Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II

by Robert P McAuley

  The man seemed only too happy to share his knowledge of the big craft. “The airship has gutters strategically placed around it to collect rainwater and also the condensation produced by the hot engines. They store this water in big ballast tanks inside her belly.” He smiled at John. “Ingenious, yes?”

  John nodded. “Yes, it is.” He offered his hand. “John Brand. I’m with the Helium Association of America.”

  The round man shook his hand and answered, “Willy Edibohls. I’m with the Dachshund Dog Club of Berlin. I’m with my wife, Ruth. We are off to New York to a dog show. I hope to win first place with Pauline, my prize dachshund.”

  John queried, “You have your dog here with you?”

  Willy shook his head and whispered in a low voice. “No. I mean, yes. But, she’s in storage, and they have a rule that an animal must be sedated. But my Pauline would never act the same for weeks after such a long sleep. So,” and he put a finger to his lips, “if you forget what I say, I bribed a handler to let me keep her awake, and I’ll visit her when I can.”

  John smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

  The ship’s engines revved up and she started to rise, so they went back to looking out the window. Willy turned to John, “Perhaps we’ll dine together, Mr. Brand?”

  “Yes, I’d like that, and please call me John.”

  Willy clicked his heels and did a small bow. “Yes. Perhaps tonight we dine, John?”

  “Fine with me, Willy. Dinner is at eight. I’ll meet you here.”

  The time traveler casually walked around to the other side of the airship as the passengers continued to look down at the slowly dwindling airfield. He sauntered over to a reading section and it took his breath away. The walls were covered with paintings done by Professor Otto Arpke. They showed beautifully colored scenes from a flight of the airship Graf Zeppelin between Friedrichshafen and Rio de Janeiro.

  John pondered the beauty of it all. This is living history. This is also the last trip of the airships. He felt a pang knowing the airship industry never recovered from the death of the Hindenburg.

  As the ship gained both speed and altitude, John knew it was time to start this part of his mission. Fingering the Skelton key in his pocket and remembering the blueprints he studied, he walked to door posted with a sign, “VERBOTEN.” It was the entrance to the ship’s interior. He tried the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He thought, as he turned the knob, It is a different age indeed. He hoped that all of the passengers and crew were watching the ground slip away as he opened the door and looked in to see the keel corridor. No time like the present, he thought, and entered.

  He walked down a short hall and came to another door, also unlocked. John slowly swung it open and before him was the cavernous interior containing enormous, hydrogen-filled gasbags kept in place by taught wires. They were all connected to the circular walls of the airship. There were beams, ladders and truss members everywhere.

  It’s a maze! thought John, as he walked down the thin ribbon of a walkway to the spot where the drone had located the bomb. He had to climb up an interior ladder to get to it. He found the bomb where the probe showed it to be, and ripped out the timing device as Bill had showed him. Next, he removed the explosives and hid them under the long keel. No way they can blow up now, he thought as he straightened out his clothes.

  He stood back for a moment and let out a sigh of relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow. I did it! He thought. After a year, I finally did it. He had studied the film of the final explosion. Now, he thought, all I have to do is enjoy the rest of the flight then get out before it explodes from the lightning strike. And, of course, survive the jump, too. He went back to the main deck and closed the door behind him, only to bump into a waiter carrying glasses of wine.

  The young man looked at John, then at the door and asked, “May I be of assistance to you sir?”

  “Yes, thank you.” John replied, feigning a lost person. “Can you direct me to the men’s washroom? I don’t read German.”

  The waiter was only too happy to do so.

  That evening at eight o’clock he met Willy and Ruth Edibohls for dinner. They sat at a table next to a window and the view below showed the moon reflecting off the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean only one thousand feet below. Every now and then a liner spotted them and blew its’ whistle as it fired off flares in greeting and all the passengers waved back.

