Ballooning the Channel

by Pepper's Ghost

In January 1785, England takes a calculated risk to get back at France. Completing the task proves to be a bit more complicated than originally anticipated. Part of my aviation series. A Historical Hetalia fic.

Title: Ballooning the Channel

Author: Pepper's Ghost (atlas-workbench on tumblr)

Summary: In January 1785, England takes a calculated risk to get back at France. Completing the task proves to be a bit more complicated than originally anticipated. Part of my aviation series. A Historical Hetalia fic.

Warnings: While this is a historical fic I am no expert in this era of history. That being said, finding information about this specific event in your local library or on the internet is not the easiest thing in the world. I have done the best I could with what I found.

X

It was cold in Dover. Well of course it was cold in Dover – it was the first of January and it seemed to many as if the region wanted to greet the new year of 1785 with a little more force and fanfare than usual.

The bitter winds, however, did not stop the heated conversation two men were having quite near one of the cliffs.

"You have got to be kidding me," said the man on the left. He clutched at his ostentatious, flapping jacket and drew it further around his cold body.

"I assure you I do not kid," said the second man. He stood much more stalwart than the first, as if the cold did nothing to him. His nice hat was securely pressed under his right arm while his left hand did its best to hold on to a piece of paper. Even in the pale winter sunlight the fanciful script in its shiny paint clearly proclaimed the skills of one, Jean Pierre Blanchard, professional balloonist.

"I refuse," said the first man. "I already have to have that American Jeffries get half of my glory on this flight and I refuse to let anyone else in on it. Besides, the extra weight will surely do us in. We'd never make it."

The second man paused a good while after that. He calmly folded the leaflet he was holding and placed it securely into his inner breast pocket before regarding the first man with eyes more cold and calculating than the winter ripping around them on the exposed bluff.

"I don't think you understand your position Mr. Blanchard," said the second man. "I am the very land you walk upon and I have quite a bit of sway in this situation."

"Preposterous," said Blanchard. His coat tails fluttered up again and he fought with the fabric to right himself and appear more presentable. "You have identified yourself to me as Sir Arthur Kirkland not some landmass – not England!"

"And I assure you that I am both and you should be honored to know of such things," England said.

Blanchard puffed up a bit at that. Being a cut above all the rest was something he loved to be – and also a large part of the reason why he refused to add another person to this never-before-attempted venture.

"So you are immensely heavy then! The craft cannot withstand the weight of a nation," said Blanchard.

"No," England said. "It means that I weigh nothing at all. Jeffries is your problem to deal with. Line his vest with lead or something and say he weighs too much before takeoff. But me – oh, you will not deny me a place in this infernal contraption."

Blanchard eyed the other up at that. Removing Jeffries via led vest was a brilliant idea … and if England did leave his weight with the land and not his person representation, well … perhaps this was a venture to be considered.

"Do not test me Mr. Blanchard," England said. "You do not want to turn this land, my land, against you or tempt my Channel and my weather before your dangerous voyage."

Blanchard shuddered at the words. Or perhaps it was just the cold. He hoped it was just the cold.

"It would be a shame for something to happen," England said.

Blanchard gaped like a fish before he managed to find his voice again.

"You can't do that," said Blanchard.

"You doubt me," England said.

"N-no," said Blanchard. "But why go on such a risky endeavor? We could all die. This has never been attempted before. It will be very dangerous."

"Why you said it yourself Mr. Blanchard – there is no finer professional balloonist in all the world but you," England said. "Of all the men who are vying for this honor right now, who better to make the journey with … even if you are a Frenchman."

Mr. Blanchard chose to ignore the jab about the French and focus on the praise that this haughty yet powerful nation was giving him. Such limelight from such a person! And all of it true words too.

He ignored England's smirk and focused on the good this could do for him instead.

"And you're sure you do not weigh anything at all?" said Blanchard. "If we were to come to blows surely I could hit you … therefore you must have some sort of substance."

"You have the scale you plan to oust Jeffries on?" England said.

"Yes."

"Then let's alight to it and you shall see for yourself."

England turned and started walking away from the bluffs. Blanchard hustled to catch up but with England's determined stride he never found himself leading the way to the scale.

