alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第3部分

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en　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　suffocating　drift　was　a　nightmare；　a　cruel　refinement　of　contrasting　torture　where　the　burning　in　my　throat　contrasted　with　the　pain　of　my　freezing　face　for　dominance　in　my　mind。　I　was　coughing　constantly　in　the　super…chilled　air；　no　matter　how　I　tried　to　cover　mouth　and　nose　with　a　gloved　hand；　no　matter　how　shallowly　I　breathed　to　avoid　frosting　my　lungs。
　
　The　devil　of　it　was；　shallow　breathing　was　impossible。　We　were　running　now；　running　as　fast　as　the　ice…glazed　slipperiness　of　the　surface　and　our　bulky　furs　would　allow；　for　to　unprotected　people　exposed　to　these　temperatures；　to　that　murderous　drift…filled　gale；　life　or　death　was　simply　a　factor　of　speed；　of　the　duration　of　exposure。　Maybe　the　plane　had　ripped　open　or　broken　in　half；　catapulting　the　survivors　out　on　to　the　ice…cap…if　there　were　any　survivors：　for　them；　either　immediate　death　as　the　heart　failed　in　the　near　impossible　task　of　adjusting　the　body　to　an　instantaneous　change　of　over　100°　F；　or　death　by　exposure　within　five　minutes。　Or　maybe　they　were　all　trapped　inside　slowly　freezing。　How　to　get　at　them？　How　to　transport　them　all　back　to　the　cabin？　But　only　the　first　few　to　be　taken　could　have　any　hope。　And　even　if　we　did　get　them　all　back；　how　to　feed　them…for　our　own　supplies　were　already　dangerously　low？　And　where；　in　heaven's　name；　were　we　going　to　put　them　all？
　
　Jackstraw's　shout　checked　me　so　suddenly　that　I　stumbled　and　all　but　fell。　I　turned　back；　and　Joss　came　running　up。
　
　〃The　end　of　the　line？〃　I　asked。
　
　He　nodded；　flashed　a　torch　in　my　face。　〃Your　nose　and　cheek　…both　gone。　They　look　bad。〃
　
　Gloves　off；　I　kneaded　my　face　vigorously　with　my　mittened　hands　until　I　felt　the　blood　pounding　painfully　back；　then　took　the　old　jersey　which　Jackstraw　dug　out　from　a　gunny　sack　and　wrapped　it　round　my　face。　It　wasn't　much；　but　it　was　better　than　nothing。
　
　We　struck　off　to　the　north；　with　the　wind　on　our　right　cheeks　…1　had　no　option　but　to　gamble　on　the　hope　that　the　wind　had　neither　backed　nor　veered…our　torches　probing　the　ground　in　front　of　us；　stopping　every　fifteen　or　twenty　feet　to　drive　a　pointed　bamboo　marker　into　the　frozen　ground。　We　had　covered　fifty　yards　without　sighting　anything；　and　I　was　just　beginning　to　bee　convinced　that　we　must　still　be　well　to　the　west　of　the　plane's　touchdown　point　and　wondering　what　in　the　world　we　should　do　next　when　we　almost　literally　stumbled　into　an　eighteen　inch　deep；　ten　foot　wide　depression　in　the　snow…crust　of　the　ice…cap。
　
