Biggles Goes to War Page 7

  ‘They’re Maltovians.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that; it should make it easier to remove Mr Klein.’

  ‘But that’s madness; it’s impossible.’

  ‘I don’t like that word, Ludwig. You, like a lot of other people, fall back on it too easily. Few things are impossible when you get down to brass tacks. You follow my advice and I’ll show you whether or not it’s impossible to get rid of your precious banker, if, as you say, he is working with Bethstein. You talk about it being madness to shift him; I say it would be madness to let him stay. If you do he’ll wreck the ship, that’s certain.’

  Ludwig sprang suddenly to his feet. ‘Bigglesworth,’ he said passionately, ‘you’re right. We’ve needed a man like you. For months we’ve done our best, but we are no match for these unscrupulous plotters, and you know how it is when everything is at stake; one hesitates … procrastinates, fearing to make a false move, hoping perhaps for a miracle, or a stroke of luck.’

  ‘Now you’re talking sense, Ludwig,’ agreed Biggles approvingly. ‘Lady Luck is an unreliable mistress. If you will maintain your present attitude, and persuade the princess to support it–’

  ‘She’ll support what I recommend,’ broke in Ludwig confidently.

  Biggles stared at him for a moment. ‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘So that’s the way the wind blows, is it?’

  A pink flush tinged Ludwig’s cheeks. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked haltingly.

  Biggles laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Listen, Ludwig,’ he said softly. ‘One of my bad habits is bluntness. I hate beating about the bush, as we say, maybe because I like to get my facts right, and keep my feet planted on solid ground. You’re very fond of your princess, aren’t you?’

  Ludwig went scarlet. ‘What if I am?’ he demanded defiantly.

  ‘Well, that’s all right with me,’ Biggles told him in a fatherly fashion. ‘In fact, I’m glad to know it, because that puts you on the princess’s side without any possible shadow of doubt, and at the same time tempers you for any risk, or even sacrifice, that may be demanded.’

  ‘I’m prepared to die for the princess at any moment.’ Ludwig spoke the words sincerely, without any suggestion of braggadocio.

  ‘That’s how I like to hear a man talk,’ returned Biggles. ‘Now then, let’s get down to business. First of all, you can bet your life that Bethstein is doing some pretty hard thinking at this very minute.’

  ‘You mean, because of Menkhoff being killed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wonder who killed him?’

  ‘You needn’t wonder any longer. We did.’

  Ludwig’s face turned ashen and his jaw dropped. ‘Good gracious!’ he breathed. ‘You had the nerve to murder him?’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ he said quickly. ‘On the contrary, he tried to murder us. We caught him red-handed at sabotage. It was he who fired the hangar, no doubt imagining that the machines were inside. When he saw that he was discovered he drew his revolver and fired three shots at us. Algy fired back in self-defence, and the shot hit him in the head and killed him. He was an enemy of Maltovia so I shan’t lose any sleep on that account, and neither need you. I only wish it had been Bethstein himself. Well, now you know the facts; I’ve only told you this because we can’t afford to have secrets from each other. One result of the affair may be that it will cause Bethstein to push forward his plans. We, therefore, shall have to do the same thing.’

  ‘Yes, but what can we do?’

  ‘As I have already said, we must clip Bethstein’s wings. I realize that it might be difficult to take away his command without causing a serious row, so this is the way we shall have to curtail his activities. The princess must form a Ministry of Defence, with your uncle as president. He must come home; he is much too valuable to be left in England. The new ministry appointed, the general will have to take his instructions from it – that’s how it’s done in Great Britain, and if it is good enough for Great Britain it ought to be good enough for Maltovia. Needless to say, the ministry will consist only of men who are absolutely above suspicion. That should tie Bethstein’s hands somewhat.’

  ‘I never thought of that way,’ declared Ludwig enthusiastically. ‘It gives us supreme power without giving anyone cause for complaint. But suppose the general refuses to obey the ministry’s orders?’

  ‘That would be gross insubordination, and would provide us with the only excuse we need to get rid of him altogether.’

