alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第5节

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　slithering　on　the　ice…sheeted　wing　in　that　gusting　gale　wind　I　gave　up　the　idea。　To　maintain　a　foothold　was　quite　impossible：　besides；　it　was　doubtful　whether　I　could　have　smashed　in　a　window　anyway。　Like　the　door；　the　windows　were　designed　to　withstand　great　pressures。
　
　Stumbling；　slipping；　we　ran　round　the　buried　tip　of　the　wing；　and　clear　in　sight　now　was　the　ice　hummock　that　had　brought　the　big　airliner　to　its　sudden　halt。　About　fifteen　feet　high　and　twenty　wide　at　the　base；　it　lay　in　the　right　angle　formed　by　the　front　of　the　fuselage　and　the　leading　edge　of　the　wing。　But　it　wasn't　the　root　of　the　wing　that　had　absorbed　the　initial　impact；　a　glance　at　the　nose　of　the　aircraft　was　enough　to　show　that。　The　plane　must　have　crashed　into　the　ice…mound　just　to　right　of　centre　of　the　control　cabin：　the　windscreens　were　smashed；　the　fuselage　ripped　open　and　crushed　back　for　six　or　seven　feet。　What　had　happened　to　the　pilot　sitting　on　that　side　at　the　moment　of　the　telescopic　impact　just　didn't　bear　thinking　about：　but　at　least　we　had　found　our　way　in。
　
　I　set　the　searchlight　so　that　its　beam　illuminated　the　wrecked　control　cabin；　gauged　the　distance　to　the　lower　sill　of　the　windscreen…it　must　have　been　fully　nine　feet…and　jumped。　My　gloved　hands　hooked　on　firmly　but　slipped　almost　at　once　on　the　ice…rimed　surface。　I　grabbed　for　a　purchase　grip　on　one　of　the　windscreen　pillars；　felt　my　fingers　striking　against　solid　glass　on　both　sides…the　windscreen　hadn't　been　as　pletely　shattered　as　I　had　imagined…and　was　on　the　point　of　losing　my　hold　altogether　when　Jackstraw　moved　forward　swiftly　and　took　my　weight。
　
　With　my　knees　on　his　shoulders　and　a　fire　axe　in　my　hand　it　took　me　no　more　than　two　minutes　to　smash　away　the　glass　that　clung　to　the　pillars　and　the　upper　and　lower　edges。　I　hadn't　realised　that　aircraft　glass…toughened　perspex…could　be　so　tough；　nor；　when　it　came　to　clambering　through　into　the　control　cabin　in　my　bulky　furs；　that　windscreens　could　be　so　narrow。
　
　I　landed　on　top　of　a　dead　man。　Even　in　the　darkness　I　knew　he　was　dead。　I　fumbled　under　my　parka；　brought　out　the　torch；　switched　it　on　for　a　couple　of　seconds；　then　put　it　out。　It　was　the　co…pilot；　the　man　who　had　taken　the　full　impact　of　the　crash。　He　was　pinned；　crushed　between　his　seat　and　the　twisted；　fractured　wreckage　of　what　had　been　control　columns；　levers　and　dashboard　instruments：　not　since　I　had　once　been　called　out　to　the　scene　of　a　head…on　collision　between　a　racing　motor…cyclist　and　a　heavy　truck　had　I　seen　such　dreadful　injuries　on　any　man。　Whatever　any　of　the　survivors；　the　shocked　and　injured　survivors　in　the　plane；　must　see；　it　mustn't　be　this。　It　was　ghastly　beyond　description。
　
　I　turned　and　leaned　out　the　windscreen。　Jackstraw　was　directly　below；　cupped　gloved　hands　shielding　his　eyes　against　the　flying　ice　spicules　as　he　stared　upwards。
　
　〃Bring　a　blanket；〃　I　shouted。　〃Better；　bring　a　full　gunny　sack。
　
　And　the　morphia　kit。　Then　e　up　yourself。〃
　
