alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第3节

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ick…release　was　a　misnomer：　the　nuts　invariably　froze　after　even　the　briefest　exposure。　The　accepted　practice　was　to　remove　one's　gloves　and　close　mittened　hands　round　the　nuts　until　body　heat　warmed　and　expanded　them　enough　to　permit　unscrewing。　But　there　was　no　time　for　that　tonight：　I　tapped　the　bolts　with　a　spanner　from　the　tool　box　and　the　steel　pins；　made　brittle　by　the　intense　cold；　sheared　as　if　made　from　the　cheapest　cast　iron。
　
　I　crawled　out　at　the　foot　of　the　tarpaulin；　searchlight　clutched　under　one　arm；　and　as　soon　as　I　straightened　I　heard　it　again…the　roar　of　aero　engines；　closing　rapidly。　They　sounded　very　near；　very　low；　but　I　wasted　no　time　trying　to　locate　the　plane。　Head　lowered　against　the　wind　and　the　needle…sharp　lances　of　the　flying　ice；　I　felt　rather　than　saw　my　way　back　to　the　cabin　hatch　and　was　brought　up　short　by　Jackstraw's　steadying　hand。　He　and　Joss　were　busy　loading　equipment　aboard　the　sledge　and　lashing　it　down；　and　as　I　stooped　to　help　them　something　above　my　head　fizzled　and　spluttered　into　a　blinding　white　。re　that　threw　everything　into　a　harsh　black　and　white　relief　of　frozen　snow　and　impenetrable　shadow。　Joss；　remembering　what　I　had　pletely　forgotten…that　dousing　our　cabin　lights　would　have　robbed　the　pilot　of　his　beacon…had　ignited　a　magnesium　flare　in　the　slats　of　the　instrument　shelter。
　
　We　all　turned　as　the　plane　came　into　our　vision　again；　to　the　south；　and　it　was　at　once　apparent　why　we　had　lost　all　sight　and　sound　of　it。　The　pilot　must　have　made　a　figure　of　eight　turn　out　in　the　darkness；　had　reversed　his　approach　circle；　and　was　flying　from　east　to　west　less　than　two　hundred　feet　up；　undercarriage　still　retracted；　it　passed　within　a　couple　of　hundred　yards　of　us　like　some　monstrous　bird。　Both　headlights　were　now　dipped；　the　twin　beams　a　glitter　of　kaleidoscopic　light　in　the　ice…filled　darkness　of　the　sky；　the　twin　oval　pools　of　light　interlocking　now　and　very　bright；　racing　neck　and　neck　across　the　snow。　And　then　these　pools；　increasing　as　rapidly　in　size　as　they　diminished　in　strength；　slipped　away　to　the　left　as　the　plane　banked　sharply　to　the　right　and　came　curving　round　clockwise　to　the　north。　I　knew　now　what　the　pilot　was　intending　and　my　hands　clenched　helplessly　inside　mittens　and　gloves。　But　there　was　nothing　I　could　do　about　this。
　
　〃The　antenna！〃　I　shouted。　〃Follow　out　the　line　of　the　antenna。〃　I　stooped　and　gave　the　sledge　its　initial　shove　as　Jackstraw　shouted　at　Balto。　Joss　was　by　my　side；　head　close　to　mine。
　
　〃What's　happening？　Why　are　we…〃
　
　〃He's　ing　down　this　time。　I'm　sure　of　it。　To　the　north。〃
　
　〃The　north？〃　Not　even　the　snow…mask　could　hide　the　horror　in　his　voice。　〃He'll　kill　himself。　He'll　kill　all　of　them。　The　hummocks…〃
　
　〃I　know。〃　The　land　to　the　north…east　was　broken　and　uneven；　the　ice　raised　up　by　some　quirk　of　nature　into　a　series　of　tiny　hillocks；　ten；　twenty　feet　high；　tiny　but　the　only　ones　within　a　hundred　miles。　〃But　he's　going　to　do　it；　all　the　same。　A　belly　landing　with　the　wheels　up。　That's　why　he　reversed　his　circle。　He　wants　to　land　upwind　to　give　himself　the　minimum　stalling　ground　speed。〃