They made it to the storage shed that Blanchard was using to keep his equipment out of the elements in very short time. Blanchard quickly busied himself with the scale making sure everything was just as it should be.

The man behind him – this "England" – simply stopped at the front entrance of the building and took in the sight of the waiting hot air balloon.

"Are you ready?" England said. Blanchard turned with a start, for he had thought England was inspecting the basket of the craft and was not right behind him.

"Yes," said Blanchard. He brushed the knees of his pants off as he rose to face England. "Please weigh yourself."

With much gravity England stepped onto the scale.

Blanchard held his breath – why he did not know, but he did.

The scale did not move.

Hastily Blanchard pushed England off the scale to weigh himself. The thing had to be broken or something. Yet the moment Blanchard was on the scale, it was working fine. He then pulled England on again only for no weight to register.

Through with being manhandled, England shrugged off the offending hands. With the darkest most twisted smile he said, "Believe me now?"

In the dim light of the building Blanchard shuddered at the silhouetted man. He could only imagine what power and grace and general panache an embodiment of a nation could have. It was something that he couldn't argue with. If England wanted to go, then England would go. Who was he to deny this?

"Of course," said Blanchard. "I have no objection to bringing you … but why would you possibly want to go if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"I am not fond of these balloons; I will readily admit it," England said. "But I will relish the look on a dear… friend's … face when we touch down in France. Yes … just like an air invasion of sorts. The winds are fickle and he needs to be reminded that things blow in both ways … just in case anyone gets any ideas or anything. The world says the logical honor of conquering the Channel from the skies should belong to France. I spit in logic's face and say it is mine."

England began to walk away after that but not without tossing a few closing remarks over his shoulder to Blanchard.

"Now then, I believe you have a balloon to prepare," England said. "We should have the perfect winds for the journey in a week – maybe you can even find a way to remove Jeffries by then."

"How could you say that towards an Englishman and claim to be England yourself," said Blanchard. He said it to himself but the winds must have caught his words because England turned at the door to give him one final regard.

"He's a colonist born and bred … I'm not sure how I feel about that even with his Loyalist tendencies," England said. "Happy New Year Mr. Blanchard."

Blanchard spent the rest of the day preparing the balloon for the flight. He believed England would be right about the weather. That only gave him a week to ready himself and, with hope, get his tailor to line a vest with lead for Jeffries and get him out of the basket on takeoff day.

X

Just as promised, January 7 brought the perfect kind of weather needed for the grand adventure of ballooning across the English Channel.

The ruse with the lead-lined vest had been exposed and Jeffries was firmly in place inside the craft. He joined Blanchard in the basket bursting with food, brandy, flags, self-promoting leaflets, ballast bags, oars (just in case they went down), cork jackets (for the same reason as the oars) and a hand propeller to help control direction.

All was in order and everything was as ready as it would ever be.

Just before takeoff another man stepped up to the basket.

"I had hoped we'd be able to leave without you Sir Kirkland," said Blanchard. He wasn't sure if Jefferies was in on the nation-status of Kirkland and he'd rather be the only privileged one to know than to spoil the honor he'd been given.

"Nonsense," England said. "You have described the perfect weather you need to me and it will be here at precisely 1 o'clock in the afternoon on this day. It is only just 12:45 now and you do not want to leave yet."

"Another person! In the basket!" said Jefferies. "Blanchard really? After everything you went through to get me pushed off this venture despite my money funding the operation and even after I let you fly the French flag along with the English one on the craft – you're letting this random person join us?!"

"Jeffries – you weigh as much as a person," said Blanchard. "This man weighs nothing and that is all you need to know."

"That is absurd and I do not believe you," said Jefferies.

"Watch as he gets into the basket then."

Soon after England gingerly stepped into the basket. It didn't sag or move about as if anymore weight had been added. Blanchard knew it was coming but even then he had a hard time keeping his face impassive.

"How is this possible?" said Jeffries.

"It is better not to ask questions sometimes," said Blanchard. He also couldn't help but notice how quiet England had been during the whole exchange. "Are you alright Sir Kirkland? We are not on the ground. It must be very odd for you."

"I am fine," England said. "And if you must know – it is. I can only imagine what it will be like when the tether ropes are removed and we are truly unattached to the earth."

"It's not too late to back out now," said Blanchard noting England's white knuckled grip on the basket.

