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I feel I owe you a drink. I must get back. Naturally, I had to find out who it was who made off with my machine. It had been an awkward moment. Kristen was still standing there, but he announced that he was on his way to the hangars where he had a job to do.
Biggles gave the fellow a dark look as he departed. True, he had been of service to him, but not willingly. Had he known the truth it would have been a different story. As far as Biggles was concerned the man was worse than a spy; he was a traitor, and that was something he could not forgive.
It was, and as he gazed at it a fresh scheme took shape in his mind. It did not make so much appeal to him as his original plan for getting out of the country. But the motor-cycle was, after all, a fast vehicle, and it was not far to the Swedish frontier. Sweden was still a neutral country, and if he could get across the frontier into it there was no reason why he should not assume his real nationality, and tell the truththat he was a fugitive from the Nazi invasion of Norway.
He would report to the nearest British Consul, who could, no doubt, make arrangements for his immediate return home. Thinking it over, Biggles decided that it was a reasonable plan, and decided to put it into operation forthwith. He examined the petrol tank and found that it was nearly full, so as there was nothing to delay him he wheeled the machine out and started the engine.
Several Germans were about, but none took any notice of him, and in a few minutes he was cruising down the main road. It was an anxious journey, for he realized that every man was his enemy.
The Norwegians, seeing his Nazi armlet, would hate the sight of him. Any German, were the truth known, would shoot him on sight. Nazis of all ranks were everywherein cars, on motor-cycles, in armoured cars, and even light tanks; and Biggles was aghast as, for the first time, he saw how widespread the German movement was.
It was obvious that far more Germans had landed than he had at first supposed.
The traffic grew more congested as he neared the frontier, chiefly with refugees trying to escape from the countrygoing anywhere to evade the Nazis. German soldiers and Storm Troopers were turning them back, and from observations made by the people Biggles learned that many of these same Nazis had been living in the country as ordinary citizens, and were known to them.
In other words, they had been planted in the country before the invasion actually occurred. Thus Biggles learned of the treachery that enabled the Nazis to effect the landing.
Still, his armlet and the swastikabeflagged motor-cycle served their purpose, and took him anywhere he wanted to go. Indeed, on more than one occasion Nazi troops held up the traffic to let him pass.
The Germans were fewer, from which he judged that he had about reached the limit of their operations. The calm manner in which peasants were walking home from the fields suggested that they had not yet heard that their country had been invaded. As twilight closed in and darkness fell, Biggles stopped. A signpost told him that the frontier was only a mile ahead. He contemplated the motor-cycle, and knew that it would not do to try to get into Sweden on such a machine.
Already alarmed by what had happened to Norway, the Swedes would not want anything German in their country. He took off his armlet and pushed it under the saddle. This done, he made a cautious survey of the landscape, as far as it was possible in the darkness, and then set off at a brisk walk for the frontier. He now had only one fear. Would the Swedes allow a Norwegian to enter the country? For that is what his passport proved him to beSven Hendrik, a Norwegian subject.
The photograph on the passport, and the particulars it registered, were, of course, correct; only the name was false; but the Swedes, in their natural anxiety, might refuse to allow him to enter the country.
Had he possessed any British papers this difficulty would not have arisen; but he had noneit would have been far too dangerous to carry such papers on his person. All were pedestrians, for vehicles had been stopped and confiscated farther back. He had no difficulty in passing the Norwegian guards. His difficulty would be at the next barrierthe entrance to Sweden a few paces ahead.
In the queue everyone was talking at once, talking to anybody, as always happens when danger is a common enemy. There were even two or three English people there. Actually Biggles found himself next to an Ameri-can touristwho had chosen a bad moment to visit Norway. He was bewailing the folly that had brought him from his own country, and cursed with hearty sincerity everybody responsible for the upheaval. Some people were allowed through, but others were turned back.
The man in front of Biggles was an elderly Norwegian, and Biggles waited with tense interest to see what would happen to him. He soon learned. Sobbing, he was turned away. Biggles had already realized that if he gave his nationality as Norwegian, he, too, would be stopped, so he switched his plan abruptly.
I reckoned I was lucky to get away at all. It was clear that he didn't want to refuse admission to an Englishman; indeed, he had no reason to refuse; but, on the other hand, he didn't want to admit an enemy.
If he admitted a man without papers he would be taking a serious risk. Biggles saw the man hesitating and pressed his case. All I ask is that you take me, under guard if you like, to the nearest British Consul, and allow him to vouch for me. After all, if he accepts responsibility for me you won't have anything to worry about. The officer drew a deep breath. Otherwise, bring him back here.
He was more or less under arrest, but that did not worry him. He was free, free from the Nazis, and therefore free from worry. If there was one anxiety that lingered in his mind, then it was fear that Sweden, too, might be invaded before he could get out of the country. He was put in a car and taken to Rodas, less than half an hour's journey, and thence to the British Vice-Consulate. The Vice-Consul was still in his office, so Biggles introduced himself without loss of time, asking to be taken under protection.
