alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第1部分

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　It　was　Jackstraw　who　heard　it　first…it　was　always　Jackstraw；　whose　hearing　was　an　even　match　for　his　phenomenal　eyesight；　who　heard　things　first。　Tired　of　having　my　exposed　hands　alternately　frozen；　I　had　dropped　my　book；　zipped　my　sleeping…bag　up　to　the　chin　and　was　drowsily　watching　him　carving　figurines　from　a　length　of　inferior　narwhal　tusk　when　his　hands　suddenly　fell　still　and　he　sat　quite　motionless。　Then；　unhurriedly　as　always；　he　dropped　the　piece　of　bone　into　the　coffee…pan　that　simmered　gently　by　the　side　of　our　oil…burner　stove…curio　collectors　paid　fancy　prices　for　what　they　imagined　to　be　the　dark　ivory　of　fossilised　elephant　tusks…rose　and　put　his　ear　to　the　ventilation　shaft；　his　eyes　remote　in　the　unseeing　gaze　of　a　man　lost　in　listening。　A　couple　of　seconds　were　enough。
　
　〃Aeroplane；〃　he　announced　casually。
　
　〃Aeroplane！〃　I　propped　myself　up　on　an　elbow　and　stared　at　him。　〃Jackstraw；　you've　been　hitting　the　methylated　spirits　again。〃
　
　〃Indeed；　no；　Dr　Mason。〃　The　blue　eyes；　so　incongruously　at　variance　with　the　swarthy　face　and　the　broad　Eskimo　cheekbones；　crinkled　into　a　smile：　coffee　was　Jackstraw's　strongest　tipple　and　we　both　knew　it。　〃I　can　hear　it　plainly　now。　You　must　e　and　listen。〃
　
　〃No；　thanks。〃　It　had　taken　me　fifteen　minutes　to　thaw　out　the　frozen　condensation　in　my　sleeping…bag；　and　I　was　just　beginning　to　feel　warm　for　the　first　time。　Heaven　only　knew　that　the　presence　of　a　plane　in　the　heart　of　that　desolate　ice　plateau　was　singular　enough…in　the　four　months　since　our　IGY　station　had　been　set　up　this　was　the　first　time　we　had　had　any　contact；　however　indirectly；　with　the　world　and　the　civilisation　that　lay　so　unimaginably　beyond　our　horizons…but　it　wasn't　going　to　help　either　the　plane　or　myself　if　I　got　my　feet　frozen　again。　I　lay　back　and　stared　up　through　our　two　plate　glass　skylights：　but　as　always　they　were　pletely　opaque；　covered　with　a　thick　coating　of　rime　and　dusting　of　snow。　I　looked　away　from　the　skylights　across　to　where　Joss；　our　young　Cockney　radioman；　was　stirring　uneasily　in　his　sleep；　then　back　to　Jackstraw。
　
　〃Still　hear　it？〃
　
　〃Getting　louder　all　the　time；　Dr　Mason。　Louder　and　closer。〃
　
　I　wondered　vaguely…vaguely　and　a　trifle　irritably；　for　this　was　our　world；　a　tightly…knit；　pact　little　world；　and　visitors　weren't　wele…what　plane　it　could　be。　A　met。　plane　from　Thule；　possibly。　Possibly；　but　unlikely：　Thule　was　all　of　six　hundred　miles　away；　and　our　own　weather　reports　went　there　three　times　a　day。　Or　perhaps　a　Strategic　Air　mand　bomber　testing　out　the　DEW…line…the　Americans'　distant　early　warning　radar　system…or　even　some　civilian　proving　flight　on　a　new　trans…polar　route。　Or　maybe　some　base　plane　from　down　by　Godthaab。
　
　〃Dr　Mason！〃　Jackstraw's　voice　was　quick；　urgent。　〃It's　in　trouble；　I　think。　It's　circling　us…lower　and　closer　all　the　time。　A　big　plane；　I'm　sure：　many　motors。〃
　
　〃Damn！〃　I　said　feelingly。　I　reached　out　for　the　silk　gloves　that　always　hung　at　night　above　my　head；　pulled　them　on；　unzipped　my　sleeping…bag；　swore　under　my　breath　as　the　freezing　air　struck　at　my　shivering　skin；　and　grabbed　for　my　clothes。　Half　an　hour　only　since　I　had　put　them　off；　but　already　they　were　stiff；　awkward　to　handle　and　abominably　cold…it　was　a　rare　day　indeed　when　the　temperature　inside　the　cabin　rose　above　freezing　point。　But　I　had　them　on…long　underwear；　woollen　shirt；　breeches；　silk…lined　woollen　parka；　two　pairs　of　socks　and　my　felt　cabin　shoes…in　thirty　seconds　flat。　In　latitude　72。40　north；　8000　feet　up　on　the　Greenland　ice…cap；　self…preservation　makes　for　a　remarkable　turn　of　speed。　I　crossed　the　cabin　to　where　no　more　than　a　nose　showed　through　a　tiny　gap　in　a　sleeping…bag。
