The Hindenburg 1.0

Brushing his short dark hair from his face and readying the lighter, Dick slid a cigarette from the pocket of his cream blazer. He could almost taste the drag of the tobacco already, making his heart beat quicken. Three days without a smoke was enough to drive anyone crazy. Now, finally, he’d found some relief.

“Idiot!” Tom chopped the lighter from Dick’s hand, clattering it to the floor. “Don’t light that here! Do you even know what that massive balloon above our heads is filled with?”

Tom’s hands went sternly to his sides, gripping his green, round-necked sweater where it tucked under the waistband of his trousers. Had he been able to straighten to his full height, he would have, but the low ceiling of the steel framed compartment restrained his hunched back.
Dick shrugged. “Fairy dust?”

Tom shook his head in disbelief, his light brown hair shifting the stale air around them.

“Try hydrogen, nitwit! Light that here and you’ll blow us all sky high.”

Dick was unperturbed. “We’re already are sky high.” His gaze hooked on the lighter at his feet, a tic of desire twitching his features.

“Then you’ll blow us sky higher! Do you want to make it back to America?” Tensing, Tom met Dick’s gaze in challenge, sending him a stern, warning expression at which his eyes narrowed.

“You think I stowed away in this cramped luggage hold for fun? If you hadn’t lost your passport we’d be cruising in style. Not floating across the Atlantic strapped to a balloon, heading towards joint cells in the big house when we get caught.”

Dick made a slight move, bending a fraction towards the floor which Tom matched while fixing him with a determined stare.

“Well, I’d prefer prison to incineration any day, so don’t you dare touch that lighter!” Finally, Dick made a grab for it, but kicking it with his boot Tom sent it spinning under a nearby crate.

“Argh! No, no, no!” Dick dived after it, groping blindly under the crate. “You prick! I’ll die without a cigarette.”

“Nuts! The lack of a cigarette won’t kill you, but smoking it will.”

Collapsing to the floor, Dick let out a whimper. His salvation, gone. It was too much to bear. He’d been searching for a new one for days, ever since Tom had thrown his last over board. All due to his cock and bull story about a floating bomb above their heads. Idiot.

“Come on, guys. Have some silly juice. It’s too cramped in here for arguing,” Harry shuffled uncomfortably on his crate seat, offering up a three-quarter-full bottle of whiskey. His ridiculous looking plus four trousers brushed the crate side. His cream, v neck, plaid sweater would have looked sporting, if not ruined by the shirt and necktie beneath.

Dick frowned. If this was his attempt at looking smooth, it failed. No wonder they’d had no luck with the ladies.

As Tom straightened to take the bottle, with a crack and hiss of pain, his head struck the steel ceiling of the luggage hold.

“Whose idiotic idea was this?” he muttered ruefully, rubbing the back of his head.

“Yours,” Dick spat, still bitter over his lost lifeline. His bottom lip quivered slightly, like a five year old on the verge of tears.

“It’s been nearly three days, already. We’re hours away from America, now. Can you not go just a little longer without a smoke?” Relaxing back, Harry pulled another bottle from the open crate next to him.

“No!” Dick dropped his head into his hands. “Smoking is my only release. I need it now.”

“Release from what?” Tom scratched his head. They’d left everything behind to stowaway. Not that they’d had many possessions to begin with.

“You!” With a howl of frustration, Dick went back to groping desperately under the crate. “‘Let’s go to Europe. It’ll be an adventure. Not to mention all the babes.’ We blow all our dough getting togged to the bricks. The result, a wacky trip for biscuits. Now I’m stuck with you in a space not big enough for a car, and I can’t even have a snipe to take my mind off it.”

“Someone needs a drink,” Harry waved the fresh bottle of whiskey. “There are far worse things than being holed up with a crate of free whiskey.”

“Sure, it’ll be a great send off for when we get caught and fried in the hotsquat.”

Harry frowned at Dick. “Well, aren’t we a sour grape. Stowing away and drinking whiskey isn’t, by far, an execution-able offense. Come on, have a drink,” Harry jiggled the bottle at him.

