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

by David Dennington

Don’t you dare embarrass me!

  “It’s here. It’s here! Oh, it’s so beautiful,” Minnie yelled.

  “My Bobby’s in that airship,” Elsie shouted proudly.

  “And my Jimmy, too! We’re getting married in America next year,” Minnie announced. People turned and smiled, happy for her.

  “Oh look, she’s flying the American flag,” Elsie said pointing to the tiny Stars and Stripes fluttering on the tail. Excitement was building.

  “Look how she sparkles in the sunshine!”

  “Like a diamond.”

  “Incredible!”

  “Makes yer so proud, don’ it!”

  “My Bobby told me the airship might fly over this evening to say goodbye,” Elsie told the crowd.

  People began cheering and madly waving up at the ship. Shouts went from one to another along the waterfront like a recurring echo.

  “She’s come to say goodbye. She’s come to say goodbye!”

  Aboard the airship, the commodore issued his second order.

  “Reduce altitude to fifteen hundred feet.”

  Capt. Wann instructed the height coxswain, “Reduce altitude: fifteen hundred feet.”

  The bow dipped dramatically and the ship gathered speed, aided by gravity. Lou focused on his American skipper, sensing the man’s apprehension. His eyes were darting back and forth, from the scene outside, to the instruments, to the coxswains. Lou thought of Bateman, who he’d left minutes ago in the stern cockpit studying the movement of the gigantic elevators and rudders.

  The ship flew directly over the city, Welsh slates on rooftops and brick chimneys in plain view. As they raced toward the river, Lou saw factory workers, shop people and office workers running in the streets. Some stopped in their tracks, staring up in wonder as the ship sped toward the estuary. When the commodore gave his third and final order, an uneasy frown passed over the American captain’s face.

  “Rudders—fifteen degrees to starboard.”

  “Additional fifteen degrees to starboard, sir.”

  Capt. Wann watched the rudder coxswain rotate his wheel to implement the radical turn. The compass needle moved rapidly. Alarm and disbelief registered in the American captain’s face. The ship, traveling at considerable speed, began a sweeping turn over the estuary, followed by the eyes of thousands on the ground.

  Charlotte turned to check on the children, who’d instinctively gathered around her. A small, black Austin came skidding to a halt at the curb and two men jumped out—one in naval uniform, built like a little bull, the other a rotund, lumbering man, about five feet ten. The fat one, unable to keep up with his companion, yelled after him. Charlotte couldn’t hear what he was saying above the crowd as they rushed onto the pier.

  To the spectators, the airship was an extraordinary sight—a futuristic fantasy, but to these two men, the display clearly meant much more. Although his breathing was labored, the fat man’s voice became audible as he stumbled closer.

  “Hell, he’s giving her a hammering!” he shouted in a broad Scottish accent.

  They rushed up and stood close to Charlotte and the children.

  “Nah! She can take it, Mac,” replied the little bull.

  “I don’t like it, Scottie. It’s bloody suicide! She’s not built for this—you know she ain’t.”

  Charlotte took her eyes off the airship and glared at both men. She didn’t like that kind of language in front of children, but the desperate anxiety in the fat man’s face struck her and she too, became alarmed.

  High above them in the control car, the officers gripped handholds on the walls and ceiling. The coxswains clung to their wheels, but the commodore remained cool. Suddenly, a deep, vibrating boom reverberated throughout the ship, like the snapping of a great steel string on a giant bass instrument. Every man felt the awful jolt through their feet and hands.

  “What the hell’s that?” the American captain shouted.

  The rudder coxswain spun his wheel without resistance, shrieking in panic, his face ashen. “Rudder’s gone, sir!”

  The ship was now in mortal danger. Terror showed in every face, including the commodore’s. “Rudder cable’s parted,” he shouted. “Cut power to all engines!”

  The American captain turned and screamed at Lou, “Remington—look to your crew!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Lou replied over his shoulder as he and Potter raced up the stairs. When they reached the catwalk above the control car, crewmen clamored for answers.

  “What happened, sir?” Josh, yelled.

  “We’ve lost the rudders. Get your parachutes on, all of you.”