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Biggles stood in front of the two Swedes, so they did not see him drop an eyelid meaningly. The Vice-Consul did, however, and, realizing that there was more in the case than appeared on the surface, asked the guards to wait outside. He said he would take responsibility. As soon as they were out of the door Biggles confessed everything. Over a cigarette and a cup of coffee Biggles told the whole story, quietly and concisely, holding nothing back, as a sick man might explain his symptoms to a doctor.
You were certainly lucky to get out,' said the Vice-Consul when he had finished. Sweden isn't at warat least, not yet. He was as good as his word, but there was a long delay before Biggles found himself speaking to the Colonel. In a few words he told him what had happened, describing how he had narrowly escaped serving as a traitor Norwegian in the Nazi Air Force.
Even before he had finished a doubt crept into his mind, a doubt as to whether he was wise in telling the Colonel this now. It would have been better to wait until he got home. The Colonel might ask him. The Colonel did ask him. Biggles knew instantly what was coming from the sudden change in Colonel Raymond's voice. Biggles hesitated. Fate or fortune has put an astounding opportunity your way.
It's a chance that we ought not to lose. With you behind the German lines in Norway, serving as an officer in the Air Force, we should learn every move' h, no,' interrupted Biggles curtly.
I've had quite enough of Secret Service work. But, frankly, you're not the man I take you to be if you let this golden opportunity slip. There's black treachery for you, if you like. We've got to fight the enemy with his own weapons, if only for the sake of the Norwegians. It was a subtle argument that he put forward, put in such a way that Biggles could hardly refuse.
Arrangements will have to be made, but you'll get further instructions in due course. Get back to the aerodrome and learn all you can about the enemy's movements. As you know, we always work as a team, and I need a little moral support, anyway.
If they hear nothing they'll be worried to death about me. They can be over in a couple of hours. Good luck. I mustn't hold the line any longer. The Vice-Consul heard Biggles' end of the conversation, of course. He shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.
It is on such chances as this that wars are sometimes won or lost. How do you propose getting back into Norway? The two policemen came back into the room. Obediently, Biggles followed.
He made no demur. It would have been a waste of time even if he had wanted to stay in Sweden.
For a while he walked slowly down the road, but as soon as he was out of sight of the frontier post he quickened his steps and made his way to where he had left the motor-cycle. It was still there, so he dragged it out and recovered his swastika armlet from under the saddle.
Deep in thought, he started the engine. Reaching the main road, he turned away from the frontier and headed back towards Boda, back towards the enemy. He had no difficulty in getting backhis swastika flags saw to that. As he dismounted near the clubhouse Kristen hurried towards him. Chapter 4 Cross-Examined Biggles found von Leffers in his office. He was not alone. Two other men were there. One was the man whose motor-cycle he had got; the other was an elderly, hard-faced civilian whose pugnacious jaw, gimlet eyes, and arrogant bearing bespoke an official of importance.
His grey hair had been cropped so short that he appeared to be completely bald. Biggles guessed to what department he belonged before he was introduced. He wishes to speak to you. You have kept him waiting. To his infinite relief the Commandant did not ask where he had been. He left it to the Gestapo officer to continue the conversation. Von Hymann invited Biggles to be seated, and then stood up, legs apart, to face him squarely. In some strange way he reminded Biggles of a mangy bulldog.
When he spoke his voice was brittle. Among other things you said that you had been a pilot in America, and more lately in Canada. Is that correct? You, as a Norwegian, come into that category.
We also have newspaper reports of the scandal in which the company was involved. But it had been under his own name, so he could understand why the German agents in Canada had failed to find any particulars of a pilot named Hendrik. However, since he, Biggles, knew all about the company, and all that he had said concerning it was true, he was not unduly alarmed by the cross-examination to which he was being subjected.
But then he did not know what it was leading up to. Von Hymann continued. Pilots were always coming and going. He had just been asked a leading question, for if it were true that he had flown for Arctic Airways he wouldor shouldbe able to name the pilots. The trouble started when a fellow named McBain tried to grab the aerodrome, bringing with him two pilots and two German transport planes.
His pilots were both ex-crooks. One was named Sarton and the other Feroni. Wilkinson's pilots? Then there was Lacey, andoh yes, a lad named Hebblethwaiteor some such name. One slip, though, and he was lost. An expression of anxiety on his face would be noted at once by the cold eyes that were fixed on his in unwavering intensity. Of course, this Arctic Airways business happened some time ago, but if he hasn't grown a beard or anything like that, I think I should know him at once.
He was a slim fellow with fair hairrather sharp features. As a matter of fact, he was about my build. Instead, he asked another. I believe he went back to England, but I wouldn't swear to it. He returned to England and set up as a free-lance pilot, and while he did a certain amount of casual work, in reality he was the British Intelligence Service's chief flying agent.
Not long ago he was in Finland. We now have reason to believe that he has transferred his unwelcome attentions to Norway.
