Fogbound Encounter 3


By Katzmarek.


Historical Note


The last great airship raid on the British Isles took place on 19th October 1917, so a little bit before the 
story. 11 airships took part, led by the giant, new L70 and all were destroyed by wind, weather and anti-
aircraft fire. Thus this story is fanciful.


Part 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.”
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Ship caught fire Miss. Couldn’t get out of the hatch before the flames got me. Still, I survived, didn’t I? 
Not like some of me mates. Hun destroyer got us see. Didn’t see the blighter till it was too late.”


“I’m out of it now, Miss,” the sailor went on, “can’t send me back, can they? Plenty in here’s worse off 
than me. Like old Fritzie down there, jumped out of a burning Zeppelin, broke his legs didn’t he? They say 
they couldn’t tell him from a piece of toast when they brought him in, more dead then alive, he was. Poor 
bugger! Not his fault though was it? He gets told what to do like us. He ain’t the Kaiser is he? ‘Go over 
London and drop those bombs,’ he’s told. Well, he’s not going to say no, is he? What’s the matter Miss? 
You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Is something the matter?”


Eliza started to feel light-headed. She felt her legs buckle. A staff nurse caught her just in time.
“Bit of a shock first time isn’t it? You’ll get used to it, give it time.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliza replied, haltingly, “ my boyfriend…”
“Overseas is he love? Still won’t be long now eh? With the Americans and all,” said the Staff Nurse, 
reassuringly.
“Have a seat, cup of tea will set you right,” the Staff Nurse continued, “What branch of the service is he 
in?” she asked.
“Um… Navy,” Eliza told her.
“Better off there than in the trenches eh? He’ll be home before you know it, come on drink up.”


The sun broke bright and clear in Nordenham. Kimi crawled out of his billet, his head pounded painfully, 
his eyes were burning.
“Good night yes?” one of L68’s crewman asked him.
“No! Have you seen the Chief?” Kimi asked him.
“Out cold, in the cookhouse. They tripped over him when they went to prepare breakfast.”
“I need coffee.”
“Just brewed. Fresh from the Netherlands.” Kimi staggered off in the indicated direction.


“What kicked me?” moaned the Chief.
“Abbey ale,” Kimi answered.
“Bloody priests!” he grumbled.


“Chief, what was all that stuff last night? About the Spartakists and all,” Kimi asked.
The Chief groaned and put his head in his hands.
“Listen, you’re a young man, what, 25?”
“21.”
“A baby!” the Chief said. “I’ll tell you how it is, Kasemann. You should have stayed in England… with 
your English girl… things are going to blow here… soon. I went to Kiel, last leave… everyone’s fed up… 
really fed up… The fleet’s on the point of mutiny… Everyone’s sick of the killing… losing friends. Half 
the crews are in U-boats now. 1 in 2, Kasemann, are not making it home…1 in 2!” the Chief emphasised.


“Look at me!” the Chief continued. “I am 45, look, 45!  30 years I’ve been in the Navy. I’ve seen it grow 
from nothing. 30 fucking years, Kasemann, and it’s being pissed away. A bunch of stupid politicians and a 
dimwit of a Kaiser are fucking it. I’m 45 and I look 60, no?”
Kimi didn’t know what to say.


“Duty, honour and discipline, Kasemann, remember that?” the Chief continued, “ used to mean something. 
Y’know I saw the boss the other day… von Dalwig zu Leichtenfels… from a big Prussian Junker family… 
owns half of Silesia… I saw him the other day down by the river… all alone… drunk as a Duchess… 
raving…  swearing like a preacher… threw his best Zeiss binoculars into the water… what do you think of 
that? We’re all in the shit, Kasemann. Right up to our ears.”


Alone in her room at the top of the stairs, Eliza was trying to imagine what Kimi was doing. She pictured 
him as she last saw him, standing on the little pier on the Dee River, his swagger when he was pretending 
to be brave. Above all she remembered his penetrating blue eyes that made her tingle all over.


