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

by David Dennington

  Lou went back to the house where Julia was getting ready to leave. He put his arms around her and gently kissed her lips. She closed her eyes with pleasure. Tom watched silently.

  “You must take care,” Lou said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “I am worried about you, Julia.”

  “Who’s the young one?” Father asked.

  “He’s my cousin, Israel, Uncle Rory’s son. He’s just as crazy as his father.”

  They walked Julia to her car.

  “Make sure you come to us if you need help,” Father said.

  The next day, Tom and Jeb loaded the pickup with three consignments of whisky. Jeb had the appearance of a man whose spirit had been crushed—overnight his hair seemed to have become more grey. Lou, today in uniform, rode with Tom and Anna in the pickup to make deliveries, first to the Navy Yard across the river from the tent city, the second to the Capitol Building and the third to Fort Myer. At Fort Myer, above Arlington Cemetery, Lou reluctantly decided there was another place he really needed to visit.

  “I need to find Captain Maxfield’s grave,” he said.

  Anna smiled, realizing why Lou put on his uniform.

  “I know exactly where it is,” Tom said.

  “How come?”

  “Jeb and me dug that grave, amongst others. We all went to the funeral. Dad insisted he was going, so we all went.”

  “For God’s sake! He didn’t tell me.”

  “It changed Dad,” Anna said. “Made him ill.”

  They drove round the circular gravel road flanked by thousands of white gravestones. Tom pulled up abruptly. They climbed out of the pickup and Lou stood in silence at the grave with a tombstone bearing the captain’s name. Anna put her arm through his and they stood in the sunshine in silence, facing the new Lincoln Memorial across the river in the distance. Before leaving, Lou stood rigidly to attention and saluted the tombstone. Tom looked on in stunned silence.

  That night, Lou dreamed he was aboard R38. Capt. Maxfield’s voice came through loud and clear in the darkness.

  Remington, look to your crew!

  The ship was on fire and breaking up. Lou came round. He opened his eyes in a daze. The room was brightly illuminated. He leapt out of bed, realizing he was in Gran’s house and ran to the window. The sky was lit by orange flames rising down by the creek. He understood immediately. He pulled on his pants and boots and ran out onto the landing as his whole family spilled out of their bedrooms.

  “They’re back. Come on,” Lou shouted. “They got Jeb’s place.”

  “You stay with Gran,” Father yelled to Mother and Anna, grabbing his shotgun.

  When they got down to the shack, the roof was falling in. There was nothing they could do. Jeb, his wife and two children sat under a tree in tears, safe from the flames, watching their home burn.

  “I tol’ yer they was comin’ back. … I tol’ yer,” Alice sobbed. “They got the still. They held a gun to my baby’s head. Threatened to blow his brains out.”

  Lou glanced at Jeb who kept nodding, unable to speak. Everyone stood in silent disbelief until Father spoke. “Jeb, Alice, bring the kids. Come up to the house. Nothing we can do here.”

  The following morning Lou, Father, Tom and Anna went down with Jeb to inspect the smoldering ruin. Jeb led them to what was left of the still. It would’ve been hard to find. Jeb had constructed a huge dugout with a roof covered with dirt, grass and shrubbery. The barrels, copper piping and all parts had been smashed beyond repair.

  In the afternoon, a military vehicle drew up outside Gran’s house. Anna came out. A sailor in uniform leapt out and stood at attention.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said. “I’m looking for Commander Remington. We understand he’s visiting the family.”

  Anna went in and got Lou. The two men exchanged salutes.

  “Chief Petty Officer Brown, sir, at your service. Commander, I’ve been ordered to bring you to the Navy Yard at your earliest convenience, sir.”

  “Like right now?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  Forty minutes later, Lou was escorted into a room in one of the Navy Yard Buildings in Washington, D.C., where he was introduced to a Capt. Yates. Lou sat down and they made small talk. The captain was familiar with Lou's history. They talked about the Canada flight in Howden R100 and his upcoming voyage to India. After a few minutes, the captain cocked his head on one side, choosing his words carefully.