Dick didn’t respond. Perhaps, because he was still mourning the loss of his lighter, or perhaps due to the crash of Tom dislodging a crate from a pile in the corner, spilling fine silks across the floor.

“Murder!” Tom jigged with excitement. “A gramophone! We can get a romp going, now.”

Dick scowled. “Great idea. We’ll invite Hitler’s stormtroopers, too, shall we? I’m sure they’ll be game for a jig. They come from such a peaceful, inclusive society, after all.”

Harry glared at him before taking a quick swig. “You can be a real pill sometimes, you know.”

“And you’re a talentless crumb. No wonder the women ran a mile.” The two stared hatefully at each other for a moment until their line of sight was broken by Tom placing the square, wooden box of the portable gramophone on an upturned crate between them.

“Such workmanship,” he muttered in awe, running his hand over the highly polished, finely crafted, dove tailed box.

“Much better than a scrub like you will ever make.”

Tom’s gaze flicked to the whiskey bottle he’d left on floor. It had never been more tempting to pick it up and break it over Dick’s head. How he’d ever considered the guy a friend he could no longer conceive. He was whiny, offensive, sarcastic and a complete greaseball. They should have left him in Germany.

“I’ll have you know that when my apprenticeship is over, I’ll be a master cabinet maker.”

“Well, forgive me for not placing my order just yet.” Dick went back to his blind hunt under the crate.

Sliding his hand into his pocket, Tom smirked in satisfaction running his fingers over the lighter Dick thought was now floating in the Atlantic. It was all he could do to suppress a giggle. The mirth vanished, however, at the realisation that if the genius ever did find himself a match, they’d be blacker than his grandmother’s roast, and that was black.

How, after three days, could he still not understand that they were dangling from a balloon of highly flammable gas? His stupidity defied belief.

With a sigh, Tom grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the floor taking a long swig. The smoothness of the whiskey spread a melting heat through first his mouth and throat, then his stomach and chest. It was clearly not the usual cheap stuff. The sweet, fruity taste filled him with bliss as he suddenly understood Harry’s good mood. What he held in his hand was better than liquid gold.

With another sigh, this one of bliss, Tom dropped to the floor taking another deep drink.

“Juicy stuff, eh?” Removing the top from his, Harry joined Tom in his drink.

“Bliss,” Tom gasped in contentment, settling his back against a crate. Even the air tasted sweeter now.

“Let’s get this hop started then.” With a slight rhythmic clicking, Harry wound up the gramophone between swigs of whiskey and soon smooth jazz was rolling out across the suddenly less cramped and more cosy luggage hold.

For a portable, the sound was unbelievably clear. It was clearly quite a machine and would have cost its owner a great deal of money. But then anyone who could afford the extortionate ticket price was sure to have money to burn. Turning his gaze back to the crates and boxes filling the compartment, Tom couldn’t help wonder what other treasures were buried inside. But stowing away was enough of a crime without adding thievery to the list.

“Better than first class any day.” Stretching his legs out, Harry rested them on a crate and pulling a pile of silks from the floor, slipped them behind his back as a pillow. “I might even manage a bit of a doss.”

“Until Hitler’s lackeys join the party and throw you both overboard.” Narrowing his eyes, Dick scowled at them. “Well you’re not taking me down with you.” Climbing into a hunched standing position, he stumbled towards the exit, his feet sliding on the silk strewn floor.

Tom went to follow but Harry caught his arm.

“Let him go. He can only get himself caught.” Letting out a tipsy giggle, Harry took another gulp of his whiskey.

Tom suppressed a nervous twitch. “Unless he finds some matches and blows us all to kingdom come.”

Harry giggled again. “This is Dick we’re talking about. If he finds anything you can bet he’ll come back here to brag before lighting up. Just relax. Don’t let that pill ruin our fun.”

