The Golden Fleece Affair (From The Files Of Lady Dru Drummond Book 2)

by CW Hawes

  “I’m not sure that is possible, Dru. I’m not even sure we can be together without there being some manner of hurt. A hasty decision, an emotional decision, is a poor decision. So I’ll wait a bit.”

  I leaned over and kissed his cheek. To my surprise, in front of God and everybody, he kissed me on the lips.

  “No one loves you as much as I do, Dru. No one.”

  “I know.”

  We returned to our table and passed the time until supper.

  ***

  Admiral Rosendahl joined us for supper. Doctor Rodman didn’t, taking a tray in her cabin. I asked the Admiral why we were flying so close to the water.

  “Trying to stay under the radar,” he responded.

  Branson asked, “This airship is quite large. Wouldn’t a ship’s radar spot us?”

  “Probably,” Rosendahl answered. “Hopefully, by staying out of the regular shipping lanes, ships won’t spot us and staying low will make it more difficult for planes and land based radar to pick us up.”

  “About the best we can do,” Branson agreed.

  “I’m going to bring up the subject of the elephant sitting in the middle of the room,” Kit said.

  “Should have ordered peanuts,” Dunyasha quipped.

  Kit continued, “The Golden Fleece will continue to be a bone of contention and people will continue to die because of it, unless the US government secures it.”

  Karl said, “I don’t disagree, Mr Somers; however, the fleece wouldn’t even be here, we wouldn’t even be here, if Mr Hall hadn’t footed the bill. He organized and largely funded this expedition. The fleece, by rights, is his.”

  “So you won’t turn it over to the government?” Kit queried.

  “Mr Hall can do so if he wishes,” Karl returned.

  “What if the government gave you a substantial inducement?” Kit asked.

  Dunyasha chimed in, “You are wasting your time, Kit. Karl would sooner sacrifice Dru than shirk his duty or betray his honor.”

  Karl raised his eyebrows and I smothered a laugh.

  Kit continued, “What about one’s duty to the United States of America?”

  “I do my duty to my country, Mr Somers,” Karl said. “Where does it say doing my duty to America involves surrendering the fleece?”

  “It is what the government wants,” Kit replied.

  Karl shot back, “Since when is the government and America synonymous?”

  “If you voluntarily refuse, Mr Weidner,” Kit said, “you may be arrested.”

  “Then I’ll be arrested,” Karl said.

  Kit could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. He made one last attempt. “Karl, the fleece isn’t safe for anyone to own. It needs to be put away.”

  “I know that,” Karl replied. “However, the decision is not mine to make. Take your case up with Mr Hall.”

  There was no doubt in my mind once the government got hold of the fleece it would disappear forever into some top secret storage facility. Then there would be a new battle: a long, protracted legal battle between Mr Hall and the government. One he would not win in the end, mostly because he wouldn’t live long enough.

  Admiral Rosendahl spoke, “I do know this, Mr Somers, Mr Hall will make things very difficult for the government if he doesn’t get the fleece. His media empire will make hamburger of the president down to the lowliest bureaucrat of whatever agency it is you work for. He may even go after Graham Motors. I think Mr Weidner is right on this: let Mr Hall decide. Make your appeal to him.”

  Kit shook his head. “The fleece cannot leave this airship unless it is in the hands of US government agents. I’ll have to notify my superiors.”

  Rosendahl smiled. “I did my duty to America serving faithfully in the US Navy. I’m now retired and a private citizen. I am in Mr Hall’s employ. Unless you have carrier pigeons on board, Mr Somers, you are going to find it difficult to get a message anywhere.”

  “What do you mean?” Kit responded.

  “The radio is off-limits to you,” Rosendahl said.

  Kit stared and then shook his head. “Selling a Graham to the head of General Motors would be easier.”

  Everyone of us burst out laughing.

