Biggles In Borneo Read online

  “Of course, I realize that. But I’ve had more experience in this part of the world than you have, so I’ve come to offer a spot of advice.”

  “I’m always willing to accept advice from anybody who knows more about a thing than I do.”

  “Very well. I know these islands. They’re bad medicine for white men.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, Rex? Do you think I shall only make matters worse by blundering about in the jungle?”

  “Frankly, I don’t think you’d do much good by yourself. In these infernal jungles it isn’t a matter of courage— it’s a matter of knowing what’s what. That’s where the natives score.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting that if you get a biggish aircraft, and decide to raid the island in the hope of rescuing Algy and Ginger, you might do worse than take Suba along.”

  Biggles stared. “Are you serious?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Head-hunters and aeroplanes seem a queer combination to me. Naturally, I’d ask nothing more than to have an experienced hunter like Suba in the party, but do you think he’d get in an aeroplane?”

  “Oh, yes, he’d go with you—particularly if he thought there were a few heads to be picked up. These savages are queer birds. Their brains don’t work as ours do. Everything a white man has is marvellous, and there it ends. To Suba, a box of matches or a pretty necktie is just as much an object of wonder as an aeroplane. Remember, an aircraft is no novelty to him. When I first landed here he looked a bit scared of my machine, but as soon as he was satisfied that it didn’t bite he had no further interest in it. My revolver excited him far more because it would kill at a distance, and to the Punans anything that kills is the cat’s whisker.”

  “All right,” agreed Biggles, smiling. “Let’s wait and see if we get an amphibian. If we do, you can ask him how he feels about joining the white men in a hunting trip.”

  “Okay. Suppose Algy and Ginger are no longer on the island?”

  “The ideal thing would be to get hold of a prisoner and make him talk. Everyone on the island must know about the two Britishers landing. They must know if they are still there, or, alternatively, where they have gone.”

  Rex looked doubtful. “Suba won’t think much of the idea of taking prisoners, I’m afraid; he takes their heads—then he knows they’re safe beyond any further argument. But I’ll try to explain the position to him.”

  “Do you speak Japanese?”

  “A little. One is bound to learn a certain amount of Japanese, and Chinese, if one spends any length of time in the Far East. Jackson probably speaks the language fluently. Why?”

  “I was thinking it wouldn’t be much good getting a prisoner who couldn’t speak English, if one couldn’t speak his language. Information is what we want.”

  Rex nodded. “I see that. When do you expect the Liberator back?”

  “Not before midnight. It might arrive any time after then, but if there is a delay at Darwin it might not get back until tomorrow.”

  “I take it that if you raid the island it would be after dark?”

  “It would be crazy to try to land unobserved in broad daylight.”

  “That’s what I thought. I just wanted to get an idea of the lines on which you are thinking, so that I can make the position clear to Suba.”

  Biggles’s calculations concerning the return of the Liberator were not far out. It was about 1 a.m. when a roar of engines announced its arrival. Instantly the aerodrome buzzed with activity as a flare path was made. The big bomber came in, and taxied quickly to the end of the runway. The reason for this was made apparent when another big machine followed it down. It looked like a flying-boat on wheels.

  “By gosh, they’ve got it!” cried Biggles.

  It turned out to be a twin-engined Cayman, originally a twelve-seater passenger plane. Ferocity had flown it, following Angus in the Liberator, which brought back with it Jackson and Henry Harcourt.

  As soon as the ground staff had been set to work to unload the fully laden Liberator, Biggles called a meeting of all officers, which included Rex, Jackson and the two Americans. First, he asked Angus what the British and American authorities in Australia had had to say.

  “I had no trouble at all,” announced Angus. “ Losh! The Yanks certainly got a move on when they heard we’d picked up a couple of their boys and might get more. They’d have given me a fleet of ships if I’d asked for them. The British A.O.C. was okay, too. He is working hand in glove with Air Commodore Raymond of the Air Ministry. There are no special orders. It’s left to you to do entirely as you think best. They would like to be kept informed as to how things go.”

  “That’s fine,” declared Biggles. “Now we can go ahead.” He went on to explain, for the benefit of the new arrivals, what had happened, and the steps he proposed to take. “First, I’m going to try to find out what has become of Algy and Ginger. The Cayman should make that possible.” He turned to Rex. “Did you speak to Suba about the trip?”

  “Yes. He’s tickled to death about it—done himself up in his special war paint. He’d like to take his special hunting pal with him.”

  “Good. As you are the only one who speaks his language I’m afraid you’ll have to come too—if you will?”

  “That suits me.”

  Biggles turned to Jackson. “I should like you to come along. I shall need an interpreter if we get a prisoner.”

  “Count on me,” said Jackson.

  Biggles thought for a moment. “That’s four—five including myself. I ought to have a spare pilot in case of accidents. Bertie, would you like to join the party?”

  “ What-ho! Not half.”

  “That should be enough,” said Biggles. “Angus, you’ll take charge here in my absence. We must keep the Liberator on the move to Australia or we shall be running out of fuel. Taffy, you’d better take her this time. Get away as soon as you like—make it before dawn. Tex and Tug will act as gunners—that is, if Tug’s wrist is up to it.”

