The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue.

by David Dennington

  “Come on, Johnny, it’s okay.”

  With terror in his eyes, the boy gripped the cold steel of the ship’s ladder. Lou knew his heart must be beating like a sledgehammer. Clinging on tightly, Johnny gingerly began the twenty-foot descent to the engine car slung in mid-air beneath the ship.

  Suddenly, Johnny froze and glared at the huge propeller whirring in a high-speed blur below him. He gasped for breath, his mouth wide open.

  “Johnny, don’t look down!” Lou yelled. “Look up at me, buddy!”

  The boy remained stuck, screwing his eyelids tightly together to shut out the world.

  “Look at me, Johnny! Look at me!”

  Johnny tilted his head back and slowly opened his eyes. He peered up into Lou’s confident blue eyes, assessing him. It was a face people trusted. Lou smiled and after a few moments the boy’s terror subsided.

  “Okay, Johnny, ease your way down, one step at a time.”

  The boy, now completely calm, moved one foot onto the next steel rung. Lou willed him down bit by bit, until he’d inched his way to the entrance of the tiny engine car. He slipped inside, as though returning to his mother’s womb.

  At six feet four inches and physically fit from his army days, Lou lowered himself down after the boy effortlessly. His close-cropped hair, square jaw, and finely shaped head accentuated his muscular physique. But now, Lou’s own secret demons grabbed him by the throat. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and wormed his way into the cramped engine gondola. He found it stifling and hard to breathe once inside.

  The engine car was a tiny pod, housing one of the six ear-splitting Sunbeam Cossack III 350-horsepower engines. It was the engineer’s little haven, smelling of oil, petrol, exhaust fumes, sweat, and sometimes urine. The massive engine generated suffocating heat and took up most of the eight-by-twelve foot space.

  On two sides, small portholes allowed light in during the day. Overhead was a light for night-time use. The engineer sat on a small bench keeping vigil over the engine gauges, waiting for instructions from the control car—the telegraph bells would ring while the pointers moved from IDLE to SLOW to MEDIUM or to FULL POWER, depending on the captain’s whim. Lou entered as Johnny was stuffing plasticine in his ears, the only protection for the eardrums against the deafening roar. Lou patted Johnny on the shoulder.

  “Okay, Johnny, you’ll be fine. I’ll come and get you later,” he shouted, knowing Johnny would have to lip-read. The boy gave a half-smile, mouthing a weak ‘thanks.’

  Lou and the engineer, whom Johnny had relieved, climbed back up the ladder into the hull to be greeted by Fluffy, the ship’s long-haired tabby. She rubbed herself against Lou’s leg. He picked her up and nuzzled her affectionately.

  “Fluffy, you know you’re my best girl, don’t you?” he said.

  He put her down and she ran to her own sheltered spot off the main walkway. On the subject of girls, he suddenly thought of Julia. He hadn’t really thought much about her. He’d met plenty of girls in England and been pursued by many, but none had taken his fancy. It’d be nice to see Julia again soon.

  Charlotte stepped out onto the hospital entrance porch, pulling her cape around her shoulders. She gave the surrounding area a quick glance—something she did instinctively nowadays. The coast was clear. As she crossed the street toward the waterfront, she stared at the patchy blue sky overhead. It should remain pleasant for a while, though chilly. She eyed dark clouds in the distance which were moving closer.

  Charlotte decided to go for a short stroll along the promenade, as she sometimes did on summer evenings. She had no reason to be in a hurry—nothing and no one to rush home to. Her calling was caring for the sick, which she did with dedication. A walk would do her good and help her relax after a hard day.

  Workers from the Macey Brothers’ factory, makers of fine furniture and mattresses, poured into the street through rusty iron gates, many on bicycles. She studied them. They appeared pathetic, with not many young men among them. Those she saw were disfigured, or had limbs missing. There were a few fourteen and fifteen-year-old boys. They wore cloth caps, jackets, and trousers in similar drab colors. Charlotte felt sorry for them. The bustling crowd was mixed with a higher percentage of women of all ages, their heads wrapped in headscarves tied like turbans.

