Chapter Eight – Crocodiles, Sharks and other Wildlife…
Next morning Biggles dispatched Smyth and another mechanic with Ginger and Bertie to see if the stranded aircraft could be salvaged. High above the beach, Tex and Ferocity kept watch from their circling Spitfires as Ginger and Bertie landed their respective Beaufighters on the now familiar stretch of coast.
The four airmen climbed down and walked across the sand to Bertie's machine which now bore the additional evidence of the previous afternoon's attack. Bertie was not surprised to see Tom and Barnes walking out of the trees to greet them.
"Heard you coming," greeted Barnes, as Bertie introduced the Flight Sergeant and the young airman mechanic both of whom turned immediately to examining the damaged aircraft. Ginger exchanged greetings with the two Australian men and joined Smyth to see if he could help.
"Did you manage to round up those enemy types we flushed out of their bally little nest last night?" asked Bertie as the three of them stood watching the others. "The CO was keen to know. He's popping over himself soon. Just had to wait to hear from HQ first. He's bringing a top-notch communications chappie with him, too. Ted should be able to fix you up."
"No worries," drawled Barnes casually. "Tom's people have got them holed up in the schoolroom for the time being and they're not too happy with life at the moment," he finished with a grin.
"Not with twenty blokes sitting around outside with hunting spears and rifles," added Tom.
"How many of them are there?" asked Bertie curiously.
"Fifteen," replied the mission superintendant. "I'm happy to hold on to them till the authorities can take them, but I'd like to have some idea of how long that'll be, if it's possible."
"Mmm. Biggles'll be the one to talk to you about that, old boy," responded Bertie. "I presume you've checked their little U-boat depot to make sure our chaps did wipe it out last night?"
Tom laughed and Barnes chuckled, "There's nothing left of it, mate. Your lot hit the spot all right. We were kept busy rounding up the German Navy, but take it from me there's nothing left down there at all. What didn't get taken out by direct hits went up in smoke not long afterwards."
"Jolly good," nodded Bertie approvingly. All three turned to watch as a Beaufighter appeared across the water from the north east and had soon landed. Biggles descended, followed by Ted Edgars.
"This is getting to be a busy little airstrip," Biggles commented as he greeted Barnes and Tom and introduced Ted.
"Yeah. Isn't it just?" grinned Tom. A group of shy teenage boys had appeared at the edge of the trees and stood looking down at the activity on the beach. Biggles recognised the youngster who'd been hit the previous day and asked how he was, but the boy just smiled shyly and looked at Tom.
'My brother's boy," he explained. "Billy's fine. We're a tough lot, you know. They want to know if they can watch the aeroplanes."
"Of course they can watch," smiled Biggles. "We're going to be pretty busy soon, so we can do with some lookouts around here."
Barnes looked at him enquiringly.
"First of all, Ted's going to have a dekko at your communications shed and see if he can sort it out for you. Of course, if that cyclone brought down lines further down the track we can't help. I don't have the resources for that. And I've been asked if you can hold on to your prisoners for another couple of days. Your Navy's sending a patrol boat to take them off your hands but they won't be here till Thursday. Is that likely to pose a problem?"
"I think we can manage till then, don't you Tom?" Barnes glanced at the younger man enquiringly.
"No worries. The boys haven't had this much fun in years. Those Germans are scared rigid."
"If one of you can take Ted back he'll get started on your communications equipment," continued Biggles. "I want to take someone up with me who knows the country, and can tell me if there are any other suspicious looking settlements that shouldn't be along this part of the coast."
Barnes looked at Tom. "I'll take Sergeant Edgars with me if you want to go flying, Tom."
The younger man's face split into a huge grin revealing flashing white teeth. "Too right. Show me the way."
Biggles turned to Bertie.
"I want you to go with Ted and Les Barnes. See if you can lend Ted a hand if he needs it. I'll have a word with Ginger and Smyth before Tom and I head off. Stay with Ted till I get back," he ordered.
"Of course, old boy," agreed Bertie, nodding as he set off after Barnes and the sergeant. Biggles watched them disappear into the trees, smiling as a group of the watching boys clustered around Bertie who began chatting away to them as they disappeared. Then, followed by Tom, he walked down to where Ginger was helping Smyth with the Beaufighter.
"Can it be made airworthy?" he asked the Flight Sergeant who was peering into the starboard engine.
"Yes sir," he responded cheerfully. "A bullet damaged the fuel line and that's why the starboard engine died. That's easy to fix with a small bit of hose and a few clamps. We've got some chewing gum we can pop under the clamp to hold it till we get back to base. Unfortunately, another bullet hit the magneto wiring harness in the port engine and that's going to take a bit longer to repair but we can do it. We can probably do both within an hour or so, provided there's no interruptions and Mr Hebblethwaite can keep helping. Luckily, the bullet holes in the skin aren't too bad. We can fix those properly when we get home, too."
"Right. Keep on it, Flight. I'm taking Tom up with me for a bit of a look around to see if there're any other little bases being established that the Aussies don't know about. I can't keep Tex and Ferocity hanging around indefinitely up there. They'll be short of fuel soon." Biggles thought for a moment and then spoke to Ginger. "Go after Bertie and tell him I want him to take one of the Beaus up to keep an eye on the sky while you're still helping repair this one. I'll tell Tex and Ferocity to head off as soon as I'm airborne."
Placing the tool he'd been using in the Flight Sergeant's toolbox, Ginger strode off after Bertie's group, waving to the watching boys as he passed by them. Biggles turned to Tom.
""Have you been up before?"
"Only in a regular passenger 'plane – and once in the Flying Doctor a few years back."