  Thirty-Five

  Night Raiders

  The Mediterranean

  Southwest of Sardinia

  Morning

  Wednesday 28 April 1954

  We were about eighty miles to the southwest of Sardinia. Admiral Rosendahl had taken the Argo up to three hundred feet in the hopes of taking advantage of a tailwind. No one was really interested in sleep and so an hour past midnight found us all in the lounge, even Elise Rodman. We were drinking tea and coffee, there were also decanters of port and sherry, and were eating, nibbling actually, biscuits and cakes.

  Ever since we had drawn close to Sicily, there was an expectation the Italians would make an attempt to steal the fleece. We’d been on pins and needles for many hours now, and with Sardinia falling rapidly astern, we were beginning to feel as though we might be out of the woods.

  Nevertheless, we didn’t want to get our hopes up too much. Il Duce wanted the fleece as much as anyone. His dream of a new Roman Empire was alive and well. Probably his primary reason for invading the Soviet Union. Helping the Czarists simply allowed him to push east and put the Balkans in the middle of an Italian sandwich. With Dalmatia and Albania under Italian control and now the Black Sea, Mussolini would be able to exert pressure on Romania, Bulgaria, and what was left of Yugoslavia. Mussolini’s ambitions were clear. What was also clear was that he saw the fleece as something that would guarantee his success.

  Der Führer couldn’t be ruled out, either. He had long range aircraft that could keep track of us and no one doubted he probably had U-boats keeping an eye on us. He could strike just as easily and the general consensus amongst us was if he couldn’t secure the fleece for himself, he would just as soon destroy it to prevent anyone else from getting it. And if he destroyed the fleece, he’d probably destroy us in the process.

  Branson took a sip of coffee and held a biscuit in his fingers. “If Mussolini is going to make a move, he’d best hurry.”

  “Let’s hope his mistress keeps him preoccupied,” Dunyasha said.

  The Argo went into a steep dive. People, tables, chairs, cups, dishes, food, and tableware went tumbling to the bow end of the lounge. I wanted to get to the starboard window, and managed to extricate myself from the jumble, but couldn’t get sufficient purchase to reach my goal. The zeppelin surged forward. The sound of machine guns firing reached us.

  Someone screamed, “This is it!” Another cried out, “Jesus have mercy!” I wondered if Argo had inflatable lifeboats on board, for surely we’d be needing them.

  Maintaining the steep dive, Argo turned sharply to the port and through the window a streak of flame was visible. The airship leveled off and made a sharp turn to the starboard. A streak of flame was visible out the port windows. I got up and ran to the starboard windows. We were barely above the water.

  Argo turned to the port and began to climb, her engines roaring, her machine guns firing. A shudder ran through the ship and then another. I ran to my cabin, Dunyasha right behind me. Once inside, I retrieved my handguns and ammunition. Dunyasha grabbed her champagne and stuffed it into a canvas bag.

  “What the hell?” I said, my hands on my hips.

  “I’m not leaving this.” She reached over and opened a drawer, taking out the ivory cigarette holder. “Or this.”

  “I can’t believe you,” I said. “And you were a partisan fighter?” I got her pistol and ammunition and stuffed all the weapons into a satchel. “Let’s go.”

  The ship was stern heavy. I ran to the window. We were slowly falling out of the sky.

  Rosendahl entered the lounge. “Abandon ship! She’s on fire!”

  “Lifeboats,” I yelled.

  “They’re being thrown out now,” he said and went back to the bridge.

  I looked out the window towards the stern and saw
a wall of fire sweeping up the ship towards us.

  Kit dropped Klara from a window and followed her. I saw Sax and Milano go out a window.

  “What the hell are you waiting for, Dru?” Dunyasha yelled.

  “The ship to hit water. I don’t want it falling on me.”

  There was an explosion.

  “Gasoline tank,” Branson said.

  The Argo hit the water, stern first. Another explosion shook her. Out we went. Branson with Dunyasha. Mafeking, carrying a petrified Elise Rodman. Karl and I. We hit water, swam as fast as we could to get away from the airship, and at the same time tried to find a lifeboat. The Argo was completely ablaze and rapidly sinking. I called out to my friends, for we’d gotten separated in the race to get away from the burning and sinking airship.

