Biggles gets his men, p.16
Biggles Gets His Men, page 16
part #43 of Biggles Series
“Just a minute before you start tilting the tumbler,” said Biggles. “What’s happened outside?”
Petroffsky struck his chest. “Happened?” he echoed. “What only could have happened when Alexis Petroffsky entered the battle. The Mongolian scum have fled the field —those who had legs left to carry them. Those who could not run are being carved into small pieces by my Orochon allies. If you will be advised by me you won’t go near them,” added Petroffsky, with unusual earnestness. “The spectacle is not one for the eyes of a gentleman, although in my case it could not be avoided. But then, of course, having for so long lived here I am used to such things.”
“Were any Koreans hurt?” asked Biggles.
“A few have cracked heads—but what is a cracked head to a Korean?” answered Petroffsky lightly. “Let us celebrate our victory!”
Biggles smiled. “Sorry, but I’ve no time for celebrations. We still have some way to go.”
“A pity,” said Petroffsky sadly. “Yes, a pity. I win a battle and meet my old friend Mayne—a double occasion for rejoicing. I must speak to Mayne.”
They went inside, and while the Russian was embracing “his old friend Mayne”, somewhat to his embarrassment, Biggles had a word with Vale and the scientists. “I’m sorry to rush you, gentlemen,” he said, “but we’re not out of the wood yet. A few more miles and we shall be comparatively safe. I shall also, I hope, be able to give you a respectable meal, which is not available here. Afterwards we shall have plenty of time for talking.”
Mayne disengaged his arm from that of the Russian. “I’ll come back one day and we’ll do some more hunting together,” he promised.
“So be it,” answered Petroff sky philosophically.
Ginger could see that Biggles was really anxious to get away, realising what Petroffsky appeared to have overlooked—that more Mongolians might overtake them, in sufficient numbers to overwhelm them after all. Everyone was showing signs of fatigue, particularly the rescued men, and it was apparent that the party would not be able to travel very fast. In any case, for more reasons than one, they should be returned to civilisation as quickly as possible.
Biggles soon had everyone lined up outside the house ready for the last lap of the journey to the aircraft. Petroffsky walked with the party to the outskirts of the village, where, with tears running down his face, he wished them farewell.
“Why don’t you leave this miserable place and come with us?” suggested Mayne.
The Russian shook his head. “This is my home,” he said simply. “Here I must stay, for I am a man without a country. One friend remains with me though,” he went on huskily, taking a bottle from his pocket and patting it lovingly. “I shall drink to your good fortune, and your return. Farewell.”
The last sight Ginger had of him was a lonely figure leaning on a rifle in the long grass, holding aloft a bottle in a parting toast. As he turned away a wave of sympathy surged through him for this strange, boastful but brave man, who, for reasons known only to himself, had elected to live his life in voluntary exile.
On arrival at the shore of the lake just off the island they found Algy waiting. He was not a little relieved to see them, for he had heard shooting in the distance and was afraid things had gone wrong. He transported the party, two at a time, to the island, where he had a meal ready. While this was being enjoyed by the rest he cleared the aircraft of its camouflage and made all ready to take off.
Biggles got up. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, “if it’s all the same to you we’ll push along. The sooner we are away from here the better.”
The party trooped into the big machine. Algy took off, and the lonely land of lakes and marshes dropped away astern.
Ginger, as tired as he had ever been, closed his eyes and slept, content in the knowledge that with their job well done, they were homeward bound.
THE END
W E Johns, Biggles Gets His Men
