Chapter 18 - The Final Hand

Some hours later, from the familiar controls of an old Otter amphibian aircraft, a temporary replacement for the Gadfly, Biggles was staring moodily down into the darkness of the ocean, straining to see any sign of the fishing-boat and its passengers. The cloud cover had not relented and the moonless night retained its secrets. He fretted impatiently for the dawn, still nearly half-an-hour away. Once he could see, this long search would be a very different matter. They had, indeed, worked in relays, catnapping wherever they could; currently Algy, Bertie and Steeley were back at base for their needed rest with instructions to start again at first light.

Predictably the police had drawn a blank with the yacht, which had been stopped on its way round Bank's Peninsular. They were now checking the landing stages along the coast to make sure the missing vessel hadn't ducked into one of them. Gimlet's team was in a fast patrol boat trying, like Biggles, to find something to pursue and Gimlet was hoping that they might be on a trail, though all Trapper's expertise was of no use to him in this situation. Worrals and Frecks were also aloft in an Otter, leaving Angus and Tug, still recovering from their glacier landing the previous day, and Marie to monitor events from the base. It was Angus whose voice brought Biggles out of his brooding thoughts.

'Unidentified aircraft approaching from the east,' he reported. 'Must have come from the Chatham Islands – there's no other land in that direction.'

'That means it's probably an amphibian,' assessed Biggles quickly. 'I wonder . . .'

'It hasn't responded to signals so it's probably up to no good,' Angus added, giving the position and course of the mysterious plane as he did so.

'Better give Algy and Bertie a call,' Biggles decided. 'Tell them the position and ask them to join us. Steeley too if he can find a plane. We might as well all be in at the death.'

Angus acknowledged and signed off. Biggles glanced at Ginger.

'What do you make of that?' he queried.

'Summoned by our friends below, you think.'

'Makes sense. They couldn't have got far in that old fishing-boat.'

'They may not realise we know about it. They couldn't have anticipated Trapper's tracking skills.'

'A day in a boat is an hour in a plane,' Biggles pointed out. 'I thought they might have some plan for speeding up proceedings. Let's not get too close to that aircraft's flight path. We don't want to scare him away. He may lead us right to them. From what Angus said, he should be here in a quarter of an hour.'

'What if they've seen our lights?'

'What else can they do? If they don't bring the plane down, then they're stuck on the ship, waiting for us to round them up at sunrise.'

He contacted Gimlet and Worrals with the news and settled down to wait. Angus came through again.

'Yon's a sea-plane, lifted from the Chathams,' he announced. 'It's been dawn over there for a little while now and they've just missed it. Incidentally there's a second unidentified aircraft heading your way. Looks like you might need the reinforcements.'

The first flakes of light were beginning to ease the darkness when Biggles first became aware of the new plane's approach, a sudden flicking of lights in the distance.

'That's Morse,' he said quickly. 'He's signalling the ship.'

Answering lights suddenly flashed from the black ocean beneath. They stayed on to reveal the position of the vessel and the aircraft began its descent towards it. Simultaneously Biggles noticed a sudden spasm of flashes from the rear of the fishing-boat.

'Looks like they're firing at someone,' he said, puzzled. 'Yes, there's a light on the sea moving towards them. It must be Gimlet.'

'He's done well to get so close,' Ginger observed.

'Very well, though it's a coastguard vessel he's on so it's sure to have radar. As you can imagine the coastguards took a dim view of a ship without lights wandering off into the ocean.'

Biggles now concentrated on landing his plane in front of the other aircraft to prevent it taking off. As he did so the Otter shuddered suddenly as something ripped through it. Instinctively he banked in a steep turn and watched a shower of tracer pursue the path he had been flying.

'She's still responding,' he reported, noting the dark shape of the aircraft that had attacked them pulling out of its dive and beginning its ascent to make another attempt. 'I deserve to be shot. Angus warned us about this other plane and for a crucial moment I forgot it. Thank goodness he fired too soon.'

'Let's hope Worrals keeps clear,' observed Ginger, tensely.

'No she isn't.' grated Biggles. 'Now she's going down.'

