Biggles and the Black Peril Read online

  'East, but I am going west first. When we take off we'll head due west so that they will think we have decided to get back to England, but as soon as we are out of sight we'll swing round and work our way back towards the east; we'll strike the coast again higher up.'

  'What about petrol?'

  'We'll try and make Danzig; we shall be able to get it there without difficulty. Danzig is a free port.'

  They took off without further delay, and following the course they had planned, struck the north German coast again near Rugen Island. They saw nothing of interest so they passed on, flying straight along the coast, searching the ground every inch of the way for likely landing grounds for marine aircraft, or hangars that might house such giant machines as the one they had seen on the east coast of England. But they saw nothing of a suspicious nature; occasion-ally they passed a small fishing vessel, and once they saw a battleship far out to sea; that was all.

  Daylight was failing by the time they reached Hela, at the mouth of the Gulf of Danzig, and Biggles was just reaching for the throttle in order to glide lower when the engine coughed, spluttered, and then cut right out. He was not in the least alarmed, thinking that the main tank had merely run dry, so he switched over to the rear main tank. Nothing happened, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that some-thing was wrong. He immediately switched over to the gravity tank* and was relieved to hear the engine pick up again. 'Tell Smyth to look at that rear tank!' he shouted to Algy, with an unpleasant suspicion forming in his mind.

  * A small tank of fuel, which is literally gravity-fed into the engine without the aid of a pump, for use in an emergency.

  Algy obediently crawled through the hatch into the cabin, but was back in a couple of minutes.

  'It's empty!' he shouted.

  Biggles frowned. 'I saw them fill it!' he yelled.

  'So did I, but they must have emptied it again while we were in the cafe.'

  Then, without warning, the engine cut right out again; the propeller gave a final kick and stopped, and it was obvious from the way it did it that the gravity tank had also run dry.

  Biggles understood the position at once. 'They nearly emptied the gravity tank, too,' he said in the silence that followed the engine's failure. 'They left us just enough petrol to get off so that we should not suspect anything and examine the other tanks.'

  There was only one course open to him; he tilted the nose of the machine down towards the water, which fortunately was quite smooth, at the same time swinging round towards the beach which lay a few hundred yards away to the right. 'Have we any spare petrol on board?' he asked as the Vandal ran to a standstill on the water. 'I don't remember seeing any.'

  'No, I didn't think we should need it, and we already had plenty of weight up with four people on board.'

  'As you remarked at Kiel, it's time I understood the Hun*; I should have suspected that something like this would happen. Think what a nice mess we should have been in if we had taken that fellow's advice and headed back for England; we should now be derelict just about in the middle of the North Sea. If a breeze happened to blow up during the night, that would have been the end of the Vandal – and us.

  * Slang: derogatory term for a German, now out of use.

  'As luck would have it we are here, thank goodness, but it is going to be awkward. If there was a vessel about going in the direction of Danzig I'd ask for a tow, but there isn't, so we shall have to try and attract the attention of the people ashore. I see several houses about, fishermen's cottages, by the look of them, and I can see several boats pulled up on the beach. We daren't risk mooring out here on the open sea in case a storm happens to blow up. One of us will have to try and get ashore and get some petrol from somewhere or else hire a fisherman to tow us down to Danzig; it can't be more than five or six miles away.'

  It was clear that there would be no difficulty in attracting the attention of people on the shore, for a number had already collected on the beach, evidently having seen the flying boat land, and in reply to its distress signals, two or three boats at once put out. To arrange for a tow to Danzig, however, proved impossible. Conversation, such as it was, was slow, and most of it was carried on by signs. At the end of ten minutes, the position, as far as the airmen could make it out, was this. Not one of the fishing boats had an engine. There was no wind so it would not be possible to travel under sail. To row to Danzig at that particular hour was impossible on account of a strong current that was set against them. Further, the Vandal had no riding lights and the fishermen said there was a chance of their being run down in the darkness by traffic going to and from the port.