  “Here, Dru.” Karl’s voice.

  “Here, Little Kitten.” Dunyasha’s voice.

  Two flares went skyward. In the light from the burning airship and the flares we found and held fast to each other. Then all we had was the light of the moon. The flares were gone and Argo had sunk beneath the waves.

  Two more flares illuminated the night and in their light we saw lifeboats. Together we swam towards them. One, however was making its way towards us. Kit and Klara were in it, paddling. Another flare went skyward. The lifeboat reached us and we clambered on board. Dunyasha putting the bag of champagne bottles in the boat first.

  “Did we all make it?” I asked.

  Kit said, “I think so. Sax, Milano, Smith, and Doctor Rodman are over there.” He pointed to a boat.

  “Where’s Branson?” Karl asked. “He left with us.”

  “Haven’t seen him,” Kit replied.

  “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” Klara said.

  Dunyasha uttered a sardonic laugh. “How long have you been with Dru?”

  Klara sighed.

  Kit said, “What do you mean?”

  Dunyasha said, “With Dru around things just keep getting worse.”

  I protested. “They do not. Eventually they get better.”

  “You have room?”

  “That’s Branson’s voice,” Dunyasha said. She called out, “Where the hell are you? Swim your ass over here.”

  In a moment, hands appeared on the side of the boat and we helped a soggy Jake Branson aboard.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Did anyone not make it?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” he replied. “I heard Rosendahl calling for all the boats to paddle over to his boat so he can get a head count. We need to start paddling.”

  “Where is he?” Kit asked.

  A flare illuminated the night sky and we heard the Admiral’s voice summoning everyone. We paddled over and joined the other boats clustered around the Admiral’s. There were a total of eight. Admiral Rosendahl took a headcount. Two officers and five crewmen were missing.

  “A mayday was sent out,” the Admiral said. “Hopefully someone picked it up and we’ll be rescued soon. If not, the currents will take us most likely to Sicily. We need to stick together, though, for our best chance at survival. If there is any rope or cord in the boats we should use it to tie the boats together. We can check when there is daylight.”

  I laid my head on Karl’s shoulder. Kit and Klara huddled together, as did Branson and Dunyasha. Karl put his arms around me and pulled me close.

  “Just a minute,” I said to Karl. From the satchel I had strapped to me, I took out Dunyasha’s pistol and a box of ammunition and gave them to her.

  Karl said, “You retrieved your guns?”

  “Be prepared, you know,” I replied.

  Branson laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t even think of that.”

  “That’s because you know how to use shoelaces,” I said.

  We all had a good laugh at that.

  Kit said, “IRIS should hire you, Lady Hurley-Drummond. You are beyond incredible.”

  Klara said, “I told you she is amazing. Simply amazing.”

  “Look, don’t give me a big head,” I replied. My face felt flushed and I was probably quite red. Thank goodness for the darkness.

  “That’s not possible,” Karl said. I snuggled in closer to him.

  Someone on one of the lifeboats started singing the gospel song, “It is well with my soul”. One by one we joined in until all of us were singing.

  When peace like a river, attendeth my way,

  When sorrows like sea billows roll;

  Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

  It is well, it is well, with my soul.

  It is well, (it is well),

  With my soul, (with my soul),

  It is well, it is well, with my soul.

  When we finished singing the song, someone else started singing

  Now thank we all our God, with heart and hands and voices,

  Who wondrous things has done, in whom this world rejoices;

  Who from our mothers’ arms has blessed us on our way

  With countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.

  Then we sang “Amazing Grace”, “We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing”, and “For all the saints”. After these hymns, there was a brief lull and I started singing “I vow to thee, my country” and Mafeking immediately joined me. We sang more hymns until the sky began to lighten in the east, so many I can’t recall them all.

