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

by David Dennington

  The rear half of the airship had landed on the water, raging and rushing toward the sea. At first, it was swept along, bobbing and rolling in the waves, but at the river bend it beached itself on a sandbar. Potter and Josh laid Lou on some blankets near the open severed end of the broken ship. He’d lost a lot of blood. They strapped up his broken arm with strips torn from bed sheets from the still-intact crew berths and gave him a wad to stave the bleeding from the gash to his face.

  Josh, Bateman, and Potter, with the cat in his arms and his accordion slung over his back, stood next to Lou, surveying the hellish scene. Swirling red fires blazed on the surface and columns of black smoke rose from piles of twisted wreckage. Menacing clouds continued to close in and the smell of death permeated the air. The southwesterly winds carried the stench across the city.

  A hundred yards away, the control car floated on its side, its fire extinguished. Lou presumed the occupants were trapped inside. A rescue boat had turned up to investigate and men were pulling someone out through a window. They couldn’t see who it was. Lou and Potter exchanged grim looks. As soon as the man had been extracted, the control car rolled over and sank.

  Lou looked across at Potter’s accordion and spoke in nonsensical monotones. “Will you teach me to play that thing, Walt?”

  Potter looked at him strangely. “Course I will, sir.”

  But it was a promise he’d never keep, and one Lou would soon forget, at least, for now.

  “Look!” Josh exclaimed. A boat was heading in their direction.

  Within a few minutes, it maneuvered alongside and one of the crewmen threw them a line. Lou recognized Maj. Scott and Inspector McWade from his Cardington days. He’d spoken to McWade a few times—a gruff Scotsman. Scott was legendary. Bateman and Josh helped Lou into the boat, where they eased him into a sitting position.

  “Any more men aboard?” the riverboat captain asked.

  “Just us, I’m afraid,” Bateman answered.

  “You boys were bloody lucky!” Scott barked.

  “Aye, that you were. Didn’t even get your feet wet,” McWade said.

  The boy and his father from the rowboat were sitting down below, wrapped in blankets. Once on board, Fluffy wriggled from Potter’s arms and ran below to the boy. The boat moved off and made for the wharf, checking for life among the floating bodies, some mutilated beyond recognition, many tangled in parachutes. Scott took another swig from his flask. Lou remembered how relieved he’d felt for his crewmen when the “lucky ones” had leapt from the dying ship in the last of the parachutes. Then he spotted Bobby. Like many others, he was burned and covered in oil, but one side of his face was clean and recognizable. He’d managed to get Lou’s parachute on.

  Fat lot of good it did him! And so much for his marriage proposal.

  Lou recognized another victim: New York Johnny, not so badly damaged. He’d appeared so serene and peaceful when he’d last seen him on the ladder. He had the same look about him now. Near him, Gladstone, the cabin boy, lay on his back, his skin as black and shiny as the river. He, too, appeared strangely at peace.

  The boat made its way to the wharf and they put Lou, barely conscious, on a stretcher and carried him across the road to the infirmary. The other three survivors along with the young fisherman and his dad, followed.

  The six survivors rescued by Scott and McWade wound up on one of the wards cleared of patients ready to accept injured airshipmen. Charlotte had been assigned to the emergency operation by the matron. Her friend Fanny was truly thankful. Billy lay on a bed opposite Lou and kept looking across at him and then at his father on a bed beside him.

  Lou, though weak and deathly white, was now fully conscious. His arm had been wrapped and temporary dressings applied to his face and naked torso. They’d each been given a thorough examination by a doctor and it was time for Lou to have the deep gash in his face stitched.

  “Your name will be ‘Lucky’ from now on, sir,” Josh said.

  “We’ve all been lucky,” Potter said.

  Charlotte looked at Lou for the first time. She hadn’t been paying attention. She glanced at the scars on Lou’s upper arm and chest.

  “What’s all this?” she said.

  He nodded to his right shoulder and then down at his chest.

