun was setting, and twilight quickly closing in, as he strolled back to the camp. As he walked he became aware that somewhere far away a drum was tapping—not so much a regular beat as a curious broken mutter. Presently other drums joined in, enhancing the strange wildness of the scene. He jumped when close at hand yet another drum joined in the savage music—toma-tomatom-tom, toma-tom-toma-tom.

  Walking towards the sound, Ginger came upon a scene that was as barbaric as could be imagined. Suspended from a great branch was what appeared to be a length of tree-trunk, hollow, with a slit down the side. Upon this a Punan, wearing a hideous mask and decorated like a Christmas-tree, was beating with his fists, sometimes pausing to listen.

  In these intervals the distant drums could be heard answering. Around the performer the warriors of the tribe had formed a silent circle. Chief Suba was there, with Rex beside him. They, too, appeared to be listening intently.

  Ginger went up to Rex. “What’s going on?” he asked wonderingly.

  “Bush telegraph,” answered Rex laconically.

  “Bush what?”

  “Telegraph. These fellows don’t need radio. They can speak to each other over enormous distances with these drums.”

  “So I’ve been told,” replied Ginger. “What are they talking about now?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s something unusual. I don’t understand this drum talk—I don’t think any white man has ever got the hang of it. The whole thing is a mystery. I only know that Suba has told me things within a few minutes of their happening hundreds of miles away, and he’s been right every time. Presently he’ll tell us what this is all about.”

  The drumming ended abruptly, and a sound like a sigh escaped from the assembled warriors. At this moment Biggles and several officers appeared through the trees. They, too, apparently were curious to know what the noise was about.

  Suba spoke rapidly to Rex, waving his hands in primitive pantomime. Rex turned to the British officers. “He says there are three white men in the jungle. They are travelling up a river in a boat. Yellow men are pursuing them.”

  Biggles stared. “That sounds grim.”

  “If the drums say it is so, you can bet your life it’s true.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” admitted Biggles quickly. “I’ve had some experience of this sort of thing. Ask Suba if there is any other information.”

  There was a brief conversation and Rex turned again to Biggles.

  “He says that two of the white men are sick. The yellow men will catch them.”

  “They must be the three fellows we saw in the boat yesterday morning!” cried Ginger.

  “That’s about it. The Japs are after them. They’ve headed into the jungle in the hope of escaping capture.”

  Biggles looked grave. “Poor beggars. They’ll never get through.” He looked at Rex. “Ask Suba if he knows how far away they are.”

  Rex spoke again to the chief, who held up two fingers.

  “That means two days’ march,” said Rex. “These fellows don’t reckon distance as we do. Two days, to natives who are used to the forest, means about forty miles.”

  “I say, you know, we ought to do something about this,” put in Bertie, polishing his eyeglass. “We can’t let these beastly Japs collar three of our fellows—no, by jingo.”

  Biggles looked worried. “What can we do?” he asked helplessly. “We’re here for major operations, not to rescue odd people in the jungle. Of course, if it was a matter of flying down and just picking them up I’d do it like a shot; but even if we saw these blokes we couldn’t land in the jungle.”

  “What about asking Suba to send out a relief party?” suggested Algy.

  “If these chaps are sick they ought to have medical attention,” interposed Ginger.

  “I realize that,” muttered Biggles. “Like you, I feel we ought to do something, but it isn’t easy to see what we can do. I daren’t leave here myself for any length of time in case the Liberator comes back with urgent instructions.” He looked at Rex. “Ask Suba in which direction he reckons these white men are.”

  Rex spoke to the chief, who without hesitation pointed towards the north-east.

  “That’s it,” declared Ginger. “That’s where we saw the boat yesterday.”

  “The chief says he’s willing to send some warriors if the white men are friends of ours,” said Rex. “I’ll take a medical chest and go with them if you like. After all, I’m not a service pilot, so you don’t really need me now I’ve introduced you to Suba. I could send up smoke signals so that from the air you could see where we were. At present the fellows must be in the bamboo belt.”
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br />   “That sounds a sensible arrangement,” answered Biggles. “I suppose these Punans can get through the jungle?”

  “They can if they want to—after all, it’s their home. They don’t go far in the ordinary way because there’s no need.”

  “All right,” agreed Biggles. “I’ll leave you to do what you think best. We’ll co-operate as far as we can. When will you start?”

  “As the matter is obviously urgent I think we ought to start right away,” announced Rex, after he had spoken to Suba.

  “Can I go?” asked Ginger.

  “No,” returned Biggles shortly. “I don’t want you down with fever. Besides, I shall need you in the morning. We’ll have a look round from the air as soon as it gets light.”

  Realizing the wisdom of this decision, Ginger did not argue. Instead, he waited with the others while the rescue-party, a score of painted warriors armed with razor-edged, broad-bladed war kris1, and blowpipes, filed away into the jungle. Suba took the lead, and Rex, a rifle in the crook of his arm, walked beside him.

  Having nothing more to do, the officers returned to the mess, and soon afterwards dispersed to their sleeping quarters.

  Ginger was awakened by the roar of aero engines. Running out in his pyjamas, he was surprised to find that dawn was just breaking. Against the pearly grey of the sky the Liberator was circling, losing height. By the time he had got his clothes on it had landed and taxied under its palm-frond canopy. Angus, Ferocity Ferris and Henry Harcourt were climbing down. Biggles was already there.

  “So you got through all right?” he called to Angus. “Where did you get those bullet-holes in your tail?”

  “We had a little affair wi’ a bunch of Mitsubishi fighters just after we left Darwin,” explained Angus. “One of ‘em did that.” He pointed to the tail. “He won’t do any more shooting in this world, I’m thinkin’. Ferocity made a bonfire of him. I’ve brought ye a load of stuff, Biggles, and a despatch from the Air Commodore at Darwin. I know what it’s about, because he told me. It seems that Mindanao—that’s the biggest of the Philippine Islands, as dootless ye know—has fallen. They think maybe the American general, Barton, has escaped, so will ye keep a look-out for him.”