  The steward brought the menu. John felt he deserved a great dinner after all he had gone through and he wanted to enjoy the rest of the trip. His finger slid down the menu as he read aloud. “Fattened Duckling, Bavarian Style, with Champagne Cabbage or Venison Cutlets Beau Val with Berny Potatoes, accompanied by French Burgundy or German Mosel.”

  The Edibohls’ ordered the veal and John settled on the duckling. Everything was served on Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei china. The meal lasted two hours, and then they went into the smoking-room bar for a nightcap.

  The room had a double set of doors and an over-pressurized air system to keep any stray traces of the explosive hydrogen out of the smoking area.

  Once again a young trim man dressed impeccably in white and black gave them a wine list and asked, “Would you like to hear of our special cocktails?” When all nodded he continued, “We have the LZ 129 Frosted Cocktail, essentially gin with a dash of orange juice, or the Maybach 12, which has a secret recipe.”

  The three of them ordered the Maybach 12 and bet one another as to the secret recipe. They sipped their drinks and enjoyed Ernst Bluthner as he played the baby grand piano, which was “made mostly of aluminum to keep it light,” as Willy explained.

  The trip took two days. Too short, thought John as he looked at his watch as they flew over New York City, then floated past the Statue of Liberty on their way to Lakehurst, New Jersey. He smiled as he thought of MaryLu as they flew over Brooklyn’s Red Hook section. She’s most probably sitting on her roof right now watching us fly over. He shook his head, got to get back to the business at hand.

  Both he and Bill Scott didn’t really know if removing the bomb would prevent the ship from coming to an end over the Naval Air Station as history said it did. But, taking no chances, they decided that John should leave the Hindenburg by parachute, in the dark just before it went over Lakehurst.

  It was twenty minutes before the airship was going to arrive over Lakehurst as John stood before the mirror on the wall of his room. The small parachute Bill provided him would open from the front rather than the back, and he buttoned his shirt up to cover it. He felt bad leaving his new friends, ‘the Edibohls’ behind and firmly hoped the couple would survive. He closed the door behind him and set off to make his escape from the Hindenburg.

  Twice John had to walk past the door that would take him into the interior, because of the ship’s personnel that rushed by as they prepared for the landing. Finally in the clear and using the Skelton key, he slipped through the door and into the long hallway that went toward the interior. The blueprints showed that it was a short trip to the front of the airship to one of the hatches from which the crew dropped the guide ropes down and from where John planned to jump.

  He had to climb first one ladder, then another to get to the platform running down the side of the ship’s interior. He unbuttoned his shirt and patted the parachute as he approached the hatch, when a flash of lightning along with the sound of thunder reverberated through the ship.

  The airship lurched in the wind and all of a sudden he was struck on the side of his head. In a dazed state he thought he had hit his head on a beam but then he saw a man’s outline in another flash of lightning. He felt a pain in his ribs as the shadowy figure slashed at him then kicked him in his head. He passed out for a minute and when he came to, his shirt and parachute had been cut and a pain told him that the knife had cut him, as well.

  John felt a rush of rain and wind on his face, and he saw the hatch was open and banging in the wind. Quickly going to the opening he saw an open parachute
disappear into the night.

  “Damn!” he shouted. He looked at his watch and saw he had one minute before the Hindenburg originally exploded, according to historical accounts.

  John started to panic as he looked around not knowing what to do next. “Damn! Is this thing going to blow up or what?” he said to himself as he went down the ladders. He tried to remember the reports of the disaster as he scrambled to the front of the airship.

  “The front of the ship! I think that was where most of the survivors were located.”

  He stumbled and fell down the last flight of stairs, skinning his shin. He was dizzy and his ribs hurt as he bumped into another girder. Aluminum, he thought, but still hard as heck. He got to the bottom and started running forward when he heard a low “swoosh” behind him. He stopped and peered back into the darkness, seeing nothing at first. As he was about to start forward again he saw a soft yellow glow behind him and in a second, it grew brighter and larger. “Oh damn!” he shouted, “It does explode. It does go down over Lakehurst!”

