alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第4部分

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azzling　to　the　eye；　reflecting　the　light　with　the　intensity；　almost；　of　a　chromed　mirror。　The　tail　unit　was　intact。　So；　too；　was　the　fuselage　for　half　its　length；　then　crumpled　and　torn　underneath；　directly　opposite　the　spot　where　we　stood。　The　left　wing　was　tilted　upwards　at　an　angle　of　about　five　degrees　above　the　normal…the　plane　wasn't　on　such　an　even　keel　as　I　had　first　thought。　From　where　I　stood　this　wing　blocked　off　my　view　of　the　front；　but　just　above　and　beyond　it　I　saw　something　that　made　me　temporarily　forget　the　urgency　of　my　concern　for　those　inside　and　stand　there；　stockstill；　the　beam　trained　unwaveringly　on　that　spot。
　
　Even　under　the　coating　of　ice　the　big　bold　lettering　'BOAC'　was　clearly　visible。　BOAC！　What　on　earth　was　a　BOAC　airliner　doing　in　this　part　of　the　world？　The　SAS　and　KLM；　I　knew；　operated　trans…Arctic　flights　from　Copenhagen　and　Amsterdam　to　Winnipeg；　Los　Angeles　and　Vancouver　via　Sondre　Stromfjord；　about　an　hour　and　a　half　s　flying　time　away　to　the　south…west　on　。　the　west　coast　of　Greenland；　just　on　the　Arctic　Circle；　and　I　was　pretty　sure　that　Pan　American　and　Trans　World　operated　reciprocal　services　on　the　same　route。　It　was　just　barely　possible　that　freak　weather　conditions　had　forced　one　of　these　planes　far　enough　off　course　to　account　for　its　presence　here；　but　if　I　was　right　about　the　BOAC；　it　just　wasn't　possible…
　
　〃I've　found　the　door；　Dr　Mason。〃　Jackstraw　had　taken　my　arm；　jerking　me　out　of　my　reverie；　and　was　pointing　to　a　big　oval　door　with　its　lowest　point　just　at　our　eye…level。　〃We　will　try　these；　perhaps？〃
　
　I　heard　the　metallic　clang　as　he　lifted　a　couple　of　crowbars　off　the　sledge；　and　nodded。　We　could　only　try。　I　set　the　searchlight　on　the　snow；　adjusted　it　on　its　gimbals　so　as　to　illuminate　the　door；　took　one　of　the　crowbars　and　thrust　it　beneath　the　foot　of　the　oval；　the　flattened　end　sliding　easily　between　door　and　fuselage。　Jackstraw　did　the　same。　We　heaved　together；　but　nothing　happened。　Again　we　heaved；　and　again；　our　feet　ing　clear　of　the　ground；　but　the　door　remained　immovable。　To　localise　pressure；　we　concentrated　on　one　bar；　and　this　time　we　felt　something　giving：　but　it　was　the　lever；　not　the　door。　With　a　pistol…shot　crack；　the　cold…weakened　crowbar　snapped　six　inches　from　the　end　and　we　both　landed　on　our　backs。
　
　Even　the　urgency　of　the　moment；　my　almost　plete　lack　of　knowledge　about　planes；　was　no　excuse。　I　cursed　my　stupidity　in　wasting　valuable　time　trying　to　force　open　a　massive　door　locked　on　the　inside　by　heavy　clips　designed　to　withstand　an　internal　pressure　of　many　thousands　of　pounds；　grabbed　searchlight　and　battery；　ducked　round　under　the　towering　tail　assembly　into　the　full　force　of　the　wind　and　flying　drift　and　moved　forward　till　I　came　to　the　right　wing。
　
　Its　tip　was　buried　deep　under　the　frozen　snow；　the　airscrew　blades　bent　back　at　right　angles　to　their　normal　line。　I　thought　perhaps　I　might　try　to　scramble　up　the　wing　towards　the　fuselage　and　smash　in　one　of　the　cabin　windows；　but　after　a　couple　of　seconds　wild　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　gasp