Page 59 of The Gathering Storm (Morland Dynasty #36)
He was preparing to leave when he heard the clump of boots as someone came up to the parapet, and he made an urgent sign to his men to keep down.
He smelt a cigarette, heard someone muttering to himself.
A sentry, he supposed. Cautiously he shifted his position so as to crane upwards, and saw a shadowy figure standing there, looking out, the position of the face marked by the glowing end of a cigarette, like the red bull painted on a target.
Basil froze, making a mental note to remind his men later not to smoke on guard duty.
Had they been heard? Was the man scanning for them, with a view to opening fire?
He could see indistinct movements, but did not know what the man was doing, until suddenly a thin stream of liquid arced over the barbed wire, luckily a few feet away.
He heard the man next to him draw a breath to curse, and jabbed him warningly with his elbow.
The sentry aloft cleared his throat and there was a gigantic hawk-and-spit, but he did not see where that landed.
Someone called from further away, the man answered and left.
Now Basil had only to alert his men and creep, carefully and noiselessly, back the way he had come.
Javier, the soldier he had helped with his marching down in Barcelona, was in his section and had developed a dog-like devotion to him, which meant he always volunteered alongside him and while out on patrol kept so close he was in danger of tripping over him.
Now, Basil rose to a crouch and turned, he knocked into Javier, who was squatting just behind him, and the man overbalanced, went down on his behind, and let out a muted cry.
There were sharp stones all around – Basil assumed he had landed on one.
He grabbed Javier and slammed a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.
Someone up above called an alarm, there was the sound of multiple boots, and then an excited jabbering as four or five Fascists came up to the parapet, telling each other it was a possible raid and asking each other if they could see the raiders.
Basil felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
He pushed Javier down, and lay flat himself, glad to see his other men instinctively followed suit.
He gestured to them to begin the crawl away; he felt Javier beside him trembling all over and, afraid he might cry out in his fear, he caressed his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.
He saw the white roll of eyes as the boy looked to him for instructions, and gave him a little shove and nodded, and began to inch forward himself.
The others were already ahead, almost at the bushes, which would cover their retreat.
But the loose stones were treacherous, and someone dislodged something.
The sound, which would have been trivial in daylight, seemed monstrous in the dark.
At once a cry rose from the Fascists, and they began firing.
Basil felt an instant of rippling fear. He could hear the whine of the bullets, but couldn’t tell how close they were.
But the Fascists knew their general direction.
There was no point now in stealth, and grabbing Javier’s upper arm he got up to a crouch and scuttled forward, dragging the boy with him.
There was a pinging sound and a sharp pain in his thigh, and he thought he’d been hit, but his leg didn’t fail.
Seconds later they were in the scrub, fell flat again, and continued their progress wriggling like snakes.
The rifle fire continued, but it was wild, spraying back and forth above their heads until, as they got far enough away to begin to feel safe, it petered out and stopped.
Basil called a halt, ascertained that no-one was hurt, and examined his leg with some trepidation.
But it must only have been a sharp stone that had hit him – there was no blood.
Javier was weeping quietly, and with an odd insight Basil knew it was with shame, not fright.
He said something to reassure him, and started leading them back towards their position.
He was interested to find, now it was over, that his fear had not been for being hit, but rather not knowing where he might be hit: leg, shoulder, back, head?
It had made his whole body feel exposed and vulnerable.
Once he’d felt the pain in his thigh, the general terror had gone away: he knew the worst.
Minor though the incident was, it was the nearest thing to war he had yet experienced. And, absurdly, it confirmed in Javier’s mind that he was a genuine leader.
Helen and Jack were at breakfast in the dining room.
The day was warm and dry, though overcast, and the French windows onto the garden were open, letting in the May smell of growing grass and the sound of birds.
All was peaceful, with nothing but the clink of knife on plate or cup on saucer.
Jack had finished reading his letters and picked up the paper.
A few moments later, without a word, he dropped the newspaper, got up, and walked out into the garden.
Helen half rose, thinking he might be choking, but she saw the headline, and understood.