　
　〃He　could　land　to　the　south；　into　the　wind。〃　Joss　sounded　almost　desperate。　〃It's　a　billiard　table　there。〃
　
　〃He　could；　but　he　won't。〃　I　had　to　shout　the　words　to　make　myself　heard　above　the　wind。　〃He's　nobody's　fool。　He　knows　if　he　lands　to　windward　of　us；　even　a　hundred　yards　to　windward；　the　chances　of　finding　our　lights；　our　cabin；　in　this　weather　just　don't　exist。　He's　got　to　land　upwind。　He's　just　got　to。〃
　
　There　was　a　long　silence　as　we　staggered　forward；　head　and　shoulders　bent　almost　to　waist　ievel　against　the　wind　and　ice…filled　drift；　then　Joss　moved　close　again。
　
　〃Maybe　he'll　see　the　hummocks　in　time。　Maybe　he　can…〃
　
　〃He'll　never　see　them；〃　I　said　flatly。　〃Flying　into　this　stuff　he　can't　possibly　see　a　hundred　yards　in　front　of　him。〃
　
　The　radio　antenna；　rime…coated　now　to　almost　fifty　times　its　normal　size；　sagging　deeply　and　swaying　pendulum…like　in　the　wind　between　each　pair　of　fourteen…foot　poles　that　supported　it；　stretched　away　almost　250　feet　to　the　north。　We　were　following　the　line　of　this；　groping　our　way　blindly　from　pole　to　pole　and　almost　at　the　end　of　the　line；　when　the　roar　of　the　aircraft　engines；　for　the　last　few　seconds　no　more　than　a　subdued　murmur　in　the　night　as　the　wind　carried　the　sound　from　us；　suddenly　swelled　and　increased　to　a　deafening　crescendo　as　I　shouted　a　warning　to　the　others　and　flung　myself　flat　on　the　ground：　the　huge　dark　shape　of　the　airliner　swept　directly　over　us　even　as　I　fell。　I　would　have　sworn；　at　the　time；　that　I　could　have　reached　out　and　touched　it　with　my　hand；　but　it　must　have　cleared　us　by　at　least　ten　feet…the　antenna　poles；　we　later　discovered；　were　undamaged。
　
　Like　a　fool；　I　immediately　leapt　to　my　feet　to　try　to　get　a　bearing　on　the　vanishing　plane　and　was　literally　blown　head　over　heels　by　the　tremendous　slipstream　from　the　four　great　propellers；　slid　helplessly　across　the　frozen　crust　of　the　snow　and　fetched　up　on　my　back　almost　twenty　feet　from　where　I　had　been　standing。　Cursing；　bruised　and　not　a　little　dazed；　I　got　to　my　feet　again；　started　off　in　the　direction　where　I　could　hear　the　dogs　barking　and　howling　in　a　paroxysm　of　fear　and　excitement；　then　stopped　abruptly　and　stood　quite　still。　The　engines　had　died；　all　four　of　them　had　died　in　an　instant；　and　that　could　mean　only　one　thing：　the　airliner　was　about　to　touch　down。　Even　with　the　realisation　a　jarring　vibration；　of　a　power　and　intensity　far　beyond　anything　I　had　expected；　reached　my　feet　through　the　frozen　crust　of　the　ice…cap。　No　ordinary　touchdown　that；　I　knew；　not　even　for　a　belly　landing：　the　pilot　must　have　overestimated　his　height　and　set　his　ship　down　with　force　enough　to　crumple　the　fuselage；　to　wreck　the　plane　on　the　spot。
　
