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

by David Dennington

  “Interesting, sir,” Lou said.

  “But you know Auriol is the one I love the most. Oh, how I miss my Auriol. She understands me …I’m not perfect you know ...”

  “That’s nice, sir.”

  What came next stunned Lou. It was as if Brancker was merely continuing their earlier conversation and he’d just decided to answer Lou’s question. “Yes, as I was saying, I had my fortune told once. The woman said she couldn’t see a damned thing in my palm after 1930 ...Precious little time left now, what!”

  Brancker faded out and was sound asleep, snoring gently. He clasped the St. Christopher to his chest. Lou carefully removed his monocle and laid it on the side table.

  Pierre hung Brancker’s jacket in the closet. “You’re such a good man, sir,” he whispered. He took a blanket from the closet and covered Brancker with it. “I must be off to bed myself,” he said with an impish smile. Lou came out into the corridor where Colmore shook his hand.

  “That’s why I switched to tea; otherwise you’d have been putting us both to bed,” Colmore said.

  “Maybe I should have ‘one too many’,” Pierre said playfully.

  Lou ignored this and bade Colmore goodnight. He smiled at Pierre and returned to the lounge, where he found Scott waiting, brandy glass in hand and a bottle of cognac on the table.

  “I think I’ve got it now,” he said.

  While Lou wrote, Scott spoke slowly—having difficulty getting his tongue around some words. “After a lovely dinner—”

  “How about ...after a splendid supper?” Lou suggested.

  “Yes, that sounds nice ...our important guests—”

  “Our distinguished passengers?”

  “Okay ...smoked another cigar—”

  “How about …smoked a final cigar?”

  “Yes, that’s good ...and having reached France—’’

  “What about ...having sighted the coast of France?”

  “Right ...have gone to bed to rest—”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “…after all the stress of saying goodbyes to their—”

  “How about this ...after the excitement of their leave-taking?” Lou suggested.

  “Right. And then ...all essential services are functioning,” Scott said.

  “You could say …all essential services of the airship are functioning normally and the crew has settled down to their normal watch-keeping routine?”

  “Yes right, that’s very good.” Scott glanced at the time. “Show it to Captain Irwin and send it to Cardington. Everyone’ll read it in the Sunday papers tomorrow. I’m off to bed.” Scott yawned.

  “Good night, sir,” Lou said.

  Lou showed the message to Irwin and then took it to the wireless room where the radio operator was trying to decipher the messages Brancker and O’Neill had scribbled earlier. Lou studied them and dictated what he thought they said.

  Miss Auriol Lee Manhattan Hotel New York NY

  Darling Auriol On board R101 to Paris Egypt and India STOP Just thinking of us in Jinja STOP Told my traveling companions about you STOP Love always Your Sefton

  O’Neill’s was easy:

  Mrs O’Neill West London Hospital Hammersmith London

  Wishing you the best for a speedy recovery STOP Cardington R101 progressing well STOP Love W O’N

  Lou went to Irwin in the control car. “How are things now, sir?”

  “She’s at least three tons heavy.”

  “Should we dump ballast?”

  “Running with the engines at full bore, she’s developing enough dynamic lift like a plane, so it doesn’t matter right now—unless we ease off.”

  Lou checked the altimeter. They were maintaining 1500 feet without too much problem. Outside, they were enveloped in darkness, no lights or landmarks to use for navigation. He hoped they were on course.

  “Sir, something weird’s happened,” Lou said.

  “What?”

  “One of the crewmen disappeared earlier,” Lou said.

  “Disappeared? Who?”

  “Jessup.”

  “Hmm. Must be on board somewhere,” Irwin said.

  “He was missing for his watch at eight o’clock. No one’s seen him.”

  “Did you check the engine cars?”

  “I’ll ask Leech. He’s been in and out of the cars all night.”

  Later, a groggy Johnston returned from his cabin. He went down to the control car and stared out. He spotted a landmark in the distance. He told Lou he was familiar with the area.

  “This is Poix. We’ve been blown way off course again, damn it!”

