Biggles glanced upwards approvingly at a sky of unbroken blue, as he taxied the “Vandal” into position for a take-off outside Rangoon harbour for the next “hop” of the journey which would, he hoped, bring them to Calcutta, with Akyab as an intermediate emergency landing-ground.
“I think we may risk the short cut,” he told Algy, confidently, referring to a previous discussion as to whether or not they should follow the coast-line or cut across that part of Burma where the wandering Irrawaddy at last breaks up into a hundred mouths and leech-infested swamps, and where at least one British long-distance airman has met his death—a grim fact they had not overlooked.
“We’ll take a chance,” replied Algy philosophically, “but I don’t mind admitting I shan’t be happy until we hit the coast again;