　This　was　it；　no　question　about　that。　By　a　one　in　a　hundred　chance　we　had　hit　on　the　very　spot　where　the　plane　had　touched　down…or　crashed　down；　if　the　size　of　the　depression　in　that　frozen　snow　were　anything　to　go　by。　To　the　left；　the　west；　the　ground　was　virginal；　unmarked…ten　feet　to　that　side　and　we　should　have　missed　it　altogether。　To　the　east；　the　deep　depression　shelved　rapidly　upwards；　its　smooth　convexity　now　marred　by　two　large　gouge　marks；　one　in　the　centre　and　one　to　the　right　of　the　track；　as　if　a　pair　of　gigantic　ploughs　had　furrowed　through　the　ground：　part　of　the　under　fuselage　must　have　been　ripped　open　by　the　impact　…it　would　have　been　a　wonder　had　it　not　been。　Some　way　farther　to　the　east；　and　well　to　the　right　of　the　main　track；　two　other　grooves；　parallel　and　of　a　shallow　bowl　shape；　had　been　torn　in　the　snow。　The　gouge　marks；　plainly；　of　the　still…racing　propellers：　the　plane　must　have　tilted　over　on　its　right　wing　just　after　the　moment　of　landing。
　
　To　see　all　this　took　no　longer　than　to　sweep　a　torch　through　a　swift　semi…circle。　I　shouted　to　Joss　to　take　another　bundle　of　canes　and　prop　up　the　Homing　spool　line　that　led　back　to　the　antenna…　if　this　weren't　done　it　would　drift　over　and　be　lost　to　sight　in　ten　minutes…　and　then　rejoin　us：　then　I　turned　and　ran　after　Jackstraw　who　had　already　urged　his　team　forwards　and　eastwards　along　the　track　of　the　crashed　plane。
　
　The　wind　was　worse　than　ever；　the　drift　an　almost　solid　wall　that　reduced　our　speed　to　a　lurching　stumble　and　forced　us　to　lean　far　into　it　to　maintain　our　balance。　Two　hundred　yards；　three　hundred；　and　then；　almost　a　quarter　of　a　mile　from　where　it　had　touched　down　we　found　the　airliner　simply　by　walking　straight　into　it。　It　had　slewed　almost　90　degrees　as　it　had　e　to　a　halt；　and　was　lying　square　across　its　own　path；　still　resting　on　even　keel。
　
　In　the　feeble　light　of　my　torch　the　airliner；　even　although　its　fuselage　rested　on　the　ground；　seemed　immensely　high　and　to　stretch　away　for　a　vast　distance　on　either　side；　but　for　all　its　great　size　there　was　something　peculiarly　pathetic　and　forlorn　about　it。　But　this；　of　course；　was　purely　subjective；　the　knowledge　in　my　own　mind　that　this　crippled　giant　would　never　leave　here　again。
　
　I　could　hear　no　movement；　see　no　movement。　High　above　my　head　a　faint　blue　light　seemed　to　glow　behind　some　of　the　cabin　windows　but　apart　from　that　there　was　no　sign　of　life　at　all。
　
　
　CHAPTER　TWO…Monday　1　A。M。…2　A。M。
　
　My　greatest　fear　had　already　proved　groundless…there　was　no　sign　of　fire　anywhere；　no　flickering　red　to　see；　no　hidden　crackling　to　hear。　It　was　still　possible　that　some　small　tongue　of　flame　was　creeping　along　inside　the　fuselage　or　wings　looking　for　the　petrol　or　oil　that　would　help　it　blaze　into　destructive　life…and　with　that　wind　to　fan　the　flames；　destruction　would　have　been　plete　…but　it　hardly　seemed　worth　worrying　about：　and　it　was　unlikely　that　any　pilot　cool…headed　enough　to　turn　off　the　ignition　would　have　forgotten　to　shut　down　the　petrol　lines。
　
　Already　Jackstraw　had　plugged　our　searchlight　into　the　dry　battery　and　handed　me　the　lamp。　I　pressed　the　switch；　and　it　worked：　a　narrow　but　powerful　beam　good　for　six　hundred　yards　in　normal　conditions。　I　swung　the　beam　to　my　right；　then　brought　it　slowly　forward。
　
　Whatever　colours　the　plane　may　have　had　originally；　it　was　impossible　to　distinguish　any　of　them　now。　The　entire　fuselage　was　already　shrouded　in　a　sheet　of　thin　rimed　ice；　dazzling　to　the　eye；　reflecting　the　light　with　the　intensity；　almost；　of　a　chromed　mirror。　The　tail　u