  Johnston went back to the chartroom and worked out a new course to make the correction. After a few minutes, he went back to Irwin and handed him the bearing.

  “Here, you need to steer two hundred and ten degrees toward Orly,” he said.

  The coxswain reset their course.

  In his humble cottage outside Allonne, in the gloomy half-light, Monsieur Eugène Rabouille, the button maker, sat huddled by the fireplace in a threadbare armchair. He smoked a rolled cigarette and stared into the dying embers of his log fire, listening to the din.

  “God, I hate this weather,” he muttered.

  Violent gusts roared down the chimney, pummeling the tiny windows, making them whine and rattle and tree branches to scratch at them like ghosts’ fingernails—a sound that had terrified him as a child living there with his mother. And it terrified him still. Adding to his misery, a violent clap of thunder shook the cottage and the tiny room was lit by lightning.

  Lightning or not, he had no choice. There was work to be done, bellies to be filled. Rabouille wearily pulled himself up and donned his scruffy brown overcoat and flat cap. He picked up his sack of paraphernalia. The metal parts inside rattled as he threw it over his shoulder. He blew out the lamp and opened the front door. The wind blew the door open with such force it smashed against the stone wall, almost tearing it off its hinges. He had difficulty pulling it shut behind him. He trudged up the road and across the field toward Therain Wood. Oh, God, how he hated the struggle.

  Rabbits by night and buttons by day—that’s my miserable life!

  Lou gingerly opened the smoking room door and closed it tightly behind him. He opened the second door and peered inside. The odor of stale cigars and brandy filled the air. Leech was lying on the couch previously occupied by Thomson, smoking a cigarette. Lou closed the door.

  “Still wearing the wife’s lucky heather, I see, Harry,” Lou said.

  Leech glanced down at his lapel. He’d obviously forgotten about it.

  “I thought I was gonna get blown away once or twice, tonight—it must be powerful stuff!”

  “Taking a break?” Lou asked.

  “Yep, a fag before bed, sir,” Leech said, taking a long drag.

  He swung his feet off the couch, sat up and killed the dog-end in the ashtray. He picked up his glass from the floor beside him and took a sip.

  “You having one, sir? I’m having a whisky and soda.”

  “You deserve it. No, I’ll fall asleep. Seen anything of Jessup?”

  “No. I expect that sod’s hiding somewhere.”

  “He’s not in one of the engine cars?”

  “Definitely not. I would’ve seen him. I’ve been in all of them four times tonight.”

  “He’ll turn up when he gets hungry. I’ll say goodnight. Great job tonight, Harry.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lou returned to the control car.

  It was a beautiful day. The sun streamed in through the café windows. Thomson sat at his usual table, engrossed, watching the girl in the carriage. He couldn’t see her face—her wide-brimmed hat obscured part of it and its shadow hid the rest. But somehow, he was able to imagine it, as though he knew her and had seen her beautiful face many times before—though perhaps not in this lifetime.

  He hesitated, knowing if he rushed outside that damned coachman would snap the reins and she’d be gone. He studied the girl’s
slender, white neck and dark brown, almost black hair with tinges of red, tumbling around her shoulders. He caught a glance of her magnificent profile as she turned toward the shop next to the café. She was waiting for someone.

  A short, dumpy woman wearing a drab, brown headscarf came into view. She marched to the carriage carrying a large package tied with pink ribbon. She opened the door and clambered in. Thomson leapt to his feet, charged outside and sprang to the curb. The coachman leered down at him from his lofty seat with that sickening, cocky smile of his. The maidservant’s back was to Thomson—she sat facing the girl. The coachman snapped the reins and called to the two beautiful, white beasts with long flowing manes.

  ‘En avant! Walk on!’

  The carriage slowly moved toward Thomson. He desperately wanted to take in the features of this girl—to know her, make sure that beautiful face was etched in his mind forever. As she drew closer, she looked directly at him. She’d never done that before. Her eyes lit up and she gave him the smile of an angel, moving her head as she passed, so they shared each other’s gaze—a moment of pure love. It was her! No doubt about it. She could be no more than fourteen years old and so beautiful he was overcome. He cried out her name.