  “This brings me to a rather delicate matter,” he said coyly.

  “It’s come to my attention from different quarters that the source of the finest whisky in Virginia has just dried up!”

  The captain looked mischievous, raising his hands in the air as if to say ‘How could such a thing happen?’ Lou was dumbfounded. The captain went on. “I’ve been asked to intercede, as this situation is going to have a severe impact on a few people—from a medicinal standpoint, you understand.”

  “I do indeed, sir.”

  “There’s been some sort of a fracas, I hear.”

  “News travels fast, sir. Some gentlemen in white hoods paid my family a visit.”

  “Bastards! Anyone hurt?”

  “No, but they terrorized my folks and did substantial damage.”

  “If you require any help in that regard, you must tell me.”

  “I could use a few good men, sir,” Lou said.

  “‘A few good men’—I like that! Nice ring to it! On your way back to Virginia, tell Chief Brown exactly what assistance you need.”

  “I’ll do that, sir.”

  “Now, as important as that issue is, that wasn’t the main purpose of asking you here—although I know the folks in the Officer’s Club will be pleased we had this conversation. The Army Chief of Staff, General Luby, is coming to talk with you about what’s going on in Hooverville.”

  Lou gulped. “The Army Chief of Staff! …. Hooverville, sir?”

  “Tent City, across the way.” The captain waved his hand in the general direction of Anacostia. “Don’t worry about the general. He’s paying an informal visit. Wants to meet you.”

  Just then, the door swung open and they were joined by an imposing two star general in khaki, a briar pipe clenched between his teeth. Both Lou and Capt. Yates jumped up, snapped to attention and saluted. The general gave a casual return salute.

  “At ease,” he said. He removed his hat and pipe, and when he spoke he reminded Lou of a Shakespearean actor. He extended his hand to them both.

  “Commander, I’m Ray Luby. Congratulations on your historic flight—well done, son. You make all of us proud!”

  “Thank you, General.”

  “Sorry we’ve called you here at such short notice. Across the river here, we have a huge potential crisis.”

  “Yes sir. I visited the camp as soon as I got here.”

  “We know you did, and we don’t have a problem with that. Maybe you can be of assistance to us.”

  “How, sir?”

  “The situation must be kept under control.”

  “We know you met with one of their leaders,” the captain said.

  “I served with him in battle at Saint-Mihiel and then the Verdun sector, sir.”

  Respect showed in the officer’s faces.

  “We’re anxious this camp doesn’t turn into a festering sore, rife with violence and disease. I’d like to hear your views on the subject, since you were in the place and you know some of them personally,” the general said.

  “These people are desperate, sir, and it’s going to get much worse,” Lou said.

  The two senior men looked startled.

  “They’re poverty-stricken, hungry, without medical help, and they’ve no place to go. They were better taken care of at the Front. This winter, they’ll freeze to death.”

  The officers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs and Lou caught fleeting glimpse of compassion in the general's eyes.

  “Do you have
any suggestions, Commander?” Capt. Yates asked.

  “Yes, sir, I do. Set up food banks within the camp. Send them decent tents and lumber they can use. Build temporary medical facilities in the camp. Send in medical supplies and assign them army doctors and nurses. Supply them with clean water and plenty of soap. Assign liaison officers to work with them and with the city’s police chief on a daily basis. Most important of all—make sure these men are not forgotten!”

  The two men stared at Lou. He’d given them more than they'd bargained for—so much to think about. But there were other factors to consider.

  “There’re people in this town who are concerned we have communist agitators in this camp fermenting revolution, encouraged by Marxist bastards from Britain and Russia,” General Luby said.

  “I understand, sir. Right now this is a public relations nightmare. I’m concerned if things aren’t handled properly, you may have an unmitigated disaster on your hands—perhaps a full blown revolution.”

