Shirley Yang asked, "What is a ghost signal? Why I have never heard of it?"

I said to Shirley Yang: "You don't know that there are always such legends in the army. Some troops stationed in remote mountainous areas often receive inexplicable signals on the radio station. These signals are intermittent, some are asking for help, and some are warnings. In short, the content is strange. When the troops receive such radio waves, they think that there are victims asking for help. Most of them will send people to the place where the radio signal comes from to search, but those who go will never come back. Just like the world has evaporated, those ghostly signals will disappear immediately, so this is the legendary soul-catching signal."

In order to prepare for climbing a tree, Shirley Yang had put his helmet on his head and said to me: "How can this kind of rumor that catches wind and shadows be done accurately? This sound comes from the tree opposite us. It has entered the range of the tomb of King Xian. Therefore, every unusual situation may be related to the tomb of King Xian. We must find out the truth. Besides, if there are really trapped people asking for help, we can't stand by death and refuse to save you."

After saying that, Shirley Yang used a mountaineering pick to hang up the thick vines on the trunk and climbed up. He moved very lightly. He climbed halfway through a few strokes. The two tangled old trees were about twenty meters high, and the canopy of more than ten meters in diameter blocked the moonlight. In addition, the branches, leaves and buds on the tree were too dense. You can see the height within ten meters of the trunk under the tree with a "wolf eye" flashlight under the tree.

Our searchlight has been destroyed. The most powerful lighting equipment left now is the flares fired with a signal gun. This place has not yet entered the "Word Valley" and there will be no extra supplies on the way, so it cannot be used here. I saw Shirley Yang climbing higher and higher on the tree. I was very worried about her safety, so I hurriedly woke up the fat man in my sleeping bag and let the fat man respond under the tree. Then I also put on the mountaineering helmet, turned on the tactical spotlight above my head, grabbed the vines, and climbed up the tree.

The fat man was just woken up by me. Before he could figure it out, he kept asking me what was going on under the tree, holding the sword power. I had just climbed to one-third of the height and saw the fat man holding the gun around under the tree like a headless fly. He hung the crack of the tree with a hiking pick. He stopped and lowered his head and said to the fat man, "Don't put the gun up, be careful that the torch would break me. There seems to be something in the tree. Let's climb up to see what's going on. Beware below, don't be careless."

Shirley Yang, who had climbed to the height of the "old banyan tree", suddenly shouted: "There is half of the wreckage on the top of the tree, as if it was a US Air Force aircraft."

When I heard her words, I hurriedly used my hands and feet, so I looked for the lights on Shirley Yang's mountain helmet and climbed up. I walked through layers of thick and large plants and plants. I saw Shirley Yang in the middle of the canopy, stroking a dark thing with my hands. I was far away and couldn't see whether it was a plant or a wreckage of the plane.

I climbed to Shirley Yang, and then I could see clearly that under the quiet moonlight, there was a huge aircraft cabin inserted between two trees, and the wings and tail wings were not clear. The body was damaged very high. Several large holes were broken on the fuselage, and the holes were blocked by messy objects. I could not see what was inside. The cabin door had been separated from the fuselage and completely deformed. There were mottled rust everywhere, covered with thick moss and vines. It had almost grown into one with the trunk. The landing gear was stuck in the cracks of the tree. If I didn't climb to the top of the tree and watched it close, I would never have imagined that there would be a wreckage of the aircraft here.

I turned around and looked at the tall and vast "Zhelong Mountain" on the other end, thinking that the plane probably hit the mountain and broke into several sections. This cabin just fell on the canopy. With such a great impact, only these two rare huge couple trees can withstand it.

Shirley Yang pointed to scraping a large piece of green plant mud covering the fuselage with a paratrooper knife, and let me watch it. There was a string of numbers C5X—R2XX—XX2. (X is vague and unrecognizable) There were several letters that were difficult to identify. I didn't understand the rules of the US Air Force, so I asked Shirley Yang: "The US Air Force bomber? The Flying Tigers who aided China during the War of Resistance Against Japan?"

Shirley Yang said: "I haven't found the Flying Tigers mark on the fuselage. It should be the wreckage of a US Air Force's C-type transport aircraft. It may have taken off from the Kolkada base in India during World War II to transport supplies to the Chinese Expeditionary Force fighting in Myitkyina, Myanmar. If it is the Flying Tigers supporting the Chinese war zone, there should be another mark on the fuselage with blue sky and white sun."

I nodded and said, "This place is not far from Myanmar. I saw the news that there are also Gaoligong Mountain, which is very close to this. The wreckage of dozens of US transport planes have been discovered. In the three years from 1942 to 1945, the US military crashed into southwestern China on the China-Myanmar border and the later Hump route. I didn't expect that one of them would crash here."