Tom looked from his bottle of whiskey to the door and back again, uncomfortably. Dare he leave that fool running loose? Then he shrugged. What was the worst that could happen? Taking a swig of whiskey, he relaxed back again. This really was a trip to remember.

The more whiskey they drank the more jovial Tom and Harry became. Dick’s whereabouts slipped completely from their minds until they heard a cry of panic from the corridor outside.

“Do you think he’s been caught?” Tom felt a buzz of panic as he crept towards the luggage compartment door.

Then came a most unexpected noise, a cross between a yap and bark.

“A dog? Surely not.” Harry turned his gaze to the half empty whiskey bottle in his hand. Then as Tom pulled the door slightly ajar joined him to peek through.

The sight couldn’t have been more hilarious. Dick charging down the steel girder supported corridor, chased by a very large, very excited, German Shepherd.

“They let animals onboard?” Tom demanded incredulously but Harry didn’t reply, already having collapsed to the floor in hysterical laughter.

“Look! See Dick. See Dick run!” he roared between laughs, clutching his chest.

Tom cracked a grin at the apt quote and biting his lip, swallowed the surge of mirth as Dick charged towards them. Trust the canine-phobic idiot to stumble over the only dog onboard and make a racket in the process.

“Help! The rabid beast is trying to eat me!” Dick cried in terror, now only meters away.

Before Tom could gather breath to explain the dog was neither rabid nor trying to eat him, Dick had charged past, fleeing on down the corridor.

Idiot, Tom thought, starting after him. If left to his own devices he’d rouse the whole ship. But he was stopped by a wrist gripping his ankle.

“Are we caught in a storm? Everything is spinning,” Harry slurred still on his back, now looking disorientated and very red faced.

Great. I’m trapped on a massive floating hydrogen bomb with an idiot and a drunk, Tom thought swiping the half bottle of whiskey from Harry’s hand. “I think you’ve had enough of that.”

Harry moaned, making an ill judged grab for it but missed by inches. “Just a little more.”

Tom ignored Harry’s plea, going after Dick instead. It was one disastrous event after another with these two.

“Hey wait!” Stumbling to his feet, Harry staggered after Tom and Dick, his sights fixed on the amber liquid sloshing in the retreating bottle. Hang Dick. All he wanted was his drink back.

Following Dick wasn’t hard. Tom could have done it with his eyes closed just by following his frantic cries. The fact the long, straight, keel corridor had few exits kept the task simple, too. But, finally, Dick did turn, taking a stepped corridor up the ship’s hull and out of a heavy door at the end.

Skidding around the corner in pursuit, a rush of air hit Tom as he saw Dick trying to shut the door between him and the dog. But he failed, the dog bursting through the closing gap with room to spare.

Abandoning the door with a cry of terror Dick backed away from the excited animal, his eyes wide and brow dripping with sweat.

Tom exited onto the gangway beyond the hull to a blast of wind and the deafening roar of an engine, coming from behind the egg shaped car terminating the gantry – along with the sight of Dick climbing the railings to escape the dog leaping up at him.

“Get down before you kill yourself!” Tom tried to grab the dog to pull it back from Dick, but its collar jerked out of reach at the last moment as the creature leapt again.

Catching up Harry made another disorientated lunge for the whiskey bottle, propelling the chaos even higher.

“Leave it, or I’ll throw it overboard!” Tom threatened.

Clearly Harry’s mind was too addled to realise there was a whole crate of it back in the luggage area as he froze in place. Well, other than a drunken sway.

Turning back to Dick, Tom’s gaze reached him as the dog jumped the last time, causing Dick to twist away and overbalance to fall backwards from his perch. In slow motion, his skin buzzing, Tom saw Dick topple off the railing into the sky. Diving after him, Tom could only grasp thin air as Dick was already out of reach, his face contorted with panic as a single, final, cry of terror left his lips.

Watching in horror as Dick plunged into oblivion, everything faded into a background hum. He was dead. Dick was dead. True he hadn’t been sharpest tool in box and was difficult to get on with at times, but still... he was dead.

