by David John
‘Must be the Air Station,’ said Hannah.
She opened the chest and with Eleanor’s help lifted the heavy rolls of silver canvas from inside. In the fifth fold Eleanor plucked out the package containing the List Dossier.
‘Got it,’ she said as Hannah dumped the canvas back inside. ‘Let’s go.’
‘That’s far enough,’ said a voice in English.
About twenty feet away, standing on the grilled floor of the axial corridor, was the tall, potbellied figure of Koch. ‘Don’t move.’ His arm was stiffly extended. He was aiming a handgun right at them.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Denham was next to Captain Lehmann at the back of the crowded bridge, out of the way of the helmsman, the elevator man, and the officers monitoring the gas pressure and engine telegraphs. Captain Pruss stood behind the first officer, who was in charge of the landing. Lehmann was keeping an eye on the light boards that monitored ballast and hydrogen, the nerves and nuclei of the most modern aircraft ever built. More than ever Denham wished that Tom was with him now.
On the sodden landing field hundreds of tiny figures were now assembling around the mooring tower. A heavy shower had fallen just before they’d arrived, and wide pools reflected the leaden sky.
‘Reverse engines,’ said Pruss, and the vast ship began to brake as it moved in from the west and slowly dropped lower. They were about six hundred feet from the ground. ‘Prepare to release port and starboard handling lines.’
Koch’s thick grey hair was dishevelled; his forehead beaded with sweat. The long climb up the ladder after them must have got his heart racing.
‘Put the dossier on the floor,’ he said. There was a tremor to his voice, and he swayed very slightly, making Eleanor think that he’d been drinking.
‘What kind of idiot brings a firearm on board a hydrogen airship?’ she said. ‘Do you know what would happen if—’
‘Put the fucking dossier on the floor,’ he shouted.
The bracing wires creaked. The hum of the engines could be felt through the floor. A low, filtered light seeped through in places, but otherwise the area was in a gloaming of its own.
‘Do as he says, Eleanor,’ Hannah whispered.
‘I’ve never seen this type of landing before,’ Denham said. ‘Normally we drift down and the ground crew walks us to the mast, don’t they?’
‘It’s a new technique called a “high landing,” ’ said Lehmann. ‘They pull us down by ropes and moor us. Requires fewer men, and saves us money.’
As Lehmann spoke, Denham’s attention was caught by the view on the right-hand side: a bank of low grey cloud was billowing towards them from the southwest. ‘Is that another storm front moving in?’
‘Put the gun down,’ Eleanor said. Her eyes were locked on Koch’s. ‘We’re not armed.’
‘Not a step closer,’ he shouted. The barrel trembled in his hand. ‘Believe me, I will shoot you.’
‘You might,’ said Eleanor, ‘but you might miss and hit the hydrogen. Put the goddamned gun down.’
‘At this range? With this calibre?’ He gave a nervous, hissing laugh. ‘This is a Walther PPK semi-automatic. No, I will hit you. I will kill you.’ His face was sweating streams in the cold air. ‘Put the dossier on the floor.’
Eleanor was holding up the package as if it were a shield.
‘Eleanor,’ Hannah implored. ‘Please put it down.’
In the control car Denham could not take his eyes off the approaching storm, but the attention of Captain Pruss, the first officer, and the others was focused on the mooring mast, the ship’s altitude, and the speed of approach. Eckener, with his pathological obsession for safety, would not have allowed this, he thought. The old man would have delayed for as long as it took until the danger had passed. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed another blue flame wriggling along the metal fittings at the back of the room.
Eleanor slowly put the package on the floor, but the gun stayed trained on her.
‘There,’ she said. ‘I’ve put it down. Now you put the gun down.’
Koch seemed to breathe a little easier, and he lowered the gun.
‘It’s yours to take back to Berlin,’ Eleanor said, retreating slowly.