  “Belleau Wood … Saint-Mihiel,” he answered.

  Her face registered no expression, as if she hadn’t heard. “Is that your name—Lucky?”

  “No, it’s Lou Remington.”

  “Lucky Lou!” Charlotte said.

  “Those closest call me ‘Remy’.”

  Lou’s crewmen appreciated Charlotte’s beautiful figure and the long legs that her prim nurse’s uniform could not conceal. She leaned in closely to Lou’s face, pulling the thread tight, drawing the wound together. When she spoke, Lou felt her warm, sweet breath on his face. He breathed in her lingering perfume.

  That scent is heavenly. And my God, so is she!

  The distraction helped dull the pain and fill the terrible void in his gut.

  “Beautiful perfume,” he mumbled, closing his eyes, then becoming immediately annoyed with himself.

  “Je Reviens,” she said softly.

  “Je Reviens,” he repeated.

  “You’re gonna look right manly, with this scar,” Charlotte said, her voice husky.

  Lou peered into her huge eyes, open wide while she concentrated on her handiwork. For a second, she glanced from the wound and met his eyes, before turning away. He felt a tremor course through his body. If it weren’t for the striking color of her irises, he would’ve taken her for Italian or French.

  God, she’s magnificent and she’s totally unaware of me.

  And she was. He was just another case.

  “She does a beautiful job,” Josh said. “How did you learn to stitch like that?”

  “Practice,” Charlotte replied.

  “What’s your name?” Lou asked.

  She pointed to her name badge next to a Red Cross pin. “I suppose you people can read English, can’t you?”

  Lou squinted at the tiny print on her badge. “Charlotte,” he said, nodding with a half smile to himself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “No—it’s my favorite name.”

  She gave him a disbelieving stare.

  “My grandmother’s name is Charlotte Remington,” Lou said. “You look Italian.”

  “Black Irish. On my mother’s side,” Charlotte said. “My grandfather came over to work in the mines.”

  Charlotte glanced across at Billy who’d been watching and listening to their every word. The boy seemed in awe of Lou. Two orderlies dressed in white arrived at Lou’s bedside.

  “They’re taking you to get a cast put on the arm,” Charlotte said.

  The orderlies eased Lou into a wheelchair and pushed him out. After the door had swung closed, Potter spoke while Charlotte was gathering up the swabs and dressings.

  “If I hadn’t stuck with ’im, God knows where I’d be. I’d follow that man anywhere on this earth. God’s truth!”

  “We all owe him, I reckon,” Josh said.

  Bateman nodded in agreement. Charlotte remained silent. She left the ward sensing Josh watching her as she moved to the door. When she returned, she heard them discussing her behind the curtain. “My God. What a dream that girl is!” the American was saying.

  “You might as well take yer eyes off ’er, me old cock. You’re wasting your time.”

  It was Potter, the Englishman, with the rebuke.

  “What are you talking about?” the American answered.

  “You’re looking at Charlotte Remington the Second there, mate.”

  Charlotte marched past the curtain and glared at them. They gave her a guilty, caught-out look and Josh sighed ruefully. She slid the curtain back roughly against the wall, leaving them no privacy. Charlotte saw Billy was listening intently.

  His mother, Fanny, entered the ward. “You and Dad are staying here tonight. We’re going to keep an ey
e on you,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s good,” Billy replied.

  “Good? You’re a funny boy! Snuggle down now. You’ve had too much excitement, son.”

  Fanny kissed him and turned to her husband, who was propped up, smoking a cigarette.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right, Lenny. I don’t know what I’d have done if …”

  “Don’t you be fretting, Fanny. We’re safe and sound, thanks to that major and his Scottish friend.”

  “Charlotte sent them out to rescue you—God bless that girl!”

  Around 2:00 a.m., Lou woke from his nightmare, finding it only too real. His dry mouth tasted of blood and his head throbbed. The cut on his face stung and his arm and shoulder ached. He tried to turn his body, but found it difficult. The smell of burning flesh wafting from the river, hung in the air, tangible and sickly.