  On the pier, Charlotte and the children beside her gazed up at the airship, mesmerized. But then, almost in slow motion, a crease formed in its side, aft of the midsection, behind the control car. With a deep, sickening feeling in pit of her stomach, Charlotte realized she was about to witness something terrible.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Scottie groaned.

  The crease grew into a diagonal crack at first, and then a gaping black hole, running from the top to well behind the control car. The five nurses screamed hysterically.

  “Aaaaah no!”

  “Bobby! Bobby!”

  ‘My Jimmy! My Jimmy!”

  “It’s breaking! It’s breaking!” the children sobbed.

  The crowd wailed as the two ends of the airship sagged downwards, the whole thing splitting open like a massive dinosaur egg. Suddenly, a huge explosion knocked the crowd to the ground. Flames and black smoke burst from the opening, and equipment, gas tanks, ballast tanks and men on fire tumbled from the envelope into the sky.

  “Sweet Jesus save them!” yelled the fat man as he went down.

  When the airship began to separate, Lou was standing twenty feet forward of the breaking point, close to one of the parachute racks. He grabbed the last parachute and held on to it. He’d put it on when he got a chance. Inside the ship everything was carnage and chaos. Struggling to keep his feet, he watched the writhing ship violently pulled apart by invisible forces—its cables and guy wires wrenched from their anchor points like sinews from a chicken’s leg. They whipped around with lethal ferocity, decapitating Al Jolson, dismembering many, and lashing the faces and torsos of others—not a soul was left unscathed. Lou received a deep gash down the right side of his face. The dreadful creaking, moaning, and groaning of the steel girders sounded like a prehistoric creature in her death throes.

  Wildly sparking electric cables were ripped from their sockets and pipes carrying fuel to the engines broke apart, dousing crewmen who rushed blindly like madmen in all directions. The gasoline erupted, followed by the first hydrogen gasbag. With an ear-splitting explosion, dozens of men enveloped in orange flame were blasted into the sky from the airship, now almost completely severed in two. Lou, Potter and Josh were in the blazing front section. The rear half hadn’t yet caught fire, but Lou expected it would very soon.

  With blood pouring from his wound, saturating his white jersey, Lou watched the cabin boy rush past him, trying to hold on to the terrified Fluffy. When the explosion came, the cat broke free, leapt the divide, and raced off toward the stern. The screaming cabin boy was blown off the catwalk, falling forty feet through the girders into the sky toward the raging river below.

  The canvas cover—much of it on fire—made tearing and popping sounds as it was ripped off like paper. The rushing wind fanned the flames enveloping injured men. Now ablaze like flaming torches, crazy with fear and pain, they ran wildly up and down the catwalks, screaming. Inevitably, each one hurled himself out into the sky toward the icy water. Powerless to help, Lou watched his men perish all around him. Numb to his own physical pain, he felt as though his heart was being ripped from his chest.

  As the gap widened between the two halves, something told Lou to make the leap to the other side. He did. Potter was right behind him. They heard a yell as Josh made a running leap. He barely made it before the gap widened and the front half broke away, leaving him clinging to a girder in space. L
ou spotted Elsie’s boyfriend, too frightened, and now too late, to make the jump. Lou threw his parachute to him.

  “Put this on, Bobby!” he yelled.

  Bobby caught it and struggled to put it on. Two more attempted the leap, but the gap had become too wide. They fell to their deaths. Josh, still clinging on, turned his head away in horror. Lou lay down and held on to the ship with his left hand and grabbed Josh’s outreached hand with the other. Below them, he saw the control car, itself ablaze, separate from the plunging front section and veer off, cart-wheeling in the air. For a split second, Lou thought of the men inside, where he’d been only minutes ago. He noticed the engine pod on the port side—the engineer had managed to get out and was clinging to the struts.

  Must be New York Johnny.

  His chances looked slim. As Lou mustered the strength to pull Josh up, a girder collapsed, trapping and breaking his left arm. Adrenalin, or a miracle, allowed Lou to haul Josh up to a point where, with help from Potter, he was able to scramble onto the catwalk. Josh and Potter pulled up on the girder, releasing Lou’s arm. Lou winced as they lifted him to his feet. Nausea and dizziness swept over him.