"Not on your life," England said. "Untie the ropes. This good breeze is going to get us started."

Just as predicted the light breeze easily picked up the balloon and the trio rose above the white cliffs of Dover and into the expanse of the English Channel at 1 o'clock in the afternoon on the nose.

As they continued to rise Jeffries prattled on about the fantastic sights of seeing Dover from so high up. Blanchard had seen similar views of similar towns in his other ballooning adventures but even then this took his breath away. Yet he could not help but notice how stony and silent England was. He'd hardly moved from the position he'd first gotten into the basket from. Granted there wasn't much maneuvering space at all in the craft, but it was a surreal and unnatural stillness.

He'd lost his nice hat right after takeoff but didn't seem to notice. Instead England's gaze was fixed downward with wide eyes and hands even more white knuckled onto the basket's edge. Blanchard had seen many similar reactions to flying when he brought people up and even he could tell the man was working hard to control his breathing as Blanchard himself originally had to do on his first flight as well. Jeffries was too preoccupied with the view and making his scientific observations to really pay England any heed, so Blanchard let the mighty Empire cower in silence.

After they lost sight of the land and the ships in the Channel were left behind, it was a fairly uneventful voyage. Even so each man held tight to their own demons and misgivings – if something happened they were truly on their own.

Jeffries and Blanchard had taken to snacking on the food but England still had not moved from his initial spot, eyes fixed on the ever shrinking speck of his homeland, now quite far away.

Blanchard and Jeffries were a good ways through a late lunch before England even moved.

"We're losing altitude," England said. He coolly regarded Blanchard before returning to look out at the Channel.

Blanchard was quick to his feet – the rapid movements jostled the basket a bit. He peered over the edge and easily confirmed they had gone down quite a bit more than he had thought.

It was no problem though; he tossed some of the ballast over the edge and the balloon rose up to a more appropriate height again. He and Jeffries returned to their talking and grazing.

By the time the balloon was two thirds of the way to France, all of the ballast was gone.

"We're not high enough," Jeffries kept saying. All couldn't help but note that the bluffs of the French coast had gone from below them, to eye level, to above them as they approached.

"Good thing we drank all the wine," said Blanchard. He hefted the empty wine crate over the edge and gained a little more altitude. It still wasn't enough though. "Everything over the edge gentlemen."

That sprung England and Jeffries into action – everything was pushed over the edge. The food, the rest of the brandy, the leaflets and oars. Even the flags went over the side – both of the flags – Blanchard made sure of that.

Now it was just the three men in the basket watching the fluttering French and English flags blow away out of sight.

Blanchard again turned to evaluate the rapidly approaching French landscape.

Without warning he grabbed the heavy winter jackets off the backs of his fellow balloonists and tossed them overboard. Then he continued on with his shirt and shoes and pants until he was in nothing but his underwear and the cork jacket (just in case they did crash onto the ocean). Jeffries was quick to follow example.

Both looked at England to do the same.

"I don't weight anything," was quickly drowned out as the other two stripped him down to his underwear too.

The balloon continued to rise a little more as each garment was tossed overboard. Fortunately it looked like they were going to clear the coastline.

It wasn't long before England heartily clapped the two on the shoulders.

"Congratulations gentlemen – it is 3pm and we have made it to France!" England said.

Still the triumphant balloonists were not out of the thick of it yet. There was no good place to land the craft within sight. Again the balloon began to descend into danger – this time thick forests several miles inland would be their undoing.

"12 miles from the coast and we can find no place to set down," said Jeffries.

"I blame you if we wreck," said England to Blanchard.

Blanchard met the comment by tossing the cork vests overboard. The trees only seemed to get closer.

"We seem to have gotten rid of everything we could," England said as he tossed the last little bit of extra rope from the basket.

"Not quite," said Jeffries. "See – and forgive me if I am being indecent here … but we have had quite a bit to drink during the voyage … and, well, no chance to relieve ourselves so we can lose a few extra pounds perhaps by … um, evacuation."

"You have got to be kidding me," England said.

"Nope," said Blanchard. He quickly emptied the few remaining vessels of their water. "Here's a jar. Now go."

With as little fanfare as humanly possible all three dutifully filled their jars and over the edge they went.

