Chapter 3

Eliza Simpson carried the letter carefully to her room at the top of the stairs. She re-read the postmark, 'Maidstone, Kent, ' and knew who it must be from.

'Miss Eliza Simpson, ' it read. ' I have been asked to pass on to you a letter from a mutual acquaintance. I only do this in memory of my dear sister. Katherine Wilkinson.'

In the envelope was a folded piece of brown paper. Evidently shortages had hit Holland as well, Eliza thought.

'Dearest E... I promised to write and here it is. I hope to be re-joining my ship soon. I miss you and hope to see you soon. Love K... '

'Love K... ' she re-read it several times. Of course he couldn't say much because it might pass through the censor's office. She didn't know whether to be happy or sad. If he'd been taken prisoner at least she'd know he was safe. 'Rejoining his ship, ' means he'll be going back up to fight.

On the train, coming into London she'd seen the blackened skeleton of a crashed airship in a field. She'd heard the excited talk in the carriage and someone clapped. She'd held back her tears then but now she couldn't.

About 60km northwest of Bremen in Lower Saxony is the town of Nordenham. Just outside of which lay a complex of four giant hangars. Inside shed 'Dora' were two airships, L68 and the brand new L70. Huge as the L68 was, the L70 was bigger still.

L70 was the first of the 'X' class. Over 250 metres in length she was bigger than the Titanic. It's envelope contained 20 gas cells that took a week to fill with hydrogen gas, 720,000 cubic metres of it.

Slipping out of England had been surprisingly easy for Motorman Joachim 'Kimi Kasemann. His Aunt had given him 100 pounds, 'in her sister's memory' but had not encouraged him to stay. He understood. At Dover he'd found a Dutch trawler that had put in for repairs and had negotiated passage to Vlissingen. A short train ride brought him to Rotterdam where he turned himself in to the German Consulate.

So it was that he found himself at the personnel section of the Navy's Airship service at Nordenham.

"We are crewing L70 at the moment," the rotund 'Unteroffizier' in charge of enlisted men's allocations, told him.

"It still needs motormen, elevatormen, riggers and gunners, the more experienced the better. Will fly up to 12,000 metres, you know, very safe ship."

"With respect, Unteroffizier, can I have my old ship back?" Kimi asked him, "I would like to be with my friends."

"No chance," the NCO replied, " it is fully crewed. You will have to go with the L70."

On his way to report to L70 a familiar face intercepted him.

"Chief!" cried Kimi, "good to see you sir."

"Kasemann! I thought we'd lost you, wanting your old berth back?"

"They've sent me to L70," Kimi said sadly.

"That asshole Boeme? He's been poaching our crew for the last week. The L70's the flagship at the moment. Boeme's been crawling up the Komandant's ass by poaching men from all over to crew it. Everyone's been bitching about it. L46 has no motormen at all; we've lost three. Come with me, you toss your kit in L68, are those your orders?"

Kimi handed him the slip of paper he was carrying.

"Look," the Chief said, "that looks like L68 written there to me. The bastard should brush up on his handwriting."

Because L68 was being charged with gas, non-essential personnel were forbidden to enter the shed. Thus Kimi and the Chief Motorman headed into town to the local 'brew house'.

"We have six new motors," the Chief told him over their ales, " fresh from Maybachs. 400hp high altitude, automatic de-icing, of the latest type. Should push her along at 120kmh. Faster than that bag of wind luxury liner parked next to us. Do you know it has a smoking compartment for the Officers? I ask you." Kimi caught up with the gossip.

"Do you know that some young Austrian Engineer called Ferdinand Porsche is developing a Diesel for airships," the Chief continued.

"He works for Daimler-Benz, did you hear such a thing? Just like a submarine, they run backwards as well as forwards, so you can maneuver, see?"

"It makes sense," Kimi told the Chief, " no electrical system to spark all over the place. Diesel fuel is less volatile than Petrol, won't catch fire so easily."

"Fantasy!" the Chief, said, "Diesels are way too heavy for airships. Porsche will want to put them in trucks next. Imagine the size and weight of them. Try pulling one of those monsters out of the mud!"

"I have a girl, " Kimi told the Chief after his third or fourth ale, "English."

"Really?" answered the Chief, "I see you have not been wasting your time over there." The Chief dropped his voice, " I tell you should have stayed there. Germany is fucked."

"How so?" asked Kimi.

"Americans! We should have sued for peace after they joined with the French and English against us. I was on the Liner Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse before the war and we went to New York, many times. Millions of them, millions and millions and such money! You need to see it! We're fucked I tell you. Ludendorf and Hindenburg, they know! They need to have the balls to tell the Kaiser and Chancellor Bulow, or whoever's in charge now."

After the fifth or sixth ale Kimi was feeling decidedly drowsy. The Chief however was becoming louder and more incautious in what he was saying.

"We need a new world order," he said, "this is fucked, it really is, all of it. The politicians and the Kings and Queens sit up there all safe and it is the ordinary working men who are dying. Our women and children haven't enough to eat and what for? So they can plant their flags a little further east or west, it's all fucked!"

The Chief bought another round of drinks.

"I heard that man, Karl Liebkniecht at Wilhelmshaven. Brilliant man! Solidarity of the international working class. The real enemy are the moneybags, that's who we are really dying for, the capitalists."

"Chief, quieten down, you'll have us arrested," Kimi warned.

"Spartakist League, I've become a member," The Chief raved on. "Long live the working class!"

"Chief!"

By now there were howls of protest from the other patrons, things were getting out of hand. Kimi grabbed the old man and steered him towards the door.

"Get out of here you old fool," someone yelled.

"You won't call me a fool when the red flag is flying over the fleet," was the Chief's parting shot, to gales of laughter.

As they staggered through the town on the way back to base, the Chief was still raving.

"After the Paris Commune in '48," he said, "there was this anthem, 'la Internationale'."

"No Chief!" Kimi pleaded as the Chief began to sing.

Eliza started work almost immediately at the Royal Bromley Invalids Hospital, just southeast of London. The Hospital was in the forefront of techniques later known as 'reconstructive surgery'. It therefore had a considerable number of people horribly disfigured from burns. Additionally, men were recovering from the loss of limbs, shrapnel wounds and the effects of Phosgene, Chlorine and Mustard gas.

Nurse training was done 'on the job' with formal classes fitted in when possible. No sooner had she started than she was posted to a ward.

The ward dealt principally with burn victims. It looked a little like a mummy exhibition, with all those poor people swathed head to foot with bandages.

"Just see to their comfort," were all the instructions she received.

Eliza approached the first bed. Not knowing what to say she tried,

"How are you feeling today?"

The occupant was bandaged from his waist down. He replied,

"Can't complain Miss. It's only my legs see? Not like some of those other poor blighters."