  On the waterfront, spellbound spectators witnessed the disaster unfolding. Charlotte cried as she tried to comfort the distraught children beside her, while the five nurses clung to one another sobbing uncontrollably. The crowd had become as one in shock and sorrow. The fat man gasped in anguish and closed his eyes, at breaking point.

  “Oh, dear God, what have they done?” he cried.

  “My Bobby,” Elsie whimpered, her face screwed up in anguish.

  Another, more powerful detonation knocked the crowd to the ground for a second time. An eerie silence followed after the engines, starved of gasoline, sputtered and quit. All that could be heard now were heartbreaking cries of falling men, echoing over the water, crashing glass dropping from shattered windows across the city, and moaning, weeping people in the crowd.

  The second explosion had also occurred in the front half of the ship—the rest of the gas bags exploding in a massive chain reaction. Lou, Potter, and Josh stood at the opening as the blazing front section fell away. Now without hydrogen buoyancy, the severed section fell like a rock with men in flames falling out or throwing themselves out, while the lucky ones, apparently unhurt, floated down in parachutes (one of them, Bobby). But luck is a fickle mistress; large swaths of the river were afire, blazing with gasoline spilled from ignited storage tanks. On Victoria Pier, people lay on the ground, as though dead.

  Lou and his two crewmen made their way to check more parachute racks. They were all gone. Close by, an English crewman wearing a parachute was getting ready to jump. Two Americans watched with envy. The man hesitated, taking pity on them.

  “Come on, you Yanks. Grab on to me,” he hollered.

  They rushed to him and wrapped their arms around him.

  “Hold tight, boys!”

  As they were about to jump, one panicked. “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!”

  “Don’t worry, I got you, mate,” the Englishman shouted.

  All three jumped into space. Lou was skeptical, not sure they’d made a wise decision. At least for now, this half of the airship hadn’t caught fire. Lou and his two companions held on, watching the threesome descend. The chute suddenly burst open, breaking their freefall with a jerk, dislodging the non-swimmer. The screaming man fell and splashed into the black water.

  Lou stepped back from the opening, wincing and clutching his arm. He looked up at the remaining part of the ship and flapping gas bags. For now, they had hydrogen and therefore, lift—too much lift! All around them, the wind howled. The remains of the outer fabric cover fluttered and loose parts of the structure chattered and vibrated.

  “D’ya think she’s gonna blow, Lou?” Potter asked, his face dead-pan as usual.

  “No—but we’re ascending,” Lou said, pulling a switchblade from his pocket.

  “Damn! You’re right,” Potter gasped, noticing they were coming up into higher cloud.

  “Take this knife and slash the gas bags and open the valves—quickly!”

  “I’ve got a knife,” Potter said. Josh pulled out a similar one.

  “Good, go help him, Josh,” Lou said. “Meet me at the stern cockpit—there may be some parachutes there,” Lou said, putting the knife back in his pocket.

  Lou held his throbbing arm, and moved carefully along the catwalk, leaving a trail of blood. On the way, he found a thick rope, from which he cut a piece, and fashioned a sling. When he got to the stern, Bateman had disappeared, but Fluffy stood on his seat snarling and spitting—her eyes blazing, her back arched in fury. There were no parachutes.

  Lou heard someone yelling from outside the cockpit. He cautiously peered over the side where Bateman dangled precariously in space. Lou figured he’d thrown on his parachute in blind panic and hurled himself overboard, his lines hopelessly tangled with the hooks and ropes in the cockpit. Lou leaned over and, with his good arm, pulled the terrified man back on board. The badly shaken Bateman sank down onto the bench seat, shaking his head. They looked up at the rudder swinging freely from side to side.

  “Oh, Lou, am I glad to see you, my friend.”

  “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

  Lou’s relief was mixed—their section of the ship was now sinking toward the flaming river. Below them, men with parachutes were descending into the inferno, their chances of survival poor. Lou thought he and the others would probably suffer the same fate.

  Better we take our chances here than to be blown out over the North Sea.

  On Victoria Pier, everyone struggled to their feet again. Charlotte helped Scottie pull Mac up from the ground. All eyes were glued to the front half of the ship, now a speeding fire ball, heading in their direction. They were the ones in danger now. The crowd stampeded toward the road.