  ‘Of course. Why, it’s a marvellous idea,’ asserted Ludwig, who was trembling with excitement. ‘I’ll speak to the princess immediately, and tell her to send for my uncle.’

  ‘Fine! That’s item number one, which brings us to number two. Now there is just a chance that when Bethstein gets wind of what is afoot he may take the bull by the horns and rush things. We’ve got to short-circuit his most likely move, which will be, obviously, to get the Lovitznian army on the march. Now I’ve studied the map pretty closely, particularly the north-east corner of Maltovia, which is the only direction from which the Lovitznians could come. As I see it, the river Nieper forms a fine natural obstacle.’

  ‘The Nieper is in Lovitzna.’

  ‘I know, but only just, and it runs parallel with the frontier – so much so that I wonder it doesn’t form the boundary.’

  ‘It used to, years ago, before the Lovitznians collared that piece of territory.’

  ‘No matter. The point is, to get here the Lovitznians must cross that river, and as far as I can see there is only one bridge.’

  ‘That is correct. It was built by the Lovitznian government not long ago.’

  ‘No doubt for the purpose for which they now hope to use it.’

  ‘Of course. Again, we realize that now, but at the time we thought it was a splendid thing because it opened a great highway for commerce between the two countries.’

  ‘The old, old story. Well, it is across that bridge that the Lovitznian army must march. What is it built of – wood, steel, concrete or what?’

  ‘Concrete. It’s a double bridge. The railway goes underneath and the road runs above it.’

  ‘That’s excellent; concrete cracks very easily.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That bridge is going up in a cloud of dust and pebbles.’

  Ludwig stared aghast. ‘That bridge cost nearly five million pounds to build. Lovitzna would throw a thousand fits.’

  ‘Let ’em. They can tie themselves up in convulsions as far as we’re concerned once the bridge is down.’

  ‘They’ll complain.’

  ‘So will you. You will be most upset, and send them a note asking what the dickens they mean by destroying the bridge, pointing out that by severing commercial relations they are deliberately trying to cause trouble.’

  ‘But they won’t believe that.’

  ‘Of course they won’t; neither will any one else, but that doesn’t matter. My dear boy, that is what is called diplomacy. Maltovia will sit with its tongue in its cheek while all the nations who dislike Lovitzna and her big ally will rock with laughter. Naturally, under the pretence of being alarmed, the princess will be justified in moving her most loyal regiments up to the frontier to watch her interests. At present, such a move would be regarded as a threat, almost an act of war, but the destruction of the bridge would provide a valid excuse.’

  ‘My word! I wish you were Prime Minister of Maltovia,’ muttered Ludwig admiringly.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. We’ve still got Klein to deal with, and this is how I suggest we do it. When the bridge goes up the Maltovian government will at once show its friendly spirit by offering to help build a new one, an even better one. They will, at the same time, declare their intention of building a new high road to that corner of the state. This, of course, will need money, for which it will be necessary to raise a loan of, say, ten million pounds. You will go to Mr Klein and ask him to lend you that sum. When he says – as he certainly will – that
there is nothing doing, you will express your regret and say that if he can’t oblige you, you will have to find some one else who will. You will then put the loan forward to one of the big friendly powers. They, seeing what is in the wind, will find the cash, and once they’ve got money in the country they’ll take jolly good care to send some one to keep an eye on it. Then Mr Klein, if he stays, will have to watch his p’s and q’s.’

  Ludwig was pale with excitement. ‘How are you going to blow up the bridge?’ he asked breathlessly.

  Biggles looked pained. ‘Me? Lovitzna will do that.’

  ‘Lovitzna? What … how …?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ nodded Biggles calmly. ‘By the way, what has happened to the two machines we shot down this morning? Has Lovitzna said anything about them yet?’

  ‘No, but I expect there will be a fine old row. The pilots who got back will say what happened. We shall get a stiff note from the Lovitznian government. Goodness knows how we shall answer it.’