　But　he　hadn't。　I　was　prone　to　the　frozen　snow　again；　ear　pressed　hard　against　it；　and　I　could　half　hear；　half　feel；　a　kind　of　hissing　tremor　which　could　only　have　e　from　the　fuselage；　no　doubt　already　splintered　and　ripped；　sliding　over　the　ice；　gouging　a　furrowed　path　through　it。　How　long　this　sound　continued；　I　couldn't　be　sure…six　seconds；　perhaps　eight。　And　then；　all　at　once；　came　another　earth　tremor；　severer　by　far　than　the　first；　and　I　heard　clearly；　even　above　the　gale；　the　sudden　sharp　sound　of　the　crash；　the　grinding　tearing　scream　of　metal　being　twisted　and　tortured　out　of　shape。　And　then；　abruptly；　silence…a　silence　deep　and　still　and　ominous；　and　the　sound　of　the　wind　in　the　darkness　was　no　sound　at　all。
　
　Shakily；　I　rose　to　my　feet。　It　was　then　I　realised　for　the　first　time　that　I　had　lost　my　snow…mask…it　must　have　ripped　off　as　I　had　rolled　along　the　ground。　I　brought　out　my　torch　from　under　my　parka…it　was　always　kept　there　as　even　a　dry　battery　could　freeze　and　give　no　light　at　all　if　the　temperature　fell　low　enough…and　probed　around　in　the　darkness。　But　there　was　no　sign　of　it；　the　wind　could　have　carried　it　a　hundred　yards　away　by　this　time。　A　bad　business；　indeed；　but　there　was　no　help　for　it。　I　didn't　like　to　think　what　my　face　would　be　like　by　the　time　I　arrived　back　at　the　cabin。
　
　Joss　and　Jackstraw　were　still　trying　to　quieten　the　dogs　when　I　rejoined　them。
　
　〃You　all　right；　sir？〃　Joss　asked。　He　took　a　step　closer。　〃Good　lord；　you've　lost　your　mask！〃
　
　〃I　know。　It　doesn't　matter。〃　It　did　matter；　for　already　I　could　feel　the　burning　sensation　in　my　throat　and　lungs　every　time　I　breathed。　〃Did　you　get　a　bearing　on　that　plane？〃
　
　〃Roughly。　Due　east；　I　should　say。〃
　
　〃Jackstraw？〃
　
　〃A　little　north　of　east；　I　think。〃　He　stretched　out　his　hand；　pointing　straight　into　the　eye　of　the　wind。
　
　〃We'll　go　east。〃　Somebody　had　to　make　the　decision；　somebody　had　to　be　wrong；　and　it　might　as　well　be　me。　〃We'll　go　east…Joss；　how　long　is　that　spool？〃
　
　〃Four　hundred　yards。　More　or　less。〃
　
　〃So。　Four　hundred　yards；　then　due　north。　That　plane　is　bound　to　have　left　tracks　in　the　snow：　with　luck；　we'll　cut　across　them。　Let's　hope　to　heaven　it　did　touch　down　less　than　four　hundred　yards　from　here。〃
　
　I　took　the　end　of　the　line　from　the　spool；　went　to　the　nearest　antenna　pole；　broke　off　the　four…foot…long　flag…like　frost　feathers…weird　growths　of　the　crystal　aggregates　of　rime　that　streamed　out　almost　horizontally　to　leeward…and　made　fast　the　end　of　the　line　round　the　pole。　I　really　made　it　fast…our　lives　depended　on　that　line；　and　without　it　we　could　never　find　our　way　back　to　the　antenna；　and　so　eventually　to　the　cabin；　through　the　pitch…dark　confusion　of　that　gale…ridden　arctic　night。　There　was　no　possibility　of　retracing　steps　through　the　snow：　in　that　intense　cold；　the　rime…crusted　snow　was　pacted　into　a　frozen　neve　that　was　but　one　degree　removed　from　ice；　of　an　iron…hard　consistency　that　would　show　nothing　less　than　the　crimp　marks　of　a　five…ton　tractor。
　
　We　started　off　at　once；　with　the　wind　almost　in　our　faces；　but　slightly　to　the　left。　I　was　in　the　lead；　Jackstraw　came　behind　with　the　dogs　and　Joss　brought　up　the　rear；　unreeling　the　line　from　the　homing　spool　against　the　pressure　of　the　return　winding　spring。
　
　Without　my　mask；　that　blinding　suffocatin