It was clear that the alien aircraft had spotted her for it shifted its attention from Biggles to Worrals and prepared to attack her. Biggles turned in their direction but there was nothing he could do but watch. He and Ginger sighed with relief when, at the instant when experience told them the plane must open fire, Worrals also banked violently causing the tracer to fly harmlessly by. In fact, for a second, it seemed the aircraft was firing on its own ship, for many of the shells came close to both it and the seaplane, which was coming to a halt alongside.

'Nice work,' Biggles said approvingly, 'but this can't go on indefinitely. We'll be sitting ducks once we're on the water but if we don't go down they'll get away.'

'He nearly hit his own people that time, thanks to Worrals' nifty flying.'

'That's an idea. If we head down straight for the boat he might hesitate to fire in case he hits them and not us.'

Every second the sky was lightening and he was able now to recognise their adversary.

'So,' he said with a whistle, 'there was a fifth Mig after all. Steeley thought there might be. I wonder where on earth they kept that.'

Once more he descended and the fighter swung round to attack, despite Worrals flying daringly close to it in an effort to distract him. There was another burst of tracer but again she had anticipated the moment and avoided being hit.

'She's all Raymond said she was,' Biggles pronounced admiringly, homing in on the scene below. The fishing-boat and Gimlet's launch were still exchanging fire but the seaplane was now alongside and Biggles could see figures climbing aboard. If he was to stop it taking off he must land on this descent, he decided grimly and plunged directly towards the fishing boat, the fighter on his tail.

As he had anticipated the other pilot was clearly uncertain what to do, knowing that, even if he did hit Biggles, he might hit his own people at the same time and thus achieve exactly what he was trying to prevent. Snatching a quick glance below Biggles noted that Gimlet was now manoeuvring his launch around the fishing-boat, keeping on the seaplane side of it but still needing to give it a wide berth to avoid the rapid fire the other vessel was maintaining.

The jet now changed tactics, as Biggles had feared it might, swooping past him so that it could attack from the side as he came in to land. Now there was no longer a reason for the Mig to hold his fire and Biggles and Ginger braced themselves for the impact of the bullets that must now come. Biggles levelled out about a hundred feet above the water as the fighter turned towards him. He banked again, fully expecting to be hit or, at best, see the tracer sweeping past nearby. In fact he saw neither and pulling round noticed smoke coming from the fighter that had itself been attacked and was struggling to take evasive action. A Hunter had come suddenly upon the scene. The radio crackled into life.

'Tally-ho!' called a voice. 'You concentrate on the seaplane chaps. I'll deal with this blighter.'

'Bertie!' Biggles cried.

'Algy thought the extra plane might be riding shotgun, if you see what I mean, so we ought to be prepared.'

'Great work,' said Biggles and began once more to try to block the seaplane's progress, though he feared that he would be too late and Gimlet, too, would not be able to complete his manoeuvre in time.

Ginger had his binoculars out.

'That's Sidlington,' he announced as a final figure stepped aboard the plane. Its doors closed and it began to move forward. Biggles landed his aircraft and surged towards its projected path in a desperate attempt to intercept. Fortunately Gimlet, observing this, had changed course to give him a clear passage but, even so, Biggles realised, with a groan, that he would be too late. At this moment he heard the urgent tones of Algy's voice on the radio.

'Keep clear, Biggles. There's a . . .'

But the final words were lost in a huge explosion that rocked the Otter and all but capsized it. A cascade of objects, some heavy, hailed against the aircraft, one piercing a hole in its side, and Biggles, desperately sought to keep the plane in one piece, as it heaved out of control under the onslaught of some hefty waves. At last the rocking eased and he was able to bring the machine to a standstill.

His first thought was that this had been some device of the enemy and he looked to see if the seaplane was airborne yet. Surprisingly he couldn't see it. Ginger tapped him on the shoulder and he turned round. What he saw was a mass of debris including a torn off wing. Not far away there was another disruption and he was in time to witness the final moments of the Mig, plunging into the sea with Bertie completing a victory salute above it. Nearby Gimlet's boat was all but swamped but he noticed Copper and Trapper baling furiously and Gimlet, breaking off from the same task to give him a reassuring gesture. Miraculously the fishing-boat had survived, now an abandoned craft rocking uncertainly on the settling waves.

