Captain W.E. Johns - Biggles in the Gobi

CAPTAIN W.E. JOHNS

BIGGLES IN THE GOBI

First pu blished by Hodder & Stoughton, October 1953

CONTENTS

CHAPTERPAGE

FOREWORD ------7

I.VICTIMS OF OPPRESSION----II

II.OUTWARD BOUND-----24

III.FENG-TAO TAKES A CHANCE---34

IV.TRAGEDY AT NAN-HU -----44

V.AN AFTERNOON TO REMEMBER--54

VI.GINGER WINS AN ARGUMENT---69

VII.A LAND OF FEAR-----77

VIII.NO REST FOR ALGY----87

IX.SHOCKS-IN THE PLURAL----96

X.BAD LUCK FOR BIGGLES----IIO

XI.COUNTING THE HOURS----123

XII.UNWELCOME VISITORS----139

XIII.CUTTING IT FINE-----151

FOREWORD

SOME regular readers of these stories have complained that Algy has of late been rather pushed into the back-ground. This is to some extent true, but it could not be avoided unless Biggles was to be guilty of the folly of leaving himself without a reserve. In his capacity as Biggles' second-in-command it would naturally fall to Algy to hold the fort in case an operation should go wrong, or Biggles become a casualty. In other words, it is not

good generalship for a commanding officer and his second-in-command to expose themselves to the same risk at the same time, although on occasion it may be unavoidable.

In the following pages we have a case in. point. Readers must judge for themselves who took the greatest risk, Biggles or Algy. Anyway, it turned out to be an affair in which Algy found himself in charge, in the actual field of operations. The story is now told in the hope that readers will no longer feel that he is always left holding the baby?

A word about the Gobi. The Desert of Gobi is the general term for the remote, sterile, inmost heart of Asia. The limits are still undefined, but it embraces roughly 300,000 square miles of land which nowhere approaches the sea. Most of it is shifting sands, gravel, rocky masses, or mountains which rise to a great height, the melting snows of which form rivers that, unlike most rivers which flow towards the sea, flow away from it to lose themselves in vast salt marshes. Over thousands of square miles nothing grows but a coarse grass, and a plant, the root of which yields the well-known liquorice. There is no railway. The few roads are mere tracks, deeply rutted by cart or camel caravans proceeding from one water-hole to another, and useless for motor transport. Like most deserts the Gobi suffers from extremes of heat and cold, which produce fierce winds that move the sand from one place to another.

The land is sparsely inhabited by several warlike tribes, mostly nomadic, speaking their own languages and professing different religions. Until comparatively modem times this arid wilderness was a blank on the map, having been seen by half-a-dozen Europeans who, at their peril, entered from the west. China closed the door from the east. The country is dotted with ancient Buddhist shrines, cared for by priests and visited by wandering pilgrims.

All the places named in the following pages really exist, including the Caves of a Thousand Buddhas. The first man to see this amazing shrine, which is of great age, was the famous Asian explorer, Sir Aurel Stein, in 1908. In the Caves he was shown by the guardian priest a secret library that contained printed books dating back to the year 868 A.D.-the oldest books known to exist. It was implied recently in an American magazine (which should have known better) that Sir Aurel Stein stole some of these books. That is untrue. It is correct that he brought some home with him, for no one on the spot could translate them. They are now in the British Museum. But he paid for them with a sum of money sufficient for the Abbot to develop the productivity of the oasis and build a guest-house for the use of visiting pilgrims, which had long been his ambition.

W. E. J.

CHAPTER 1VICTIMS OF OPPRESSION

WHEN Biggles and his police pilots filed into the Scotland Yard Headquarters of their Chief, Air Commodore Raymond, one glance at his face was enough to tell them that something unusual was in the air.

"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," invited the Air Commodore, returning to his desk from the big wall map of the world before which he had been standing when they entered. "This may be a longish session," he added, pushing forward the cigarette box. "I asked you all to come because I have had put to me a matter so complicated that you might as well all hear about it together. Let me make it clear at once that I haven't been instructed to proceed with the case I'm going to tell you about. I have simply been asked if a certain project is technically practicable, and if it is, could it be undertaken by us. Not in an official capacity, however. You'll understand what I mean by that presently."

"So it's one of that sort," murmured Biggles, cynically. "We do the job for the government and if anything goes wrong, the government has never heard of us."

The Air Commodore smiled wryly. "The security of this country is largely maintained by people who are prepared to accept those conditions," he said quietly.

"With the world in a state of chaos, ready to boil over, it is sometimes the only way. However, in this case the motive is humanitarian, not political."

"That's something to be thankful for," observed Biggles, reaching for a cigarette.

"Frankly, in my opinion, the project is not what I call a reasonable risk, chiefly because, in spite of the popular romancing about magic carpets, the aeroplane as a vehicle of transport, still has definite limitations. On the ground, and it must often come to ground, it can be both useless and helpless. But let me tell you what this is about so that you can judge for yourselves. If you say the prospect, of success are no more than a forlorn hope then I'll make a report to that effect. I want you to look at the thing from the purely practical angle and say exactly what you think."

"I always try to do that," answered Biggles drily, "but as you may have noticed, it is usually the impractical things that we have pushed on to us."

"You needn't tell me," agreed the Air Commodore sadly. "But let us get down to it. In this case, the section of the world with which we are concerned is China, and China is a hefty slice of the earth's surface. To be more precise, it occupies about four million square miles. The actual spot that is worrying us is just about in the centre of Asia, more than a thousand miles from the nearest sealiterally the back of beyond, as you might say. The first difficulty that arises is the political aspect, for the days when a man could wander at will over the face of the globe are finished. China is a Republic. The present government is Communist. That doesn't mean that every Chinaman is a Communist, any more than everyone in Europe behind the Iron Curtain is a Communist. China, is, if you like, behind a bamboo curtain, inasmuch as Russia is in and we are out. We recognise that. After all, China is an ancient land that has had many ups and downs, and what really goes on behind the impassive faces of its present rulers, no European could guess. We are not at war with China, so legally we have as much right there as the Soviet Union. I said legally. In practice it doesn't work out that way. Soviet propaganda has inflamed many of the Chinese against us; but to suggest that after many years of honest trading every Chinaman hates us would be absurd. We still have many friends there, although at the moment, with the Reds in power, they would be foolish to allow that to be known. The result is, in this latest revolution, a great many Western Europeans have been treated abominably, among the greatest sufferers being the missionaries and doctors who have devoted their lives to the improvement of conditions in the more backward parts of the country. This isn't a new story. Missionaries were the first to push into the heart of the country which up to a hundred years ago was practically unknown. Very fine men they were, too. Most of them lost their lives sooner or later. Now history is repeating itself.