The fat man was anxiously waiting under the tree and shouted: "Old Hu, why are you two doing speculative things on the tree? You also asked me to stand guard for you two below. What is there on the tree?"

I broke the branches and threw them from above to the fat man under the tree: "Why are you yelling? We found a US military transport plane on the tree. When I find out, I will go down..."

At this moment, I suddenly remembered the sound of a distress signal that had just been knocked from the tree. I looked at the wreckage of the transport plane. How could someone survive? What was the signal? Could it be that the undead of the crew pilot, who was still lingering and was still asking for help...

At this time, the clouds in the sky suddenly blocked the moon, and the woods immediately darkened. I slowed down my breath, held my breath, gestured to Shirley Yang, and put my ear on the cabin with her to find out if there was any strange Moss code help signal inside.

It doesn't matter. As soon as I put my ear on the cabin, I heard three rapid knocks of "博捚" inside. The sound came very suddenly and I was shocked. If I hadn't been firmly hanged with the "mountaining pick" with my left hand, I would have almost rolled down from the canopy.

We didn't dare to make too much noise from beginning to end. Except for the fact that I shouted a few words to the fat man under the tree, we were all talking in a low voice. Since we climbed the tree, we didn't hear the "ghost signal". At this time, the sound suddenly came out of the cabin. Because it was too close, the sound seemed extremely clear. How could it not be shocked?

Shirley Yang and I looked at each other, and saw her face full of confusion: "It's really a hell, is there really something inside? I just saw a broken iron plate on the top of the cabin. Let's open it and see what's going on."

Shirley Yang is not afraid, so I naturally cannot show my fear, so I nodded and agreed: "Okay, if there are still bones of American pilots inside, we will try to bury them temporarily and bring their ID cards back. The rest is to notify the US consulate to get the remains. The Americans do not pay attention to the arrangement of burying loyal bones everywhere in the green mountains. They must have to cover them with national flags and take them back to their hometown."

Shirley Yang said: "I plan so too. Let's do it. If there is something in the cabin..., I will use the black donkey hoof of the lieutenant's slut to deal with it."

I laughed calmly and said, "We don't have to worry about anything, and we don't have to worry about it. This is a military transport aircraft. Maybe there are military supplies, preferably explosives, etc. The fight of the King of Revolts may come in handy."

I saw a tree fork that could be settled, withstood a certain weight, stepped on it, supported my body, and installed a rock nail fixed by tension in the cracks of the tree, and then fixed myself and the stone nails with a hiking rope, and used a hiking pick to pry the shaped rotten iron plate on the top of the cabin.

Shirley Yang cut off the plant vines wrapped around the iron plate with a scattered knife and helped me open the iron plate. Because it was more than 40 years later, the plane was damaged and severely squeezed by the growing old banyan tree. I pried the iron plate and only half fell off. The other half was stuck. It was difficult for the tree to use all its strength and could no longer pry.

I lay in the hole in the cabin, wanting to see what was sending signals constantly, Shirley Yang was holding a **** pistol and black donkey hooves to cover me. The tactical spotlight of the mountaineering helmet was far more useful in the jungle at night than in the cave where the hands were not seen. The effective illumination distance of 23 meters was enough to see the situation in the cabin.

I looked inside and took a breath, hung my heart to my throat, slowly leaning my head over. At this time, the forest was extremely quiet, and the "steaming" sound of knocking in the cabin came one after another. With each sound, my heart hung high.

The light column of the headlight shot into the dark cabin. The first thing I saw was a pilot's helmet. It seemed that the pilot's corpse was hanging under the iron plate I pried open. However, he lowered his head. It might be that the vertebrae broke when the plane crashed, and his head was hanging on his chest. The body was deformed seriously and the gap was narrow. I couldn't see the degree of retention of the corpse under the helmet. But it was certain that the angle of the head and body could not be a posture that a living person could do.

When he was about to reach out to lift the helmet, who would have thought that the pilot's helmet, which was originally hanging down, suddenly moved twice, as if he wanted to lift his head hard. Every time he moved, there was a "bang" sound, and the sound of hitting the iron sheet.

I was already covered in white-haired sweat and screamed inwardly: "It's bitter." This time I definitely encountered a zombie. Since I fought back, I have never encountered a real zongzi. I have only encountered a corpse evil spirit once. Although that thing is very similar to a zombie, it is actually completely different. I heard my grandfather talk about ancient times since I was a child and I have mentioned zombies a lot. When I was a child, I was most afraid of hearing the story of zombies knocking on the coffin board in the coffin. Today I really encountered it, but I don't know whether the black donkey hoof used by the magistrate to restrain zombies since ancient times.

I gritted my teeth and used a mountaineering pick to remove the broken pilot's helmet, raised the black donkey's hoof with the other hand and stuffed it, but a golden light suddenly shot out under the helmet...
Chapter completed!