  These poor wretches are trying to get back to a normal life after that bloody awful war—that’s if you call living without a son, a brother, a husband, or a father, 'normal'!

  These thoughts made her tremble and her eyes moist with tears. She dare not let herself dwell on all that. It was like pulling off a scab. She preferred numbness. She tried to concentrate on the work done to the waterfront as part of a post-war beautification project: new paved walkways and small cherry trees planted with protective metal shields around them. She ambled along the docks toward Victoria Pier with hundreds of others, enjoying the last of the evening sunshine. There was much activity on the river, with work boats being moored at the quay alongside rusty freighters from Holland, Belgium, and as far away as Australia and New Zealand. Charlotte often saw dockers unloading wool, dairy goods, and frozen lamb.

  She walked on, leisurely glancing at the tugboats lumbering toward the dock to be moored, their wakes shimmering behind them. Men aboard vessels and on the docks, in grimy dungarees and rubber boots, tended mooring lines and checked everything was secure for the night. They took no notice of passers-by—until their eyes fell on Charlotte. Then their faces lit up and they called out to her.

  “Hello, my lovely. You’re looking beautiful this evening.”

  “She’s a corker, all right!”

  “Oh, to be thirty years younger!”

  “What a little smasher!”

  They were cheeky, older men, but she didn’t mind their harmless flirting. She’d got to know many of them by sight and attended to some of them after accidents on the wharf. She stopped for a minute and peered out across the river at Fanny’s husband and son in their rowboat. Lenny was telling the boy to pack up while Billy protested and sulked. Charlotte smiled when Lenny relented. He sat back and lit another one of his Woodbines, snapping his steel lighter shut. He took another drag and blew out the smoke, while Billy went on fishing.

  Charlotte thought about the young men she’d known. Though she’d received many proposals, there’d been nothing serious—well, not really. There’d been the encounter with Robert of course; unforgettable, though fleeting. That was an era she’d erased from her mind, with memories too painful and difficult to share—though the brief meeting with Robert had been a pleasant one. That period had changed her life forever, but she couldn’t bear to think about it or allow it to be mentioned. Did she regret it? No. She’d do it all again.

  Her mind returned to the future and available men. The thought of one, made her wince. Jessup! He’d caused her, and her family, so much trouble—indeed the whole village. After reading up on the subject in medical journals, she realized now he was a psychopath. Her parents had tried to warn her, but she always tried to see the good in people, or to save the bad. She’d found out the hard way. He was obsessive and had a dreadful mean streak, especially after he’d been drinking. She’d gone out with him for only two weeks after her return to the village; that was all it took. Since then—for the last two years—he’d stalked her relentlessly.

  God, how I hate him!

  But she’d had worse things in life to deal with and she’d survive him. She needed to meet someone nice, but choice was practically non-existent. Charlotte knew Americans to be respectful and well-mannered, having been approached by many, but she’d steered clear to avoid complications.

  Most of them are out for a good time. And who can blame them?

  Charlotte thought if you met a sincere one, what good would that be? He’d soon be gone, back to Grand Rapids or Cincinnati, or some other place with an exotic-sounding name. No, they were not for her, as good-looking and manly as many of them were—and she had to admit, some looked gorgeous in uniform. But
most of all, thinking back, she always remembered their sad, pleading eyes.

  She’d leave the heartbreak and the muddles to the other girls in Howden and Hull with no common sense. There were girls who’d married after a whirlwind romance. Charlotte realized some might get lucky, but wondered what the chances were of those relationships lasting. They might hate America when they got there. Then what?

  No, Charlotte Hamilton will not fall into that trap—better to be an old maid, dedicated to the sick, than endure the plight of those silly fools.

  Lou set off down the catwalk behind Fluffy. He went through the officers' dining area and control room, and descended the polished mahogany steps into the control car where Flight Sergeant Walter Potter awaited him. Potter, a gentle soul, had spent a lot of time these past months mentoring the Americans, including Lou. He reminded Lou of Stan Laurel, the Englishman of the Laurel & Hardy duo who’d made dozens of hilarious short films. At times, his bland face made him appear dazed and befuddled, though he wasn’t in the slightest. He made Lou laugh, especially when he played his accordion for the crew during lighter moments. He pumped the bellows, while his fingers glided over the buttons and keys, his face expressionless, except for those smiling eyes. They’d become fast friends.