  His legs pumped as he ran forward, looking forward then back over his shoulder. The yellowish red glow was getting brighter and closer. No good, he thought. This is it!

  Suddenly he tripped over a hatch in the floor banging his other shin. Trying to get up, he saw the words stenciled on the hatch: “WASSER BALLAST.” John recognized it right away. Water Ballast! It’s the water ballast tank. He quickly pulled up the hatch, jumped into the cold water and pulled the hatch closed as the heat washed over his head. He came up to the surface inside the dark enclosure and took a quick gulp of air, then ducked under again. He felt the tank plunge down and knew the ship was falling out of the sky over Lakehurst.

  The water acted like a cushion as the entire airship started breaking up. Finally, the steel walls separated from the floor and the water poured out, taking John with it. The fall was about ten feet, but the wet sand of the Lakehurst station absorbed most of the impact.

  He was thankful for being soaked as the fire raged all around him. Putting his arms over his head, he headed for the dark area outside the fire. As he emerged, he fell down in the cool sand. A sailor ran over and helped him up.

  “Are you all right, mister?” he asked.

  John looked at him and answered. “Yes, I was just trying to help some of those poor people from the Hindenburg. And I tripped.” The sailor, thinking he was just a bystander, quickly turned to help the survivors.

  John walked over to a crowd and tried to blend in. As he stood there shivering, a man tapped him on his shoulder. John turned and saw Bill Scott. Bill threw his jacket over him.

  “Come on, John. This way. I have a car.”

  They walked a short distance to where Bill had parked a small 1935 Ford. They got in, and Bill passed him a thermos of coffee as he warmed up the car and turned on the heater. Finally, both men looked at one another.

  “You did it, John. You pulled it off.”

  John’s teeth were chattering, partly from the damp clothes and partly from the trauma.

  “Sit back and relax,” Bill said, “it’s over now. You did it.” He put the car in gear and they drove off.

  John slept most of the five-hour drive to New York. It was late when Bill parked by the garden of The 1800 Club.

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  They went in and John took a long, hot shower. Bill insisted that he sleep there for the night and it was midday before John woke up in the club’s guestroom. He put on the fresh clothes Matt had laid out and showered again and shaved. He came into Bill’s living area to the smell of coffee.

  Bill greeted him. “Good morning, or rather good afternoon. How are you feeling?”

  John shook his head. “Man, my ribs are killing me.”

  “That was some fall you took,” said Bill, as he poured coffee into an oversized mug.

  John picked up the cup and took a sip. “Not the fall, the saboteur. He bushwhacked me as I was going to take a parachute jump out of the ship’s rope hatch.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Bill with raised eyebrows.

  “Yeah. I saw him. I mean, I didn’t see his face, but I saw him in shadow. He destroyed my chute with a knife slash. I have to believe it was a crewmember or someone who had experience with parachutes because he took to his own chute just before the explosion.” John stopped and had another sip of coffee. “I imagine he was going to jump after he set the bomb to blow up over the English Channel, but when he saw it was gone he had to change his plans. He probably had a boat ready to pick him up on the Channel and when the ship didn’t blow, he had to wait until it was over land to chute down. Someplace like Lakehurst and make good his getaway . . . and he did just that.”

  “Just relax awhile,” Bill said. “Get back to your job and debrief later when you are in the swing of things.”

  John nodded. He drained his coffee mug and put it down. “But first, Bill, I have to go back to see some people in 1937. I made some great friends there and owe them at least a good-bye.”

  Bill opened his hands palms up and said, “John, you have to remember: because you went back and fixed the Hindenburg problem, those people you met the first time, didn’t meet you after it was corrected.”

  John looked shocked. “That’s right!” he said dejectedly, “I erased over a year I spent in New York when I went back earlier. Oh, what a shame . . . ” He held his head in his hands. Suddenly he looked up, his face filled with determination.

  “But I did meet them. They are still the warm and wonderful people who helped me during my time there when I was alone. They haven’t changed. Bill, I still have to go back and see them again. But first I have to do some errands here. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Okay?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders and said with a grin, “Okay, John. Okay.”