  With dawn breaking, we took stock of our situation. The lifeboat had a rubber bag attached to it. Inside we found food, water, a solar water distiller, a flare gun, knife, line, and fishing tackle. Having found the line, we lashed our boat to the boat nearest to us. Others were doing the same. Within a short time we were one great big raft.

  The horizon was red. I watched it turn yellow and then white. The rim of the sun popped up above the line of the horizon and flooded us with its welcomed warm rays.

  “Now we can dry off,” Dunyasha said.

  Branson called over to Admiral Rosendahl, asking about the food and water.

  Rosendahl answered, saying, “Each boat can apportion out the food and water it has on board. If we aren’t rescued by the end of the day, we’ll start fishing and distilling water.”

  We didn’t have long to wait, however. About an hour or so later, there was a disturbance in the sea about two hundred feet to our west. Then a submarine broke the surface. On the grey conning tower were the starkly white numbers 881. We were looking at a German U-boat.

  Thirty-Six

  Rescued

  Somewhere south of Sardinia

  Morning

  Wednesday, 28 April 1954

  The captain of the U-boat called to us in German. Admiral Rosendahl asked if anyone knew German. Karl said he did.

  “What did he say?” The Admiral asked.

  “He apologized for the destruction of the airship and said he was prepared to rescue us.”

  Admiral Rosendahl was visibly angered. However, he said rescue is rescue and asked if we wanted to accept the German offer or wait and see if an American ship showed up.

  While we debated taking the German commander’s offer, another submarine surfaced about three hundred feet to our north. The number 433 was on the conning tower and a small American flag. The American submarine turned and began moving towards us.

  Rosendahl told Karl to tell the German commander we’d take the American taxi home. Karl reported back to the Admiral the German captain understood; nevertheless, he would stand by in case his services were needed.

  The American submarine stopped approximately fifty feet away. We paddled our cluster of lifeboats over to our ride home.

  A man on the conning tower said, “I’m Mike Metcalf, captain of the USS Sunfish. The destroyer Martin Boyce should arrive sometime in the next two or three hours. We have room for ten persons. The USS Martin Boyce will take the remainder.”

  “I’m Charles Rosendahl, retired admiral, US Navy, and captain of the civilian airship Argo, which was destroyed by unknown attackers. Take the civili
ans and the two ground pounders. The rest of us will wait for the Boyce.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Metcalf said and added, “We’ll standby until you are rescued, Sir.”

  “Very good, Captain,” Rosendahl replied.

  We eight civilians and the two soldiers made our way across the lifeboats to the submarine. I’d never been on a submarine before. A new experience.

  Once inside, Dunyasha said, “Good God, now I know how sardines feel.”

  Branson laughed. “Be thankful you’re still alive. Those poor sardines are dead all squeezed into those tins.”

  Dunyasha shot back, “There isn’t much air in here. Maybe you should hold your breath, Branson.”

  We burst out laughing. Dunyasha continued, “That goes for all of you. God, I don’t think I can breathe.”

  She was behind me. I turned, moved right next to her, and took her hand in mine. “It’s okay, Little Kitten. You can do this.”

  A smile appeared, replacing the fear on her face. “You called me ‘Little Kitten’.” She gave my hand a squeeze and said, in Russian, “I love you, Drusilla. I love you very much.” I gave her hand a squeeze back.

  With Dunyasha somewhat calmed, the captain showed us around the cramped submarine. I found it very fascinating. I think Karl did, as well. Maybe it was due to our nose for news and an interesting story.

  We went back outside and waited for the destroyer. When it arrived, the U-boat sailed off. We watched the others go aboard the USS Martin Boyce. The two captains saluted each other and the ships got under way. The sun was high in the sky. We were heading home. Unfortunately, empty handed. Karl asked to transmit a message. I went with him. It would be a bitter pill for our boss, Walter Ramsey Hall. It read:

  Argo destroyed. Suspect German long-range night fighters. Fleece also destroyed. Sorry. Very, very sorry.