Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

The Duke gave a chuckle of delight — he had come through the small cabin and joined them unnoticed.

“What — what happened?” gasped Simon.

“I left the petrol turned on in front of the sheds,” De Richleau smiled, grimly.

“That’s why you called out to me not to fire?”

He nodded. “I only just remembered in time myself. If I’d shot that man the flash from my pistol would have blown us up.”

‘The hangars — they are on fire,” cried Marie Lou excitedly.

They were climbing swiftly now. Far below them, and to the rear, they could see the flames leaping upwards, and in the red glare little dots of men scurrying to and fro. The great arena of the camp was plainly discernible, and, encircling it, the darker ring of the illimitable forest.

A bright shaft of light shot up from one corner of the air-park, followed by another and another from different spots below. “Searchlights,” said the Duke. “They are trying to pick us up. I wonder if they have antiaircraft guns?”

A blinding glare suddenly struck the rapidly climbing plane, making even the interior of the cabin as bright as day. Without warning the ’plane dropped like a stone into the black darkness below. Marie Lou felt a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach; the blood drained from her face. De Richleau was pitched backwards off his feet.

“We’re hit!” gasped Simon.

The Duke swore softly as he picked himself up off the floor of the cabin. “It’s all right,” he assured them. “Rex is dodging the searchlights.”

As he spoke the ’plane shot forward again. Far above them the beams were now concentrated on a single spot — the place where they had been only a few minutes before. Then they scattered and moved in grid formation across the sky in the same direction as the ’plane.

“Wonder if they’ve got sound detectors?” said Simon. “They’ll pick us up if they have.”

De Richleau shrugged and pointed below. “Rex has tricked them,” he declared. “Look, we are only two hundred feet above the tree tops. Even if they knew our position they couldn’t use their archies — we are below their angle of fire at this distance.”

“Please?” said Marie Lou, suddenly.

“What is it?” asked Simon.

“Go — go away,” she stammered. “I feel ill!”

“Will you be all right?” De Richleau spoke doubtfully.

She nodded angrily as he helped Simon into the small cabin. It contained a fixed table with a settee at each side long enough for a man to lie down at full length. At the front, through a mica screen, Rex’s broad back was visible.

De Richleau insisted that Simon should tuck up on one of the settees and take what rest he could. Feeling that he could be of little use, Simon did not need much pressing. He was terribly tired; it would be weeks before he recovered from his loss of blood.

Marie Lou joined them, looking pale and miserable. The Duke settled her, unprotesting, on the other settee, covering her warmly. Then he joined Rex in the forward cockpit.

“How is she going?” he inquired.

“Fine,” Rex answered. “She’s a daisy — I picked this ’plane because I saw a guy take her out yesterday; couldn’t risk boning one that might have been under repair.”

They were rising again rapidly, the searchlights had been left behind. “How is our supply of petrol?” asked the Duke.

“Pretty good. I guess these ’planes are raiders meant to cover long distances — fighting escorts for the big bombers — got to have juice to carry ’em the same distance, but much faster in manoeuvre. They stay behind to keep the enemy ’planes down while the big boys quit for home when they’ve dropped their eggs. We’ll be good for a thousand miles, anyhow — after that, may the Lord provide.”

“Sixteen hundred miles to the frontier,” the Duke bawled. “If the petrol lasts, do you think you can do it?”

“Be no ordinary performance if I do,” Rex grunted. “We’re flying against the world spin, remember; that makes it darn near equivalent to two thousand coming the other way. Still, it wouldn’t be a record if we made it, and I’ll say this bus is one of the finest things I’ve ever been in — I take my hat off to the Bolshie who designed it. What was the bonfire after we left?”

De Richleau explained about the petrol.

“Say,” Rex grinned, “that was a great idea. Talk about singeing the King of Spain’s beard! That fella Drake had nothing on you. Mighty dangerous, all the same — a back flash might have sent us all to heaven!”

Talking was a considerable strain, since to make themselves heard each had to yell in the ear of the other. For a long time they sat silent; the moon came up and lit the landscape of the endless forest stretching unbroken below.

After a long time, as it seemed, the moon passed behind a great bank of drifting clouds; a sprinkling of lights became visible directly in their course.

“Sverdlovsk,” called the Duke. “Bear to the left, Rex; we must avoid flying over towns. They will hear our engine, and I expect the wireless at Romanovsk has been busy.”

Rex banked steeply, leaving the lights away to the north. “How’s time?” he asked.

“A little after one,” De Richleau replied, glancing at his watch. “We have made splendid going.”

They were rising all the time now. The moon came out again and they could see that the ground ran sharply up in spurs and curves; the forest grew thinner, and for the next hour they were passing over the Urals. A gorgeous panorama was spread out below them. A world of white, made the more brilliant by the dark shadows of beetling crags with great rents and gashes in the glistening rock, seemingly fathomless pits of impenetrable blackness against the dazzling whiteness of the snow. A cold, hard, black and silver world, having something of unreality about it — the utter silence suggested death and desolation. Seen thus, the Urals might well have been the veritable mountains of the moon — a place where man had never been, could never go, where only evil lurked in the baleful, unrelenting light.

When they sank again to the foothills and forests on the other side De Richleau said: “I think I shall try to sleep for a little now. Wake me at once if you need me.”

“I certainly will, but I don’t figure I’ll have to. She’s going fine; the cold’s the only thing that gets me.”

De Richleau buried his head in his big fur collar, and wriggled down into a more comfortable position. The even hum of the engines soothed him, and he soon dropped off. The ’plane sped on, ever westward.

The Duke was awake again before six and peering out into the half-light. By glancing at his watch he realized that they must have come many degrees to the south during the night for the dawn to be so early. At first he feared that they had swerved off their course. He turned to Rex.

Rex saw him move, and yawned sleepily. “Thank God you’ve come to life. I’ve been terrified I’d drop off to sleep with no one to talk to.”

“Where are we? Do you know?”

“Haven’t the faintest, but we’ve kept on the dotted line all right I’m sick of the sight of this compass and nothing else to look at.” Rex yawned again.

De Richleau got out the map and began to search for landmarks by the aid of the increasing light. He had not long to wait before he found one about which there could be no possible mistake. Far below them lay a great broad river; it curved in an enormous horseshoe, extending over many miles, and on its southern bend straggled a dark patch of clustering houses. As they came nearer, it became clear that it was a city of some considerable size.

“Samara,” said the Duke, with conviction; “and the river is the mighty Volga. Look at it well, my friend; who knows if you will ever see it again.”