  “Yes, yes, but if there is the slightest hint of violence, they’ll be cleared out, ruthlessly, without hesitation. We'll send tanks in there and flatten that place if necessary. Ex-military or not—traitors will not be tolerated! Make sure they understand that, Remington. This is the Army’s mess. We own it, and we’ll deal with it as we see fit,” General Luby warned.

  “There’s a small element of trouble makers, sir. Ninety-nine percent of those men are patriots—true-blue Americans.”

  “There’re blacks and whites in that camp living together—all getting along like pigs in shit. That’s making a lot of people around here mighty nervous. Seems unnatural to them!” the captain said.

  “There is racial harmony—something many of them learned at the Front in the Army, which could be seen as a positive thing, sir.”

  The general relit his pipe and puffed out some smoke.

  “So, Commander, how come you went to the camp?” he asked.

  “They met me at Union Station and asked for my help, sir.”

  “What are you going to do?” the captain asked.

  “I thought about writing my congressman and perhaps even the President.”

  “I strongly advise you not to get political,” General Luby said. “I read your comments in the Post. That’s already raised a lot of hackles up on that hill.”

  “Even though it's not due, I’d give them the damned money,” the captain said.

  “You’re getting into politics,” the general said, standing up. “I’ve a meeting. I must go.” He shook hands with Lou. “I like what you said just now. Your advice is sound. Good luck on your flight back to England.”

  “The Commander here,” the captain said, smiling at Lou, “has kindly agreed to look into the other matter we talked about.”

  The general broke into a broad grin. “Excellent! He’s a good man, this one,” he said.

  The three officers saluted before the general left. When he’d gone, the captain asked Lou to sit down again.

  “Your progress in England has been followed by some of the top people here, including Admiral Moffet himself. I should tell you, your name’s come up in connection with the Akron and the Macon being constructed in Ohio, but more importantly, they’ve been following your work with the British engineer Barnes Wallis and, of course, with the Royal Airship Works. They see you as a potential player in our own program. I thought you might like to know that, Commander. There could be a bright future for you here.”

  Lou wasn’t sure if this excited him or not. He tried to look pleased—it was inevitable the Navy would want him back sooner or later.

  70

  A FEW GOOD MEN

  Thursday August 7, 1930.

  The following morning Lou pulled up on the dirt road outside Tyson’s Lumber & General Hardware with a truck full of marines. This was Vienna, seven miles from Remington’s Farm, ten miles from Washington. They were all in fatigues, including Lou. The marines jumped down from the truck and moved into position with planned precision. The site was a sprawling fifty-acre compound surrounded by woods. It contained concrete products, pipe and lumber in a huge, fenced-in yard bordering the road. A buzz came from a sawmill way off in the distance at the back of the property.

  Lou had planned this operation with these men at the Navy Yard after reconnoitering the premises the previous afternoon. He hoped serious violence wouldn’t actually be necessary. His distaste for that hadn’t changed. Permanent behavioral modification in a few individuals was the goal, as well as the negotiation and procurement of some serious compensation for damages. For the sake of his own family, for Jeb’s and for Julia, he needed to make this count—not to mention the matter of keeping the brass in Washington happy—another major concern relating to family business.

  Lou, carrying a rolled-up newspaper and a bullhorn, strode into the huge metal building, which was sectioned off and included an enclosed general hardware store within the shed itself. A rough wood stairway led up to a complex of offices high up near the roof, with windows overlooking the contractor’s sales areas. The marines spread themselves out between stacks of lumber and architectural millwork. Lou nodded to one of them who blew a whistle. The staff of four yardmen and a handful of customers eyed them nervously. Lou stepped into an open area and raised a bullhorn to his mouth.

  “Attention! Attention! Everybody, listen up! This business has been closed down. This is a danger zone. Leave these premises immediately. I repeat, this business has been closed down.”