"Good. What I want you to do is cast your eyes along every bit of coast we fly over and mark them on this map." Biggles pulled a map of the Gulf of Carpentaria from the western Queensland shoreline across to the eastern Northern Territory coast. "We don't have time to fly the whole Gulf coast, but we'll do what we can while these chaps do their repair work. Can you do that, do you think?"
"No worries," Tom laughed. "I loved geography at school. I know how to read maps, even from the air."
Biggles explained the workings of the radio, showed Tom how to don his helmet and the workings of the harness and seat belt and gave him a brief instruction on the art of bailing out, should it be necessary, fervently hoping such measures would not be necessary. By this time he could see Ginger and Bertie returning, and waving briefly to them, he opened his engines and taxied into position for takeoff.
Bertie was not long behind Biggles and began climbing to an altitude that would allow him to keep a protective eye on the group working on the beach as well as providing excellent vision in the event that any of the previous day's inquisitive Japanese planes reappeared. As he drew level with the two Spitfires, the pilots waved to him, rocked their wings and were soon speeding northeast for Handy Cay. He watched as Biggles' Beaufighter kept on its southward course along the Arnhem Land coast bordering the wide western waters of the Gulf. Biggles had also asked his pilots to keep a watchful eye out for the elusive U-boat and with this in mind, Bertie widened his cruising circuit to encompass more of the waters to the north and west, although given the many hours lapsed since the submarine's suspected departure, he held little hope of sighting it. From his vantage point he could see the curve of the Northern Territory as it stretched around westwards from the Gulf, bounded on its northern shores by the Arafura Sea. To the south he could see the beach with the other Beaufighters. Of Biggles' aircraft he could see no sign. He glanced at his watch, and realising that an hour had almost passed, he began losing height, preparatory to joining Ginger.
Where the Zero came from, Bertie could never afterwards say, but suddenly a deadly hail of lead struck his tail. The English pilot reacted with all the speed and skill that had seen him survive countless previous encounters and his fighter skidded across the sky, turning almost in its own length.
"These blighters are getting altogether too cheeky," he muttered as his finger held the firing button down and his own deadly stream danced across the void towards the advancing Japanese fighter. The deadly dance continued for a few minutes before his obviously Kamikaze-minded opponent suddenly charged directly at Bertie ramming the rear of his Beaufighter at a 90degree angle. The sheer force of the Zero's momentum carried it through Bertie's machine, cutting his tailplane off, immediately spiralling seawards in a cloud of smoke, before it exploded in a ball of fire. Bertie, realising he could not save his mortally damaged aircraft, wrestled the canopy open and launched himself outwards. Below, to his dismay, lay the waters of northern Australia, the domain of numerous crocodiles, tiger sharks and sea-snakes.
Bertie's parachute blossomed above him and his fall was arrested, giving him time to contemplate his situation. Below him lay the waters of the Arafura Sea, to the south it merged with the waters of the Gulf and to the east lay Torres Strait. The closest land was a small islet which, Bertie realised, would be within swimming distance of his likely splash-down. This proved to be the case, and wasting no time freeing himself from the entangling shrouds, he commenced a fast-paced freestyle sprint to the welcoming stretch of green-banded shoreline nearby. As he struck out he saw the long body of a sea snake cross his path and turn towards him. As Bertie increased his pace with a speed born of desperation, he thought something shadowy passed beneath him and his fear turned to complete horror as a triangular fin cut through the water beside him.
To say that Bertie experienced a terror unlike anything he had previously experienced would be nothing short of the truth. With remarkable presence of mind he punched at the nose appearing beside him and to his momentary relief the predator turned away. He now launched himself at the beckoning shoreline with a speed that may have earned him a medal in the peacetime Olympics and almost sobbed with relief as he felt sand beneath the boots he had not bothered to remove. He staggered from the deceptively idyllic waters and sank to the ground. A quick glance around did nothing to reassure him for the small island was covered in tropical jungle with mangroves lining the less-than-appealing shore now that he was actually there. He stared belligerently out to sea.
"What a bally awful place. Sharks and snakes and who-knows-what-all lurking around," he murmured in disgust. "Give me a nice safe Spitfire with half a dozen Messers to play with any day of the week! Yes, by jove!"
Having recovered his breath, he took stock of his situation. His clothing was sodden, as were his socks and boots. The sun was beating down unmercifully and the humidity was extremely enervating. Stripping off his shirt, he found some nearby rocks and laid it out to dry, followed quickly by the remainder of his clothing, socks and boots. Then he sat on a nearby rock and surveyed the uninviting mangroves and jungle.
"Not the best place for a picnic. No fear, not at all. And nothing to dry my monocle with either."
He was confident that Biggles or Ginger would soon be looking for him, for he was sure his short, sharp battle and its ending would have been seen by the party on the beach. His immediate concern was to keep himself from falling prey to any of the local wildlife that might fancy a change in diet. He had almost decided that his clothing was dry enough to put back on, when a strange grunting cough attracted his attention. At the same time, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He was being watched.
Bertie turned, his boots in his hand. All the horrors he had endured since landing in the sea were totally eclipsed as he stared at the beast watching him just outside the mangroves. What he had previously dismissed as a hefty length of driftwood had woken up and was gazing at him with unwinking eyes, its cruel teeth evilly displayed. Forgetting his clothes he spun about and sprinted full bore towards the nearest trees. Reaching the nearest one, he went up it with considerable alacrity. From his somewhat precarious perch in the tree fork he stared down at the crocodile that had followed him and was gazing up hungrily from beneath the tree.
"Go away, you rotten horror!" he exclaimed aggressively, acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation. He gazed with some surprise at his boots, still dangling from one hand and briefly contemplated throwing them at the prehistoric monster below, if for no other reason than venting some of his spleen on the cause of his present discomfort.