'What in the name of glory was that?' he breathed. 'Did they try something that backfired?'

Algy came through again.

'We're all right,' Biggles assured him, 'though the plane may be damaged. I'll stay on the water on the way back just to be sure. What was it?'

'A torpedo. I just caught sight of its path before it struck. Thank heavens you weren't closer.'

Gimlet, having restored order on his launch, brought it alongside.

'Now all the fun's over we might have a look over that fishing-boat,' he suggested, 'but, since that pilot Bertie shot down baled out, we'd better go and pick him up first and check if there are any other survivors.'

'I'd like to know where that infernal submarine has gone,' said Biggles grimly. 'It looks as if we weren't the target but, having made one hit, he might fancy an encore.'

'He'd be a fool to do that with all these planes about,' Gimlet asserted. 'It wouldn't take long to get a bomber out here with some depth charges. We might have one already for all he knows.'

Biggles nodded and, when Gimlet returned about ten minutes later, clambered on to the launch, leaving Ginger on board. In the interim, Algy reported that he thought he could see an oil trail, probably the submarine's, moving away from them, so there seemed to be no more immediate danger from that source.

A few moments later they were alongside the fishing-boat.

'If she's still shipshape, we might take her back to port,' Gimlet reasoned, jumping aboard. 'Might even be a spot of salvage, though I suppose there'd be no-one to pay it.'

Biggles and Cub came with him, leaving Copper and Trapper with the rescued airman, who had managed to eject despite having a bullet wound in the thigh, which they were bandaging.

'Not that you deserve it,' commented Copper. 'The Skipper wasn't at all 'appy when 'e recognised you. Tried to give 'im and Lord Lissie their chips I 'ear. I think 'e'll be 'aving a word or two abaht that when 'e returns from the boat.'

'I'm just the pilot,' the man protested. 'It was the others who were causing the trouble.'

'Well you didn't do anything to stop it by all accounts.'

'How could I? I'd have been shot.'

'And whose bright idea was the submarine?'

'I don't know,' the man said wearily. 'I thought it must be on your side.'

He had been lying on a makeshift stretcher during this exchange but sat up suddenly as if a thought had just struck him. When he saw the fishing boat close by, his eyes suddenly grew large with terror and he clutched at Copper's arm.

'Get away from here,' he cried desperately. 'Start the engines, full speed. Get away, get away.'

'Why?' asked Copper but the man had fainted.

'This does not look good,' murmured Trapper. 'I think that boat may not be so safe.'

Without hesitation Copper leapt on board the fishing-boat. Biggles and Gimlet were in the wheelhouse and Cub was about to descend into the cabin below.

'Seems all right,' Biggles was saying. 'No reason why you shouldn't make port as far as I can see.'

'Watch it, Skipper,' Copper called urgently. 'That airman's in a blue funk being so close to this thing. It might be safer if we look at it from afar.'

'He thinks there's some danger does he?' said Gimlet, unperturbed. 'What kind, I wonder.'

Cub, halfway down the ladder, paused.

'That's funny,' he said. 'I wasn't aware of a noise down here but I'm sure something just stopped.'

'A clock perhaps,' said Biggles. 'I think Copper's right. Let's get back to the launch. I was on a deserted submarine like this once and only realised it was a trap in the nick of time.'

They returned hurriedly. Trapper had already started the engines and, as soon as they were all aboard, the vessel began to head back towards the plane. They were still less than a hundred yards away when the boat they had left seemed to erupt behind them and a huge explosion rent the air.

'That was a close run thing,' observed Gimlet, calmly, watching the wreckage of the ship sinking into the ocean. 'It doesn't look as if it will make port after all. By thunder, we were half-asleep there. Maybe I should be grateful to our prisoner now. In a peculiar sort of way he could be said to have made amends for his earlier conduct at the start of this affair. Concern for his own skin, of course, but the effect's the same.'