Tingle as she was tingling now. She recalled his embrace and the closeness, the warmth of his body and the 
passion of his kissing. Her whole body yearned for the feeling of that embrace once more.


Eliza turned over on her tummy.  The tingling feeling grew with the contact of the sheet. She started to 
squirm, the sheet brushing against her, sending little sparks that zinged from the nipples on her little breasts 
to the moist oasis between her legs.


Eliza recalled lying next to Kimi in the Stavanger, cuddling his slowly warming body, his smooth chest and 
his hard sinewy muscles. She imagined being possessed by him, having his hands touch her in her intimate 
places. His mouth suckling her breasts, his tongue on her nipples.


She was breathing harder now in her desire. Instinctively she touched herself between her legs and felt the 
flashes of indescribable feelings that produced. She squeezed her hand with her thighs, groped her hot 
pussy, pushed herself on and on. She felt the urge to push down with her crotch into the mattress.


Eliza expelled her breath as the jolts from her pussy hit her.  She moaned into the pillow as it went on and 
on. She shook with the power of it.
“Kimi,” she cried plaintively.


Some two months later, Kimi watched the L68 emerging from the shed ‘Dora’. 6 airships were already 
slowly circulating around the field. They had arrived from Kiel that morning.


5 airships from Nordenham were being prepared for launch, L70, L68, L64, L43 and L45. Soon they would 
be joining the Kiel ships for a great raid on London.


Kimi took a hand with the guy ropes, along with the rest of the crew. L68 was at nil gravity and floated just 
a few metres above the ground, just enough for the Control Car to clear the grass.


Idleness is the soldier’s greatest enemy and the crews, to a man, were anxious to get going with the 
mission. Even the Chief seemed to have taken on a new lease of life and was urging his men to the engine 
cars.
“Quickly you lot! Start them all up. The boss wants to be in the air in 15 minutes flat.”


Kimi was posted to ‘Emil,’ still a stern engine. He liked it back there, ‘well away from the officers,’ he 
decided. He climbed into the engine car and set the ignition at ‘retard’. The fuel pump handle he wound up 
to full pressure then inserted the crank in its recess in preparation for turning over the propeller.


He shouted,
“Ready,” to the ground crew then moved the valve lifter up a notch. 
“Rotate,” he yelled against the gathering noise. He turned the crank handle until he could feel resistance.
“Contact,” he yelled.


The ground crew then moved the prop back from the compression stroke then, as Kimi wound on the crank 
handle they hauled the 12ft two blader through the compression cycle. The Maybach fired almost 
immediately, in an immense cloud of smoke, and the propeller began to spin unassisted. At the right 
moment Kimi lowered the valve lifter and the staccato rattling of the engine began to settle down into a 
more rhythmic beat.


Kimi adjusted the mixture control until it ran evenly. As the temperature began to rise he slowly brought 
the ignition forward to the neutral position, keeping an ear the motor and an eye to the Tachometer.


The telegraph rang above his head, ‘ahead slow.’ Kimi set the throttle for 600rpm and listened to the beat 
slowly rise to the required speed. He felt the car begin to tilt as the airship used it’s dynamic lift to attain 
the correct altitude. He knew it was to preserve the tons of water ballast the L68 carried. Dynamic lift was 
obtained through the 'planing' effect of the hull through the air while in a ‘nose up’ attitude.  Static lift 
through the discharge of water ballast.


Through the little window, Kimi could see the L43, not far off. It was dropping little spouts of water as it 
trimmed itself for level flight. No doubt the L68 was doing the same.


After about 20 minutes the airships arrayed themselves in a rough formation and began to head west. 
Below the Control car of the L70, a pole was extended with white and black cloth wrapped around. It 
unrolled in the wind to reveal a giant Naval Ensign, the signal for the start of the mission.


