  The mood was somber, more so than before. As Lou entered, everyone briefly nodded in his direction. The American captain, Commander. Maxfield, stood stiffly beside Commodore Maitland, the most senior man on the ship and in control of the tests. He appeared pretty relaxed.

  That good ol’ British stiff upper lip.

  The commodore glanced at the clock—it was now 17:11 hours (5:11 p.m.).

  Flt. Lt. Wann, the British captain, was positioned between two coxswains. The three officers stood silently, their eyes on the horizon. Lou sensed tension among them.

  The windows wrapped around the control car, providing an excellent view. In the distance, ten miles off, Lou could see the City of Hull, a sprawling mass of factories, docklands, freight yards, offices, shops, and homes clustered along the river estuary toward the east.

  The control car, about thirty feet long by twelve feet wide, had been finished in varnished mahogany similar to a ship’s bridge. From the exterior, it looked like a tramcar on a city street.

  The height coxswain stood at a console facing the starboard side. He controlled the altitude of the ship with a turn of the silver wheel in front of him. Lou checked the altimeter above the coxswain’s head. It read: 2,500 feet. Everything appeared normal.

  The helmsman stood at a similar wheel at the front, near the windows, facing forward. He controlled the rudders, which steered the ship. Both coxswains were American, dressed in white crew-neck sweaters, navy blue trousers, and white soft-soled shoes. A British coxswain stood beside each man, monitoring his activities and coaching him. They, in contrast, wore drab, blue boiler suits and grubby, black shoes.

  A battery of telegraphs mounted on the port sidewall was for sending orders to the engine cars beneath the hull. From these, instructions were issued to the engineers controlling each of the six engines. Lou was always fascinated when he entered the control car. The behemoth was controlled from this room—‘the bridge’—his favorite place. If the weather was clear, visibility was excellent for 360 degrees with the engine cars in full view in front and behind, their propellers a blur. Lou wondered if anyone in the control car had noticed the incident earlier with Johnny frozen on the ladder. The commodore turned and addressed Lou, surprising him. Lou had begun to think he and Potter had become invisible.

  Typical of these Brit officers. Stuck up bunch!

  “Chief Coxswain, do you have a report from Mr. Bateman?”

  In U.S. parlance, Lou was called a chief petty officer, but the commodore used British terminology.

  “Yes, sir. I spoke with Mr. Bateman fifteen minutes ago.”

  “And?”

  “He said the elevator and the rudder cabling gear are working fine now, sir.”

  “Good,” the commodore said, although he didn’t appear the least bit happy.

  The American captain, Cmdr. Maxfield, stood with his jaw clenched, his lips screwed tightly together.

  “These tests have been woefully inadequate, but …” the commodore began.

  “We have our orders, sir,” Capt. Maxfield interjected.

  “I’m not happy with this situation. I cannot condone shortening these tests—it’s a grave mistake.”

  The American captain didn’t reply. Lou was taking note.

  Something’s not right here.

  “We’ll start in fifteen minutes,” the commodore said. They glanced at the clock on the wall. “That will be at 17:20. We’ll come in over Hull on our present course and head out to the middle of the estuary where we’ll turn sharply to the north. That will be your salute to the city.”

  “Yes, sir,” Capt. Wann said. He’d been relaying the commodore’s orders for the past few hours.

  The commodore turned to Lou. “Chief Coxswain … I’m sorry, your name again?”

  “Remington, sir.”

  “Ah yes, forgive me. Remington, go and quiet down the crew—both crews. Put everybody on high alert. Station men at fifty-foot intervals throughout the ship. Give them the task of watching for any structural deformity or weakness. Tell them to sound the alarm immediately if they spot the slightest abnormality or sign of failure. Tell them this is the last test and it will be more rigorous than the speed trials we’ve done.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Report back when everyone’s at their stations.”

