“We’re three hours behind schedule.”
It was Max’s affinity for logic and order that drew him to navigation in the first place, but it is his capacity for problem-solving and maintaining order that keeps him in this position instead of reaching for command of his own airship. Already his mind is ticking through potential issues, looking for a solution. A loss of this magnitude can easily happen over the course of an entire trip, but for it to happen overnight is highly irregular. Max inspects the instruments on the wall above his desk, looking for the culprit. A broken clock or a malfunctioning triangulation gauge. He even pulls the compass from his pocket to double-check the gauges. But nothing is out of sync.
“Headwinds?” he asks.
“Fifteen knots.”
He ponders this for a moment. “Crosswinds?”
Nielsen checks the logbook. “They’ve stayed around twelve knots, give or take a bit, depending on altitude. But still, we should have crossed the prime meridian at one o’clock. And we didn’t get there until three. We’ve lost another hour since.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Max says. “It’s—”
“Inexcusable,” Commander Pruss growls. He stands at the rudder wheel, his back turned, his voice charged with electricity.
So here is the source of the tension, then. Pruss is frustrated, Nielsen is defensive, and everyone else is unwilling to take sides. No matter what might have been spoken between them, the delay cannot be Nielsen’s fault. The Hindenburg is an aviation marvel but no state-of-the-art technology can defeat Mother Nature. The airship will always be subject to her capricious whims.
“Get us back on course, Max,” Pruss says. He dismisses Nielsen with a curt nod.
Nielsen is ready to protest, but Max shakes his head. No, the movement says, it’s not worth the trouble you’ll make for yourself. Max is on duty now. He’ll fix the problem—it’s what he does best after all. If Nielsen is smart he will keep his mouth shut, and Pruss won’t remember the incident come nightfall.
Nielsen signs out of the logbook with resignation. Then he salutes Pruss and leaves the control car. There is an immediate shift in the atmosphere, as though Nielsen has taken the strain with him, and as Max assumes his position at the chart, balance is restored.
Max consults his equipment and then traces the ship’s course on the chart as he mentally calculates the total air speed and the angle of the wind based on their direction of travel.
He makes a decision. “Commander?”
Max waits for Pruss to turn.
“If we lower altitude fifty feet and alter course two degrees to the south, headwinds will be reduced significantly.”
Pruss considers Max’s suggestion for a moment—it’s for show, as Pruss always defers to Max in this area—then he gives the orders to descend. There is an immediate tug on the airship, like a balloon being pulled forward.
“Well done,” Colonel Erdmann says quietly behind him.
Max acknowledges the praise with a slight nod, unnerved at the intensity of Erdmann’s gaze and the unasked questions it contains. Then he returns to his duties, feeling rather satisfied with himself. No, you can’t defeat Mother Nature, he thinks, but you sure as hell can move out of her way.
THE JOURNALIST
Gertrud is woken, not so much by light, but by the feeling of being watched. Without opening her eyes she knows that Leonhard’s gaze is on her face. Without looking at him she can’t tell whether the gaze is amorous or angry, but she can feel its heat nonetheless. Gertrud groans and rolls away, taking the blanket with her. “It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”
His voice is a warm hum in the near darkness. “Why? When I was so enjoying the surprise of waking to actually find you here.”
Damn him. So it’s anger, then.
Gertrud shifts onto her back but does not open her eyes. Her scalp hurts. The backs of her eyeballs feel like they are coated with sand. There’s fur on her teeth and sleep in her limbs. “That’s such a rare thing?”
“Where did you go last night, Liebchen?” Leonhard loops an arm around her waist and pulls her against his chest. There is nothing seductive about the gesture. He is locking her in.
“What do you mean?” She won’t lie to him exactly, she’s never been good at that, but Gertrud feels no guilt about feigning confusion.
“You smell of cigarettes. And booze.” He throws the blanket back to expose her rumpled slip. “And last I checked, the only thing you were wearing…was me.”
She opens her mouth, but Leonhard lays a finger across her lips in warning. He does not like it when she’s deceptive. He’s giving her a way out.
“And then there’s always the fact that when I woke last night you weren’t here,” he adds.
“Maybe I got cold? Maybe I got up in the middle of the night to use the toilet? Maybe I was hungry?”
“Maybe you went looking for trouble because you thought I wouldn’t be along to stop you?”