by Hugh Ashton
“I don’t have that luxury,” commented Brian bitterly.
“Look on the bright side,” remarked Weisstal. “It may not come to that at all.”
Chapter 36: Friedrichshafen, National Socialist Germany
“I’m sure the Confederates are going to be overwhelmed when they see that.”
“You have to admit that it looks perfectly foul,” said Eckener. He was referring to the large red, white and black swastika designs adorning (“polluting” was the word Eckener used) the huge tail-fins of Bismarck.
“Count Zeppelin built his airships for the whole of Germany, not for one political party,” he grumbled. “I know we can’t have the Imperial eagle, but can’t we do better than this crooked cross business?”
“At least you kept the name of Hitler off the bows,” Dietelbaum consoled him.
“I suppose so,” Eckener grudgingly admitted. “But despite all that, she’s a good ship.”
-o-
He had reason to be proud. The giant silver Bismarck, floating in her shed at “neutral buoyancy”, neither heavier nor lighter than air, was enormous; the largest airship ever built, nearly 800 feet long, and able to lift nearly 60 tons. As long as many of the great ocean liners, she was as tall as a twelve-story building. The control car near the bow below the hull contained the captain’s position and stations for the elevator and rudder helmsmen, as well as for the navigation personnel and equipment. Signals between the control car and the other parts of the ship were carried by speaking tube, and in the case of engine orders, by telegraph signals, similar to those on a ship.
Behind the control car, and separated from it, the two-deck car containing the passenger accommodation stretched below the hull for about 120 feet. The passenger accommodations for the secretaries and assistants accompanying the Nazi delegation were on the upper deck, together with washing and toilet facilities. Towards the front of this deck was a luxury lounge, with panoramic windows giving a fine view outside the airship. On the lower deck, reached by a small spiral staircase, the passengers could enter the dining-room, fitted with lightweight aluminum tables and chairs, and furnished with fine linen, silverware and glasses to complement the gourmet food prepared on electric stoves in the passenger galley. On this trip, the wine “cellar” would be empty, since Hitler was a virtual teetotaler and did not approve of drinking in his presence.
A promenade deck extended on either side of the dining-room, forming a kind of gallery, and allowing the passengers to stretch their legs and gaze at the miraculous world passing below. Forward of the dining area were more staterooms and accommodation for the VIPs, who would travel in considerable comfort, with private single berths, separated from each other by thin partitions. On this deck there were two communal showers, together with toilets. Since the partitions were all lightweight and movable, it was possible to redesign the passenger areas depending on the nature of the flight. For this flight, the relatively small number of Nazi VIPs would receive substantially more living space per person than commercial passengers would enjoy.
The crew, including Eckener, lived in much more Spartan accommodation, all contained within the hull in a small area above the keel and below the enormous swaying gasbags, between the canvas water ballast tanks, sleeping in hammocks and eating either at their duty stations, or in the bunk rooms that doubled as mess spaces. Even the airship officers lived in the same conditions, albeit in a different area of the ship, and this fostered a sense of solidarity. Most of the crew, although specialists in one field, were capable of doing many jobs, and it was not uncommon to see the officers performing manual labor alongside the men. Catwalks and ladders within the hull enabled riggers to access any part of the duralumin skeleton, cross-braced with an intricate structure of taut wires, and make adjustments to the tension of these wires, or to put padding in place to prevent chafing of the paper-thin gasbags. In an emergency, the riggers could venture through hatches onto the outside of the hull to repair the outer fabric covering, or to adjust the newly designed special helium compensation valves.
Three engine nacelles were mounted on sponsons on each side of the hull, accessed through external ladders and catwalks, and each containing a huge 12-cylinder Maybach VL 1 engine, capable of producing over 420 horsepower. As the six engines burned their fuel, the airship became lighter, and a hydrogen-filled Zeppelin vented the cheap hydrogen gas into the sky to compensate. Since Bismarck was planned as a helium-filled dirigible, with helium being considerably rarer and more expensive than hydrogen, a different system had to be adopted. Although Eckener had wanted to use a new type of engine employing a neutral buoyancy flammable gas as fuel, the Maybach factory had been unable to deliver a reliable example of such an engine for this flight. Instead, a condenser system extracted and collected water from the engine exhausts, and thereby maintained neutral buoyancy, with none of the valuable helium gas being lost.
Massive 15-foot propellers at the rear of each nacelle drove the airship through the skies at a theoretical maximum airspeed of over 75 nautical miles per hour, though in test flights, Bismarck had substantially exceeded that speed. Again, Eckener had wanted to use new techniques, this time to avoid wear and tear on the gearboxes, by using some kind of variable-pitch propellers, currently in the experimental stage of development. However, at a relatively late point in the construction process it had transpired that these were some way from being a working proposition, and he had reluctantly been forced into the use of more traditional fixed-pitch airscrews.