  “Yes sir!”

  Lou and Potter went straight to the mess. The men, still in a buoyant mood, fell silent as they entered. Everyone gathered around while Lou relayed the commodore’s instructions. He did his best not to alarm them, but he needed them to be vigilant.

  “Is all that clear, men?” They were unable to conceal their anxiety. “The good news is—this will be the last test.” Lou glanced at the American faces. “After this, we get to go home!”

  A weak cheer went up.

  “All right!” Josh, the Californian, hollered.

  “Thank the Lord for that!” a Brit shouted from the back.

  Lou and Potter marched up the catwalk with the crewmen, positioning a man every fifty feet, with orders to ‘hold on tight.’ Along the way, the cat came out to greet Lou, hoping for more attention. Lou picked her up and thrust her into the arms of the sixteen-year-old cabin boy from Louisiana.

  “Here, Gladstone, put her in the oil storage room out of the way.” Gladstone usually took care of her.

  Lou and Potter returned to the control car. “All crewmen are at their stations and on high alert, sir,” Lou announced. The three uniformed officers remained grim-faced.

  “Then let us proceed with the final test,” the commodore said with cool detachment. “We’ll make this a tough one. If she survives this, I promise you, she’ll survive anything you’ll meet over the Atlantic. I absolutely refuse to release an unproven ship into the hands of a green crew.”

  The American captain didn’t respond and Lou wondered what he was thinking. All afternoon, he’d been haunted by the sensation that something was wrong.

  Charlotte turned back from her walk along the waterfront and headed toward Victoria Pier. The droning airship in the distance caught her attention. She had an inherent dread of airships. German Zeppelins had bombed Hull during the war, striking terror into the local population. She pulled her cape tightly around her shoulders. The temperature was dropping.

  Those horrible things give me the creeps!

  When she’d reached her starting point, Charlotte noticed the children still playing cricket and jump rope in the hospital side street. An ominous black shadow swept down the road and over the kids. One girl screamed with delight when she looked up and spotted the airship. As it sped away over the river, Bobby’s message tube floated down on its tiny parachute and fell at her feet. She scooped it up and began to run. A boy at the lamppost dropp
ed his bat while the other girl bundled her infant brother into a battered pram. Together, they all dashed helter-skelter for the river, the baby bouncing and giggling along the way. Charlotte turned her attention toward the water when she heard Billy out in the rowboat, yelling to his father, who was laid back, smoking another Woodbine. Billy had leapt to his feet and was pointing at the sky, almost rocking them both into the water.

  “Oh look, Dad, an airship!”

  “Sit down! Sit down!” the boy’s father shouted as he tried to steady the boat.

  All around, city folk stood frozen, as though in a trance. Windows opened on upper stories and people stuck out their heads, hands shading their eyes, dazzled by the sun’s last gleam. People emerged from shops and offices and raced for the waterfront. Charlotte got caught up in the excitement and found herself on the pier surrounded by the scruffy, breathless kids. Everyone watched the sky.

  “Eee, loook at that! It’s looovely in’t it!” the girl with the pram exclaimed.

  In the control car, the commodore calmly issued his first order.

  “Full power all engines, Captain Wann.”

  “Full power all engines,” the English captain repeated.

  He leaned over and rang the telegraphs and moved six levers on the control panel to ‘FULL POWER.’ The trainee American engineers in the engine cars would be waiting for this signal, ready to move the throttle levers gently forward as Potter had trained them to do. Lou worried about New York Johnny, the kid who’d cracked earlier. He hoped he was coping all right down in engine car No.1. The engine notes changed to a full-throated roar. Anxiety showed in the officers’ eyes. The British and American coxswains exchanged worried glances.

  To the crowd, the change in engine note was like a signal. Something was about to happen; a bit of a show perhaps. People on Victoria Pier chattered excitedly above the airship’s droning Cossacks. The five gossiping nurses from whom Charlotte had escaped twenty minutes earlier, now joined her. She gave them a dirty look.