She reached over, and read the news article.
The giant airship, the Hindenburg , while docking at the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst in New Jersey, had suddenly caught fire, dropped to the ground, and burned so fiercely that within seconds nothing was left of the vast superstructure but the bare bones of the metal frame. Thirty-five people had perished.
Jack was standing with his back to her, staring down the garden. She hesitated but, seeing him fumble out his cigarette case, she went to him, and was in time to take the lighter from his hand, which was shaking, and light the cigarette for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said. And then, ‘Those poor souls.’
She slipped a hand through his arm and stood silent for a while. Then she said, ‘They don’t seem to know what caused it. Could it have been a lightning strike? Conditions were stormy.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jack said. ‘It was bound to happen, sooner or later.’
‘But the other one – the Graf Zeppelin – has made hundreds of trips without trouble.’
‘Don’t you understand?’ Jack said harshly.
‘Hydrogen is highly flammable when even small amounts are mixed with air. And it’s not possible to prevent all leakage when you’re dealing with cotton gas bags, no matter what you dope them with.
They’ll never be completely airtight. Those ships build up huge amounts of static electricity in flight.
The slightest spark—’ He stopped and took a draw on his cigarette.
‘The whole concept is faulty. Sooner or later, it had to happen. There’s no safe way to use hydrogen for lift.
We learned that six years ago, but the Germans …
’ He shuddered. ‘They used them for propaganda, Helen! “Look how wonderful our engineering is, look how go-ahead we are.”’
‘I suppose this will be the end of it,’ she said after a moment. ‘I mean, no-one’s going to want to travel by airship after this. Not even the Germans.’
‘They weren’t planning to use hydrogen, you know, at first. Hindenburg was designed for helium. But the only commercial supply of helium comes from America, and the Americans banned any export of it.’
‘Why?’
‘Didn’t trust the Germans. Didn’t want them developing rigid airships for military use. I believe the Germans thought they’d change their mind – that’s why they went ahead with Hindenburg . But they didn’t, so it had to be hydrogen.’
They were silent for a while longer. Helen felt him gradually relax beside her, and finally asked, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I will be,’ he said. ‘It was a shock.’
‘I know. For me, too. I’ll never forget that night when I thought you were on the R101 and I heard—’
‘Yes. Don’t.’
‘I’m so grateful I have you. We’re so lucky. When I think of everything we’ve been through …’
He looked down at her, and gave a twitch of the lips that was almost a smile. ‘There has been a lot,’ he acknowledged. ‘Uniquely blessed, aren’t we?’
‘ I think so,’ she said stoutly.
He stubbed out his cigarette and turned with her towards the house.
‘I wish men would learn from the past. After the R101, they still built the Hindenburg . After the Great War, they’re still heading hell-for-leather for another.
Every new generation thinks they’re the first people to tread the earth.
I’d make studying history compulsory for politicians. At least five years of it.’
‘That’d larn ’em,’ Helen said. ‘I’m going to ring for fresh toast – that lot’ll be leathery.’
He followed her in. ‘Did you know that Hindenburg was built using eleven hundred pounds of duralumin salvaged from the R101?’
Helen stopped and looked back. ‘But it wasn’t the frame that failed,’ she said at last. ‘What are you saying – that Hindenburg was cursed?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Jack said. ‘That’s superstitious nonsense.’
But Helen remembered the war. Fliers were all superstitious. Perhaps all people risking their lives daily in times of war were.
Oliver tapped the newspaper. ‘A milestone,’ he said. ‘In a very small paragraph.’
‘What’s that?’ said Verena.
‘The Simpson divorce,’ he said. ‘A notice here that the decree absolute has gone through. I imagine the ex-King is galloping to her side even as we speak.’ He put the paper down. ‘It’s interesting how completely they’ve been forgotten, isn’t it?’
Verena was decapitating her egg and didn’t look up. ‘I suppose so. You never read anything about them in the papers now.’
‘I think the whole country is just relieved it’s all over. And the new King and Queen are doing very well. They’re tremendously popular everywhere they go.’