  'It looks as if there is only one thing for it,' observed Biggles, 'and that is to get them to tow us ashore here. There doesn't seem to be much surf and there should be plenty of hands to pull us high and dry. We can spend the night ashore, in the cabin if necessary, and as soon as it is light three of us will go and fetch some petrol from Danzig while the other remains on guard. If we can hire a motor vehicle of any sort to fetch a load of petrol, it should be simple enough. We are bound to be able to get food here, anyway.'

  So it was arranged. The boatmen, as soon as they had grasped what was wanted, got a line over the nose of the Vandal and towed her to the shore, where the wheels were lowered, and many willing hands pulled her high and dry near the ramshackle boathouses beyond the reach of heavy seas. Biggles distributed some money amongst the helpers, who seemed more than satisfied, and it was quite dark by the time everything was settled. There was no sleeping accommodation available, but food and coffee in abundance at the chandler's store, to which they repaired and spent part of the evening. What was really more important, there was a telephone on which Biggles was able to speak to the British Consulate Office in Danzig and explain their predicament, with a result that it was arranged for a consignment of aviation spirit and oil to be sent out to them, by lorry, immediately.

  'I shall soon want some more money if this sort of thing goes on,' remarked Biggles as they made their way back to the machine; 'I paid for one load at Kiel this morning, so this trip is going to work out expensive if we're not careful. Taking it all in all though, I think we've got away with it today very well, and as far as our present position is concerned, I don't know but that we aren't as well off as if we had gone on to Danzig. There is certainly less chance of awkward questions being asked.' The petrol arrived shortly afterwards, and after attending to the refuelling of the machine, they settled themselves down to pass the night as comfortably as they could.

  Chapter 8

  A Chapter of Adventures

  Biggles awoke from a deep sleep and sat up abruptly, wide awake on the instant, wondering if he had really heard what he thought he had heard, or if he had been dreaming. No, the sound came again from afar off, the low, rhythmic palpitating beat of a multi-engined aeroplane. He slung the tarpaulin with which he had covered himself to one side, and ran out of the boathouse in which he had decided to sleep in preference to the cramped cabin. He tapped sharply on the Vandal's hull.

  'Stand by, everybody,' he snapped crisply. 'Algy, come outside, quickly; what do you make of this, hark!'

  It was still dark, but the stars were paling, and a wan light spread over the eastern sky in promise of the day to come. The distant roar of the aeroplane reached their ears clearly, although it came from a long way away, as if the machine was flying at a great height, but it was obviously travelling in their direction from the west.

  'What do you make of it Smyth?' asked Biggles.

  'Sounds like five or six Mercedes* engines to me, sir, but there is something funny about them; they seem sort of – muffled.'

  * Mercedes Benz, German manufacturer of aircraft engines during World War One.

  'I thought so,' replied Biggles tersely. 'It's that big machine all right – there she is.' He grabbed Algy by the shoulder and pointed with outstretched finger at a tiny, gleaming point of light that had been caught in the sun's rays. The sun was still below the hor
izon to the watchers on the ground, but the machine, by reason of its great altitude, came within the region of its upflung rays.

  As they spoke, the noise of the engines died away suddenly, but the tiny point of light held on its course like a shooting star. 'That's it,' muttered Biggles, 'they've switched the silencers full on now while they pass Danzig. Come on, after it. Start up Smyth. Algy, and you Ginger, take station where you can see that machine and don't take your eyes off it until I'm in the air, or we may not be able to pick it up again.'

  The Vandal's engine started at the second swing, and Smyth clung to a wing tip to drag her round facing the water. Biggles raised the wheels as the machine became water-borne, and then churned up a foaming wake as he sped across the smooth surface of the water.

  'How high is she do you think?' he yelled, nodding towards the higher machine.

  'Ten thousand for a guess.'

  'That's about what I put it. We can't climb up to her without losing speed – not that we particularly want to; she'll have to come down sooner or later. All we have to do is to keep her in sight, but we must keep out of sight of her ourselves if we can.'

