The day passed fretfully under the heavy overcast. Johnny Eagle had patched the opening in the tail and we spent the hours inside, sheltered from the drizzling cold. The pilot gave up his despairing tinkering with the radio and fell into an exhausted sleep. I followed suit.
A loud, shrill squealing brought me to my feet hours later. The radio was working again. The pilot was shouting excitedly to me. "I've got 'em. Listen."
"CXRAP. We hear you. Come in."
The pilot flipped the transmitter switch. "CXRAP calling Burns Lake. We are down in area located...." He went on, giving co-ordinates of our position, visibility, weather, and other data.
"Here, sir," he said, handing me the mike. "Someone wishes to speak to you."
I almost dropped the mike at the sound of the voice that boomed over the radio loudspeaker. It was Armstrong's.
Public opinion roused by Nevil Oxford's censored broadcast had forced the government's hand and Armstrong had been placed in command of a last minute effort to locate Chetzisky. Only two days separated the earth from annihilation.
"We can't get to you in this weather, Arnold. Sit tight and pray."
"Don't bother about us, Jim," I told Armstrong. "We're well enough set; don't waste time."
I knew he wouldn't. Afterwards I learned that he parachuted troops into the suspected area north of Burns Lake and rounded up every trapper, prospector, Indian guide and Provincial trooper to scour the region for Chetzisky.