  In the room’s half-light from the windows’ glare, he could make out Potter, Bateman, and Josh asleep in their beds. The boy and his father were also dead to the world. The snores rumbled back and forth in unison. It would’ve been comical if the circumstances weren’t so dire. Lenny snored loudly, his lips fluttering as air was expelled with guttural noises followed by long silences, and then spluttering. Answering snores came from down the ward like echoes.

  Lou struggled out of bed and hobbled over to the window bumping into a chair, waking Billy. Although night, Lou could see clear across to the other side of the estuary, the river bright with floodlights vividly illuminating search vessels of all types. Some anchored, shone searchlight beams on the dark, fast-running water. Others moved slowly back and forth, scanning the surface. Stationary boats worked on tangled wreckage, trying to dislodge bodies held tightly in its grip. On a tugboat at the wharf, men were unloading covered stretchers, making Lou feel sick. He heard a sound behind him at the door and realized it was her. Charlotte came to him at the window. “You need to lie down and get some rest,” she whispered. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  Lou didn’t move. He stood in silence looking toward the river.

  “We must have our dead,” he said finally. He slowly eased his way back to the bed where he slumped with his head in his hands. “I lost all my men,” he said. “I should’ve done more.”

  “You did more than enough, I think. The men you saved think you walk on water. You’ll feel much better when you get home to America.”

  “I’m not going home.”

  “Why ever not?

  “I can’t go home …not now.”

  Charlotte stood close to the bed and put her arms around him, holding his head against her breast. She felt his tears on the palm of her hand.

  “Hush now. I’m sure you did everything you could. You got three of your mates out, didn’t you?”

  “Did they bring in any more survivors?”

  “They’ve only found one, so far. The English captain.”

  “Captain Wann. My God!”

  “They said it was amazing,” Charlotte said.

  “Where is he?”

  “In intensive care. He’s in a bad way.”

  “Is he gonna make it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s very doubtful.”

  Charlotte gave Lou two sleeping tablets with a glass of water and made him lie down.

  She considered for a moment and then said, “One of the girls on the dock picked up a message from the airship. It had one of our nurse’s names on it.”

  “Whose?”

  “Elsie …Elsie Postlethwaite.”

  Lou sighed. “Did you read the message?”

  “Yes, I felt I had to, for her sake…”

  “What did it say?” But of course, he already knew.

  “Marry me and come away. I promise to love you forever. Bobby.”

  “Did you give it to her?”

  “No.”

  Lou laid his head back and closed his eyes, picturing Bobby holding up the ring box.

  “God, it’s strange how it goes,” he said wearily. He lay still a few minutes, his eyes closed. Charlotte sat watching him. His eyes suddenly opened wide, startling her.

  “What the hell’s happened to Fluffy?”

  “Who’s Fluffy?

  “The ship’s cat. She came back on the boat with us.”

  “I’ll find out what’s happened to her. Don’t worry,” Charlotte said.

  He nodded his head thankfully, closing his eyes again. Charlotte sat by the bed holding his hand until he fell asleep. She studied his hand—a strong, beautiful hand. Finally, she reluctantly let it go. She lifted her palm to her lips where his tears had been and kissed it. She stood up and carefully pulled the sheets around him and left the ward. As she left, she noticed Billy wide awake, watching her. He must’ve seen and heard everything. She put a finger to her lips. He rolled over and went back to sleep. The ward door swung closed behind her.

  Damn that little rascal!

  Charlotte had been asked to stay on the ward that night, a ward held open with twenty empty beds in case more survivors were brought in. There were none.

  She slept on a cot in the nurses’ room and two other nurses, one of them Fanny, did the same. In the morning, Charlotte checked on the survivors. They were all sleeping soundly. She then went straight to Mrs. Tilly’s bed on her usual ward. Her bed was empty. Charlotte spun around scanning the room—Mrs. Tilly was gone. She knew the old lady had been on her last legs, but it came as a shock. She hurried to the nurses’ room where she shed a few tears. Matron found her and sent her back to the ward.

