“Is currently in the lounge nursing his second gin and orange juice. I think the bartender calls it the LZ 129 or something equally pretentious. The glasses are frosted, and so is the drinker after downing a few.” Max gives her a gentle thump with the mailbag. “After you. I’d still like to show you the city.”
He follows close behind as Emilie steps into the radio room. Willy Speck and Herbert Dowe take one look at her and turn back to their instruments without a word. Max drops the mail bag through the opening into the utility room below and then descends the ladder so he can help Emilie down.
“Mail drop,” he announces to the skeleton crew in the control car. The car is crowded with officers and observers during the day but is almost vacant at this time of night, manned by those with the least seniority.
No one seems to care that Max has brought Emilie with him, or if they do they’ll save their questions and complaints for later. She is still an anomaly on board, an ill omen. The leftover prejudice of old mariners who believe women to be bad luck on the open seas. No matter that they’ll be sailing over them, not in them. Superstitions die hard.
Perhaps Emilie is ignoring the other officers, or maybe she really is enthralled by the sight below. Regardless, she stands at the portside windows, her palms and the tip of her nose pressed against the cool glass. A tiny cloud of fog gathers near her mouth each time she exhales and then fades away as she draws another breath. The baroque silhouette of Cologne’s cathedral is clearly visible beneath them, its two great spires reaching up to embrace the airship.
Emilie’s mouth is round with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The Hindenburg usually flies at an altitude of six hundred feet, but they have made a slow descent and now hover a mere two hundred feet above the city. The buildings and streets take on a different dimension from above. Boxed out and rimmed with pale light from streetlamps, they look like aerial drawings done in pen and ink. It is well into the evening and the respectable citizens of Cologne have gone to sleep. Only hardy souls wander these streets tonight, and they can be seen furtively drifting in and out of the pooled light. These are the ones who make their living by darkness. An occasional face turns upward as the mechanical roar of the airship passes overhead, but most move farther into the shadows.
“How does it work?” Emilie nods at the mailbag that now rests on the floor at her feet. “The drop?”
“Watch,” Max says.
“Airfield ahead,” Christian Nielsen calls. He has replaced Max in the navigation room for third shift and already looks weary an hour into the job.
Max opens the mailbag and pulls out what appears to be a checkered silk parachute from an inside pocket. He attaches it to the canvas with a series of elaborate knots, then secures it with two carabiners just to be sure.
Max can feel the Hindenburg turn slightly starboard. It is amazing to him how this is the only place on ship where directional changes can be felt. Or perhaps he has become attuned to them over time. The Cologne airfield comes into view and is significantly better lit than most of the city itself. They begin a lazy circle toward the middle of the airfield.
Once they approach the massive, illuminated X on the tarmac, he asks, “Would you do the honors?”
“Of?”
“Opening the window.”
It takes her a few seconds to figure out the latch and to slide the heavy plate of glass to the side, but as soon as she has it open, cool air rushes into the control car and blows her hair away from her face, revealing the high angles of her cheekbones and the length of her neck. He’s grateful that her attention is on the ground below and that she does not notice him stare.
“Will it catch?” Emilie lifts the edge of the silk parachute.
“It usually does.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“I saw a mailbag split open on the tarmac once. The impact sent letters flying in a hundred different directions. I imagine it was a hassle to collect them all again, but other than a bit of wasted time and dirty paper, no harm done.”
“Well, then.” Emilie grins. “Let’s see if this little bird can fly.”
He knew this would delight her. Emilie has always seemed the sort of woman who is fascinated by new things. And, as it turns out, the bird does fly. It’s all in the technique, of course. Max drops the bag just right, allowing the parachute to catch and fill almost immediately. It floats to the ground and lands well within the perimeter of the X long before they have finished their orbit of the airfield and changed course. He and Emilie lean out the window together, shoulders pressed together for warmth, wind in their faces, as a military jeep drives out to collect the package.
“No wonder you volunteered for this job,” she says as they finally pull back.
He slides the window shut and turns to lean against it.
“I knew you’d want to see this.”
A wicked look crosses her face and she lifts one shoulder in an impish shrug. “Well, it doesn’t compare to seeing your Schwanz, but it’s a close second.”
Emilie leaves Max in the control car, his fellow officers staring at him in astonishment, as she ascends the ladder back into the radio room.
THE AMERICAN