  “It’ll do,” announced Tug.

  “Good. That will give the others a chance to rest. All right. The Cayman should have been refuelled by now. We’ve no time to lose if we’re going to get this job finished by daylight. All those on the show will muster at the machine in five minutes. Rex, you get hold of Suba. You’d better draw a revolver from store. We may need weapons.”

  Five minutes later Biggles took his place at the control column of the Cayman. Bertie sat beside him. Rex Larrymore and Jackson sat in the cabin with the two natives who, armed with kris and blowpipes, looked singularly out of place. The engines roared; the aircraft moved up the runway and, gathering speed, rose into the star-spangled sky.

  Visibility, helped by the light of a moon now nearly full, was good. With Borneo a vast, black, shapeless mass below, Biggles raised his wheels, which would not be required, and climbing steadily, headed for the distant objective.

  The journey was made in silence. There was nothing to say. Bertie dozed, but even in that condition must have more or less kept pace with the situation, for after an hour he sat up and yawned.

  “Must be getting closeish—what?”

  “Another five minutes,” answered Biggles, and cutting his engines, put the Cayman in a shallow dive.

  The first, and perhaps greatest, difficulty was to make a landing on the island unobserved. Biggles had little fear of being seen, but he was afraid he might be heard, which was his reason for climbing high and cutting his engines while still some miles from the objective. Even so, a gliding aircraft makes a certain amount of noise.

  Fortunately the island was a fairly large one, being about four miles in length and two in breadth, so he took the extra precaution of landing on the water at the end of the island farthest from the cove where he had seen signs of occupation.

  The actual landing on the water was an anxious moment, for there was always a danger of striking a hidden reef. However, the landing was made without mishap, and the
Cayman finished its run on calm water some fifty yards from a sandy beach. Biggles sat for a little while watching the beach, but seeing no movement, he lowered the anchor and prepared to go ashore.

  “You’ll have to stay and look after the machine,” he told Bertie. “We daren’t risk leaving it untended.”

  “Bit of a bore, what?” murmured Bertie.

  “You keep your eyes open,” warned Biggles. “We don’t want to come back and find the tail chewed off by crocodiles or something.”

  The actual landing was then made in the rubber dinghy which is standard equipment in all big marine aircraft. The dinghy was pulled up on the beach and Biggles turned to his strangely assorted comrades.

  “I’m going to lead the way to the cove where I saw men moving this morning,” he said. “It’s about three miles. I shall, of course, halt some distance away, because there’s bound to be somebody on guard. When we get to within sight of the place I propose, with your help, Rex, to point it out to Suba, and then be guided by him. Whatever happens we ought to be away by dawn.”

  “I understand,” answered Rex, and the party moved forward, with the two natives reconnoitring ahead.

  It took an hour to reach a point from which the cove could be pointed out. This was from the top of a natural breakwater of boulders which had at some time fallen from the hills that backed the beach. So far they had seen no one, heard no one.

  Biggles turned to Rex. “This is it. Tell Suba that our enemies are in or near that cove. We think they are yellow men, but we don’t know how many there are. The two white men whom they know may be prisoners there. That is what we want to find out. If necessary we must get a prisoner and question him. Ask Suba what he suggests.”

  Rex had a brief conversation with the chief, who seemed emphatic about something, and then turned back to Biggles.

  “He says it’s no use white men going. They make too much noise. He and Kalut—that’s his friend—will go alone. They will find out everything and come back.”

  Biggles nodded. “All right. Tell them to go ahead. We’ll wait here.”

  The two natives disappeared like shadows into the undergrowth that fringed the beach. The others, with their weapons ready in case they were needed, moved up to the shadow of the jungle and sat down to wait. It seemed a long time. The mosquitoes were ferocious. Strange noises came out of the jungle, where Nature hunted and was hunted.

  Biggles was beginning to get impatient, fearing that something had gone wrong, when Suba and Kalut materialized silently out of the darkness. They carried a large object between them.

  “Here they are,” whispered Rex. “By thunder! They’ve got a prisoner, too.”

  This was correct. The prisoner was a Japanese soldier. He was conscious, but speechless with terror—as he had good reason to be, having been snatched from his post by unseen hands. Suba fingered the edge of his kris thoughtfully as he looked at him.

  “Let us hear what Suba has to say,” suggested Biggles.

  Rex translated. “He says there are many men sleeping in a long hut built of bamboo. There is a hut with many boxes, and cans like those we have at Lucky Strike. From this description I should say they are oil cans. It looks as if this place is a refuelling station for submarines.”

  “Yes, I think that’s pretty clear. What about the white men?”

  “Suba says they aren’t there. There are only two huts and he looked into both of them, having first grabbed the sentry. As you wanted a prisoner, with great forbearance they refrained from cutting his head off.”

  “Tell Suba he has done well,” said Biggles. “Jackson, you speak to the Japanese. Ask him what happened to the two white men who landed here this morning. Tell him to speak the truth or I’ll let the natives cut his head off.”

