14 Biggles Goes To War (15 page)

formation suddenly skimmed low over the hills immediately behind them.

Biggles realized the danger instantly, for there was no question as to whether or not they would be seen. The enemy pilots were obviously still looking for them, although the formation had broken up, possibly with the object of covering more ground, and the man in the brown-crossed fighter had now only to look down to see the fugitives, outlined clearly against the white background of swiftly melting snow.

Biggles had jerked to a standstill as the machine came into view. For a moment he stared at it while he summed up the situation. Then he started running back towards the nearest point of the hedge, where, having crossed it, he knew there was a ditch. 'Come on, he shouted, for he knew by the manner in which the nose of the enemy machine dropped suddenly that they had been seen.

They were still ten yards from the hedge when the harsh rattle of machine-guns cut clear above the increasing roar of the engine, and a stream of bullets sent snow and turf leaping into the air. It stirred them to frantic efforts, and they all flung themselves pell-mell into the ditch as the fighter zoomed over them, its wheels not more than a few yards over their heads.

`Get flat in the bottom of the ditch,' yelled Biggles frantically. 'Never mind the snow.

This fellow means business.'

He heard the machine scream round and come racing back, and a glance showed him that the pilot was doing what he feared he would; not that he expected otherwise, for he knew from his own experience that they were dealing with a man who understood his business.

Instead of flying across the ditch as he had on the first occasion, he was now getting into a position from which he could fly

straight along it, enfilading it with a raking fire for its entire length in the manner adopted by trench-strafing pilots during the war. Yet there was nothing they could do, and Biggles knew it. Their only chance was to remain where they were, although it seemed more than likely that one or all of them would be hit; yet to forsake the ditch for the open would only make that more certain.

It was at this moment, while Biggles was racking his brains for some solution to the desperate problem with which they were faced, that he became vaguely aware of a change in the situation. The information was not conveyed to him by his eyes, for he had wedged himself as tightly as he could into the black mud at the bottom of the ditch.

It was the noise that told him something had happened, for it seemed suddenly to swell to an incredible volume, as if the pilot was deliberately flying his machine straight into the ground. For perhaps three seconds his guns chattered, the bullets thudding into the ground and smashing through the hedge; then they, too, seemed to rise to an ear-splitting crescendo, as if half a dozen guns instead of two were firing. For one dreadful moment Biggles thought that the Lovitznian had been joined by his companions, but squirming over on to his back he looked up, and the problem was explained. There were two machines. The fighter, in front and diving steeply, was being closely pursued by a second machine which he recognized instantly. It was the new two-seater which they had captured the previous day. In a flash he understood. He realized that Algy, for some reason not apparent, was not flying the big machine, but that he had to come to look for them in the smaller one. The guns of both machines were going, the Lovitznian aiming at the ditch and the front guns of the two-seater blazing at the machine ahead of it.

This state of affairs did not, however, persist for many seconds, for even if the Lovitznian machine was not being hit, the pilot could not for long remain in ignorance of the fact that he was being attacked. The realization of this must have been as great a shock to him as the appearance of the second machine was to Biggles, but he acted like lightning. In a split second the single-seater was screaming vertically skyward, with the other machine hanging to its tail as if a tow-line connected them.

By this time the others had also realized that something unexpected had happened, and they all stood up in their uncomfortable refuge to watch, spellbound, the end of the affair.

Whether the Lovitznian machine had been hit or not they had no means of knowing; it seemed unlikely that it could have escaped scatheless, yet it showed no signs of being disabled. At the top of the zoom the pilot pulled right over on to his back, and then cleverly flicked a half roll to even keel. In this position he had, of course, a very definite advantage over the larger machine on account of his superior height, for the two-seater had not been able to hold the rocket zoom as long as the smaller machine, but he employed this advantage in a rather surprising manner. Instead of attacking his opponent he whirled round and, putting his nose down for maximum speed, roared away in the direction of the hills, over which he swiftly disappeared. Algy started to follow, but Biggles at once leapt into the open, waving furiously a rather dirty handkerchief.