　He　was　back　in　twenty　seconds。　I　caught　both　sack　and　morphia　box；　placed　them　on　the　twisted　cabin　floor　behind　me；　then　reached　out　a　hand　to　help　Jackstraw；　but　it　wasn't　necessary。　Athleticism　wasn't　the　forte　of　the　short　arid　stocky　Greenlanders；　but　Jackstraw　was　the　fittest　and　most　agile　man　I　had　ever　met。　He　sprang；　caught　the　lower　sill　of　the　left　windscreen　in　his　left　hand；　the　central　pillar　in　the　other　and　swung　legs　and　body　through　the　centre　screen　as　if　he　had　been　doing　this　sort　of　thing　all　his　life。
　
　I　gave　him　my　torch　to　hold；　rummaged　in　the　gunny　sack　and　dragged　out　a　blanket。　I　spread　it　over　the　dead　co…pilot；　tucking　the　corners　down　among　twisted　and　broken　ends　of　metal；　so　that　it　shouldn't　blow　free　in　the　icy　wind　that　swirled　and　gusted　through　the　wrecked　control　cabin。
　
　〃Waste　of　a　good　blanket；　I　suppose；〃　I　muttered。　〃But…well；　it　isn't　pretty。〃
　
　〃It　isn't　pretty；〃　Jackstraw　agreed。　His　voice　was　quite　steady；　devoid　of　all　inflection。　〃How　about　this　one？〃
　
　I　looked　across　at　the　left…hand　side　of　the　cabin。　It　was　almost　pletely　undamaged　and　the　chief　pilot；　still　strapped　in　his　seat　and　slumped　against　his　sidescreens；　seemed　quite　unmarked。　I　stripped　fur　glove；　mitten　and　silk　glove　off　my　right　hand；　reached　out　and　touched　the　forehead。　We　had　been　out　of　doors　now　for　over　fifteen　minutes　in　that　ferocious　cold；　and　I　would　have　sworn　that　my　hand　was　about　as　cold　as　the　human　flesh　could　get。　But　I　was　wrong。　I　pulled　the　gloves　back　on　and　turned　away；　without　touching　him　further。　I　wasn't　carrying　out　any　autopsies　that　night。
　
　A　few　feet　farther　back　we　found　the　radio　operator　in　his　partment。　He　was　half…sitting；　half…lying　against　the　for'ard　bulkhead　of　his　shack　where　he　must　have　been　catapulted　by　the　crash。　His　right　hand　was　still　clutched　firmly　round　the　handgrip　of　the　front　panel　of　his　radio　set…it　must　have　been　ripped　clear　off　the　transmitter；　which　didn't　look　as　if　it　would　ever　transmit　anything　again。
　
　On　the　bulkhead；　behind　his　head；　blood　gleamed　dully　in　the　torch…light。　I　bent　over　the　unconscious　man　…1　could　see　that　he　was　still　breathing…removed　my　gloves　once　more　and　gently　slid　my　fingers　behind　his　head。　Just　as　gently　I　withdrew　them。　How　the　hell；　I　thought；　part　hopelessly；　part　savagely；　am　I　to　carry　out　a　head　operation　on　a　person　with　a　telescoped　occiput：　the　state　he　was　in；　I　wouldn't　have　given　a　fig　for　his　chance　in　the　finest　operating　theatre　in　London。　At　the　very　least　he　would　be　blind　for　life；　the　sight　centre　must　have　been　pletely　destroyed。　I　reached　for　his　pulse：　racing；　faint；　erratic　to　a　degree。　The　thought　came　to　me；　a　thought　pounded　as　much　of　cowardice　as　of　regret；　that　in　all　likelihood　the　possibility　of　my　having　to　operate　on　him　was　remote；　very　remote。　If　he　were　to　survive　the　inevitably　rough　handling　that　would　be　needed　to　get　him　out　of　that　aircraft　and　then　the　journey　back　to　the　cabin　through　that　ice…laden　sub…zero　gale；　it　would　be　a　miracle　indeed。
　
