Beneath Gray Skies

by Hugh Ashton

He wasn’t joking when he said that he couldn’t write well, thought David. The draft, with many crossings and corrections, in poorly formed childish writing, was full of spelling mistakes that even David could notice. Another hand had corrected them, adding to the general confusion on the page.

  “I reckon,” said Harrison, looking at his watch, “that we have something like an hour to do this. Or rather, Sergeant, you have a little less than fifty minutes. Up to it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said David firmly.

  “Good man. Use this desk. Pens and paper here.”

  “Ink, sir?” asked David.

  “Goddamn it,” swore Harrison when a search had revealed no trace of any ink. “Am I surrounded by total idiots?”

  Greatly daring, David interrupted the flow. “Sir, since time is short, maybe I should go to the camp office and fetch the ink myself? I know where it’s kept.”

  “Off you go, kid. Hurry.”

  David saluted and ran out of the tent towards the office. He grabbed the Indian ink from the supply cupboard, and started back, taking the shortest route by the airship shed. As he half-ran, he felt his wrist gripped by a hand and he was pulled behind one of the braces supporting the gigantic sliding doors.

  “Brian! What in heck are you doing here? I saw you with Colonel Vickers’s glasses, you know. So did the Colonel. What’s that you’ve got with you?” looking at two kitbags on the ground beside them. “And why are you dressed that way?” looking at Brian’s Army denim fatigues, with no insignia.

  “Don’t worry about me. You never saw me, and don’t worry about what’s with me,” replied Brian urgently. “I just want to warn you to be careful. Things are going to start happening today that you really don’t want to know about.”

  This was the second time that day that David had received a hint that something was going to happen. He started to speak, but Brian interrupted him.

  “Don’t ask questions. Just you take care of yourself. And remember, you never saw me. Now get back to wherever you’re going. You look as though you’re in a hurry.” He released David’s wrist.

  David continued his journey back to Harrison’s tent, and entered, out of breath and more than a little confused by what was going on.

  “Well done, Sergeant,” said Harrison, as David saluted and threw himself into the chair behind the desk, breathing hard. “Captain, you will fetch the sergeant a glass of iced tea.”

  “Thank you, sir,” David replied, trying to get his breathing back to normal. “May I, sir?” he asked, indicating that he wished to remove his jacket to make it easier to write.

  “Go ahead, kid. Take off all your clothes and stand on your head if it helps you write easier.”

  Harrison left, and the captain reappeared with David’s tea. “Thank you, sir,” David said.

  “And thank you, Sergeant,” replied the captain, quietly adding, “If you hadn’t gone back and fetched that ink, our lives would have been merry hell for the next week or so.”

  David started to work. The certificate was not too long, and David had time to think how to display the words on the page to the best advantage. One of his better efforts, he thought to himself, as he put the final touches to the page.

  He leaned back and sighed with relief. The captain who’d brought his tea earlier came over to the desk.

  “Why, that’s real neat, Sergeant. Congratulations on an excellent piece of work. I’ll go and fetch the General.”

  Harrison entered a minute or so later. “Let’s have a look,” picking up the paper by the edges with a delicacy that seemed incongruous in so large a man. “That’s a heck of a job there, Sergeant. Well done. And,” looking at his watch, “with ten minutes at least to spare, I reckon. You know,” as a thought obviously just struck him, “you get to come on the airship with me instead of one of those no-good sonsabitches who can’t even get ink when I need it. Yes, that’s it. You come along of me instead of him,” pointing to the captain.

  David was thrilled. He was actually to travel on the airship! He looked at the captain who was being displaced in his favor, worried that this would cause ill-will, but to his surprise, the captain half-smiled and gave a surreptitious wink.

  “Come out and join me when you’re cleaned up here, Sergeant,” ordered the General as he swept out. “I think I hear the airship coming now.”

  Indeed, if David listened, he could hear a low drone in the background. Like an enormous hornet’s nest or something, he thought to himself.

  “I’m sorry that I’m taking your place, sir,” he apologized to the captain as he tidied up the pens and paper.

  “I’m not sorry,” replied the captain. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m scared of heights. I really didn’t want to go on the airship at all. So you enjoy yourself up there, Sergeant, and I’ll enjoy myself down here.” He smiled.

  “Thank you very much, sir,” replied David.

  “You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

  David ducked out of the tent and joined the General’s party, all of whom were now staring into the sky towards the west. The noise of the engines seemed a little louder now, but David could see nothing until another of the General’s aides pointed out to him the small dark speck against the blue sky.

  “Have a look for yourself, Sergeant,” said the officer, proffering his field-glasses to David.

  David held them to his eyes and adjusted the focus. Even though it was still small, David could make out the shape of the dirigible. A long cigar, just as Major LeHay had described it so long ago, with fins arranged in a cross at one end, seemingly swimming through the air like an enormous fish. David couldn’t remember when he’d last seen something that beautiful. “Thank you, sir,” said David, handing the glasses back at last.

