Ginger In Australia
Chapter 12
Covering Old Ground
Biggles wasted no time making his way to Thargomindah and calling for an ambulance to be waiting for him at the airfield. He declared an emergency and went straight in, taxiing up to the waiting blood wagon.
Biggles watched helplessly as Ginger was put on a stretcher and drips inserted into his veins. The medics lost no time in loading their patient up into the ambulance and driving away, sirens wailing. Before he left, the doctor gave Biggles brief instructions to get to the hospital but would not let him accompany Ginger.
Still dazed by what had happened, Biggles was just contemplating finding a taxi when the roar of a four-engined aircraft caught his attention. He looked up and recognised the Halifax. Judging by the speed with which he had arrived, thought Biggles, Algy must have run the engines on full boost most of the way.
He waited by the Auster, knowing Algy would look for him there first and was not surprised when his expectation was realised. Bertie was tagging along behind.
Algy had barely come within hailing distance before he was inquiring about Ginger. Biggles told him what he knew, which was very little. "He has a chance," he admitted finally. "That's all they would say."
They took a taxi to the hospital and eventually found which ward Ginger was in. He was not allowed visitors, the nurse told them.
"I'll stay here and wait," Algy volunteered. "You take Bertie and go after von Stalhein. We shouldn't forget the real reason we're all here."
"No, you're right," agreed Biggles. "Keep me posted," he said quietly and their eyes met.
Algy nodded. "I will," he promised. "Either way."
Biggles exchanged a long glance with his cousin before he turned on his heel with a curt, "come on, Bertie, let's get cracking. We're burning daylight."
"Be right with you, old boy," murmured Bertie, following him. As he went out of the door he paused for a moment and glanced back down the corridor. Algy was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands. Bertie hurried after Biggles who was already at the bottom of the steps hailing a taxi.
The journey back to the airfield passed in silence. Biggles smoked cigarette after cigarette, scarcely waiting until he had finished one before lighting up another.
"What's the plan, old boy?" enquired Bertie eventually.
"Go back to Duck Creek and see what we can find out," Biggles told him. "We're back to square one. Whatever Ginger discovered there, if anything, he can't tell us so we shall have to do some investigating ourselves."
Bertie nodded and left Biggles alone with his thoughts. On the airfield he told Bertie he would take the Auster and leave the Halifax for Algy. There were two reasons; firstly it was a rental machine and Ginger had hired it to go to Yowah, not Thargomindah, and secondly it would be easier to put it down in the bush, if the need arose, than the heavier Halifax, although that was a faster machine.
Back at Yowah, Biggles informed the hotel of what had happened to Ginger and took charge of his effects. Bertie thought there was an unpleasant air of finality about the matter-of-fact way Biggles stowed Ginger's kit with his own luggage, but he refrained from remarking on it.
Biggles was soon on the road to Duck Creek for a word with the manager of the mine. When Jackson, the superintendent, told him what he had learned from Ginger, Biggles asked sharply, "when is the next consignment due out? It looks as though they're going to pull the same stunt as they did at Barula Creek."
"Tomorrow morning," replied Jackson. "We'll be leaving early to miss the worst of the heat."
"Then the chances are, that's when it will happen," suggested Biggles. "Show me the route. I know how von Stalhein operates. I may be able to spot a likely ambush site."
The superintendent spread a map on the table and showed Biggles the itinerary of the opal shipment.
"What's this area like?" queried Biggles, pointing at the map.
"Pretty flat and open to the north," answered Jackson, "but the road runs close to the foothills of Mount Prara."
"Then it's my guess that's where they'll try it," averred Biggles. "There'll be somewhere they can put the Auster down yet opportunity to stage an ambush from the hills. It's ideal for their dirty work."
"I'll make sure my men are armed and ready," stated Jackson grimly.
"How many men can you muster?" Biggles wanted to know.
"At least eight," Jackson told him.
Biggles looked pensive. "The odds would appear to be stacked against them then, with just the two of them," he mused. "Von Stalhein will have something up his sleeve, though, if I know anything," he continued. "I'll be watching you from the air. If they use the Auster, as I think they will, you won't be able to do anything if they try to get away by taking off."
Jackson nodded and Biggles noted the relevant details of the shipment convoy.
They went their separate ways until the following day.
At the appointed time the following morning Biggles and Bertie were in the air over Duck Creek. They could plainly see the trucks with the opal setting off on their long journey north. Biggles throttled back to maximise his fuel economy. He had no need to rush, anyway. The object was to keep the convoy in sight, not pull away from it.
The journey was uneventful, but as they approached the area Biggles thought the ambush might come, he increased his vigilance.
"Watch the sky, Bertie," he told his companion. "Tell me if you see their Auster."
