Airship City

Chapter 7

Chaos ensued on the flight deck. Everyone seemed to be jumping up, or falling from their seats, and all the while shouting in fear and anxiety. Suddenly Churchill’s voice boomed out, more loudly than Joseph had ever heard it.

“MY DEAR LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I MUST INSIST THAT YOU RETURN TO YOUR SEATS AND BECOME QUIET!”

A sudden hush ensued, allowing Churchill to continue in a more moderate tone. “Please allow Mr Hughes to attempt to regain control of the airship, as that is our best and indeed only viable course of action at present.”

Everyone turned to look at Hughes, who was a picture of absolute concentration as he struggled with the controls, sweat beading on his brow. He flipped switches and turned handles, issuing curt orders to the copilot, who was struggling with the engine controls. Suddenly the engines roared, and Joseph felt a weight pressing him into the seat cushions, as the airship pulled shudderingly out of its dive, and began to claw its way back into the sky.

Hughes relaxed somewhat, and reached again for the microphone.

“Mayday, Mayday, this is H-1. Sustained a collision on final approach. Aircraft damaged. Gonna try to carry on landing. Currently 2,000 feet below you and one mile north-west. Request airspace clearance, and emergency assistance standing by.”

Once again the loudspeaker crackled into life. “H-1, this is Aeropolis Control. Status acknowledged. Attention all other aircraft: this is an emergency. Stand off from Aeropolis immediately and assume a holding pattern. No takeoffs are permitted until further notice. Emergency crews to full alert.”

 As H-1 strained upwards, engines roaring at maximum thrust to compensate for the lift gas lost in the collision, she found a rapidly emptying sky. But she was still climbing much too slowly. 

Hughes turned to his copilot. “Emergency thrust, Mr Shepard.”

“Aye aye sir,” was the reply, and the copilot removed a limiting bar from the top of the throttle lever slots, allowing them to be pushed to the full extent of their travel. The engine sound rose to an even higher pitch, and thrumming vibrations shook the airframe. 

“The engines won’t last long on emergency power, but with luck we’ll get home,” said Betty, her expression grim. Joseph gripped his armrests even more tightly, willing the ship upwards. 

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, H-1 clawed her way up to the level of Aeropolis, and at last the lowest levels of the superstructure were visible. Finally the landing pads on main deck came into view, and Hughes made directly for the nearest unoccupied one. As he throttled back the engines, the crippled airship collapsed onto the pad with a jarring impact, narrowly missing a decrepit-looking old airship, whose owner had run out to see what the commotion was about, and was then forced to scurry out of the way, his shabby leather coat flying as he ran. One of the engines died with a horrible screeching noise, as the others ground down into silence. Everyone sat in a stunned silence. 

Joseph released his death grip on his armrests, as the relief began to flood into his mind. He laughed in delight. “We made it!”

“Thank God,” said Betty, smiling broadly at him. Everyone else was smiling and laughing in relief. Everyone, that is, except Howard Hughes. With a face like thunder, he stalked to the hatch, opened it, and strode off across the landing pad without another word.

Betty and the rest of Hughes’s entourage seemed to be left somewhat at a loss by this. After a moment of uncertainty, she bustled off, and the others gathered themselves together and began to exit the ship. Joseph looked across at Churchill, who shrugged.

As the euphoria of their survival faded, Joseph found himself thinking back to the moments before the collision. Had the other pilots really been trying to hit them? He bit his lower lip as he concentrated on remembering the scene.

“Are you all right, Joseph?”

Churchill was standing next to him, a look of concern on his face.

“Yes, sir.” Joseph rose from his seat. “I’m fine.”

“You seem preoccupied with something, though.”

Joseph nodded. “I can’t help but think that what we just went through was no accident.”

“Really? Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, sir, the other airship was deliberately aiming to hit us! I saw it, through the porthole.”

Just then Betty reappeared. She had recovered her smile, although it seemed ever so slightly forced now. “I’m so sorry about all this! I’ve managed to make contact with Blake Vanross, Mr Hughes’s personal assistant. He will meet us in the Core. So if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there now.” 

She led them out of the ship and across the landing pad to a small hut on its edge. It turned out to be sheltering the head of a flight of steel stairs that led below deck. At the bottom was a curved corridor, painted white and floored with metal grating. They followed it around until it came to a junction with a wide, straight corridor. Betty turned right and marched off down it, her heels echoing off the steel walls. Thick pipes ran along the upper parts of the walls and the ceiling, and bulkhead lights cast a harsh glow on the glossy painted surfaces.  

The unfinished conversation with Churchill weighed on Joseph’s mind as they made their way through a blur of corridors, stairs, companionways, and even moving walkways, making it hard for him to take it all in. Everywhere it seemed there was the clatter of feet on steel stair treads, whilst loud machinery thumped and hummed and whistled, clouds of steam issued from grates, and men in overalls moved about purposefully, for the most part ignoring the intruders. Finally they came to the base of a large open circular void, like a vertical tunnel, that stretched upwards hundreds of feet through what Joseph supposed must be the centre of the tower that made up the core of Aeropolis. Joseph stared up at the high curved surface. A number of bronze and glass lift gondolas were moving up and down vertical slots in the  circular wall, and far above the brilliant gleam of bright sun illuminated a frosted skylight.

When Joseph looked down again, he saw a man approaching them across the wide floor of what must be the Core. The man was neatly dressed in a seersucker suit and bow tie, and he had a closely trimmed moustache. He nodded at Betty as he drew nearer, and then went to shake Churchill’s hand.

“Mr Churchill. I am so sorry about your ordeal! Thank God you’re OK. I’m Blake Vanross. Mr Hughes asked me to look after you while he is… engaged.”

Churchill nodded. “Thank you, Mr Vanross. Might I enquire where Mr Hughes has gone?”

Vanross hesitated. “I can’t be sure. But we can go to his office, perhaps you can wait there?”

“I’d very much care to be taken to Mr Hughes! I insist on knowing the truth about what has just occurred to put my own life, and that of my assistant, in jeopardy.”

“As I’ve already said, Mr Churchill, I can’t be sure where Mr Hughes is.” Vanross’s smile tightened. “As for the unfortunate occurrence on the airship, my information is that it was nothing more than a terrible accident. Now, if you’ll just follow me to his office—“

“Mr Vanross.” Churchill’s voice overrode the other man’s like a bull charging. “As I have already said, I have no intention of following you to anywhere other than where Mr Hughes is currently located. Furthermore, my information is that your so-called accident was nothing of the kind. I absolutely insist on being conducted to the presence of Mr Hughes so that he can explain why he has exposed us to deliberate attack. If you are unable to lead me in the desired direction, I must request that you find someone who can!”

As Churchill delivered himself of this speech, Vanross made vain attempts to interrupt, but by the end of it his face was pale and his mouth was set in a firm line as he stared at Churchill. The seconds ticked by as the two men stared at each other, unmoving.