'If he crosses those hills he's sunk,' he snapped. 'He'll run into the rest of the pack. 'That cunning devil is trying to lead him into a trap. Ah, thank goodness he's got the sense to turn back.'

The two-seater had, in fact, turned, and was now

beginning to circle preparatory to landing. Biggles continued to wave, and by every indication he could think of endeavoured to convey the information that the field was safe to land on. Nevertheless, he could well understand Algy's hesitation, for although the snow was fast disappearing, a thin covering still remained, and there was nothing to show a pilot what lay underneath it.

Biggles stopped waving as the noise of the two-seater's engine died away, and its nose dipped as it glided down to land. They all began to run to the point where it would finish its run.

`Stay where you are,' shouted Biggles to Algy, who was climbing out of his seat as if he intended leaving the machine.

`Why?' asked Algy, pushing up his goggles.

'There are half a dozen more fighters hanging about somewhere. I fancy the fellow you had a go with has gone to fetch them.'

'Is that so?' exclaimed Algy, dropping back into his seat.

'There's no time to talk now,' went on Biggles swiftly. 'You get the Count home as fast as you can and then come back for us.' Biggles turned to the Count. 'In you go, sir. You'd be wise to sit on the floor,' he advised, 'or you may get frost-bitten.'

'I don't like the idea of leaving you here,' protested the Count.

'Don't waste time arguing, please,' said Biggles. 'Seconds are valuable. It's far more important that you should get back. We shan't be long after you, anyway.'

The Count climbed up into the open cockpit and Biggles gave Algy the signal to take off.

'We'll wait for you here,' he shouted, as he backed away.

Algy said nothing. He raised his left hand in a parting salute. The engine roared, and Biggles grabbed a wing-tip to help him to turn. There was no wind, so the direction of the take-off was immaterial and in a moment the machine was racing, tail up, over the snow, while those on the ground turned their backs to the biting slipstream. They turned again as the machine zoomed into the air, and watched it bank on its course for home. Satisfied that all was well, Biggles then turned towards the farm-house, where several curious spectators were watching.

They had just reached the stable yard when six Lovitznian fighters roared into sight over the hills. Biggles grabbed Ginger by the arm and dragged him into the shelter of a barn, from where they watched the enemy aircraft anxiously.

'Algy only just got away in time,' muttered Biggles. 'I don't think there is anything to worry about now. These fellows will hardly have the nerve to chase one of our machines right across Maltovia.'

'One of our machines?' queried Ginger.

'Well, it was carrying Maltovian markings,' smiled Biggles. 'Smyth and Carter have evidently been busy. Ah! There they go,' he added quickly, as the Lovitznian machines turned back towards the hills. 'Good! I shall feel happier with them out of the way. Come on, let us see if we can beg a crust of bread.'

He led the way to the veranda where the owner of the house was standing with his wife and several small children. They had some difficulty in making it understood that they were friends and not enemies, but once this was achieved - chiefly by the production of a Maltovian ten-mark note - a pot of tea, eggs, and a dish of bacon were soon forthcoming.

Àlgy will have to make two more journeys to get us both back, won't he?' asked Ginger, mopping up bacon fat from the dish with a crust of bread.

Ì've been thinking about that,' answered Biggles. 'I don't think so. You and Algy are both fairly light. If fly the machine you should both be able to get in the back seat. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but the machine can carry us all without any difficulty if we can get in.'

The farmer and his family were staring at them wonderingly, which was not surprising, but as there were no means of making them understand the situation, Biggles could not satisfy their curiosity. The meal finished, he just had time to smoke a cigarette before the two-seater was heard returning.

`Make sure it's Algy,' said Ginger cautiously.

`Yes, it's him all right,' replied Biggles, as he saw the machine swing round to land, so after thanking their host as well as they were able to, they hurried back to the field.

It was a tight fit to get two persons into the back seat, but by Ginger lying at full length on the floor, with his legs under the seat, and Algy standing up, it could just be managed.