  Rex spoke to the Jap, who answered readily. He turned back to Biggles. “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  “Well?”

  “They were captured. The submarine was here. The commander spoke to his base by radio, and was ordered to take the prisoners to Cotabato, on Mindanao. God help them if Yashnowada is still there. I was a prisoner there myself, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  Biggles was silent for a moment. “That’s what we came to find out. I was afraid of it. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. It’ll be getting light presently. We’d better see about getting back.”

  “What about the prisoner?”

  “We shall have to take him along with us. He’s seen too much for us to let him go. Moreover, we may want to ask him more questions. When we’ve finished with him we can ship him to Australia in the Liberator.”

  They began the return journey to the aircraft. It was still where they had left it. Bertie was waiting. Dawn was staining the eastern sky with gold as the Cayman took off and headed back to its secret base.

  CHAPTER VIII

  EVENTS AT COTABATO

  AS far as Algy and Ginger were concerned, there was only one spark of light in a very gloomy outlook. They had not been separated. They had been taken, as they supposed they would be, to the notorious prison camp, which was not so much a prisoner-of-war camp on the lines usually adopted by civilized nations, as a concentration camp in which were herded indiscriminately civilians, soldiers, sailors and airmen of many nationalities.

  The British subjects included a Sikh policeman, some Indian traders, Burmese and Malays. There were several Chinese, ranging from the lowest coolies to elderly business men who had been in business in the islands. There were also several Philippinos. These various people had naturally sorted themselves into groups as far as the limited space of the compound would permit.

  The actual sleeping quarters had once been the civil prison, which had never been intended to hold so many prisoners. It was an isolated building. Around it had been constructed a square barbed-wire cage embracing perhaps half an acre of ground. This cage was patrolled outside the wire by sentries armed with rifles and fixed bayonets.

  Most of the prisoners were free to walk about the compound if they wished, and in spite of the lateness of the hour most of them preferred the comparatively clean air outside the building to the foul air inside. Algy and Ginger were turned in with the crowd.

  They were at once greeted by the white prisoners, who demanded eagerly to be told what was happening in the world, for the only information they received was from the Japanese, and this, obviously, was not to be trusted. Ginger was appalled by the state of most of these men. Their hair was long, they were unshaven, and their clothes, originally white or khaki drill, were stained, torn and creased. They looked as if they hadn’t washed for weeks, which was indeed the case—no facilities having been provided by their captors.

  Algy gave them a brief outline of how the war was going. As far as he and Ginger were concerned, he merely said they were British airmen who had been shot down, and made no mention of their particular circumstances. Nor did he reveal the fact that Jackson and the two Americans who had been prisoners in the same camp had succeeded in reaching comparative safety.

  As soon as the excitement caused by the arrival of the new prisoners and died down, the comrades found a place near the wire where they could talk without being overheard.

  “We are certainly in a mess,” muttered Algy.

  “You’re telling me,” answered Ginger bitterly. “What are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t see that we can do anything about it.”

  “Jackson and the two Americans managed to get out.”

  “That’s right—so they did. Goodness knows how they did it. Anyway, the Japs will see to it that no one else escapes the same way. There seems to be only one gate in the wire, and two sentries stand guard over it. There’s no way of getting through the wire anywhere else except by cutting it, and that would need cutters, which we haven’t got— and are not likely to get. By the way, General Barton was supposed to be here. Suppose we find him and hear what he has to say?”

  “Yes, we might do that,” agreed Ginger.


  After making inquiries, they found the American general, not looking much like a general, asleep on the ground in a quiet corner of the compound. They woke him up and introduced themselves. The general greeted them with reassuring sincerity, whereupon Algy, speaking quietly, told him that Jackson, Bill Gray and Pat Flannagan had succeeded in reaching a British base. The general was delighted.

  “Lucky beggars,” he remarked.

  “We were wondering if there is any possible way of getting out of this hole,” resumed Algy. “You have been here for some time, so you must know how the land lies.”

  The general shook his head. “Not a chance,” he replied wearily. “A few people got out early on, with the result that the Japs have tightened things up. How did you boys get here?”

  Algy told him.

  The general looked serious. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a bad time. No one knows how rumours start, but the islands are buzzing with a tale of a secret British squadron operating from Borneo. Yashnowada —he’s the boss here—has got scouts out looking for this base. He’s a devil. He’ll guess you are members of the squadron, and now that you have fallen into his hands he’ll practise on you every devilment that he knows—and he knows most of them—to make you speak.”

  “Yes, we’re prepared for that,” murmured Algy.

  “By the way, sir,” put in Ginger, “is it true that there is an ammunition dump here? We were told there was one. I ask because if there is one here it is likely to be bombed.”

  “The main Japanese dump is here,” declared the general. “They’ve been accumulating stores, oil and ammunition, for months. It’s right here beside us, a couple of hundred yards away, near the waterfront.”

  “If we could get out we might do a good job by blowing it up.”

  “You’ve got to get out first, son, and if you can find a way you’re cleverer than I am. You can’t get through wire without cutters.”

  Algy spoke. “By the way, sir, where are the two ladies, reported to be here?”