  “What’s the matter?” a concerned storeman asked.

  “Everybody out!” Lou shouted.

  Startled employees and customers obeyed, sensing trouble. They moved quickly to the entrance doors. Lou collared the last employee before he left.

  “Bring me six lengths of chain about four foot long and six padlocks. Right now!”

  The man scurried off as fast as he could without asking questions. He was back with the items in a few minutes. “Okay, get out. And speak to no one,” Lou ordered, and then to his marines, “Get going, men!”

  The marines started pulling down the stacks of lumber and architectural millwork into disorganized piles. There was a shout from the top of the stairs. Two men, red-faced and angry, were peering down, having heard the commotion.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on dun ’ere?”

  The one doing the shouting was built like a little bull, his voice familiar. Lou put on his pleasant face and smiled. He raised the bullhorn.

  “This business has been closed down. Store’s being evacuated, sir. This is a danger zone.”

  “What are you talkin’ about? For what?”

  “On account of the fire, sir.”

  “What fire?”

  “The fire that’s gonna gut this place ten minutes from now.”

  The man came racing down, tripping and struggling to regain his balance.

  “You crazy bastard. Get the hell off my property, you son of a bitch!”

  “Take this man into custody,” Lou ordered, handing a pair of chains to two marines.

  “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!”

  The marines grabbed the man by the arms and forcefully backed him into a steel column, making him yelp and knocking the wind out of him. Another marine wrapped the chain around his neck and padlocked it snuggly. A second chain was wrapped around his ankles and locked. The other man was also grabbed and chained in the same fashion. Both were now terrified.

  “Uncle Rory! Remember me? I’m the punk with the black dog.”

  Lou took another chain and gave it to another marine.

  “Chain the back doors,” Lou said. “We don’t need anyone coming to the rescue.”

  The marine marched off to the rear entrance doors. Lou held up and swung the last piece of chain from side to side.

  “This one’s for the front doors, for when we leave.”

  Four more marines came in carrying tanks of gasoline. The Klansman’s eyes protruded from his head. “What you gonna do?” he screamed.

 
; “Give everything a good dowsing, men,” Lou ordered. The marines spilled the gas over the piles of lumber and across the concrete floors. Lou took one of the cans and held it over their heads, thoroughly dousing them from head to toe. They quaked with terror.

  “Sorry we don’t have a cross, boys. I know you like to have one for this type of occasion.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Uncle Rory wailed his hair and face glistening with gasoline, the smell overpowering.

  “Notice we don’t use diesel. Gasoline burns so much better, don’t you think?” Lou said.

  “Please, mister. Please, don’t. I’m begging you,” the Klansman screamed.

  The second man was blubbering and wailing, too.

  “I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right!” the Klansman yelled.

  “What are you gonna do about my family’s dog, huh? Oh, how they loved that dog!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, mister.”

  “You're sorry! Sorry for what?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he wept. His pants had become saturated with urine and gasoline. A pool formed at his feet.

  “Sorry for what?” Lou screamed into his face, his nose almost touching the Klansman’s.

  “I’m sorry for what I did, sir.” The little bull screwed up his eyes and tears flowed down his cheeks, like a child.

  “What did you do?” Lou shouted. He stepped back, took the newspaper, lit the end and held it in the air. “I asked you, what did you do?”

  “I burned your place down! And I killed your dog. Oh, please, please, no.”

  The marines stood glaring, their faces emotionless.

  “You burned Mr. Jeb’s place down. That man helped raise me, by God!”

  “I’m so sorry, sir.”

  “How’s it gonna feel to see your place burn down—with you cooking inside, fat boy?”

  “Bad, bad …Oh, please, no …have mercy, sir.”

  “And what else did you do?”

  “I destroyed stuff.”

  “You’ve made a lot of people in this town mad as hell. And when they get upset, bad things happen—property gets destroyed and people die!”