Chapter 18

A Bumpy Flight

"Keep a close look-out, Algy," instructed Biggles as the machine roared down the runway. "We might have ruffled a few feathers leaving like this."

He had barely uttered the words when a red Very light arced through the sky. Biggles ignored it.

As the machine lifted off, Biggles glimpsed lights travelling along the perimeter track. It looked as though they had sent motor vehicles rather than aircraft, he surmised, so out-running them would not pose any difficulty, but he could not be sure that fighters would not follow.

"I'm going to keep low," he told Algy as he banked sharply to turn south, away from their destination. "If we come up to Mauthausen from the south, we should miss the mountains and hopefully they won't work out our destination immediately."

Algy nodded and stifled a yawn. Biggles looked at him critically. "You look as though you could do with a rest," he observed. "Send Ginger up here; he managed to snatch some sleep, so he can relieve you for a spell."

"What about you?" countered Algy. "You haven't had any more sleep than I have."

"All the more reason for one of us to get some shut-eye," insisted Biggles.

Realising the wisdom of Biggles' words, Algy undid his safety strap and eased himself out of the co-pilot's seat, reflecting that Ginger would be pleased at the summons. He squeezed through the narrow connecting hatch into the passenger cabin.

Smyth was sitting next to the Meiers, trying to explain what was happening. Ginger was facing them, staring out of the window at the darkness below.

Algy touched him on the shoulder and passed on Biggles' message. The lad's eyes lit up and he shot out of his seat with alacrity, wasting no time in sliding through the hatch into the cockpit.

Algy smiled and settled into the hastily vacated seat. Becca looked at him fearfully. Algy leaned across and squeezed her hand reassuringly, encouraging her to rest as much as she could because she was likely to need all her energies to help free her father.

"But if you are here, who is flying the aeroplane?" she asked nervously.

Algy explained about dual controls. "Ginger will take a spell to let Biggles get some rest, too," he added. "We'll all need to have our wits about us when we get to Mauthausen and it won't be long now."

He composed himself to relax as best he could. It seemed he had barely closed his eyes when the change in engine note awoke him, warning him that they were about to start descent to their destination.

Smyth had started buckling the Meiers' safety belts. Algy clapped him on the shoulder as he passed by to reach the cockpit and the mechanic replied with a thumbs-up.

"Everything okay?" queried Algy as he poked his head through the connecting hatch.

Biggles and Ginger were silhouetted against the first rosy light of dawn. Below, Algy knew, the land would still be in darkness.

"Just starting the descent now," confirmed Biggles. "I've throttled back and want to glide in. The less people who know we're coming the better," he added grimly. "I don't want von Stalhein to send a welcoming party."

Algy stood watching for a moment as Biggles slipped off some height in a shallow S turn. The light was strengthening all the time and he realised that Biggles had timed it exactly right. They would have darkness for their approach, but enough light to survey the landing ground for obstacles, although it would wreck their plans completely if they had to open up and go round again because it was impossible to get down where they expected.

The aeroplane sank gently, the wind sighing over the wings. Algy returned to his seat in the cabin and strapped himself in, warning Becca and her mother that the landing was imminent.

He tensed as he felt the aircraft flare out, waiting for the wheels to touch. Through the window he could see the countryside rushing backwards. He hated not being in control, he decided, although he acknowledged that there was little he could have done had he been in the cockpit. Now they were below the trees. He hoped Biggles had been able to see a clear run and that there were no hidden obstacles.

His breath escaped with a long drawn out sigh as the aircraft kissed the ground and slowed. It trundled along for a few yards until it stopped suddenly as if held by an arrester wire. He was pushed back into his seat and the other passengers were flung forward against their restraining straps. Mrs Meier screamed. The crates which they had not had time to secure slid towards the front of the cabin as the nose dipped and the tail rose alarmingly. For one moment, Algy thought they were about to tip over, but fortunately the rear of the aircraft did not rise above the vertical. They hung there for a moment before the tail gradually settled and equilibrium was restored.

He freed himself and made for the cockpit as Smyth opened the cabin door and helped their near hysterical passengers out.

"What happened?" he asked Biggles who was wiping blood off Ginger's face.

"We hit a drainage ditch," was the muttered reply. "I didn't see it until it was too late. That's the trouble with not being able to reconnoitre the ground before we touch down."

"Is Ginger alright?" asked Algy. "He looks very pale."

"It's shock. He banged his cheek on the instrument panel."

"I'm okay," asserted Ginger gamely. "What about the passengers?"

"They're a bit shaken," admitted Algy. "Smyth has got them out."

"We'd better check the machine over," averred Biggles as he and Algy helped Ginger onto the ground, despite his protests that he felt fine.

Biggles told Ginger to take Becca and her mother under cover while the others checked for damage.

Mrs Meier clucked over the young man when she saw the cut on his cheek and promptly forgot about her own troubles. When Biggles returned to the group with the welcome report that the undercarriage had suffered a severe strain, but the machine was otherwise unharmed, he saw that Mrs Meier was in charge and Ginger had a neat bandage around his head. Becca was taking the lad's pulse in a very professional manner and most of Ginger's colour had returned.

"We'll push the machine under the trees at the far end," explained Biggles. "She should be safe enough from discovery there and if she's lined up facing the field, she'll be ready for a quick take off when we've achieved our objective."

"How far is it to the camp?" asked Ginger.

"About a mile. According to Joseph, it's situated by the Wienergraben quarry. They're making the prisoners bring the stone up to construct the buildings. It's not completed yet. By the sound of it, it will be a long job."

"With any luck, that should make our task easier," opined Algy optimistically. "They may not have finished the fortifications."

"I'd be surprised if that's the case," retorted Biggles, "but you may be right. In any event, if the prisoners are being made to work, that means they won't be locked up all the time and it may be possible to arrange an escape when they are out of camp. It would certainly be easier if we could get to them without having to break in."

"What have you got in mind?" Ginger wanted to know.

"Until I've seen what we're up against, I don't have any fixed plan," admitted Biggles. "It all depends on what we find when we reconnoitre the camp." He looked at the lad intently. "How are you feeling? Perhaps it would be better if we left you in charge of the aeroplane."

"I'm fine," protested Ginger, mortified at the thought of being left behind. "It's only a superficial cut."

Biggles continued to look at him reflectively. Ginger returned his gaze steadily, holding his breath while Biggles deliberated his fate.