  ‘You’ve no need to worry on that score. The princess will not have to look for an excuse. All you need do when the note comes in is raise your eyebrows and say, “Indeed! If you will explain to us what Lovitznian aeroplanes were doing over Maltovia, then we will go into the matter and endeavour to find out who is to blame.” That will give them something to chew their pens over. It should take them a long time to find a reasonable excuse for flying over Maltovia. Don’t you see that they will be in a cleft stick? They daren’t say that they ordered the machines to fly over Maltovia because that would be an act of war in flagrant violation of international law; to save their faces they can only say that their pilots must have lost their way, in which case you will simply tell them to blame their pilots, not us. You might send some troops out to the crashes to salve anything worth saving. One last thing. I want you to send some one you can trust, a motor-cyclist dispatch rider for preference, up into the north-east corner of the country. He will watch the sky and make a careful note of what he sees.’

  ‘But he won’t see anything. There is no flying up there.’

  ‘There will be, I think, tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘A little bird has whispered in my ear.’

  ‘What bird?’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Perhaps I had better explain. I told Bethstein that we should do a patrol up there at dawn tomorrow. If the air there is full of Lovitznian fighters trying to get us, it will prove – since we have told no one else – that Bethstein is in communication with the enemy. It will also serve other purposes. It will keep the Lovitznian fighters out of the way, and enable us – providing your man is smart enough to count them – to get an idea of the enemy’s aerial strength.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘I shall be waiting over this city for the Lovitznian two-seater, which will, I hope – since we shall be assumed to be out of the way – take the opportunity of slipping across on a reconnaissance.’

  ‘And you will shoot it down in flames?’

  ‘Not if I can prevent it. I shall endeavour to persuade the pilot to land.’

  ‘What will you do with him?’

  ‘Hand him over to you to pop into a nice strong prison cell where he can be forgotten for the time being.’

  ‘And the machine?’

  ‘That’s what I really want.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘To drop a bomb on the Nieper bridge. You see, if a Lovitznian aeroplane blows up a Lovitznian bridge, Lovitzna can’t very well accuse Maltovia, can she?’

  Ludwig stared at Biggles like a man in a dream. ‘Yes,’ he said, as though he was talking to himself, ‘we needed some one like you on our side.’

  Biggles smiled as he stood up. ‘Well, Ludwig, that’s my idea of the lines on which we should work. Now you run along and do your part. Not a word to a soul, except, of course, the princess. Get your uncle back as quickly as possible. We are going to get some sleep, for we look like having a busy day tomorrow. Goodnight.’

  There was a new spring in Ludwig’s stride as he left the room.

  1 slang: fear.

  Chapter 10

  Combat!

  IT WAS A bleak morning, with frosty stars twinkling in the sky and a raw wind blowing from the north, when, at five o’clock, the three airmen let themselves quietly out of the hotel and, with extra sweaters and their flying-kit over their arms, made their way to the aerodrome. Smyth and Carter were awaiting them, and to them Biggles announced himself satisfied with the arrangements they had made for the housing of the aircraft and stores. It was crude, but, with fir branches covering the roof of the shelter – it was no more than that – it would be practically impossible to see it from above. A lane, flanked by the trees that had been felled, gave access to the aerodrome itself.

  After a glance round, Biggles declared his intention of taking off right away. ‘I want to be at twenty thousand, possibly higher, by daybreak, so the more sweaters we can get on under our flying-kit, the better; we shall need them, if I know anything about it. Stand by, Smyth, until we get back.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Biggles turned to Ginger. ‘I want you to obey orders to the letter,’ he said curtly. ‘You know the scheme. We want to force a machine down intact if we can. If not – well, we’ll shoot it down, anyway. But you keep out of it if you can. I can’t say definitely that you are not to take part in anything that may transpire, because an exceptional opportunity might come your way, in which case it would be foolish not to take advantage of it. But your chief business is to watch; watch how Algy and I go to work if we attack anything; at the same time you must watch your own tail. We may, of course, draw blank; on the other hand, we might run into a two-seater with an escort of scouts; these chances are all on the boards, so watch your step. All right; if every one is ready we’ll get off.’