Bertie swept the surrounding area with his binoculars. "Nothing yet, old boy," he reported. The Auster droned on, eating up the miles. Bertie stopped his sweep and focussed the glasses on a speck to the north-east. He touched Biggles on the arm and pointed. "That looks like them, old boy," he commented.
Biggles followed the direction of his outstretched arm and turned the Auster to bring it between the other aircraft and the sun.
They watched as Canton, or at least Biggles presumed it was he, landed the small plane on the level stretch to the north of the mountain. Biggles throttled back, letting the aircraft glide, knowing that the sound of his engine would carry in the still morning air. Three people got out, one of whom looked like an aborigine.
"I think they've brought a tracker with them," opined Bertie.
"I wonder what they want him for," mused Biggles as the objects of their surveillance made their way up into the foothills ahead of the opal convoy which was now just passing the creek before entering the defile.
As the convoy of trucks entered the gully, Biggles saw them pull up and noticed a tree trunk placed across the track. For a moment nothing happened, the men remained in the trucks tense and expectant. Then a hail of spears, interspersed with some rifle fire, came from behind the rocks, as a body of dark-skinned natives launched an attack on the trucks. The men in the convoy, forewarned, opened fire and drove them off, but not without loss to themselves despite the inequality of the fight. The end of such a one-sided affair, however, was inevitable once the advantage of surprise had been lost. Those natives who remained unscathed turned tail and ran, leaving a couple of their injured colleagues lying on the ground. Seeing there was no longer any opposition, one of the men got out and dragged the tree away. The trucks continued on their way with their semi-precious cargo.
"So now we know," murmured Biggles. "He must have been their chief or perhaps an interpreter. There goes von Stalhein," he added as the German limped into view, "making for the Auster with Canton."
As they watched, one of the natives came running up, unarmed, with the probable intention of getting away with the Europeans. Von Stalhein saw him coming and calmly shot him with scarcely a pause in his progress.
"I say!" exclaimed Bertie. "That was as cool as you like!"
"Von Stalhein doesn't take chances, Bertie, you should know that," Biggles reminded him. "If I were in Canton's shoes, I wouldn't sleep easy, either," he commented. "When Erich has no more use for him, he's just as likely to put a bullet in him as he did the native."
Still losing height, Biggles swung the Auster round as the other aircraft took off. Now at last able to open up, he banked to follow the sister machine as it headed east, taking care to keep in its blind spot.
"It looks as though they're packing up, old boy," remarked Bertie as it became clear that the machine was heading for Brisbane.
Biggles was puzzled. "That's not like von Stalhein," he commented. "Whatever else he may be, he's not a quitter."
Bertie did not reply and they watched in silence as the other Auster swept in over the Brisbane River and landed at the small airport at Archerfield.
Biggles shied away until the other aircraft had landed and the occupants had gone into the building then he deftly put his aeroplane down and taxied to a dispersal point as far away from the other machine as he could get.
Biggles took the opportunity to have the Auster refuelled. Both wing tanks full and the ferry tank at its maximum 10 gallons under those conditions meant he had 40 gallons on board. He had no way of knowing if the other machine also had a ferry tank, but if it did, he thought, their endurance was identical, only flying skill might eke out a little more performance and range from one machine more than the other.
While Bertie was supervising the refuelling, Biggles slipped along to the flight office. Showing his Scotland Yard identity he asked about Canton's machine and was told it was being refuelled with a view to flying again later that day.
"Do you want them arrested?" queried the duty officer.
"No, I want to find out what they're up to," Biggles told him. "Give them enough rope and they'll hang themselves eventually," he commented, asking to be informed when the aircraft's destination was known.
In a more sombre mood, he also requested to use the telephone and put through a call to Thargomindah. When he returned to Bertie he answered his unspoken question with a short "no change".
"At least he's not any worse, old boy," Bertie tried to look on the bright side. "Did you get a word with Algy?"
"No. I spoke to the ward sister. Ginger's still not permitted visitors. Algy will see him the minute he's allowed. I asked the sister to pass onto him where we are so he can contact us as soon as he does. In the meantime we need to find out what von Stalhein is up to. Wait a minute," murmured Biggles, "this looks like someone coming over from the flight office now. Perhaps they're going to tell us."
"I'm looking for an Inspector Bigglesworth," said the messenger, a freckle-faced youth with sandy hair.
"That's me," acknowledged Biggles and took the flimsy from the lad. He opened it expecting to read details of Canton's flight plan. Instead it was a message from Algy. Biggles read it and thrust it deep into his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered curtly. "No reply."
The youth went off whistling cheerfully.
Bertie looked at him enquiringly but Biggles told him nothing. "What was in the note, old boy?" he asked eventually.
"Nothing new," replied Biggles shortly. "Nothing we didn't already know."