Harry stumbled over to join Tom at the railing and peering over stared at the distant green grass and trees. “That’ll hurt.”

“Hurt!?” Tom burst. “He’s dead! Dick is dead!”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes slipped in and out of focus for a moment. “Well then. He’ll live forever in our hearts.” His tone was melodramatic as again he made a grasp for the whiskey bottle. “A toast to his memory!” He missed, his bodyweight carrying him down against the cold steel of the gantry floor.

“You moved!” he accused, struggling back to his feet.

Tom, in fact, hadn’t moved an inch. He was still frozen in shock and horror, staring down at the world sweeping past beneath them. Dick was dead.

Harry groaned still on the floor behind him, “I need a leak.”

Tom could just about hear him stagger to his feet over the roar of the wind, followed by the click of a door opening behind him. However, his mind was still fixated on the empty space, where Dick had been moments before. Part of him still couldn’t accept the reality while another said - at least I don’t have to worry about being burnt to a cinder now.

A constant nudging at his leg finally jerked his mind back from its horrified reverie.

“Quit it Har...” It wasn’t Harry, as Tom saw the dog nudging his leg and the gangway empty.

“Harry!?” he called sharply then saw the door next to him still ajar. What now?

On entering the comparatively small space of the engine car, above the hum of the engines came a strange trickling sound. As if the feel of it wasn’t enough, Tom’s gaze leapt straight for the bottle in his hand, to check it was still there. It was, so what was making the noise?

Looking up, he saw Harry standing with his back to him, a jet of yellow liquid squirting up and then tinkling down over a hunk of machinery in front of him. Tom’s mouth fell open in horror. They were dead! They were all dead! He waited for the explosion. It thankfully never came.

“Twit! What are you doing pissing on the engines!?”

Turning to face Tom Harry blinked and then swayed, almost falling backwards. “Engines? It’s not a urinal?” He sniffed. “Smells like a urinal.”

“It does now!” Tom burst. His gaze jumped back through the open door to the sky beyond, and for an instant, he felt compelled to follow Dick’s example. Damn it, why did these things always have to happen to him?

“Just put it away.” Tom grabbed Harry by the back of his sweater. “We need to scram.” He dragged Harry towards the door. There was no way he was getting caught and taking the rap for this.

Dragging Harry all the way back into the airship’s main corridor, he would have continued back towards the luggage hold had he not heard German voices drifting towards them.

“Shit!” He started off down the corridor in the opposite direction, followed by the dog, its tail wagging.

“Not you as well! Shoo!” he waved his hand still gripping bottle to dissuade it, but the creature persistently followed them on.

Well, this was just perfect. Like it wasn’t enough it had killed Dick. Now, it was going to get them killed too. The animal felt like a bad omen - a furry angel of death - stalking them to their doom. It would be just his luck if, even after all this, the ship still blew up, just to spite him.

As the German voices faded away, Tom skidded to a halt with Harry, still dangling by the neck of his sweater, behind him.

“I can’t breathe,” he gasped, struggling against Tom’s grip, and as soon as he was released, he collapsed to the floor breathing heavily. Then he groaned. “Stop the walls spinning. They’re giving me a headache.”

Tom ignored him.

Harry squinted as a dark, hairy face loomed over him, and reaching up, he patted its cheek. “Dick, you really need a shave pal.” To his surprise, Dick barked at him.

“Dick turned into a dog!” he exclaimed, trying to catch a good look at him through his whirling vision.

“He’s dead!” Tom reminded him.

Harry looked closely at the dog. “Looks alive to me.”

“Not the dog! Dick!”

Harry looked confused, but then, that was no great change really. “He is? What do we tell his wife?”

“He doesn’t have a wife!” It was hard not to be exasperated by this point. Dick may have been an idiot but at least he’d made some sense.

“Someday he might have.”

“Well, great. As soon as we land, I’ll send a letter of condolence to a woman we don’t know about a husband she never met.”

“That’s such a sad tale of romance,” Harry lamented.