  One of the girls grabbed her infant brother from the pram and ran off with the other children and screaming nurses. Charlotte got knocked sideways into Scottie and Mac by the rushing mob and all three landed on the ground in a heap yet again. The flaming front half hit the water just short of the dock, spewing more bodies and gasoline into the river and sending a cascade of dirty water over the unfortunate ones still on the pier. The children managed to get clear and stood motionless in the middle of the road with the dazed, weeping nurses.

  The river was blazing immediately in front of Charlotte and far out across the estuary. She stood dripping wet, while the parachutists, thought to be safe, dropped into the sea of flames. She watched her friend’s husband and son as they clung to their upturned rowboat, not far from the fiery wreck. If they escaped being burned alive, they’d soon die of exposure in the icy river. Minutes later, she saw the rear half of the ship splash down in a flame-free area to the north, but it was soon caught in the clutches of the outward rushing tide. She wondered if anyone was inside.

  Charlotte, Scottie, and Mac left the pier, which was strewn with the remnants of panic: shoes, clothing, newspapers, handbags, broken eyeglasses and the kid’s pram on its side. They hurried along the wharf in the direction of the infirmary and boats tied up at the dock. They stopped for a moment, not quite knowing what to say. As is common at such times, a bond had developed between them. Storm clouds, accompanied by lightning flashes and rolling thunder had moved closer, adding to the misery. Smoke drifted across the river toward them and raindrops began to cut through the petrol-laden air mixed with burnt odors, which Charlotte pushed from her mind.

  Mac spoke first. “What’s your name, miss? I’m Fred McWade and this is Major Scott.”

  “Nurse Charlotte Hamilton.”

  “You’re going to be busy, Nurse Hamilton,” Scott said.

  “Yes. I must get back to the infirmary.”

  “Come on, Mac, let’s jump into one of these boats,” Scott said, eyeing the boatmen along the wharf, already hurriedly untying their mooring lines. Scott called down to them.

  “We’re airshipmen. Ca
n you take us out there?”

  “Come on, guv, climb aboard,” one replied.

  Charlotte pointed toward the river. “Sir, please hurry and get to the boy and his father—look—clinging to their boat. They’re my best friend’s family.”

  Fanny came rushing up. “Oh, help me, help me, I beg you,” she pleaded and then with a sob, “It’s me ’usband, Lenny, and Billy, me little boy.”

  “All right, we’ll get ’em,” Scott said. He pulled out a silver hip flask and gulped down a couple of good mouthfuls before they rushed off down the quay. Charlotte sympathized—any man would need a drink to cope with scenes they were about to encounter. She put her arm around Fanny’s frail shoulders as they watched the two men climb aboard an old rusty riverboat.

  “Don’t worry, love, they’ll save them. Come on. Let’s sort these kids out.”

  They went to the children who were standing in the road crying and soaking wet.

  “Come on, let’s get your pram. Your mum and dad will be worrying about you.”

  “We don’t have a dad, miss,” one girl said, holding a message tube tightly to her chest.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, dear?” Charlotte asked.

  “It cooome down from airship, miss. I picked it ooop ’ere int’ street.”

  Charlotte recognized the name on the tube in large letters:

  ELSIE POSTLETHWAITE C/O Hull Infirmary.

  “You’d better give it to me, love,” Charlotte said, gently removing it from the girl’s grip. “Don’t worry, I’ll see she gets it. I promise.”

  After retrieving the old blue pram from the pier and sending the kids home, Charlotte and Fanny headed back to the infirmary. Charlotte expected it’d be a long night and though she felt shocked and heartsick she’d steal herself to do her job. She’d seen worse.

  Charlotte left Fanny with Matron and hurried to the staff room to dry off. There was no sign of Elsie. After that, she headed to the ward to get instructions. Once there, Charlotte, together with nurses and patients wrapped in blankets, gathered at the windows, watching the awful scene on the river—dozens of boats of all sizes had joined the search for survivors. She breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Scott and McWade had pulled Lenny and son, Billy, to safety. Their boat was now moving toward the middle of the estuary to assist in the search.