　
　〃Wake　up；　Joss。〃　I　shook　him　until　he　reached　out　a　hand　and　pushed　the　hood　off　his　dark　tousled　head。　〃Wake　up；　boy。　It　looks　as　if　we　might　need　you。〃
　
　〃What…what's　the　trouble？〃　He　rubbed　the　sleep　from　his　eyes　and　stared　up　at　the　chronometer　above　his　head。　〃Midnight！　I've　been　asleep　only　half　an　hour。〃
　
　〃I　know。　Sorry。　But　get　a　move　on。〃　I　recrossed　the　cabin；　passed　by　the　big　RCA　transmitter　and　stove；　and　halted　in　front　of　the　instrument　table。　The　register　showed　the　wind　ENE；　velocity　15　knots…near　enough　17　miles　per　hour；　on　a　night　like　this；　with　the　ice…crystals　and　drift　lifting　off　the　ice…cap；　clogging　and　slowing　up　the　anemometer　cups；　the　true　speed　was　probably　half　as　much　again。　And　the　pen　of　the　alcohol　thermograph　was　running　evenly　along　the　red　circle　of　40　degrees　below　zero…72　degrees　of　frost。　I　thought　of　the　evil　bination　of　these　two　factors　of　wind　and　cold　and　felt　my　skin　crawl。
　
　Already　Jackstraw　was　silently　climbing　into　his　furs。　I　did　the　same…caribou　trousers　and　parka　with　reindeer　fur　trimmed　hood；　all　beautifully　tailored　by　Jackstraw's　wife…sealskin　boots；　woollen　mittens　and　reindeer　gloves。　I　could　hear　the　plane　quite　clearly　now；　and　so　too；　I　could　see；　did　Joss。　The　deep　even　throb　of　its　motors　was　plain　even　above　the　frantic　rattling　of　the　anemometer　cups。
　
　〃It's…it's　an　aeroplane！〃　You　could　see　that　he　was　still　trying　to　convince　himself。
　
　〃What　did　you　think　it　was…one　of　your　precious　London　double…deckers？〃　I　slipped　snow…mask　and　goggles　round　my　neck　and　picked　up　a　torch　from　the　shelf　beside　the　stove：　it　was　kept　there　to　keep　the　dry　batteries　from　freezing。　〃Been　circling　for　the　past　two　or　three　minutes。　Jackstraw　thinks　it's　in　trouble；　and　I　agree。〃
　
　Joss　listened。
　
　〃Engines　sound　OK　to　me。〃
　
　〃And　to　me。　But　engine　failure　is　only　one　of　a　dozen　possible　reasons。〃
　
　〃But　why　circle　here？〃
　
　〃How　the　devil　should　I　know？　Probably　because　he　can　see　our　lights…the　only　lights；　at　a　guess；　in　50；000　square　miles。　And　if　he　has　to　put　down；　which　God　forbid；　he　stands　his　only　chance　of　survival　if　he　puts　down　near　some　human　habitation。〃
　
　〃Heaven　help　them；〃　Joss　said　soberly。　He　added　something　else；　but　I　didn't　wait　to　hear。　I　wanted　to　get　up　top　as　quickly　as　possible。
　
　To　leave　our　cabin；　we　had　to　use　a　trap…door；　not　an　ordinary　door。　Our　cabin；　a　prefabricated；　sectioned　structure　that　had　been　hauled　up　from　the　coast　on　tractor　sleds　during　the　month　of　July；　was　deep…sunk　in　a　great　oblong　hole　that　had　been　gouged　out　from　the　surface　of　the　ice…cap；　so　that　only　the　top　few　inches　of　its　flat　roof　projected　above　ground　level。　The　trap…door；　hinged　at　both　ends　so　that　it　could　open　either　upwards　or　downwards；　was　reached　by　a　short　steep　flight　of　steps。
　
　I　climbed　the　first　two　of　these；　took　down　the　wooden　mallet　that　hung　there　permanently　by　the　wall　and　pounded　round　the　already　bruised　and　splintered　edges　of　the　trap　to　loosen　the　ice　that　held　it　locked　fast。　This　was　an　almost　invariable　routine：　whenever　the　trap　had　previously　been　opened　for　any　length　of　time　at　all；　the　layer　of　warm　air　that　always　lay　under　the　roof　seeped　slowly　out；　melting　the　surrounding　snow…which　promptly　turned　to　ice　when　the　trap　was　closed　again。
　
　Tonight　the　ice　cracked　easily。　I　got　my　shoulder　under　the　trap；　levered　upwards　against　the　accumulated　drift　of　snow　above；　and　scrambled　out。
　
　I　was　prepared　for　what　awaited　me　up　top…the　gasping；　panic…stricken　feeling　of　suffocation　as　the　warm　air　was　sucked　from　my　lungs　by　that　deadly；　numbing　cold…but　even　so　I　wasn't　sufficiently　prepared。　The　wind　speed　was　far　higher　than　I　had　feared。　Bent　double　and　coughing　violently；　breathing　shallowly　to　avoid　frosting　my　lungs；　I　turned　my　back　to　the　wind；　breathed　into　my　reindeer　gloves；　slipped　on　my　snow…mask　and　goggles　and　straightened。　Jackstraw　was　already　standing　by　my　side。