  Three hours later John was back and dressed in the 1938 clothes Matt had laid out for him. “I’m ready,” he said, and Bill opened the door to the past.

  “Date?” asked Bill.

  “May 9, 1938.”

  Bill set the date for John’s re-entry into 1938. “Good luck,” he said as John went down the stairs to the past.

  DATELINE: MAY 9, 1938 PLACE: NEW YORK CITY

  John took a taxi over to the AeroProPulsion magazine offices. He went up and asked for Don Holdz. The receptionist once again said, “Mr. Holdz is in a meeting.”

  John nodded and said. “Tell MaryLu to tell him I have an exclusive on the Hindenburg disaster.”

  She called MaryLu on the telephone and, after much whispering, she said, “Mr. Holdz’s secretary will be out to take you in. Have a seat.”

  John roamed the reception area, studying the photos of various aircraft adorning the office walls. History! He thought. Real live history, not newsreels but real-time history.

  The tall, lovely MaryLu interrupted his thoughts. “Sir? Mr. Holdz will see you now. Please follow me.”

  She knocked at the editor-in-chief’s door and opened it. John had to keep himself back from greeting the editor-in-chief as though he had just finished working for him for over a year. He looked at MaryLu in the same way and felt a twinge of regret.

  “Mr. Holdz,” he said, “I’m John Brand and I’ve just returned from a trip on the Hindenburg. I can prove that I was on the airship when it crashed. I have a ticket stub. But I can tell you another story that I can’t prove: A bomb destroyed the ship. I saw the saboteur jump out using a parachute. I spent most of the time with a Mr. and Mrs. Edibohls, and they can corroborate that I was there.”

  “Why tell us, Mr. Brand?” Holdz asked. “I mean, why not Life magazine where you can get a few bucks out of it?”

  “All my life I’ve admired your magazine, Mr. Holdz,” he answered. “I think this is the bible of the aircraft industry and will be for years to come. If I can help it stay that way, I’ll do it.”

  “Well Mr. Brand, do you know that we can’t print a story that we can’t back up?” the editor said.

  �
��I do, Mr. Holdz. But, if there’s a way you can use it, I’m offering it to you. No charge.”

  Holdz’s eyebrows shot up, “Are you looking for a job, Mr. Brand?”

  John smiled as he shook his head. “No sir. Not at this time. Maybe sometime in the future.”

  Holdz lit a cigarette and said, “Mr. Brand, if you are offering, in the name of furthering aviation, it’s my duty to at least look at your story. Tell me, did Mr. and Mrs. Edibohls survive?”

  “Yes. I looked up their names in the Daily News. They even saved their dog.”

  “Fine then,” Holdz said, standing up, “My secretary will find you a typewriter to use.” He turned and pressed a button on his telephone. “MaryLu, will you set Mr. Brand up in Barry’s old office?”

  She came back and escorted John to the empty office. “Is this all right with you, Mr. Brand?” she asked, flashing her large green eyes.

  “It’s fine. Thank you very much.”

  She left and John rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter. He started typing and saw that it needed a new ribbon. As he turned to ask MaryLu for one, she reappeared with an opened box of black typewriter ribbons.

  “I just remembered that this typewriter needs a new ribbon, Mr. Brand,” she said as she started to put it in.

  John stopped her. “Here, MaryLu, let me do it.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Well, Mr. Brand, you certainly are a rarity: A man who threads his own typewriter ribbon. What’s next?”

  “I’m full of surprises, MaryLu, just full of them.”

  Two hours later John left the offices of AeroProPulsion Weekly. One hour after that MaryLu went to the receptionist and asked, “Did you see Mr. Brand leave?”

  Her colleague answered, “Yes, about an hour ago.”

  “Funny,” MaryLu said, “he didn’t even let us know he was finished.”

  “He left you this envelope,” the receptionist said, as she handed it to her.