  They waited and the sound grew louder and louder, turning from a drone into a subdued roar. Now David could see the shape of the hull for himself with his naked eye, and even make out some dark lumps under the silver hull. They must be the control car and so on, David told himself. A couple of small airplanes flew alongside, probably taking photographs and movies of the occasion, he thought.

  At last, Bismarck came close enough for the watchers on the ground to make out faces at the windows of the control car and at the front of the observation lounge of the passenger car. The thunder of the Maybach engines grew louder, and over their noise David heard the handling party’s bugle sound “Move out.” As he watched the two files of men march to their positions (he would have done it better and smarter, he told himself), the airship circled overhead. The engines roared, and then throttled back as the gigantic machine, casting a shadow over the whole field, maneuvered into position. As planned, the crew threw down the grounding wire, followed by the handling ropes from points along the airship’s hull, which were caught by the handlers on the ground.

  “She’s big,” gasped David in amazement as he gazed at the dirigible, which seemed to stretch out for ever. “Mighty big. I’d been told, but I didn’t rightly believe it.”

  “Takes some getting used to,” agreed his companion. “I wouldn’t have guessed something that big could ever fly. Them Germans are mighty smart folks to get something that size across the ocean.”

  The bugle sounded “Haul down”, and the handling party started to pull on the ropes. Little by little the airship dropped, and the bow rope was thrown from the airship. A corporal ran to pick it up and clip it to the mooring tower rope, already trailing from the top of the tower. The winches in the tower started to turn, and the rope went taut.

  Slowly, Bismarck’s bow inched toward the tower, with the hull held steady by the handling crew still firmly grasping the ropes. As the bow reached the tower, and was made fast with the special shackles, the bugle sounded “Release ropes” and Bismarck swung free, as a hatch opened in the lower bow.

  David watched the operation of connecting the gangway to the airship with enthralled interest. Major Weisstal had described it to him, but it wasn’t the same as actually seeing it happen.


  The first dignitary, President Jefferson Davis III, made his way across the swaying gangway to the sounds of martial music played by an Army band. As he stepped into the hatch, a German crewman stepped out. A little water was released from the airship, presumably to compensate for the difference in weight between Davis and the Bismarck crew member. The process was repeated with the rest of the Cabinet, eight people in all. David was not the only one quietly amused to see that as General-in-Chief Harrison cautiously stepped on board using his canes, not one, but two, crewmen stepped out to keep the balance. Then it was the turn of the aides and secretaries, two for each of the Cabinet members, and three for the President. David felt himself in exalted company as he waited in line, together with Harrison’s other aide, the Lieutenant-Colonel who had loaned him the binoculars earlier. As he reached the head of the line, David felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “What on earth are you doing here, David?” asked Major Weisstal, who was supervising the embarkation.

  David explained, but Major Weisstal seemed unhappy. “I don’t like you being on board, in case something should happen today.” This was the third time that David had received such a veiled warning and, truth to tell, he was getting rather nervous. “I really would sooner you didn’t go on the airship today,” he said to David. “I can arrange for you to fly later on, I’m sure.”

  David shook his head. It wasn’t every day that he got to fly in an airship as a temporary aide to the top soldier in the Confederacy.

  “I can’t make you change your mind? Then make sure you take good care of yourself, David.” Major Weisstal seemed more worried than David had ever seen him. David swayed his way across the flexible gangway, and stepped inside the hatch.

  “Down there,” pointed a crewman standing on a platform inside the hatch, down a metal companionway leading down to the keel of the airship. Ahead of him, David could see the double row of gasbags, rippling gently with the motion of the airship. The whole experience seemed a little like swimming underwater, which he’d done sometimes as a young boy in Florida. He made his way down the stairs, savoring every minute of the exciting experience.

  -o-

  When he reached the keel, a crewman pointed him along the metal catwalk leading aft, and went up the companionway, presumably to disembark when the next passenger got on. David made his way along the catwalk, taking in the strange sights and unique smells of the inside of the airship. He could hear a faint creaking as the structure flexed in the wind.

  He passed a ladder leading down to the control car, and on to a staircase where another crewman waved him down to the lounge. In there, he saw President Davis, and the Cabinet members, together with some civilian Germans. Apart from a few stewards, all the airship crew appeared to be busy with running the ship. The Confederate secretaries and aides were in another part of the lounge, and David went over to join them, now feeling totally out of place.

  As he accepted a crystal glass of apple juice from one of the stewards, another crewman moved to stand in front of David. “Minister Goering would like to speak with you, sir,” he said in accented English. “This way, please.”

  He led David from the group of underlings to the other group of dignitaries, where President Davis stood in the center, with General Harrison, talking to a short man with hair flopping over his eyes, and a dark mustache. To one side of this group stood a man whom David recognized as Goering.