  “Marthe!”

  She lifted her white-gloved hand to her lips and blew him a gentle kiss as she passed, still smiling. He noticed her drop her eyes to his neck for a moment, taking in the insignia on his collar—the flames of the Royal Engineers.

  The carriage gathered speed and she turned her head back toward him, not removing her eyes from his. The carriage turned the corner and she was gone. Thomson turned back and stared at the cloistered shop and read the words over the door from which the maidservant had come. He was devastated!

  MADAME DUPREE

  Haute Couture Bridal Gowns.

  94

  MORNING WATCH: 02:00–05:00 HOURS

  Sunday October 5, 1930.

  Head down, Rabouille pressed on across the sopping field toward Therain Wood, pulling his soaking overcoat around him. “It doesn’t get worse than Beauvais Ridge,” he grumbled, his words swallowed by the beastly wind and driving rain.

  He became conscious of a distant droning behind him. He turned. A mile away, the dirigible glistened in the intermittent moonlight and lightning flashes. The sinister sight made him shudder. He stopped, open-mouthed, for a few moments, staring in astonishment. Even far off over the city, the horrible thing appeared enormous. The ship was struggling to make headway. He caught its green navigation light between fast moving clouds. Thunder rolled across the angry skies all around him. Rabouille turned and continued his tramp toward the woods, where he hoped it’d be less miserable, sheltered among the trees. He cursed as he moved through a bleating flock of terrified sheep suddenly lit up like day, bells tinkling and clanking around their necks.

  Lou and Irwin stood side by side, staring at the beautiful city, which, under normal circumstances, they would have appreciated—but not this terrible night. The magnificent Cathedral of St. Peter of Beauvais with its tall, flying buttresses rose before them, glistening between lightning flashes. Too close for comfort! Lou checked the altimeter: twelve hundred feet. They had just adequate clearance over the rising ground. The winds increased the closer they got to Beauvais Ridge. He glanced at Irwin, who was shaking his head, not believing they’d arrived in this of all places! The town hall clock was striking two:—it was time to change the watch. Steff and Hunt came down into the control car with two fresh coxswains, one of them, Potter.

  “We’re approaching the ridge,” Irwin said. “You can take over once we’re clear of this damned place. Hopefully, the wind’s gonna die down once we get by.” But for now, it was growing more violent by the minute. The four newcomers peered out of the windows over the city with concern.

  “Okay, sir,” Steff said. “I’ll do the hourly report. Let me know when you’re ready for me.” He took the log and went upstairs to the chartroom. Hunt stayed in the control car and the fresh coxswains took over.

  Binks was snoring in his bunk when he was awakened by his foreman.

  “Come on, Joe, wake up! You should’ve been on watch by now. Bell’s waiting for you.” Binks sprang up and sat on the edge of his bed.

  “Oh, bugger!” he exclaimed.

  The foreman thrust a cup of cocoa at him. “Here, take this.”

  “I don’t have time for that, Shorty. Bell’s gonna be mad.”

  “You’d better drink it, mate, or I’ll be mad!”

  Binks swilled the cocoa down, nodded his appreciation and took off along the catwalk. He collided with Richmond, on his way to the bow to do another inspection. Apologizing over his shoulder, Binks ran to the hatchway and slid down the ladder. He clung on to prevent being blown away like a leaf, stunned to see the ground so close. He slipped into the engine car. Bell gave him a nasty look, eyeing the engine car clock, which said 02:03 a.m.

  “I’m really sorry, mate,” Binks shouted.

  Bell shook his head in disgust. Then something caught Binks’s eye out the tiny window.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  “I just saw a church steeple in the lightning—just yards away.”

  Bell pushed Binks out of his way and peeked out into the darkness. He saw nothing.

  “You silly sod, you’re still asleep!”

  Just inside the tree line of Therain Wood, Rabouille was checking his snares. He came upon a trap with a creature caught in its jaws, its leg broken. He released the dripping animal and held it up roughly by the scruff of the neck. The sky lit up again. The rabbit shivered with fright.

