cc.iceberg-第14节

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t　nothing　to…〃　Hunnewell　never　finished　the　sentence。　He　jerked　sideways　facing　Pitt；　his　eyes　staring　blankly；　his　mouth　open　in　surprise　but　no　words　ing　out。　Pitt　barely　had　time　to　see　the　old　man　slump　forward；　limp　and　dead　to　all　appearances；　as　the　plexiglass　bubble　encircling　the　cockpit　shattered　into　a　thousand　jagged　slivers　and　fell　away。　Twisting　to　one　side　and　throwing　up　an　arm　to　protect　his　face　from　the　blasting　wall　of　cold　air；　Pitt　momentarily　lost　control　of　the　helicopter。　Its　aerodynamics　drastically　altered；　the　Ulysses　nosed　sharply　upward；　almost　on　its　end；　throwing　Pitt　and　the　unconscious　Hunnewell　violently　against　their　backrests。
　
　It　was　then　Pitt　became　aware　of　the　machine　gun　shells　striking　the　fuselage　aft　of　the　seats。　The　sudden　uncontrolled　maneuver　temporarily　saved　their　lives；　the　gunner　aboard　the　black　jet　had　been　caught　off　guard；　adjusting　his　trajectory　too　late　and　sending　most　of　his　fire　into　an　empty　sky。　Is　slow　steed　withUnable　to　match　the　helicopter　without　stalling；　the　mysterious　jet　soared　forward　and　swung　around　in　a　hundred…and…eighty…degree　turn　for　another　assault。　The　bastards　must　have　made　a　sharp　circle　east　and　south　and　west　before　attacking　from　the　rear；　Pitt　quickly　figured　as　he　struggled　to　'bring　the　helicopter　on　a　level　course；　a　near　impossible　task　with　a　two…hundred…mile…an…hour　air　stream　tearing　at　his　eyes。　He　throttled　down；　trying　desperately　to　reduce　the　unseen　force　that　pinned　his　body　against　the　seat。
　
　The　black　jet　swept　by　again。　but　this　time　Pitt　was　ready　for　it。　He　pulled　the　Ulysses　to　an　abrupt　horizontal　stop；　the　rotor　blades　frantically　beating　the　atmosphere；　raising　the　light　craft　in　a　straight　vertical　climb。
　
　The　dodge　worked。　The　pilot　of　the　jet　roared　under　Pitt；　unable　to　bring　the　machine　gun　to　bear。　Twice　more　Pitt　managed　to　shake　his　attacker；　but　it　was　only　a　question　of　time　before　his　opponent　pensated　for　his　rapidly　diminishing　bag　of　tricks。
　
　Pitt　didn't　kid　himself。　There　was　no　escape；　the　battle　was　too　one…sided。　The　score　was　seven　to　nothing　in　favor　of　the　visitors；　with　only　a　few　seconds　left　to　play　in　the　fourth　quarter。　A　grim　smile　wrinkled　around　Pitts　eyes　as　he　lowered　the　copter　to　a　bare　twenty　feet　above　the　water。　Victory　was　hopeless；　but　there　was　a　slight　chance；　an　infinitesimal　fingertip　chance；　he　thought；　for　a　tie　score。　He　studied　the　inkblack　aircraft　as　it　jockied　for　the　last　pass。　There　was　nothing　left　now　but　the　mad　clangor　of　steeljacketed　bullets　smashing　through　the　thin　aluminum　skin　of　the　Ulysses。　Pitt　steadied　the　small　defenseless　craft　and　hovered　as　the　jet　dove　like　a　concrete　bird；　directly　toward　him。
　