The only thing left in the basket besides the three men now were Jeffries' thermometer and barometer (they weigh next to nothing!), a bottle of brandy (because I'm going to need it the minute we land in France in our underwear) and a small packet of letters (the first time mail has ever been delivered by air … it's one for the history books).

They were just barely skimming above the treetops when Jeffries said, "Look – a field!"

It was on the smaller side but it would do just nicely for what they needed. To be honest they really didn't have any other option anyway.

"Marvelous!" said Blanchard. Quickly he pulled the valve line and vented enough hot air to collapse the balloon into the field.

They had made it safely on the ground.

The first people to cross the English Channel by air had made their voyage safe and sound.

"Fantastic!" said Jeffries.

"We made it," said Blanchard. "Not that I ever doubted my skill."

"I'm in France in my underwear," England said. "… this is not how I thought the day would go …"

"You are an aeronaut now," said Blanchard. "Such indecencies are below you … we just have to sit back and wait for rescue and fame!

"Oh, believe me – France knows we are here," England said. "It is only a matter of time before you get your fame. Our triumph is complete. Even if we are in our underwear."

"No one will ever remember that tiny detail," said Blanchard. "We three have gotten from England to France in a hot air balloon! A normally lengthy journey taking but hours. The sky is the limit. The future is in our grasp."

"I will remember though," England said. "And somehow the indignity of that is enough to make me wish that some other new triumph will steal this one away. Maybe mechanical flight – in a heavier-than-air sort of craft – then no one will remember three men in their underwear in a balloon."

"That will never happen!" said Blanchard. "Enjoy your day. For we are conquerors of the skies! Mightier men than even kings."

"Get me a pair of trousers and I might be inclined to agree with you," England said. "England has made it to France in just over three hours by air power – it is rather fantastic."

"That's the spirit of the future!" said Jeffries.

England was about to comment again when shouts from the far side of the field they were in could be heard. Soon people streamed into view with an uproar of all sorts of exclamations. The three were quickly clothed and carried to Calais like the heroes they were.

It was there that a messenger from the king found them and requested them to be brought forward to King Louis.

No one seemed to question how the messenger knew right where to go to find the aeronauts. No one even noticed how wide the messenger's eyes got when the third member of the bunch, Arthur Kirkland, was announced but nowhere to be found. Blanchard and Jeffries both made their excuses for the absence of the other aeronaut but the fuss was swept away when a lone letter was pressed into the messenger's hands.

Dear Frog,

Congratulations on receiving your first-ever piece of international airmail. You are not alone in the games you play with your balloons anymore.

Sincerely,

Sir Arthur Kirkland

X

Author's Note: True story folks – I just Hetalia-fied it a little bit. If any of you know more about the behavior of Jeffries or Blanchard – heck, what they even looked like – kudos to you because the book I was using as fact check had nothing on them other than that Blanchard was a bit of a prima donna and that Dr. John Jeffries was born in Boston and stayed there until the American colonies started getting funny ideas about self-government upon which he moved to England. Funny thing about this fic is that I've been meaning to write it for a long time but never got around to it – then I was doing up another quick drabble for the 365 days of USUK drabble calendar (a few years ago … my how time flies) and found myself referencing this fic that I hadn't even written yet. So I scrambled and wrote the thing and then proceeded to sit on it for a very long while because I struggle with beta-ing my own work. There's actually supposed to be a fic that is also in this universe that explains a lot of what Arthur is talking about and why he is reacting the way he does but I haven't written that yet either … all the notes are there, I just need to type it up … please bask in my convoluted lame-ness. (Actually there is quite a bit of stuff planned for this Aviation universe of mine so keep checking back and remember, everything is chronological so while this fic is currently #2 in the series … it might not be for very long). One day when I get regular access to the internet I might move forward on this whole project. Or perhaps just sit on it for another few years too and then feel bad that I haven't posted anything in forever.

Sorry if England seems a bit out of character but it was quite fun to write I-am-still-an-awesome-empire-fear-me-and-quiver-at-my-mighty-feet-but-I-am-also-a-proper-gentleman England. To be honest I always felt like cutting losses after the American Revolution really helped add fuel to the empire-fire and general badassery of the Arthur Kirkland of this era … after all, isn't one of the all time best coping mechanisms for anything to throw yourself into work?