　
　The　wind　on　the　ice…cap　never　howled　or　shrieked。　It　moaned；　instead；　a　low…pitched；　unutterably　eerie　ululation：　a　requiem　for　the　damned；　if　ever　there　was　one；　the　agony　of　some　soul　lost　in　torment。　That　same　moan　had　driven　men　mad　before　now：　less　than　two　months　previously　I　had　had　to　send　our　tractor　mechanic；　a　pletely　broken　youngster　who　had　lost　all　contact　with　the　last　shadow　of　reality；　back　to　our　Uplavnik　base。　The　wind　had　done　that　to　him。
　
　Tonight　its　desolate　threnody　boomed　and　faded；　boomed　and　faded　in　the　lower　registers　of　sound　with　an　intensity　which　I　had　seldom　heard；　while　its　fingers　plucked　at　the　tightly　strung　guy　ropes　of　the　radio　antenna　and　instrument　shelters　to　provide　its　own　whistling　obbligato　of　unearthly　music。　But　I　was　in　no　mood　then　to　listen　to　its　music；　and；　indeed；　that　sepulchral　wailing　was　not　the　dominant　sound　on　the　ice…cap　that　night。
　
　The　throbbing　roar　of　big　aero　engines；　surging　and　receding；　as　the　wind　gusted　and　fell　away；　like　surf　on　some　distant　shore；　was　very　close　now。　The　sound　lay　to　windward　of　us　at　that　moment；　and　we　turned　to　face　it；　but　we　were　blind。　Although　the　sky　was　overcast；　there　was　no　snow　that　night…at　any　time；　heavy　snowfalls；　strangely　enough；　are　all　but　unknown　on　the　Greenland　ice…cap…but　the　air　was　full　of　millions　of　driving；　needle…pointed　ice　spicules　that　swept　towards　us　out　of　the　impenetrable　darkness　to　the　east；　clogging　up　our　goggles　in　a　matter　of　seconds　and　stinging　the　narrow　exposed　area　of　my　face　between　mask　and　goggles　like　a　thousand　infuriated　hornets。　A　sharp；　exquisite　pain；　a　pain　that　vanished　almost　in　the　moment　of　arrival　as　the　countless　sub…zero　spicules　dug　deep　with　their　anaesthetising　needles　and　drove　out　all　sensation　from　the　skin。　But　I　knew　this　ominous　absence　of　feeling　all　too　well。　Once　again　I　turned　my　back　to　the　wind；　kneaded　the　deadened　flesh　with　mittened　hands　till　the　blood　came　throbbing　back；　then　pulled　my　snow…mask　higher　still。
　
　The　plane　was　flying　in　an　anti…clockwise　direction；　following；　it　seemed；　the　path　of　an　irregular　oval；　for　the　sound　of　its　motors　faded　slightly　as　it　curved　round　to　north　and　west。　But　within　thirty　seconds　it　was　approaching　again；　in　a　swelling　thunder　of　sound；　to　the　south…west…to　the　leeward　of　us；　that　was…and　I　could　tell　from　Jackstraw's　explosive　ejaculation　of　sound；　muffled　behind　his　mask；　that　he　had　seen　it　at　the　same　moment　as　myself。
　
　It　was　less　than　half　a　mile　distant；　no　more　than　five　hundred　feet　above　the　ice…cap；　and　during　the　five　seconds　it　remained　inside　my　line　of　vision　I　felt　my　mouth　go　dry　and　my　heart　begin　to　thud　heavily　in　my　chest。　No　SAC　bomber　this；　nor　a　Thule　met。　plane；　both　with　crews　highly　trained　in　the　grim　craft　of　Arctic　survival。　That　long　row　of　brightly　illuminated　cabin　windows　could　belong　to　only　one　thing…a　trans…Atlantic　or　trans…polar　airliner。
　
　〃You　saw　it；　Dr　Mason？〃　Jackstraw's　snow…mask　was　close　to　my　ear。
　
　〃I　saw　it。〃　It　was　all　I　could　think　to　say。　But　what　I　was　seeing　then　was　not　the　plane；　now　again　vanished　into　the　flying　ice　and　drift；　but　the　inside　of　the　plane；　with　the　passengers…God；　how　many　passengers；　fifty；　seventy？…sitting　in　the　cosy　security　of　their　pressurised　cabin　with　an　air…conditioned　temperature　of　70°　F；　then　the　crash；　the　tearing；　jagged　screeching　that　set　the　teeth　on　edge　as　the　thin　metal　shell　ripped　along　its　length　and　the　tidal　wave　of　that　dreadful　cold；　110　degrees　below　c