Chapter 26

Ill Met By Moonlight

The singing died down as the Nazi Youth retired to their sleeping bags. In the cabin, Smyth put the revolver where he could reach it handily. He looked at his watch and wondered how Biggles and the others were faring in their attempt to secure the professor's freedom.

In the clearing, the campfire flickered as the logs burned away, leaving a glowing ring of embers. As the light faded, the mounds that marked the sleeping Nazis disappeared in the engulfing darkness.

Smyth hoped fervently that his comrades would return in time to spot the faint glow and be warned. As the night wore on and the clearing slipped deeper into gloom, he became more and more anxious. He turned over Biggles' instructions in his mind. He knew that it was his job to look after Mrs Meier, but what if the professor were recaptured because he failed to warn them. Was it more important to make sure he was safe? After all, he reasoned, that was why they had come to Austria in the first place.

At length he could bear it no longer. Waking his charge, he warned her of what he was going to do.

"If anybody comes to the machine," he told Mrs Meier, "make sure you hide. You know how to pull the crates over yourself?"

Mrs Meier nodded. "I will get in the hiding place now," she told him. "That way you will know I am secure."

Smyth nodded approvingly. "Okay," he acknowledged. "That'll be one less thing to worry about. I'm not sure the Major will be all that pleased that I'm disobeying my orders and leaving you here alone, but I've got a feeling I ought to be on hand to warn them about our Nazi visitors out there."

Smyth took a last look around the cabin before he opened the door a crack and sniffed the night air. It was cool, with a slight scent of pine. It conjured up memories of camping expeditions before he had joined up. The night was still, not even an owl hooted. Smyth told himself he would have to be especially quiet. Sound would carry a long way in such stillness. Like a wraith he left the aeroplane and skirted the clearing, heading for the direction from which he expected his comrades. In the distance, a car sped along the road. He could see the lights. He hoped that the rescue party was not walking back when it passed.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness now and he could see more of his surroundings. The canopy of trees overhead stood out against the faint starlight of the sky, blotting out the pinpoints of distant galaxies with its branches. There was virtually no cloud, but the moon had not yet risen. A good night to fly, he surmised, but nowhere to hide. Down by the river a faint mist was rising. Just enough to blur visibility, but not enough to blot out the landscape entirely.

Another car swept along the road, travelling more slowly. As he watched, it drew to a halt and his nerves twitched. The lights went out and he lost sight of it in the distant haze.

Smyth held his breath. If the car contained storm troopers, he told himself, he would have to get back to the aeroplane and try to take off as best he could. Biggles' instructions had been to look after Mrs Meier and after what he had witnessed in the clearing he was not about to let her fall into enemy hands.

He strained his ears and detected the far off rustle of several pairs of feet swishing through the grass. Carefully, he advanced towards the sound. As he got nearer, he could make out dark shapes. There were five altogether and two of them were smaller than the others. Encouraged by this observation, Smyth moved nearer. As the party advanced, the leader was silhouetted against the skyline. Smyth caught his breath when he realised the man was wearing a Jerry helmet. The faint starlight gleamed on the barrel of a sub-machine gun. Smyth's hand tightened on his pistol.

He turned his attention back to the rest of the party and scrutinised them carefully. It was hard to make out any detail but one of the smaller figures looked like a woman and the other a young lad. He felt sure they were Ginger and Becca returning. Puzzled by the German soldier with them, he hesitated. Had they been captured and forced to lead the Germans to the aeroplane? What had happened to the Major and Captain Lacey?

The group stopped for a moment and came together. Were they about to launch an attack? Smyth drew out his weapon and eased off the safety catch, prepared to sell his life dearly if it came to an all-out assault.

"It can't be far now," whispered one of the figures. "We're nearly there."

"Mr Lacey!" hissed Smyth and the party stopped dead.

"Smyth?" queried Biggles in a low voice. "Where are you?"

The mechanic emerged out of the darkness, slipping the pistol back in his pocket.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Biggles demanded with asperity. "I thought I told you to stay with Mrs Meier."

Smyth cupped his hand round his mouth and warned Biggles about the party of Nazis in the clearing.

"We'll have to give them a wide berth, Sir," he observed quietly. "They sound a nasty bunch, judging by what they've been bellowing all evening."

"Good work, Smyth," murmured Biggles approvingly. "You know where they are, lead on."

The mechanic led them round to the entrance to the aeroplane. One by one the members of the party climbed in and Smyth pulled the door closed silently behind them.

"You said my wife was here," the professor accused Biggles.

"Smyth?" Biggles fixed his mechanic with a questioning look.

The airman went across and pulled aside one of the crates. In the hollow formed by the boxes, Mrs Meier was fast asleep. The professor woke her tenderly.

"Naomi!" he whispered.

She opened her eyes and stifled a cry of joy. "Reuben!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms.

Ginger watched and felt a lump form in his throat. Suddenly it all seemed worth while.

"We're not out of the wood yet," observed Biggles. "What about our boy scout friends?"

"They just turned up out of the blue," Smyth told him. "With any luck, they'll carry on with their hike after they've had their breakfast."

"Talking of breakfast," broke in Algy, "I'm starving. What have we got to eat?"

"We can't risk lighting the stove, Sir," replied Smyth, "but I can knock up some bully beef sandwiches."

"That sounds just the ticket," smiled Biggles. "My stomach was beginning to think my throat had been cut."

Sitting in a circle they enjoyed the best meal they had tasted since the start of the adventure.

Biggles detailed Ginger to take first watch. "Wake me in two hours," he ordered. "Keep your eyes peeled. We don't want to be caught napping at this stage of the game."