Part 11 (1/2)

Ginger gripped the wire with both hands near the point at which Biggles'

file was already biting into the metal. Two sounds only could be heard.

One was the rasp of the file; the other was the murmur of a gliding aircraft.

'This is where we have to burn our boats,' decided Biggles. 'Flash the call sign.' He handed Ginger the torch and went on with his work.

The torch, upturned, cut a series of dots and dashes in the night.

'Nearly through,' muttered Biggles. 'Keep flas.h.i.+ng till you get an answer.'

Rasp-rasp-rasp, grated the file.

'Okay. They've seen us,' informed Ginger.

Biggles raised a leg, put his foot on the wire, and jumped. The wire parted with a musical tw.a.n.g. At once Biggles s.n.a.t.c.hed up the loose end and began running with it, to get as much of it as possible out of the way.

Ginger's eyes were on the gate a” or the position where he knew it to be.

There was no sound or sign of movement. Raising the torch again, he flashed it to show their position to the pilot, now circling overhead.

Biggles came back. 'That's all we can do,' he said. 'Watch the gate and tell me if you see '

em coming.' He took the torch and held it low to form a narrow flare path.

For the next sixty seconds, time, to Ginger, seemed to stand still. As Biggles had said, there was nothing more they could do. So there they stood, nerves tense, eyes staring into the dark vault overhead.

'He's a long time, what's he doing?' muttered Ginger impatiently.

'He's trying to avoid collision with something solid,' answered Biggles.

'Quite right. This isn't the moment to make a b.o.o.b. Here he comes. Watch out he doesn't knock you down!'

The black silhouette of the aircraft suddenly appeared, hardening as it drew nearer. The wheels b.u.mped, b.u.mped again, and the machine ran to a stand-still. Ginger recognised the Proctor. It had overshot them a little way, but they ran on after it, and reached it just as the door was opened.

Bertie stepped out. 'What cheer, chaps!' he greeted. 'Where's this bally Iron Curtain I've heard so much about?'

'It's right here,' Biggles told him curtly. 'Get back in and cut the funny stuff. I'm in no mood for it. In you go, Ginger.'

Bertie returned to his seat. Ginger scrambled in behind him. Biggles followed and slammed the door. 'Peel off, Algy,' he snapped. 'There's no future in staying here.'

As he finished speaking several things happened at once. The engine roared. The Proctor began to move. A searchlight cut a blaze of white light across the stubble. A machine-gun started its vicious rattle, the bullets flicking dirt and sc.r.a.ps of straw into the air.

For a few seconds Algy held the machine low, for speed, banking with one wing-tip nearly touching the ground. Then the Proctor zoomed like a rocket, and the field, with its dangers, faded astern.

'Which way do you want to go?' called Algy.

'Grab some alt.i.tude while I think about it,' replied Biggles. The Proctor continued to climb steeply.

After a minute Biggles went on. 'Make for the nearest German frontier. A course slightly south of east should take us to the American Zone.

That'll suit me a” for a start, anyway.

The thing is to get outside the Curtain.'

'I'll do my best,' promised Algy.

'Do you expect any difficulty?'

'We were challenged on the way out.'

'By what?'

'Flak, when I refused to go down. Radar must have picked us up as we crossed the frontier. I saw a Russian Yak, but I dropped into a cloud and lost it.'

'Did you come across the Russian Zone?'

'Naturally, I came the shortest way.'

'That explains why they were trapping the known landing-grounds on your line of flight.

No matter. Carry on. You've less than a hundred miles to go.'

Bertie chipped in. 'By the way, where's our soldier chappie, Ross?'

'On his way to China, via Berlin. They're using these fellows in the Korean war.'

'Here, I say! That's a bit tough!' muttered Bertie. 'Looks as if he's had it. How far is China from here? Never was any bally good at geography, and all that sort of thing.'

'For a rough guess,' answered Biggles grimly, 'China is about five thousand miles farther east than we could get in this kite, even with full tanks. That's why I'm going the other way.'

'But, look here, old boy, you're not going to leave Ross there, are you?'

'I am not,' Biggles told him shortly. 'But I'm not such a fool as to try to fly right across Russia. We'll get something bigger than this and tackle the job from the back door of Asia. But it may not come to that.

At the moment Ross is in the Soviet Zone of Berlin.'

'Are you thinking of trying to collect him there?' asked Algy.

'It'd save us a much longer journey if we could. It would also save a lot of time. I wouldn'

t like Ross to think we'd let him down. Get across the frontier, and we'll talk about it.'

The Proctor droned on.

Algy's fears of interception did not materialise, due perhaps to a new front of cloud that was coming up from the west, in which he took cover.