  “You’ll do for dinner,” Rabouille muttered.

  His attention was taken from the rabbit by that infernal droning noise again—louder this time. He looked up in shock, believing he’d now become the hunted one. The airship was coming straight at him at about five hundred feet. The covering material at the front was torn and flapping wildly. Vicious winds were rushing inside the hideous contraption.

  The shrill speaking tube whistle sounded in the control car. Irwin grabbed it and listened; his eyes widened in horror and the blood drained from his face. He shot a glance at Lou and winced, mouthing, “Oh, my God!”

  Lou sensed his panic. Something catastrophic must have happened. Irwin listened a few more moments and then began yelling.

  “We have an emergency! Richmond says the cover at the bow’s torn and the first gasbag’s getting destroyed and more are gonna be. Sky, go and see what’s going on. Take some riggers with you. Try and close it up. We’d better get prepared for a crash landing—just in case. Be ready to warn all hands.” Hunt dashed up the steps toward the crew’s quarters and Steff came down into the control car. Irwin shouted, “We’ve got to try and save the rest of the gasbags. Lou, dump emergency ballast at Frame 2 and Frame 6. Steff, be ready to dump fuel.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Lou grabbed the toggles on the control panel and released emergency water ballast. At the same time, Irwin released additional ballast with the valves on his side. Now bow heavy from the loss of gas and the breakdown of airflow over the nose, and aided by vicious downdrafts, the bow dipped violently.

  “Marthe!” Thomson cried out in the dark.

  The sound of his own voice woke him with a start. His mouth felt like sandpaper. He coughed, unable to swallow, trying to remember the dream before it was gone. He was brought back to reality by the buffeting wind, which caused the airship to buck and dive. Alarmed, he jumped out of bed and switched on the light. It was near impossible to maintain his balance. His watch said 2:07 a.m. He hurriedly slipped on his soft shoes and dressing gown and made his way unsteadily along the corridor to the chartroom. His feelings of satisfaction and well-being had evaporated.

  Something must be seriously wrong!

  Rabouille couldn’t budge. He remained staring at the airship, which seemed to lose buoyancy, its nose dropping without warning. Suddenly, water spewed from its front end and it cam
e back up, leveled out and continued to fly straight for him at about two hundred feet. He could see both the red and green navigation lights. The tear at the front had grown into a gaping orifice, like the mouth of a great fish. He clung tightly to the rabbit. Now, two sets of bulging eyes stared up at the monstrous creature coming to devour them. Rabouille prayed the damned thing would clear Therain Wood.

  Thomson clung to the railing and hurried down the steps into the control car. He was thoroughly displeased.

  During the dive, Irwin shouted to Potter, “Bring her up!”

  Potter reacted immediately. He spun the elevator wheel forcefully, until it refused to turn anymore.

  “That’s maximum elevators, sir!” Lou shouted.

  The speaking tube whistle sounded again. Irwin grabbed it and listened intently, his face ashen. He replaced the tube with resignation.

  “What the deuce is going on, Captain Irwin?” Thomson snapped.

  “That was the chief coxswain. The cover’s failed completely at the bow. We have a massive hole. Un-repairable! He confirmed we’ve lost gas bag 1 and bag 2’s deflating fast. Bag 3 is soaked and getting ripped away from its valves. Bag 6 has also ripped away at one side. He thinks more are coming loose due to the surging. We got caught in the vicious winds. It’s all over.”

  “Is this Beauvais Ridge?” Thomson asked, desperately struggling to hold on as Potter tried to bring the ship back up to her original altitude. It felt like a roller coaster.

  “Yes, it is,” Irwin answered.

  “But you knew this place was treacherous!”

  “We got blown miles off course by the gale. We should never have left the tower—but you all overruled me, didn’t you!” Irwin shouted, not hiding his contempt.

  As the ship finally leveled out, a loud crack vibrated throughout like a harmonic chord. Potter swung the elevator wheel in dismay—all resistance gone.

  “We’ve lost elevators,” Potter yelled.