For communications, Bismarck was equipped with a powerful radio apparatus and a long retractable wire antenna, trailing for over a hundred meters behind the airship, and used Morse code to talk to base stations around the world, and it was hoped that, when the atmospheric conditions were right, it would even prove possible to talk to Germany across the Atlantic. Because of the risk of sparks from the radio, the radio room was housed in another gondola mounted on pylons beneath the airship’s hull to separate it from the hydrogen, and accessed through a ladder running from a trapdoor in the floor of the hull to a sliding hatch in the roof of the radio car.
The “treasure pod” specified by Goering was at the rear of the Zeppelin, and could be released from the control gondola using a specially adapted bomb release mechanism. The location of the treasure pod had been specially chosen to avoid any risk of the pod’s parachutes, opened by a static line, becoming entangled with the propellers as the pod was jettisoned. No such precautions had been taken with regard to the passengers, who were expected to fall clear of the airship before pulling their ripcords.
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Yes, Eckener thought to himself, Bismarck was beautiful, covered in her shiny skin stretched over her ribs, coated with heat-reflecting silver dope to prevent the sun from heating up the gas inside and disturbing the balance of the ship. It was a shame those bloody Nazis had insisted on putting their damned symbol all over her.
He and Dietelbaum were joined on the shed floor by a short, somewhat rotund man in SA uniform, who extended his right arm and greeted them with “Heil Hitler!”
“Grüss Gott,” replied Eckener, deliberately using the Southern German informal greeting. Dietelbaum, more diplomatically, said nothing at all.
“Herr Doktor,” the man said, making the formal title sound like an insult, “when will the airship be taken out of the hangar?”
“The ground crew are being assembled now,” replied Eckener. “Once they are in position, which will be in about twenty minutes, it should take no more than an hour before the ship is attached to the mooring mast. About fifteen minutes after that, passengers may start boarding.”
“Thank you,” said the SA man. There was little gratitude in his tone of voice. “I will inform the Führer.” With another (unreturned) “Heil Hitler!”, he left.
“Is he on the passenger list?” asked Eckener. “I sincerely hope not, otherwise I shall be sorely tempted to use him instead of ballast to lighten the ship.” It was rare for the otherwise stiff Ec
kener to make any kind of joke, and Dietelbaum recognized this good humor as the accompaniment to the excitement that Eckener always felt on the occasion of an airship flight.
“What about the new arrangements at the other end?” asked Dietelbaum. “Do you think that they will work?” Only twelve hours before, an official directive had come from Berlin, ordering between ten and thirty “non-essential” crewmen (as if any of his crewmen were not essential, Eckener had thought to himself bitterly) to “go ashore” immediately on docking with the mooring mast, with their places taken by an equal number of dignitaries of the Confederate States of America. Bismarck would then make a further demonstration flight of a few hours carrying the new passengers before finally docking and being housed in the shed.
“They’ll work,” replied Eckener, “so long as we have sufficient fuel. If we meet headwinds over the Atlantic, then we may be running short, and we will have to cancel the idea. But I don’t actually anticipate many problems.” He stroked his beard rhythmically, another sign that Dietelbaum had learned to recognize of the excitement hidden inside.
“Herr Doktor, I hate to remind you, but I think you should be in the control car very soon.”
“Of course I should, Dietelbaum,” Eckener replied. “Just a minute while I enjoy the sight of Bismarck before we set off. It will all be different once we’re aloft. I wish you were coming with us, Dietelbaum.”
“So do I, sir,” replied Dietelbaum. He had had a place reserved for him on the trip, but at the last minute, Ernst Röhm had demanded a berth for his latest handsome blond male “secretary.” Since Dietelbaum had no airship crew skills, and Röhm appeared to be riding high in the Nazi Party’s favor, Eckener had had little alternative but to drop Dietelbaum from the roster.
“Never mind, Hans, there will be other times. And in more congenial company,” said Eckener. “This may not be the most enjoyable flight that Bismarck will make.” He moved towards the control gondola, from which he had stepped only twenty minutes before to admire the view of the airship in the shed. Because Eckener was Eckener, everything that he had to do on board had been completed and double-checked hours before. “In the air,” he used to say to new employees of the Zeppelin company, “there is no room for second chances. Check everything before you take off. There may not be time later on.” He glanced at his reflection in the windshield of the control gondola, and straightened his uniform cap before reaching out to the ladder dangling from the hatchway. “Man coming on board,” he sang out.
“Aye, aye, man coming on board,” came the reply from one of the handlers aft. As Eckener swung himself up the ladder, a sandbag roughly equivalent to his weight was released, preserving Bismarck’s neutral buoyancy.
“Hals- und Beinbruch,” called out Dietelbaum, using the traditional wish that the recipient would break his neck and legs, and thereby confusing and confounding the evil spirits lurking in wait to cause mischief.
Eckener waved back in response. Dietelbaum watched the passengers’ baggage being weighed and loaded, and sandbags dumped to maintain equilibrium. When this process was complete, a bugle sounded, and the handling crew emerged from the shadows at the sides of the shed and closed in to take the handling ropes that were attached to the sides of the gondolas.