He was, of course, in flying-kit, so the cold would not be likely to trouble him unduly.

Biggles swung himself up into the pilot's seat. His hand closed over the throttle; the engine roared as the machine swung round and, a moment later, was speeding across the snow-covered turf. He did not attempt to climb to any altitude, but at a few hundred feet he levelled out and raced straight back for the aerodrome. There were many things to attend to, and he was anxious to speak to the Count. In twenty minutes by the watch on the instrument board the aerodrome came into view, and it was with real satisfaction that he landed and taxied up the runway into the wood.

`Where the dickens is Smyth?' he growled, as he jumped clown and Algy joined him. It is not like him to be absent when he is wanted.'

His voice died away curiously as several Maltovian soldiers ran out from the trees. 'What the dickens is all this about, I wonder?' he went on quickly, a suspicion of alarm in his voice. He swung round on his heels as a voice addressed him from behind. An officer stood there, and he was covering them with a revolver. Biggles recognized him at once.

It was the thin-lipped aide-de-camp who, with Menkhoff, had accompanied General Bethstein when he had called on them at their hotel. His name, he had learned subsequently, was Vilmsky.

`What is the meaning of this?' Biggles was really angry. `You are under arrest,' replied Vilmsky suavely.

`By whose orders?'

`General Bethstein's.'

Òn what charge?'

Èspionage.'

Biggles nodded slowly. `So that's the game, is it?' he said softly.

Chapter 16

To Die at Dawn

'It is my duty to warn you that in the event of resistance my orders are to shoot,' went on Vilmsky imperturbably.

Ìs that so? I trust you are always as mindful of your duty,' sneered Biggles.

The other scowled but said nothing.

`By what authority does General Bethstein issue such an order as this?' asked Biggles coldly. His object was really to gain time, for he saw that they were in a tight corner, and his brain was feverishly seeking a way out.

`His own,' replied Vilmsky bluntly. 'Where is Lieutenant Hebblethwaite?'

Until that moment Biggles had almost forgotten Ginger; or rather, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that he imagined that he was standing somewhere behind him. He now realized, however, that he must be still lying on the floor of the machine. 'How do you suppose I know?' was his reply to Vilmsky's question. 'You saw us land, didn't you?'

`He isn't here. Where is he?'

Ì shouldn't be likely to tell you if I knew.'

'Very well. No doubt we shall find him. Come.' 'Where to?'

`Where we are going to take you.'

'Where is that?'

'To the barracks.'

'Also by the general's orders?'

'You are now under my orders.'

Biggles shrugged his shoulders. He perceived that either resistance or argument was futile, and that the wisest plan was to get away as quickly as possible in order to give Ginger a chance to do something. 'All right,' he said loudly, hoping that Ginger would hear him and take the hint. 'When her Highness hears of this you'll get some orders, my friend - marching orders. How do we travel?'

'My car is waiting.'

'Then let us get on with it. I am very tired and rather cold, so the sooner this nonsense ends, the better.'

Vilmsky snapped an order, and the soldiers lined up on either side of the prisoners.

Algy moved nearer to Biggles. He was white with fury. 'If ever I get my hands on this skunk, or his crooked pal Bethstein, I'll twist their windpipes into a knot that will take a bit of untying,' he breathed vindictively.

Biggles nodded. 'I should have anticipated something of this sort,' he said bitterly, as the party began to move towards the road. 'But to tell the honest truth I did not think that Bethstein would dare to go as far as this. The question is, how far will he go? If he is prepared to go to these lengths to get rid of us he may go to any lengths. Well, we can only wait and see. If we start a rough house they'll shoot us, and there are too many of them for us to hope to get away with it. I have a feeling that Vilmsky would like us to try to get away. I hope they don't separate us, that's all.'

Two cars were waiting on the road. The prisoners, with an escort, were put into the first one and the remainder of the soldiers filled the other. Another order from Vilmsky and the cars began their journey.

'The barracks are somewhere on the other side of the city,' whispered Algy. 'If they take us right through the main street we may get a chance to do something.'