‘I’m not taking it to Berlin,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘I’m going to destroy it.’ His voice had an off, cracked note, sounding more than drunk; he sounded unhinged, as though something had snapped inside his head. ‘As soon as we land, I will burn it . . . as if it never existed.’
As he moved forwards to pick up the package from the floor, a shadow rose in the dim corridor behind him. Friedl was creeping up on Koch, holding a small length of rope between his hands. He’d removed his shoes. Hannah looked at him wide-eyed and gave a rapid shake of her head, but he didn’t notice; nor had he noticed the gun in Koch’s hand. He crouched as if to gather himself, then in a wide movement took a giant step and leapt onto Koch’s back, sending him crashing to the floor. Koch landed painfully on his side, with his gun arm sticking out horizontally. Friedl struggled to get the rope around his neck, with both men straining and groaning, and then he saw the gun.
The shot sounded like Dan!
Sparks cascaded, and a whooshing, whip-crack made the women duck and cover their heads. The bullet had nicked one of the thin bracing wires, snapping it and sending it singing through the air as its tension released. It quivered for a second like a kraken’s tentacle, then tore into the nearest gas cell, making a long gash high up in the fabric.
Hannah rushed to help Friedl, stamped her heel on Koch’s wrist, and pulled the gun away, sliding it back towards Eleanor.
But Eleanor was looking up, transfixed by the tear high up on the gas cell, near the very top of the ship.
Hydrogen was flowing freely from the gash, mixing with oxygen, causing rippling waves in the fabric of the cell, like a hot-water bottle emptying. The escaping flow pushed against the ship’s outer sheathing, making it flutter.
An unmistakable smell filled her nostrils. ‘Garlic,’ she whispered.
The first officer turned to Pruss. ‘That’s odd,’ he said, pointing at the instruments. ‘We’re losing altitude in the stern. We’re about a thousand kilograms heavy.’
‘Release water ballast,’ said Pruss.
A ballast toggle was pulled, then another.
‘Still tail heavy,’ the first officer said, and picked up the telephone to order the crew members on duty in the lower tail fin to walk to the bow in order to correct the trim.
The ship was now about three hundred feet from the ground, hovering, and close enough for Pruss to wave to the commander of the Naval Air Station sitting in his jeep at the corner of the field.
‘Release starboard and port handling lines,’ he said.
From the bow hatch window the heavy mooring ropes fell and splattered on the ground where the mooring crew picked them up and tied them to a capstan. At that moment the evening sun came out, filling the control car with light, even as a light rain was falling from the weather front gathering from the southwest.
Denham turned to Lehmann. ‘Won’t that wet rope ground us? I mean, couldn’t it cause a spark?’ He could feel the static on his fingertips when he touched the sill, and in his hair.
‘There’s no danger,’ Lehmann said, clapping Denham’s shoulder. He nodded at the light board. ‘All cells are normal, and we have five experienced officers in here, including me.’
‘Cut engines,’ said Pruss. The four propeller engines died, and with that the great ship floated in silence, as if it were holding its breath.
‘We’ve got to warn the bridge,’ Eleanor shouted. She forgot the dossier; she forgot the gun. They abandoned Koch on the narrow axial corridor, groaning and clutching his wrist. The package containing the dossier lay about ten feet away from him. Hannah ran back and snatched it from the floor.
I
n the distance along the endless axial corridor they saw the duty riggers moving.
They clambered down the long air duct ladder that led back to the keel. For three long minutes they descended, their feet slipping on the rungs. They reached the cargo hold and were about to reenter the passenger quarters when Eleanor, who was in the rear, heard a muffled detonation far above her, like the sound of someone lighting a gas stove.
‘Did you feel that?’ the first officer said, turning to Pruss.
‘A rope must have snapped.’
Denham stepped to the window and saw immediately that something was wrong. The hangar building was illuminated with a rose-coloured light and the ground crew were running away, abandoning the ropes. He opened the window and leaned out as far as he could, looking towards the stern, and saw a carnation of bright flames blossoming beneath the fins. He pulled himself in faster than the colour could drain from his face.
