Chapter 582:

A few minutes before eight o'clock, air mail pilot Steve Chapman was enjoying a quiet cigarette while waiting for the mechanic to warm up his mail plane and five hundred horses were satisfactory. Halfway through, he heard a quick beating from behind, turning his head, he saw a figure dressed in flannel pants and a sweater. The cigarette fell out of his mouth when he was crying:
"Lee Bad! Li Bad Torrance!"
"Thank God, you are here!" Lee Badis Torrance said. "I gambled on it. Steve, I have to borrow your own private jet."
"What?" Steve Chapman panted. "what? What-?"
"Listen, Steve. I haven't been to a whaling company recently; I live in seclusion here, very hidden. I don't know the submarine, it's missing. I just know. I know what the happened and I have to do it. , I want to be as fast as possible, and I must have a plane."
Steve Chapman said vaguely:
"But-when they heard from her for the last time, where?"
"About 1,200 miles from the pole."
"Do you want to go there by plane? Start here?"
"have to!"
"Boy, you have a one in twentieth chance!"
"It must be accepted. Time is precious, Steve. I must stop at the Alaska Whaling Company's outpost in Cape Christensen and go straight up. Unless there is a plane, I can't even start. You must help me to make it. The crew is alive! I may never see the plane again, Steve, but-"
The pilot said: "If you experience it with yourself and those men, then get off the plane." "Well, boy, I don't have everything yet, but I'm playing with you. You have to take my own boat."
He took Li Bai to a hangar, in which stood a five-person amphibian trimmed amphibian. Soon, the amphibian whizzed past, uttered a hoarse song of power, screamed into the air, and Steve Chapman yelled a few words to the sullen man in the closed cockpit.
He said: "The fuel will last about 40 hours." "You will find that you can easily reach Christieson for 200 hours every 250 hours. I put the gun and map in the right pocket; the food is in the fan behind you. In the flap. Bad Li! Bad Li!
Lee Bad Torrance stretched out his hand and clenched it. He said nothing, but nodded-this is a true friend. He gave the gun to the boat.
Her powerful diesel engine roared, waving the air up and down. The amphibians rotate the retractable wheels to a hard, straight ground until they are gently lifted and tilted upward to slowly climb to maintain height. Exhaust gas gushing out from the wake, piercing her flanks, and gradually fading her into the darkness of the north.
"Well," Steve Chapman murmured, "I still have her installment left anyway!" Then he grinned and turned to the mail.
The Niubi hat walked slowly by night; the hiss of beating the cylinder day and night the next day kept hanging on Li Badis Torrance's ears. The last is Christensen and descendants. Sleep, then act quickly and decisively; then the amphibian lifted up again, now heavier, and then sailed to the ice and snow and cold sky of the far north. Until Alaska’s northernmost pointy Barrow is thrown to the east, this world is one of the places where ice drifts on the gray water. Li Badi cramped, and his mind was overwhelmed by constant roars, headaches and fatigue. Li Badi kept the amphibian stable until the sudden wind threw her away from it.
Rising wind. The sky is ugly. Then he remembered that the people at Christensen had warned him that a storm was brewing. They told him that he was about to fall into disaster. Their surprised and terrified faces appeared in front of him again, just as he had just seen them before he told them where to go before takeoff.
Of course they thought he was crazy. He took the amphibians to the small port outside the whaling company base and went ashore to greet his old friends. There are only a few people there. The narwhal is being inspected at a shipyard in San Francisco, and it is not for surface whaling season. They knew that he, Li Huai, had been put in a nursing home. All of them have heard his absurd story about the SEALs. But he made up a reasonable yarn to explain his arrival. They had fed him and gave him a sleeper in the bunk for the night.
For the night! Lee Bad Torrance smiled when he recalled the scene. In the middle of the night, he stood up, quickly awakened the four sleeping people, and used a gun to force them to take a torpedo from the warehouse of the outpost and put it in the amphibian passenger compartment.
It was a robbery, of course they thought he was crazy, but they didn't dare to pass him. He happily told them that he was hunting, and if they were to return to the torpedo, they would instruct to search for the aircraft so that their eyes would stay on where they heard the submarine last time.
Bringing it back, Ben suddenly stumbled like a plane. The wind is getting more and more annoying. At least he has no further way to go. An hour of flying time will take him to his target, where he must descend into the water to continue the search. His search! He wondered if it was useless from the beginning? Was the crew of the submarine killed before he even heard of the disappearance? If the SEALs get them, will they immediately destroy them?
"I doubt it," Li Badi said to himself. "Like me, they will be imprisoned in one of the mounds. That is, if they don't kill any creatures, it will hang on it!"
He counted for an hour. But soon after more than an hour, the world was overwhelmed by the screams of squally wind and snow, and again and again took the amphibians away from Li Wei’s control and threw them to a high place, or threw them like a toy. To him know the sea ice lying under the ocean floor. He fought for height, fought for direction, leaning from side to side, tumbling forward and backward, and only gained hundreds of feet high, but he felt them violently moving away from him in the howling wind. Pull out under the body.
He glanced at the torpedo behind him from time to time. The sparkling 12-foot cigar-shaped spacecraft, with rudder, propeller, vision board and nitro-shell gun, is securely fixed in the passenger compartment. This is a familiar and reassuring sight of Li Huaien, he is Li Badi Nidi The first Harpoon Narwhal worked for many years in chasing killer whales. It seems that soon, he will have to rely on it for life.
For all the power of diesel, it is not enough to cope with the self-weight of the ice formed on the wings and fuselage of the aircraft. He cannot maintain the altitude. No matter how he fought, he saw that finger hang down, hang down-insignificant, trembling with the trembling of the frame plane-and then down more.
He saw that the plane was doomed. If he can, he will have to drop it on the torpedo.
He is about thirty miles from the target. The sea below is half hidden under the clothes, floating dust. In fine weather, he could have chosen a clear landing space, but now he cannot choose. The altitude dial says that the water is below three hundred feet and is rising rapidly.
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