  “Get back to your patients. They need you. They all die someday, Charlotte,” she said.

  2

  A COURT OF INQUIRY

  May 15, 1922.

  A court of inquiry was convened on a warm day the following spring at Howden’s court, an old municipal building, far too small for such a gathering. The survivors of the accident attended, with the exception of Josh Stone, who’d been recalled for duty in the United States and Capt. Wann, who’d survived, but not recovered sufficiently to attend.

  Lou’s face had healed, but the mending of his broken arm had been slow. He sat with Potter and Bateman, also there to give testimony, in the front pew. Lou’s companions appeared healthy enough, although they told him they suffered from painful memories and nightmares. It showed.

  The stifling courtroom smelled of mildew tempered by cleaning fluid, reminding Lou of his schoolhouse days in Great Falls. It was jam-packed with high-ranking U.S. and British military, government officials, engineers and designers. The whispers and sobs of widows and girlfriends drifted down from the gallery. Maj. Scott sat stony-faced opposite the grieving families. Inspector McWade sat beside him, along with personnel from Cardington’s Royal Airship Works, in attendance as expert witnesses. Amongst the hoard of pressmen, Lou recognized George Hunter in his scruffy raincoat. He gave him a nod.

  The court rose to its feet as the president of the court, a man with priestly bearing, entered. He was impeccably dressed in a flowing black robe, open at the front revealing an elegant pin-striped suit. He strode to the mahogany desk on the platform and gazed around the room, exuding an aura of omnipotence. He put his hand to his mouth and gently coughed.

  “Please be seated,” he said.

  Everyone obediently sat down. The president remained standing, his face stern, his voice rich—a Cambridge man.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. It is my unpleasant duty to preside over this court of inquiry charged with ascertaining the cause of the tragic accident which occurred on August the twenty-fourth at twenty-seven minutes past five, when His Majesty’s Airship R38, soon to be re-designated USS ZR-2, broke in two and crashed into the River Humber in the City of Hull. On behalf of the court, I wish to express sincere condolences to all those from both sides of the Atlantic who lost relatives and loved ones, colleagues and friends, in this unfortunate event.”

  The court remained silent, save for the sound of weeping wives and sweethearts who held handkerchiefs to their
mouths, trying not to cause disruption. Lou found himself studying his feet. He’d been dreading these proceedings.

  “The people of Great Britain are heartbroken over this tragedy which has caused loss of life, not only to our own, but also to our sister nation. This sad event has dealt a terrible blow to the morale and prestige of this country, its military and industry.”

  During the next four days, Lou listened to the testimony of two dozen expert witnesses, including designers and builders from Howden and Cardington. They discussed problems experienced with the airship during the first test flights. Lou learned much he hadn’t known previously, but the questioning appeared to be orchestrated and truth became another casualty. By skilful interrogation, the solicitor general led the court through the events leading up to the accident without really getting to the heart of why the accident happened and how it could have been prevented.

  This covered the purchase of the airship by the U.S. Navy for the sum of two million pounds; the design and construction at Cardington; and the arrival of a contingent of American naval airshipmen who were billeted in homes around Cardington and Hull to be trained to fly and maintain the airship, as well as monitor its construction. Lou had been part of that team.

  They touched on the early flights only briefly, since the Americans hadn’t been allowed to participate, causing a lot of irritation at the time. The subject of “rushing the tests” embarrassed all parties and wasn’t dwelt on. Lou didn’t have first-hand knowledge concerning this subject, but he and his crewmen realized the ship had not been sufficiently tested.

  Lou was sure of one thing: Commodore Maitland hadn’t been happy with the tests being cut short. The man had expressed his frustration in Lou’s presence. Fierce and irresponsible pressure must have been exerted by both governments to hasten the process.