‘The ship’s on fire.’
The officer on the rudder wheel let out an animal moan, and before Pruss could give another order the control car tilted steeply backwards to the sound of straining metal.
As most of the passengers were on the starboard side facing the crowd come to welcome them, the lounge and reading room were almost deserted when Friedl, Hannah, and Eleanor got there.
Eleanor saw Miss Mather sitting alone at a banquette, reading a book. Before she could say a word to the woman the floor fell away and threw them violently onto their fronts. Tongues of dark red flame blew in through the rear bulkheads, caressing the ceiling.
From above came a roar like a giant blowtorch, as one gas cell ignited the next in a string of explosions. She heard the screams of people on the starboard side, and the thump, thump of bodies falling one over the other as the ship pitched steeply to stern, tipping with it a metal mangle of tables and chairs.
‘Get up,’ Eleanor shouted. Intense heat was scorching her hands and her head. ‘We have to jump.’
The earth was rising towards them. She knelt up and grabbed the sill. The window was jammed.
‘Help me, Friedl.’
Now the ship was quickly righting itself as it approached the ground. She saw Friedl’s jacket on fire, orange flames across his back. They each pushed, and the second time pushed together, and it opened. Hannah got Miss Mather to her feet. The woman was leaning against the bulkhead, trying to shield her face with an upturned coat collar.
‘Let’s go,’ Hannah shouted. The woman’s face was contorted, stiff with shock.
‘Lady, come on,’ Eleanor shouted, but Miss Mather was in a trance.
The ship smashed to the ground, its back broken, and almost pitched them headfirst through the windows.
‘C’mon outta there!’ a voice shouted.
A sailor in a white cap appeared in the window, his arms extended desperately. With Hannah’s help Eleanor lifted Miss Mather and shoved her through. Then Hannah jumped, and Eleanor was following when a rolling wall of black smoke engulfed her, choking her, coating her skin and hair.
The next thing she knew she was on her hands and knees on wet soil, coughing violently while the blaze raged above her.
‘Lady, run!’ said the sailor.
Behind her came the cries of people being burned alive. Everywhere, glowing balls of molten metal were hitting the ground. She got up and had a sense that Friedl was just ahead of her; then she saw him rolling on his back like a dog. When he turned over, his jacket was scorched through; glistening burns and mud covered his bare back.
‘Take my arm,’ she said to him.
She pulled him up and they ran together, feeling the heat become less intense behind them, the roar of the blaze breathing less fiercely. A light drizzle was falling. People were running out to meet her and the other survivors. One man’s clothes were completely burned away and his skin hung off him in drapes. A woman’s face and arms were charred black. She collapsed to her knees and fell forwards. Chunks of burned flesh lay in the sand, black and dark red. Two little boys, covered in blood and burns, walked hand in hand with their mother in complete silence.
‘Who’s got it?’ said Friedl.
‘What?’
‘The dossier. Who’s got the dossier?’
‘Hannah has it,’ Eleanor said, not at all sure that she did.
When they reached Hannah and Miss Mather a few feet ahead of them, safe in the arms of rescuers, there was nothing under Hannah’s arm.
‘Forget it,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s gone.’ Eleanor marvelled that there was scarcely a scratch on her.
‘No,’ said Friedl, and he turned and ran back towards the inferno.
‘Has anyone seen Mother and Father?’ Hannah said, starting to cry.
‘Friedl!’ Eleanor screamed. She started after him, but the sailor held her back. Much later she would remember that moment keenly. It seemed to happen in slow motion, his silhouette running into the glare of the fires, and she had failed to prevent him.
The Hindenburg, a blazing wreck of white-hot girders, looked like the fragments of a dragon’s egg. Smoke braided with flames belched out of its engines, strangely beautiful in the gathering darkness. The marvellous machine, Dr Eckener’s greatest achievement, had been destroyed in seconds. Incredible that she’d survived; that anyone had survived. She looked down at her filthy dress. She had a nasty burn down one arm, and her hair and eyebrows had been singed away in places, but she was otherwise all right.