The bugler sounded “Start engines” and in prescribed sequence, the engineers listening for the sound of the engines due to start before them, the Maybachs roared into life. The sound of the six 12-cylinder motors in the enclosed space of the hangar was almost physically terrifying, and Dietelbaum wondered, not for the first time, how the engineers in the gondolas survived the noise for hours on end, despite their ear protection. The shed, on its enormous turntable, had been turned into the wind, so that when the doors opened, a cool breeze swept directly into the hangar and the handling ropes went taut. Through the double doors, Dietelbaum could see the mooring mast against the clear blue sky, and beyond that, the Bodensee.
The bugle sounded “Lighten ship”, and five sandbags were dropped. Bismarck strained upwards, but was held down easily by the double line of men. The bugle sounded “Walk her out”, and in the control gondola, Dietelbaum saw Eckener move one of the engine-room telegraph levers. About ten seconds later, the rear pair of propellers started to rotate slowly as the engineers throttled back and engaged the clutches. At the pace of a slow march, the handlers guided Bismarck, bow first, out of the shed.
Dietelbaum followed, and watched as the rigger high in the bow port threw down the bow mooring rope, which was then picked up and clipped to the rope coming from the mooring mast. A waved exchange of flag signals between the control car and the top of the mast, and the bugle sounded “Up ship.”
The handling crew released their ropes, and Bismarck rose slowly and majestically a few feet into the air. The rear propellers windmilled to a stop, as the winch inside the mast took up the slack of the bow rope, and gently tugged the bow of Bismarck to meet the mooring mast. The airship turned slowly so that the bow was pointing directly into the wind.
A hatch opened just above the control car, and a crewman threw a rope to the mooring mast, where a ground handler attached the end of a flexible canvas and rope gangway, stiffened with wooden slats running across its width and fitted with ropes as handrails. In a few minutes, there was a relatively rigid and stable, yet flexible, path for the passengers to walk from the platform on the top of the mooring mast that rotated together with the airship, into the hatchway. From there, crewmen would guide them along catwalks and down internal stairways to the passenger accommodation.
This was a new technique, being tried for the first time on Bismarck to avoid the inconvenience of noise, and reduce the possible danger to passengers as the airship was walked out of the shed, and the difficulties of boarding a low hovering airship in the open air. Dietelbaum was pleased to see that it appeared to be working so well. Hitler and the other Nazi VIPs, followed by their assistants and secretaries went one at a time along the gangplank and disappeared through the hatchway. As each one entered, sandbags, corresponding to the weight of the passengers, were released to maintain equilibrium.
At last the final passenger boarded. Dietelbaum could now see faces along the side of the passenger promenade deck. The hatchway closed, and the gangway was withdrawn into the mooring mast.
A brief pause, and more flag signals from the control car. The bugle sounded “Up ship” again, and as Bismarck dumped gallons of water ballast to the ground, the bow rope was slipped from the mooring mast, and the vast silver cylinder soared into the air. The engines roared at full throttle, and the note changed as the clutches were engaged on the propellers, pair by pair, and the airship picked up speed.
A collective sigh, like the sound of a crowd at a fireworks display, arose from the onlookers as Bismarck rose to a height of about a thousand feet and started to turn in a circle.
As the airship came out of her turn and headed towards the west, there was a cheer from the watchers, and what seemed like the whole crowd pulled out handkerchiefs and pieces of white cloth and waved them at the departing dirigible. “Godspeed to you all!” someone called out, and the crowd took up the chant.
“Fantastic!” said the man next to Dietelbaum, watching the airship shrinking to a dot in the distance. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I’m sure the Confederates are going to be overwhelmed when they see that.”
Chapter 37: The War Department, Washington DC, United States of America
“Are we waiting for the same thing?”
“I’m waiting for the bastard to die.”
“I was wrong, you were right,” Vernon Gatt said to Henry Dowling. “John Summers is in one heck of a mess financially. He seems to have invested all his money in worthless business ventures. Not a single success among them in the last five years. I wonder what he’s been living on for the past six months. No, make that the last year,” turning over the pages that spelled out a man’s financial ruin in gruesome detail.
“Well, I gu
ess he’s been paid by the Confederacy for the past few weeks at least,” replied Dowling. “Either that, or he’s been living on God’s fresh air, which doesn’t make for a very secure way of life. Do you want to know my guess?”
“I’m getting to be scared to listen to you any more, Henry. Your guesses are almost always uncomfortable to listen to, and to make matters worse you’re usually right. Go on.”
“I’m guessing that he borrowed money privately on the expectation of repaying the loan with the Wasserstein money once he’d married Virginia, and then he found himself trapped with the interest repayments when he realized that the marriage was off,” suggested Dowling.
“You think that was his only interest in her?” asked Gatt, somewhat horrified by the suggestion that a trusted member of his staff could have behaved in such a way.
“I doubt it, quite frankly,” replied Dowling. “She is, after all, a most attractive young lady in so many ways. But I venture to suggest that had she been penniless, she would have been a good deal less attractive to Mr. John Summers. When did you first notice his interest in her?”
Gatt looked a little sheepish. “I suppose, now I come to recall, it was about the time that he seems to have started getting into real difficulties, according to these papers. I am afraid that you may be right in your suspicions, Henry. We’re definitely going to have to ask him some questions which I don’t think he’s going to appreciate.”