　The　gunner；　laying　prone　and　firing　out　an　open　cargo　door；　played　it　cool　this　time。　He　laid　down　a　steady　stream　of　shells；　waiting　for　the　narrowing　gap　to　carry　them　into　the　path　of　the　helicopter。　The　barrage　of　death　was　only　thirty　yards　away　now。　Pitt　braced　himself　for　the　impact　and　threw　the　Ulysses　straight　up　into　the　attacking　plane；　the　helicopter's　rotor　blade！　shattering　as　they　sliced　through　the　jet's　horizontal　stabilizer。　Instinctively　Pitt　flicked　the　ignition　switch　off　as　the　turbine　engine；　without　the　drag　from　the　rotor；　raced　wildly　mid　the　howl　of　tortured　metal。　Then　the　racket　stopped；　and　the　sky　was　silent　except　for　the　wind　that　whistled　in　Pitts　ears。
　
　He　snatched　a　glance　at　the　strange　jet　just　before　it　crashed　into　the　sea；　nose　first；　it's　tail　section　hanging　like　a　broken　arm。　Pitt　and　the　unconscious　Hunnewell　weren't　much　better　off。　All　they　could　do　was　sit　and　wait　for　the　crippled　helicopter　to　drop　like　a　stone　nearly　seventy　feet　into　the　cold　Atlantic　water。
　
　When　the　crash　came；　it　was　much　worse　than　Pitt　had　anticipated。　The　Ulysses　fell　on　its　side　into　the　Iceland　surf　in　six　feet　of　water；　a　scant　football　field　length　from　shore。　Pitts　head　whipped　sideways　and　glanced　off　the　door　frame；　sending　him　into　a　vortex　of　darkness。　Fortunately　the　agonizing　shock　of　the　icy　water　jolted　him　back　to　dizzy　wakefulness。　Waves　of　nausea　swept　over　him；　and　he　knew　he　was　only　a　hairbreadth　away　from　saying　To　hell　with　it　and　drifting　off　to　sleep　for　the　last　time。
　
　His　face　twisted　with　pain；　Pitt　undid　his　seat　belt　and　shoulder　harness；　taking　a　gulp　of　air　before　a　breaking　wave　crest　passed　over　the　helicopter；　then　quickly　he　unfastened　the　insensible　Hunnewell　and　lifted　his　head　above　the　swirling　water。　At　that　instant；　Pitt　slipped　and　lost　his　balance　as　a　crashing　breaker　knocked　him　from　the　Ulysses　into　the　surf。　Still　grasping　Hunnewell　by　a　death　grip　on　the　coat　collar；　he　battled　the　rolling　surge　as　it　swept　him　toward　shore；　rolling　him　end…over…end　across　the　uneven　rocky　bottom。
　
　If　Pitt　ever　wondered　what　it　was　like　to　drown；　he　had　a　pretty　good　idea　now。　The　freezing　water　stung　every　square　inch　of　his　skin　like　a　million　bees。　His　ears　failed　to　pop；　and　his　head　was　one　tormenting　ache；　his　nostrils　filled　with　water；　stabbing　like　a　knife　at　his　frontal　sinus；　and　the　thin　membranes　of　his　lungs　felt　as　if　they'd　been　dipped　in　nitric　acid。　Finally；　after　bashing　his　knees　into　a　bed　of　rocks；　he　struggled　to　his　feet；　his　head　bursting　gratefully　into　the　pure　Icelandic　air。　He　swore　to　himself　then　and　there　that　if　he　should　ever　decide　to　mit　suicide；　it　definitely　wouldn't　be　by　drowning。
　
　He　staggered　from　the　water　onto　a　pebble…strewn　beach；　half　carrying；　half　dragging　Hunnewell　like　a　drunk　leading　a　drunk。　A　few　steps　beyond　the　tideline　Pitt　eased　his　burden　down　and　checked　the　doctor's　pulse　and　breathing；　both　were　on　the　fast　side　but　regular。
　
　Then　he　saw　Hunnewell's　left　arm。　It　had　been　terribly　mangled　at　the　elbow　by　the　machine　gun　bullets。　As　quickly　as　his　numbed　hands　would　allow；　Pitt　took　off　his　shirt；　tore　off　the　sleeves；　and　tightly　wrapped　them　around　the　wound　to　stem　the　flow　of　blood。　As　bad　as　the　tissue　damage　looked；　there　was　no　artery　spurt；　so　he　automatically　discarded　the　idea　of　a　tourniquet　in　favor　of　direct　pressure。　Then　he　sat　Hunnewell　up　against　a　large　rock；　made　a　crude　sling；　and　elevated　the　wound　to　aid　the　control　of　bleeding。