　It　seemed　unlikely　that　he　would　ever　wake　again。　But　he　might；　he　just　conceivably　might；　so　I　broached　the　morphia　kit。　Then　we　eased　his　head　and　neck　into　a　more　fortable　position；　covered　him　with　a　blanket　and　left　him。
　
　Immediately　behind　the　radio　partment　was　a　long　narrow　room　which　extended　across　two…thirds　of　the　width　of　the　plane。　A　quick　glance　at　the　two　chairs　and　collapsible　bunk　was　enough　to　show　that　this　must　be　the　crew's　rest　room；　and　someone　had　been　resting　there　at　the　moment　of　the　crash。　That　crumpled　shirt…sleeved　figure　on　the　floor　must　have　been　taken　pletely　unawares；　before　he　had　the　slightest　knowledge　of　what　was　happening：　and　he　would　never　know　now。
　
　We　found　the　stewardess　in　the　pantry；　lying　on　her　left　side　on　the　floor；　the　outspread　black　hair　fallen　forward　over　her　face。　She　was　moaning　softly　to　herself；　but　it　wasn't　the　moan　of　one　in　pain。　Her　pulse　was　steady　enough；　but　fast。　Jackstraw　stooped　down　beside　me。
　
　〃Shall　we　lift　her；　Dr　Mason？〃
　
　〃No。〃　I　shook　my　head。　〃She's　ing　to；　I　think；　and　she　can　tell　us　far　quicker　than　we　can　find　out　whether　there's　anything　broken。　Another　blanket；　and　we'll　let　her　be。　Almost　certainly　someone　much　more　in　need　of　our　attention。〃
　
　The　door　leading　into　the　main　passenger　partment　was　locked。　At　least；　it　appeared　to　be；　but　I　was　pretty　certain　it　would　never　be　locked　under　normal　circumstances。　Perhaps　it　had　been　warped　by　the　impact　of　landing。　It　was　no　time　for　half　measures。　Together；　we　took　a　step　back；　then　flung　all　the　weight　of　our　shoulders　against　it。　It　gave　suddenly；　three　or　four　inches；　and　at　the　same　time　we　heard　a　sharp　exclamation　of　pain　from　the　other　side。
　
　〃Careful！〃　I　warned；　but　Jackstraw　had　already　eased　his　weight。　I　raised　my　voice。　〃Get　back　from　that　door；　will　you？　We　want　to　e　in。〃
　
　We　heard　a　meaningless　mutter　from　the　other　side；　followed　by　a　low　groan　and　the　slipping　shuffle　of　someone　trying　to　haul　himself　to　his　feet。　Then　the　door　opened　and　we　passed　quickly　inside。
　
　The　blast　of　hot　air　struck　me　in　the　face　like　an　almost　physical　biow。　I　gasped；　fought　off　a　passing　moment　of　weakness　when　my　legs　threatened　to　give　under　me；　then　recovered　sufficiently　to　bang　the　door　shut　behind　me。　With　the　motors　dead　and　the　arctic　chill　striking　through　the　thin　steel　of　the　fuselage　this　warmth；　no　matter　how　efficient　the　cabin　insulation；　wouldn't　last　long：　but　while　it　did；　it　might　be　the　saving　of　all　those　who　still　lived。　A　thought　struck　me　and；　ignoring　the　man　who　stood　swaying　before　me；　one　hand　clutching　a　seat　grip　for　support；　the　other　rubbing　at　a　blood…masked　forehead；　I　turned　to　Jackstraw。
　
　〃Carry　the　stewardess　in　here。　We'll　take　a　chance…and　it's　not　all　that　much　of　a　chance　either。　There's　a　damned　sight　more　hope　for　her　in　here　with　a（　broken　leg　than　out　there　with　only　a　bump　on　the　head。　Throw　her　blanket　over　the　wireless　operator　…but　whatever　you　do　don't　touch　him。〃
　
　Jackstraw　nodded　and　went　out；　closing　the　door　quickly　behind　him。　I　turned　to　the　man　who　still　stood　shakily　in　the　aisle；　still　dazedly　rubb