  Then began a chase which seemed interminable. Hour after hour passed, the big machine maintaining its altitude, with the Vandal skimming along a few hundred feet above the ground. Biggles was flying on full throttle in order to keep up with the other, although he realized that the big machine was probably only cruising. Their course lay due east, and for a long time it lay over open water, although the coast was always visible in the distance. A large town, which Biggles knew could only be Köningsberg, in East Prussia*, loomed up on the horizon, and slipped away behind, after which their course became overland.

  * This area now within the Russian Federation.

  Another two hours passed, and Biggles began to get worried, for he knew that they were reaching the limit of the Vandal's endurance range. He still had plenty of petrol to continue the chase, but if he went on any further he would be unable to return to Danzig** without landing and refuelling, a procedure that he knew might give rise to an awkward situation. Looking at his map, and working out the distance in conjunction with the speed of the Vandal, a quick mental calculation told him that they must have passed over Prussia, cut across a corner of Lithuania and Poland, and were now actually on the Russian frontier, if not actually in Russia. The country below seemed deserted, the one or two small villages they passed occurring only at long intervals; not by a single landmark could they judge their position to within a hundred miles. Presently a small lake appeared below, but it was unmarked on their map and told them nothing. Then a larger lake appeared, so large that they could not see the opposite bank.

  ** Now Poland.

  'Look out!' cried Algy suddenly. 'She's coming down.'

  Biggles looked about hurriedly for some place of concealment. There is only one form of cover in the air, and that is provided by clouds, but at that moment there was not a single cloud in the sky. Just in front of them lay a great forest, spreading round on either side of the lake. At its western extremity the ground was open, and appeared to be uninhabited, for they could see no signs of human habitation. Biggles put his nose down towards it, although there was no time to make a close examination of the surface of the ground if they were to avoid being seen by the crew of the now rapidly dropping giant. He cut the throttle and lowered his wheels, and picking the most open space he could see near the wall of the forest, made a rather bumpy landing.

  'Thank God there were no rabbit holes,' he murmured fervently as he kicked over the rudder and taxied close up to the trees. 'Quick everybody, get some branches, grass, anything you can lay hands on and throw it over the top wing.'

  It was the work of only two or three minutes to cover the white wings and tail planes of the Vandal with greenery, and then, keeping in the shelter of the trees, they watched the big bomber glide down towards the lake. They did not actually see it land, for the forest, which lay between them and the water, obstructed their view, but they knew that it could not be more than a mile or two away, for it had passed over them at a very low altitude.

  'What now?' asked Algy, looking inquiringly at Biggles.

  'We had better do a bit of dunking,' was the reply. 'In the first place I estimate that we have just about enough petrol to get back as far as Kìnigsberg, although what sort of reception we shall get there I hardly like to think; still, it can't be helped. Next, we may have been heard by somebody when we landed, or we may be heard if we try to take off again. We're skating on thin ice, make no mistake about that. Our papers may be in order, and all that sort of thing, but it won't count for much if we are caught spying – and we shall have a job to find a reasonable excuse for being here. Still, we haven't come all this way for nothing; what we've got to find out is just what sort of place there is here, how many of those machines there are, and how much accommodation. That is what we want to know. If we can find out what they ultimately hope to achieve, how often they fly to England, and where their landing grounds are there, so much the better. It seems to me that there are two courses open to us. The first is to take off again, fly round the lake, learning as much as we can, and then make full out for home, but the most we can hope to discover if we do that, is how many machines they have, and only then if they happen to be moored out on the water; we might be able to count the hangars – there must be more than one of those machines here. The second idea would be to hide the machine rather more effectively, and do a bit of scouting on foot. That, to my mind, is the best plan, but of course it is far more dangerous. If we were caught, we should be caught red-handed, and it would be Siberia* for the lot of us – perhaps worse.'

  * The bleak snow-covered Russian region of Siberia was where many prisoners were kept.

  'You're telling me,' interposed Ginger quietly.

  'I'm telling everybody,' replied Biggles shortly, 'but as you are all in this as well as me you have some say in the matter. Well, which is it to be?'

  'Scouting on foot,' replied Ginger quickly.

  'I agree,' said Algy.