　
　Pitt　could　do　nothing　more　for　his　friend；　so　he　lay　down　on　the　lumpy　carpet　of　stone　and　let　the　unwele　pain　in　his　body　and　the　hated　currents　of　nausea　sweep　through　his　body。　Relaxing　as　much　as　the　sickness　would　let　him；　he　closed　his　eyes；　shutting　out　a　magnificent　view　of　the　cloud…dotted　Arctic　sky。
　
　Deep　unconsciousness　should　have　held　Pitt　for　at　least　several　hours；　but　a　distant　alarm　in　the　depths　of　his　brain；　began　signaling；　and　instinctively；　in　response　to　the　stimuli；　his　eyes　popped　open　only　twenty　minutes　after　they　had　closed。　The　scene　was　different；　the　sky　and　clouds　were　still　there；　but　something　stood　in　front　of　them。　It　took　a　second　for　Pitts　eyes　to　focus　on　the　five　children　standing　around　him。　There　was　no　fear　in　their　faces　as　they　stared　down　at　Pitt　and　Hunnewell。
　
　Pitt　sat　up　on　one　elbow；　forced　a　smile…it　wasn't　easy…and　said；　〃Good　morning；　group。　Up　a　bit　early；　aren't　you？〃
　
　As　if　on　cue；　the　younger　children　looked　at　the　oldest；　a　boy。　He　hesitated　several　moments；　collecting　his　words　before　he　spoke。　〃My　brothers　and　sisters　and　I　were　herding　our　father's　cows　on　the　meadow　above　the　cliffs。　We　saw　your…〃　he　paused；　his　face　blank。
　〃Helicopter？〃　Pitt　prompted。
　〃Yes；　that　is　it。〃　The　boy's　face　brightened。　〃Helicopter。　We　saw　your　helicopter　lying　in　the　ocean。〃　A　slight　blush　reddened　his　flawless　Scandinavian　plexion。　〃I　am　ashamed　that　my　English　is　not　so　good。〃
　〃No；〃　Pitt　said　softly。　〃I'm　the　one　who　is　ashamed。　You　speak　English　like　an　Oxford　professor；　while　I　can't　even　offer　you　two　words　in　Icelandic。〃
　The　boy　beamed　at　the　pliment　as　he　helped　Pitt　struggle　awkwardly　to　his　feet。　〃You　are　hurt；　sir。　Your　head　bleeds。〃
　〃I'll　survive。　It's　my　friend　who　is　injured　seriously。　We　must　get　him　to　the　nearest　doctor　quickly。〃
　〃I　sent　my　younger　sister　to　fetch　my　father　when　We　discovered　you。　He　will　bring　his　truck　soon。〃
　
　Just　then；　Hunnewell　moaned　softly。　Pitt　leaned　over　him；　cradling　the　bald　head。　The　old　man　was　conscious　now。　His　eyes　rolled　and　stared　at　Pitt　briefly；　and　then　stared　at　the　children。　He　was　breathing　heavily。　and　tried　to　speak；　but　the　words　caught　in　his　throat。　There　was　a　strange　kind　of　serenity　in　his　eyes　as　he　gripped　Pitts　hand；　and　in　a　strained　effort　murmured；　〃God　save　thee…〃　Then　he　trembled　and　gave　a　little　gasp。
　
　Dr。　Hunnewell　was　dead。
　
　Chapter　6
　
　The　farmer　and　his　oldest　boy　carried　Hunnewell　to　the　Land　Rover。　Pitt　rode　in　the　back　holding　the　oceanographer's　head　in　his　lap。　He　closed　the　glazed；　sightless　eyes　and　smoothed　the　few　long　strands　of　white　hair。
　
　Most　children　would　have　been　terrified　of　death；　but　the　boys　and　girls　who　surrounded　Pitt　in　the　bed　of　the　truck　sat　silently　and　calmly；　their　expressions　devoid　of　all　but　total　acceptance　of　the　only　certainty　that　waits　for　everyone。
　
　The　farmer；　a　big　handsome　outdoor…hardened　man；　drove　slow