It was at that point Tom gave up altogether, while vowing never to touch another sip of liquor in his life.

As he stood, thinking of what to do next, the ship shifted sharply beneath him. Thrown against the steel supports of the corridor, the bottle of whiskey in his hand smashed, sending shards scattering over the edge, through the fabric backed gaps.

They were coming into land, Tom realised. If they were still inside when the ground crew boarded, they would be caught for sure. They had to get outside and jump ship at the first opportunity.

Harry sniffed, still lying on the ground. “Do you smell garlic?”

“Garlic? Don’t be ridiculous.” Tom grabbed him by his sweater again, pulling him up onto his unsteady feet. “We’re moving.”

“No, we’re still. Everything else is moving,” Harry disagreed with a sway, almost knocking Tom over.

“I mean we’re getting out of here!” Catching hold of Harry, Tom started turning but froze, a strange garlic smell reaching his nose. What was that?

Bending over the side of the keel corridor gangway, Tom saw something that drained the blood from his face and left his heart hammering in horror. The membrane of the gas cell beneath was fluttering as gas surged through numerous slashes in is surface. The glass shards had shredded the cells thin surface, letting the dangerous hydrogen gas loose. This was it, now they really were dead.

In panic, Tom dragged Harry down the corridor back towards the gangway leading to the engine car.

All they had to do was to wait until the ship was nearly on the ground, jump and then run. They’d come this far, what could possibly go wrong now?

As they burst back out onto the exposed catwalk - the dog following - the roar of the engine across the way spluttered, and then with a horrendous bang threw out a cloud of smoke and sparks.

This is it we’re dead, Tom thought in panic, tensing himself ready for instant incineration but again it didn’t come.

My nerves can’t take much more of this. Bending over Tom saw the ground teeming with people, most on the ends of thick ropes. The chances of them jumping without getting spotted were slim. At the thought, an image of the leaking gas jumped into his mind. Prison or death? There was hardly a choice.

As Tom took hold of the railing, ready to hurl himself over, a massive bang shook the ship. Finally, all his nightmares came true as a massive tongue of flame burst from the ship behind them.

“Jump!” he cried to Harry in terror.

As Tom climbed the railing and jumped, Harry, sort of, more tipped himself over and then fell with a strangled cry.

Hitting the ground hard Tom could only watch as the ship above was consumed by flames, the nose rising as it was eaten from the rear.

“Jump Dick!” Harry cried to the dog, still standing on the gangway above.

“That’s not Dick!” Tom snapped. His eyes still caught on the explosion.

More people were jumping and as the fire swept closer, the dog did, too – landing on him, actually. Tom could certainly say the dog’s name was not Dick, as from his view of its underside, it was missing a certain gender indicator.

Frozen in horror, even under the savage heat Tom couldn’t move, just watch, as the ship sank closer to the ground, nearly every part of its surface consumed. Then he was dragged to his feet by more than one pair of hands. As the men gripping him guided him away, Tom stumbled along, his mind and body numb.

To his amazement, once released Tom turned to see more people running towards the burning ship than away, as the ground crew rushed in to help the survivors.

Had they still been in that luggage hold they’d be dead now, Tom realised gripping his chest. It was terrifying thought.

As the grounds men who’d helped them rushed back towards the ship, Harry swayed on his feet. Then realisation struck him and he felt to his knees. “Oh the whiskey!” he cried in agony.

All Tom could do was stare at him in disgust, wishing he’d left the idiot on board.

Reaching into his pocket Tom gripped the lighter still sitting there. His grandmother had told him that no one truly died until they were forgotten. That by saying a person’s name you could keep their spirit alive forever. You may have been a pill, but I’ll remember you Dick.

“Harry!” Tom grabbed Harry dragging him to his feet, and then turned to the dog still tailing them.

Reaching down, Tom ruffled the fur on its head. “Come on then, Dick.” And as the remains of the airship smouldered behind them, Tom, Dick (the dog) and Harry made their escape.