  'What suits you suits me, sir,' declared Smyth.

  'All right; scouting on foot it is. In that case I pro-pose to split up the party. You will be on one side, Algy, and I shall be on the other. Then, if the scouting party is caught, that still leaves a pilot with the machine to fly back to the Air Ministry and report what has happened. I suggest therefore that you, Algy, and Smyth, stay here with the machine, while Ginger and I take a walk. Stand by for a quick take-off in case we come back in a hurry.'

  'As you like,' agreed Algy.

  The machine was pulled into a narrow glade amongst the drooping fir trees of the forest, with her nose pointing towards the open ground. They then sat down and ate the emergency rations they had brought with them from England.

  'We shall have to leave here tomorrow at the latest,' observed Biggles thoughtfully, as he munched a biscuit. 'We can't live on air, and it would be too risky to try and get food about here. We should be spotted for foreigners instantly.'

  The meal, such as it was, was soon finished, and Biggles rose, throwing his cap and goggles into the cockpit. 'One last thing,' he told Algy seriously, 'if we are not back here by this time tomorrow, you'll know something serious has happened; in that case make for home as fast as you can and tell Taglen, at the Air Ministry, what has happened.'

  Algy nodded.

  'Right then. Cheerio. Come on, Ginger,' said Biggles, and set off through the forest in the direction of the lake. For a long time they walked in silence, seeing nothing of interest, and then suddenly they perceived the steely blue gleam of water through the tree trunks.

  'Steady now,' he whispered, but the warning was unnecessary; Ginger was gliding from tree to tree, with the stealth of an Indian, a few yards ahead of him. He saw him stop, staring, and then beckon him on with a curious gesture.

  He was not altogether surprised at the sight that met his eyes, for he was half prepared for something of the sort, y
et he caught his breath sharply. At the far side of the lake, or rather, on the opposite side of a wide arm of it which at this point drove deep into the forest, was a long row of enormous, squat hangars, built at the water's edge. In front of them, riding at anchor, were ten or a dozen of the great flying boats, with several smaller marine aircraft dotted about them. They could not actually count the number of machines for they were more or less in line across the lake, and they were looking straight down the line; but it was not the machines that shook Biggles so much as the activity going on ashore. Log-built houses and workshops were everywhere, with scores of men moving about them, and the dull clamour of a thou-sand tools reached their ears. As they watched, the air began to vibrate with the roar of engines under test, while the door of a hangar was dragged open, and another monster slid down a slipway to the water.

  'I'm going to have a closer look at this,' muttered Biggles, and his methodical mind made him add, 'If by any chance we get parted, come back to this spot. You can mark the place by that pine tree over there, the one with the broken bough.'

  'OK, chief,' breathed Ginger, still staring at the scene across the bay.

  'We'd better strike inland a bit or we may be seen,' went on Biggles, and began working his way slowly towards the flying boats, keeping parallel with the shore, but a little distance from it. He noticed that an open space had been cut through the trees just ahead, and presently saw the reason; a track had been cut for a light railway, which seemed to run down to the seaplane station in one direction and into the mainland in the other. There was a siding at the point where they actually came upon it, with a row of trucks on the rails, but all was quiet, and a little careful scouting showed that the track was deserted.

  'Come on, let's cross over,' he said quietly.

  The trucks lay immediately in their path, and rather than go round them, which would have meant exposing themselves on the open track rather longer than they cared to, they started squeezing between them. They were actually in the act of doing this when the dull thud of horses' hooves sounded close at hand from the forest on the opposite side of the track, and a man's voice called loudly. Biggles acted on the instinct of self-preservation. There was no time to go forward or back, for the man seemed to be right upon them, so he pulled himself over the side of the nearest truck and fell in a heap inside. What happened to Ginger he did not know, but from the sounds he heard he gathered that he had done the same thing in the next truck, an assumption which afterwards proved to be correct. Not until he was inside the truck did he realize that it was half full of rough sawn timber, pine logs, the transport of which was apparently the purpose of the line, but he wedged himself between them, going as far as pulling a couple of the logs over his body.