But where was Richard?
Chapter Fifty-nine
The small Naval Air Station infirmary at Lakehurst was crowded with the injured and the dead. They lay on tables and stretchers in the corridors and in every room. Everything—air, clothing, hair, surfaces—was infused with the reek of charred flesh.
Eleanor refused morphine. When she did so, she was asked to sit and help swab a man’s burns with picric acid. He leaned forwards, his hands in his lap, his blackened head bowed. His back was a morass of burns from his head to his lower spine. When he said, ‘Thank you,’ she got up and knelt in front of him to look in his eyes. It was Captain Lehmann. Apart from his voice he was unrecognisable.
‘I’m not myself, am I?’ he said to her.
‘Nothing they can’t fix,’ she said, fighting the lump in her throat. ‘Was Richard with you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding, as if remembering someone he hadn’t seen for years. ‘I lost him in the smoke.’ Eventually Lehmann was taken away, facedown on a stretcher, and Eleanor leaned her head back against the wall. A medic tended to her arm with a cool ointment and bandage. She was exhausted; her body was closing down.
When she awoke the infirmary was quiet. She stopped an orderly.
‘How many dead?’
‘Twenty-one so far,’ he said. ‘But several won’t make the night.’
She wondered whether she should ask for morphine after all before entering the morgue, but dismissed the idea.
It was dark outside and raining. A man’s voice was saying that the wreck was still burning on the landing field, lighting up the sky for miles around, a sight he’d never forget for as long as he lived. Slowly she walked to the morgue. The thought of being the one to find his body was too much to bear, and she began crying quietly. She realised then that she believed in her heart that he was dead. She felt no nerves, no yearning for certainty.
A marine guarded the door to the hangar.
‘I’d like to identify my fiancé,’ she said.
Inside, the bodies were under blankets in a row on the floor. The space was huge and dim. Other people were there, too, looking for lost ones, holding their breath with horror and expectation as they raised each cover.
She heard Hannah before she saw her. The girl’s cry went up in the vast space and echoed around the walls like a spirit begging for oblivion. She and Jakob were crouching over a corpse with their arms around each other. Eleanor approached an
d saw Ilse’s face looking up at them from the floor, pale as moonlight. She learned later that Ilse had suffered a heart attack at Jakob’s side after jumping from the starboard windows.
One by one she began looking under the covers over the corpses. She found Haberstock, his head damaged horribly, revealing the bridgework on his teeth. She found an elderly man white and waxen from the heat. She found one corpse burned beyond all recognition, but it was too tall to be Richard. She found a man in a sailor’s uniform, a member of the ground crew killed by the falling wreckage. She looked under every cover.
Finally, she found Friedl. His mouth was open slightly, as if there was something important he hadn’t quite said; his eyes were glassy and clear; his skin shockingly pale. The fist of his right hand was clenched tight, and sticking between the fingers were torn pieces of yellowed paper. She pulled them out. Charcoal smudges on them. Maybe he’d found the dossier, but not soon enough to save himself. She checked in the pockets of his burned jacket, but nothing was there. Gently she brushed aside some of his lovely dark hair, kissed his cold forehead, and covered his face again.
But of Richard there was no sign.
Early the next morning a shouting pack of reporters with flashbulb cameras and microphones crowded around a blackboard in the infirmary where the station commander, Captain Rosendahl, had chalked in thick letters the names of the dead, the survivors, and twelve missing. Lehmann’s name, she noticed, had been added to the dead. Richard’s name was among those missing. She left the building before Rosendahl gave his press conference.
Outside, dozens of radio cars and Movietone news vans, along with thousands of cars from New York, were clogging the road.
‘How can he be missing?’ she asked one of the sailors. She was in a daze and panicking. It was as if another universe, in which Richard had survived, was offering to let her through, but only if she could find the door.