  “Welcome!” he exclaimed to David. “What a small world it is, indeed. I last saw you in Berlin when that madman was running away with that girl in one hand and you in the other. I am so glad that you survived unhurt.”

  “Yes, sir,” said David helplessly.

  “Do you know how I knew you were here?” asked Goering. “No, how could you? When I saw that magnificent certificate of appreciation that your President has just presented to the Führer,” he waved a hand to where David’s recent handiwork was displayed on a small table, “I thought that there can only be one or two people capable of such work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And then I look, and I recognize your face. Let me introduce you.” He moved, David in helpless tow behind him, to the central group. He said something to the mustached man in German. David could pick out a few words: “writing”, “Goethe”, “Berlin”, and “my wife.” Then Goering turned to David. “You must meet the Führer,” he said to David.

  “Mein Führer,” he said to the other German. “Ich möchte diesen jungen Mann vorstellen.” David mentally blessed Major Weisstal for teaching him enough German to know that he was being introduced. “My friend,” Goering turned to David, “this is Adolf Hitler, Führer—that is to say leader—and Chancellor of the German Reich.”

  David was not sure how to react, so he did what any good soldier does in an emergency; he saluted.

  Hitler returned with the strange straight-armed German salute. “Wie heißen Sie, dann?” asked Hitler. David looked into the dark eyes of the man facing him, but could see no trace of the evil that both Brian and Major Weisstal had described as being part of the Nazis.

  Goering was about to put the question of David’s name into English, but David confidently answered, “Ich heiße David Slater, Herr Führer. Feldwebel.”

  “Very good. Sehr gut. Nicht wahr?” Goering appealed to Hitler, who nodded, and responded with a long speech in German that David couldn’t follow.

  “Entschuldigung, bitte, Herr Führer. Ich kann nicht Sie verstehen,” David stammeringly apologized to Hitler.

  “But this is superb anyway, Sergeant,” exclaimed Goering. He translated Hitler’s speech to David. “The Führer bids you welcome aboard Bismarck, and says that your certificate of the flight will be a pleasant memory for him of the friendship between the Confederacy and Germany.” He turned to General-in-Chief Harrison. “Are all your soldiers so talented?” he asked.

  “That’s not the case, I fear, sir. Quite honestly, I had no idea that the Sergeant had any skill in speaking German.”

  “Well, he must certainly form a part of the military legation you are sending to Berlin, General.” Goering was enjoying himself, but David desperately wished he was somewhere else. The strain of being in the company of not only Hitler, but President Davis, who, after the first exchange in German, had kept scrutinizing him as if he were some rare animal, made him nervous. He suddenly remembered that the last time he had visited a latrine was some time ago, and this made him even more nervous.

  Happily Goering seemed to notice his discomfort. “Come, Sergeant,” he said. “We must not take up any more of these people’s important time.”

  “Thank you, Herr Minister,” David said as he was escorted to the other side of the room. “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “I look forward to meeting you again,” replied Goering. “In Berlin,” he added as he turned away.

  David signaled to a steward, and pantomimed his need for a latrine. The steward guided him down the corridor to a small room containing a sparkling clean chemical closet. With relief, David unbuttoned, and as he urinated, much of his tension left him.

  When he returned to the lounge, all the Confederates and all the German passengers were standing by the large observation window.

  David joined them and heard the bugle outside sounding “Up ship”. Smoothly and majestically the airship lifted, slightly bow-up, and the ground fell silently away. In a matter of mere seconds, David could see the city of Cordele spread out, and on the other side of Bismarck he could see the whole of the new lake below the curved window as the airship leveled off. David could see the shadow of the airship covering the fields below as the Maybachs roared up to full speed, and the gearsmen engaged the propeller clutches.

  This was the future, thought David excitedly, and he was living in it. He doubted if anyone, at any time, had ever been happier.

  Chapter 40: Whitehall, London, United Kingdom

  “I think a Nazi Germany with ready access to a continued supply of oil would be ready and willing t
o attack its neighbors.”

  “This is bad, C, very, very bad,” said the Minister. He fiddled with the pens on his desk as he spoke. “It means we really can’t trust the Americans any more if they’ve got this kind of thing going on all the way through their government. That list that Dowling grabbed from their man who shot himself is a damned embarrassment to them, and also an embarrassment to us for trusting them. Three Under-Secretaries, no less, and God knows how many others, taking money from both Washington and Richmond? It’s disgraceful.”

  “And talking of Henry Dowling, sir,” replied C. “He’s been going around Washington in a state of—how shall I put it?—less than perfect sobriety, making wild accusations about Americans and treachery. The Americans’ head man, Gatt, has been pretty good about it, but there’s a limit to the patience we can expect.”

  “Well, bring him home. I can’t say he’s covered with laurels, but at least he hasn’t made a complete balls-up of things. It’s hardly his fault if his man gets betrayed by a bloody traitor, and he’s entitled to let off a little steam.”