A Close Run Thing
As if to mock the frustrated shore party, the sky started to lighten and, in the growing dawn light, they could just see the slender shape of a U-boat gliding down the channel, towing a small boat. As they watched, a crewman came on deck and cut the boat loose, setting it adrift on the tide, before going back into the conning tower.
From inland came another sound; the throb of four powerful aero-engines. All eyes searched the sky and saw a Sunderland come into view. Those on shore watched, fascinated, as the duel between the aircraft and the U-boat unfolded. The underwater craft needed sea room to manoeuvre and submerge, the aircraft needed to get close enough to drop its depth charges.
Still confined by the banks and shoals of the estuary the U-boat began to throw up a curtain of Flak. The Sunderland's nose turret returned fire and Ginger saw one of the German gun crew crumple under the hail of lead.
Inexorably, the U-boat got closer to its goal and safety, but the Sunderland was gaining on it all the time. Despite the wall of anti-aircraft fire the U-boat's guns were throwing at it, the huge flying boat lined up for its bombing run.
Ginger saw the barrel-like depth charges drop and held his breath. The pilot knew his job, he thought admiringly as the high explosive straddled the U-boat. The underwater craft staggered like a wounded animal, it seemed to Ginger, and almost immediately smoke started belching out of the conning tower, closely followed by the crew as they abandoned the mortally stricken vessel. The submariners began to dive into the water. Having nowhere else to go, they headed for the nearest land, where they were swiftly rounded up.
The submarine settled in the water, amid a scattering of debris and a film of oil. A gleam of white marked the spot where the commander's peaked cap, in its summer cover, floated gently on the tide, like a wreath marking a burial at sea.
The code book was recovered, but Ginger searched in vain for a familiar face among the prisoners. Perhaps he had just swum further along the coast and had not been aboard the submarine. Maybe he had managed to get into the dinghy that had been set adrift. Whatever had happened to him, von Stalhein was not among the captured. Somehow, thought Ginger, it did not seem likely that they had seen the last of him.
The Sunderland now attracted his attention once more. It was skimming low along the estuary with the obvious intention of landing. He watched as its keel smoothly kissed the water and settled. Knowing how difficult it was to land a flying boat, he again felt considerable admiration for the pilot's skills. A boat was lowered and two airmen in full flying kit disembarked, making their way across to where the group was waiting.
To Ginger's surprise, it was Biggles and Bertie.
"What ho, old boy!" Bertie greeted him, screwing his monocle firmly in his eye to get a better look at his young colleague. "Someone been rubbing your face in it?"
Ginger suddenly remembered the camouflage and tried to rub it off, but all he succeeded in doing was smearing it still further.
Biggles, having greeted the Colonel, looked at his protégé askance.
"You seem to have been having a lot of excitement for someone who is supposed to be on sick leave," he announced. "The MO has changed his mind," he told the astonished Ginger, " he now thinks you may be suffering from a virus and it's nothing to do with your head wound after all. Your Medical Board is scheduled for tomorrow. I've come to take you home." He paused, looking at the dishevelled young man. "And wash your face," he added, smiling, "you look like a zebra!"