'What you might call a sting in the tail,' said Biggles, covering his thumping heart with an apt metaphor. 'I wonder if that was meant for us or if the intention was simply to scuttle her to obliterate any evidence.'

'Perhaps our friend here will enlighten us, once he's awake again,' Gimlet considered. 'It's academic anyway at this stage of things. Incidentally, what are you going to do about that submarine?'

'I'm not sure it would be a good idea to do anything about it,' Biggles said slowly. 'There isn't much we can do apart from hunting it down and that could spark off an international incident and achieve the very thing we've been trying to stop. I presume they all boarded that aircraft.'

'Yes,' confirmed Gimlet. 'I was watching through binoculars. There was just enough light to recognise Villiers-Silver and the rest. They've played their final card, I think.'

'In that case,' said Biggles heavily, 'let's be getting back. We've been on the go for twenty-four hours now and I, for one, could use some sleep.'

It was still winter in England when they returned and the hot coffee provided in the briefing room Raymond had chosen for their meeting was very welcome. The Air Police and their associates, Gimlet and his team, Worrals, Frecks and Steeley were all there, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere as Biggles made his report.

'I certainly needed the reinforcements,' he admitted, at the end. 'Everyone played a vital role at one time or another. I thought we might get in each other's way at first but in the event the team was just the right size.'

'Thanks for the excitement,' chipped in Worrals. 'I'll embrace my mundane life with more ardour now I've had the chance to recall all the hairy moments the alternative has to offer.'

'At least you return with new skills,' smiled Biggles. 'You and Frecks will be able to get jobs as telephonists any time now.'

'Thanks a lot,' said Frecks, ironically.

There was some laughter.

'Do we know how much the Russians were aware of?' queried Steeley, returning to business.

'We have some idea,' said the Air Commodore. 'Major Charles of Intelligence has been taking a keen interest in these proceedings and he may well have seen to it that the requisite information reached his Soviet counterparts. Doubtless they would have found this unofficial deployment of five of their aircraft of some interest.'

'They also seem to have known about the rendezvous,' commented Biggles.

'Quite possibly,' agreed Raymond. 'One agent on the whaler could have provided that. The sailors may have been genuine, incidentally, believing that they were taking part in a bona fide secret mission.' He smiled slightly. 'We've had no official complaints about you strafing their ship, though.'

Biggles breathed deeply.

'We were on the point of capturing them all,' he pointed out. 'Even if they had taken off, with the fighters we had, we'd have forced them down again. They would all have stood trial.'

'Oh quite,' said Raymond. 'We can't possibly condone this ruthless attack on the high seas. On the other hand these were people responsible for misery and death in the world and trying to increase the suffering, not to mention putting us all on the edge of a Third World War. Had there been a trial it would have been a difficult and embarrassing affair and keeping the proceedings out of the press would have been well nigh impossible. The last thing we wanted in this case was publicity. In that respect it may have worked out better as it is. Meantime we've been finding out all kinds of information from our prisoners both here and in New Zealand, allowing us to piece together more of the jigsaw. It's all but complete now. They'll be tried on individual charges, which shouldn't let any cats too far out of the bag.'

'And did our people have any idea about these escape plans?' asked Gimlet.

'Well the New Zealand security service was intercepting their signals. And thanks to Miss Worralson photocopying their codes without them being aware of it, we knew exactly what they were saying to each other.'

'Another jolly old listening post, by Jove,' exclaimed Bertie.

Biggles eyes narrowed.

'I suppose it was a Russian submarine that fired that torpedo,' he probed, suspiciously.

'I know no more than I've told you. Anything else would be speculation. We're putting the wraps over this entire affair. It'll probably be the twenty-first century before they're taken off again.'

He stood up.

'Fortunately you won't have to wait that long for lunch,' he added whimsically. 'It's all laid out for you in the next room. I have to farewell you all now – I have an appointment in a few minutes time. But thank you all for a really splendid show.'

He left and the others, chatting convivially, moved towards the awaiting food and the final act of their combined operation.