  The engines were started, and after they had been run up to make sure that they were giving their revs, the machines taxied down the lane to the open field. The sky was just beginning to turn grey in the east as the machines took off in formation with Biggles at the point of the V, and after circling the aerodrome once or twice he struck off on a north-easterly course, which, as it happened, took them over General Bethstein’s house. At least, Biggles assumed it was the house, for there was only one, and its location and tree-girt drive agreed with Algy’s description of it. As he approached, at a height of rather less than a thousand feet, he saw light pour from a window as if a curtain had been hurriedly dragged aside. ‘Looking to see which way we’re going, I’ll bet,’ he mused, as he began to climb for height.

  Up, up, up, and ever upward he held the nose of his machine, still heading towards the north-east corner of the little state, noting landmarks all the way, and not until his altimeter registered twelve thousand feet did he make a wide turn and begin to fly back over his course. The sky turned grey, from grey slowly to lavender, and then to pale blue. In spite of the cold, it looked like being a fine day. At eighteen thousand feet, with Janovica looking like a collection of dolls’ houses far to the south-west, he altered his course again, this time to north-east by east, to bring the formation into a position that would intercept anything approaching from the direction of Lovitzna. And still he climbed. At twenty thousand, however, he levelled out, and throttled back to the slowest cruising speed his machine could hold and yet maintain altitude.

  Time and time again he pushed up his goggles and peered long and carefully round the end of his windscreen into the north-east, but from horizon to zenith the blue was unbroken. To and fro he led the formation, ever watching the north-east, with the city of Janovica always in sight in the far distance. Ten minutes passed; twenty, and there was still no sign of the enemy. He looked over his shoulder at Algy, sitting like a dummy some twenty yards behind and to the left of him. Algy caught his eye and pulled a long face. Biggles shrugged his shoulders and returned to his vigil. Once his heart missed a beat as his eye caught a movement fa
r below, but it was only an eagle, and he watched it sail past bound for an unknown destination.

  A few minutes later a tiny speck appeared against the blue, considerably lower than they were. Quickly he pushed up his goggles to make sure that it was not a spot of oil on a lens, but no, it was still there. Joyfully he shook his wings and changed direction, flying directly into the orb of the sun, but never for an instant taking his eye off the speck. Magically, it seemed, it grew in size until it became an aeroplane, and a minute or two later he saw that it was a big, three-engined machine. He noticed, too, that it held steadily on its way, flying a direct course that would, in about twenty minutes to half an hour, take it to Janovica. It drew level with the three single-seaters and then passed by, a good five thousand feet below and two miles to the west. Slowly, in order not to disturb the formation, Biggles turned, and then, putting down his nose, he tore down behind the stranger. In the usual curious way, it seemed to float up towards them, and a grim smile hovered about his lips as he picked out the brown crosses of Lovitzna.

  He was now so close that he could see, through the crisp air, every detail of the big machine, which was of a type unknown to him, a tri-motored cantilever monoplane1 with very tapered wings. The thing that amazed him at first was the careless behaviour – or else it was supreme self-confidence – of the one gunner, who, with his elbows resting on the side of his gun-mounting, and his chin cupped in the palms of his hands, was gazing down at the scenery with the casual disinterest of a railway traveller. Biggles then remembered that the Maltovian Air Force was supposed to be miles away, and assumed that this accounted for the gunner’s calm assurance.

  This attitude, however, was not to last much longer. Swiftly, with his guns aligned, Biggles drew nearer and nearer until he was not more than thirty feet behind, and just above the bomber, with the gunner still completely oblivious of his presence. Had his intention been the destruction of the machine the matter would have ended there and then, and the quite useless gunner might never have known whence came the shots that killed him. But Biggles had set himself a more difficult task. He wanted the machine intact, although whether or not he would succeed in this depended, he knew, upon the quality of the pilot. If he was a brave man, and he would need to be brave to face what was coming, he would fight to the bitter end, and the machine would inevitably crash. On the other hand, if he was a normal human being, with only an ordinary amount of courage, he would soon see that his hour had come, and make the best of a bad job by going down and landing at the first convenient place.