100 miles from Kingsbay.
Starving. And you were waiting for orders?
A red tent.
A mark for the aircraft that will never come.
They will come, Dr. Malmgren.
- They will see us.
- Come on, Biagi!
Your biscuit's getting cold.
Here's your three-course dinner.
Meat, vegetables, and cheese.
- Pemmican again.
- Dr. Amundsen's recipe?
No, I improved on Dr. Amundsen's recipe.
Titina's share.
Titina has better taste than we have.
Pemmican is the bread of the Arctic.
- It'll keep you alive.
- Keep alive, Biagi.
What's wrong, Biagi?
What is it?
It's the resistor.
Any hope?
Malmgren, will a pistol do it?
He's going for the body in the ice.
If we can kill him, it's food for a month.
I'm not waiting for the soup.
I'll have it in tartar.
One shot through the head. That's shooting.
I like my meat stewed.
Stop it, all of you.
You've been starving 13 days.
If you gulp it, you'll fall ill.
Chew it 20 times.
If you fall ill here, you'll die.
- We'll die here anyway.
- There's no need to die like a beast.
Kingsbay, gateway to the North Pole.
Buy one? Souvenirs.
The Royal pilots, they take off over there.
They will rescue General Nobile
and his daring Italians...
Are you looking for a room, lady?
It will be 12 Kroner.
You know, people are swarming in like flies.
Thank God.
After all, if those poor men
hadn't crashed on the ice...
then who would have heard of Kingsbay?
It was a stroke of luck.
All right for them, all right for you...
and certainly all right
for the men on the ice.
Something wrong?
Gentlemen, please be quiet.
Be quiet, please.
I'm doing everything I can
under the circumstances.
Winds of gale force are cutting up the pack.
The ice itself
may shortly be expected to move.
They could be anywhere within that area.
Two million square kilometers.
Those will be the aircraft
promised by the Royal Swedish Air Force.
How many aircraft in all now, Captain?
Two Italian, two Norwegian...
one German, and three Swedish.
Unfortunately, only the Swedish planes...
are equipped with skis
for landing on the ice.
Those with pontoons
are useful only for reconnaissance.
Are any of your aircraft searching now?
Weather permitting, they will fly tomorrow.
If General Nobile is transmitting,
is it not a fact...
that his signals could be lofting up
and coming down pretty well anywhere...
that they could be picked up by anyone...
- who happened to be in the right place?
- I believe so, yes.
Then ought you not to make public
the wavelengths...
on which General Nobile
may be transmitting?
I will ask Rome for authority to do so.
Captain Romagna, do you believe
there are any survivors?
Amundsen doesn't.
I flew down to Oslo and got
a short interview with Dr. Amundsen.
He says the chances are
that anybody who survived the crash...
won't have survived this last week.
Captain, you said something about drift.
The pack is drifting
as much as 20 miles a day.
Biagi.
- What?
- What does a resistor do?
It resists.
It goes between the coil and the...
I know where it goes. What does it do?
In the name of God,
no more talk about the bloody resistor.
What is it made of?
I think, carbon.
- Powered carbon.
- Graphite.
- Has anyone got a lead pencil?
- Yes. Why?
Because... Give it to me.
Because...
Graphite is an allotrope of carbon.
Biagi...
I think that's a resistor.
That's brilliant.
Well, Biagi?
Let me hear.
- Let me hear!
- All right, Cecioni.
Here, let's turn this over the earphone.
Start transmitting.
- Yes, sir.
- They'll be receiving now.
The scheduled two hours is up
in a few minutes.
Anything?
What do you think?
Routine signals.
I suppose they could be in a radio shadow.
Not that it matters. They're dead.
Anybody flying today?
Only Lundborg is mad enough
to try to go up in this.
- Who?
- Lundborg.
He tried once today...
but he came down
faster than he went up. See?
Are you Lundborg?
- Are you going up again?
- Ask him.
When do you