But what has all this got to do with me? The man who saw Bigglesworth has dashed back to Berlin to get further particulars about him from Hauptmann von Stalhein, who has had more to do with him than anyone else. In the meantime, he is the only man on my staff who could recognize Bigglesworth if he saw him, so I want you to go into Oslo and see if you can find him. We've rounded up a lot of suspects; if he isn't among them you had better search the hotels and the streets until you find him.
I really wanted to do some flying,' protested Biggles as cautiously as he dared. Much as his crew had not all those years ago. He lifted the spyglass again then grinned. A flurry of activity and battle calls rent the decks as his men scurried about in preparation.
Cutlasses swinging, they ran to their stations, taking positions behind guns, along rails, and in the rigging. Cannons were primed as powder monkeys raced back and forth across the decks. The air crackled with battle lust feeding everyone's ambitions. Jasper returned his attention to Hawkins, slapping him on the shoulder. It had been years since his last encounter with the Black Dawn, what if he over estimated his crew or under estimated Black Dawns?
Could it be possible that he had signed his crew's death warrants by initiating this attack? What would happen to the orphanage without his continued support? He swallowed hard, chasing the doubts away. His crew was the best to be had. Marion was the toughest ship on the seas. Nothing would go amiss today. They would see the sunset this eve and everyone would benefit from this attack. Jasper tightened his hold on the hilt of his sword.
Another few minutes and we can blast them right out of the ocean. The suggestion would put a quick end to the battle, but seemed too easy. He had to give the other ship a fighting chance. How would he look at himself in the mirror come morning if he decimated them while their pants were down the way they had done to him?
Hawkins turned back, one brow arched.
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What is your plan for Black Dawn if not to splinter her mast? Give them a chance to defend themselves. Her mast fractured. It would be too easy to blow it off completely.
I want a bit of a challenge. He was known to only attack pirates and to give quarter where appropriate. His crew and ship were feared and respected in equal measures by other captain's. He'd not damage his reputation by taking the easy route with Black Dawn. No one would ever call him a coward or accuse him of being a cold hearted murderer.
Amusement etched lines in Hawkins' face. We will damage the deck and rigging instead. Show enough force to gain their submission. I want to stare Captain Gregor in the eye before I make him pay for his trespasses.
A few well-placed shots and Jasper's crew would be ready to board Black Dawn. His men would liberate her cargo, then send the limping sloop to the bottom of the sea. Crew and all. Gregor and his crew would never harm another innocent nor take advantage of anyone incapable of defending themselves.
Could this be happening to her again? It wasn't possible. Surely she would be rescued. It could not be more pirates. She fought against her bonds as she hoped the attacking ship would save her. Pray let it be the navy. Let it be her savior. Her wrists burned from struggling against the ropes.
Still, she had to try to gain her freedom. Another blast split the air and she ducked out of habit, her heart thundering as the ship shuddered.
What if it sank with her tied to the bloody bed? She would drown without anyone ever knowing what had happened to her.
Who would take over the family business? Who would memorialize Papa and Louisa? She shook the thoughts away. There was no time for such musings. She would mourn them later. Worry about the future once she was free to do something about it. Right now she had to focus on surviving. Inhaling a deep breath, she glanced around the sparse, dark room. Think, Pru. A clank drew her attention toward the dressing table where a glint of metal caught her eye. The battle must have caused it to fall.
She stretched her legs toward it, grateful the bastard who took her did not see fit to tie her in the bed. Instead, he left her on the floor, binding her where she'd fallen next to the wooden frame.
She strained and stretched her bare feet toward the object, but it remained out of reach. Her wrists screamed as white hot pain spiraled through them and up her arms while she worked to turn onto her belly.
Ignoring the complaints of her sore muscles, she continued feeling for the object. At last the cool, hard surface came into reach and she gripped it with her toes.
A knife, it had to be, and she had added yet another wound to her person by retrieving it. She bit her bottom lip while she worked to pull the blade toward her, ignoring the burn of her newest cut. She arched her back and grabbed the blade with her hands, before rolling to sit. Another cannon blast sent chills up her spine. The blade fell from her shaking fingers, crashing against the wooden floorboards. She pursed her lips and wiggled her fingers behind her, searching once again. With the blade back in her hands, she worked to lose the bonds.
The heavy fall of booted footsteps echoed above her, keeping rhythm with her heart. She sawed frantically, desperation driving her. The ropes fell away and she sprang to her feet. Her wrists stung, but she had no time to examine or tend them.The view that met him sent excitement coursing through his blood. Dossetor Bidding for Development: Ignoring the complaints of her sore muscles, she continued feeling for the object.
Kristen was curious, but knowing who von Hymann was, asked no questions concerning Biggles's task. And one more reason for you to remain here. Biggles's brain raced to keep pace with the situation.
Biggles saw the man hesitating and pressed his case. Flying is an expensive pastime. It would be too easy to blow it off completely. The trouble will be finding somebody to fight.
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