Flammable
Josef left the Fuhrer's office and closed the door behind him. He thought the meeting had gone pretty well. He was being sent to the United States to deliver a diplomatic satchel, and Hitler had no idea that he was working for American intelligence. As a member of the Fuhrer's inner circle, he was one of the select few who knew the particulars of Hitler's plan for world domination. Josef reflected that he would be delivering a lot more to the U.S. government than just the diplomatic package.
After Josef left his office, Hitler picked up the phone and dialed. "See that Konstantin never reaches the United States". He hung up the phone. It was too bad, really. There would be many jobs in the Third Reich for a powerful vampire like Konstantin, but The Legion had identified him as a threat to their plans. He had to be dealt with severely.
Josef was to be accompanied on his trip to the U.S. by a member of Hitler's Secret Service. To Josef, Franz Mueller was nothing more than a glorified babysitter. He met the dour-faced Mueller at the airfield in Frankfurt, and they boarded the airship together. Mueller carried the diplomatic documents in a briefcase. "Seems like a lot of trouble for a simple diplomatic delivery," Josef said, reaching for the briefcase. Mueller yanked the attaché case away and held it close, giving Josef a blank stare. "Surely you are aware of government policy," he said. "Documents from the Fuhrer are to be delivered under the tightest security."
"All right, all right!" Josef said, holding his hands up. He had an idea he'd better drop the subject. He looked out his window as the ground crew released the tethers and the airship started to rise. The motors came to life with a distant droning hum. "You ever fly on one of these?" Josef asked Mueller.
Mueller swallowed hard. "No," he answered, "but I'm told they're perfectly safe." Mueller looked as though he was trying to convince himself of that, without success.
"I'm not a big fan of the hydrogen," Josef said. "It's flammable, you know."
"I know," Mueller said, swallowing again. He had been looking out the window, but now shifted his focus to his hands clasped in his lap.
Josef wondered again why they had felt it necessary to send a bodyguard with him – especially one who had never flown in a dirigible before – and why Mueller insisted on holding the attaché case. He shrugged and turned his attention to the diminishing landscape outside his window.
The three-day Atlantic crossing was fairly uneventful, although strong headwinds had put them behind schedule for their arrival in Lakehurst, New Jersey. Josef was dozing when the steward rapped on the cabin door to announce that they'd be docking soon. Josef straightened up and turned in his seat. "See, that wasn't so…" Josef stopped in mid sentence. Mueller was not in the cabin. Mueller had taken to leaving the cabin on a pretty frequent basis since their departure, and Josef figured the poor guy was probably in a restroom somewhere on the airship bringing up his dinner. He looked out the window and saw that they had descended to an altitude of about six hundred feet and were approaching the triangular-shaped mooring tower.
Max Stein stepped out of the hangar as the airship slowly approached. He wore overalls, the uniform of the Lakehurst ground crew. The ship had nearly come to a stop for mooring when Stein looked left and right, saw that he was unobserved, reached into the side pocket of his overalls and pulled out a flare gun. Stein pointed the gun at the rear of the giant airship and pulled the trigger. A bright orange ball of light arced through the air, disappearing into the tail of the dirigible. There was a brief moment when Stein was terrified that he had failed his Fuhrer. Nothing happened. Then the evening sky lit up as the rear of the airship erupted in flame. Stein shielded his eyes from the light with his left hand, extending his right arm in the salute that would become such a familiar and hated symbol in a few short years. The shock wave from the explosion sent Stein flying backward, his right arm still holding that hateful salute.
Franz Mueller had, in fact, been in the process of becoming re-acquainted with his dinner as the explosion shook the airship. There had been no time to find a restroom, so Mueller had hung his head out an open window to throw up. He felt a sudden gust of hot air blow past and turned his head to look toward the rear of the ship. An orange fireball engulfed him, setting his hair on fire. The explosion shook the airship and Mueller was thrown out through the window into a sea of flames.
Josef sensed the fire before most of the other passengers noticed anything was wrong. He bolted out of the cabin and ran down the long hallway toward the front of the airship. He was nearly knocked off his feet by the explosion. When he regained his balance and glanced behind him a moment later, he saw a wall of flames billowing down the hallway toward him.
Reporter Herbert Morrison and recording engineer Charlie Nielsen stood alone on the tarmac between a large hangar and the mooring tower, watching the Hindenburg slowly drift in. The other reporters covering the airship's arrival had decided to grab a bite to eat when they heard the airship was going to be late. Nielsen began the recording, and Morrison described the huge airship's arrival.
"It's practically standing still now. They've dropped ropes out of the nose of the ship; and, uh, they've been taken ahold of down on the field by a number of men. It's starting to rain again; it's—the rain had, uh, slacked up a little bit. The back motors of the ship are just holding it, uh, just enough to keep it from—"
The stern of the Hindenburg suddenly erupted in flames, and Morrison threw his hands up over his face.
"It's burst into flames! It burst into flames, and it's falling, it's crashing!"
The shock wave from the explosion sent Morrison and Nielsen stumbling backward and shook the recorder violently, briefly stopping the recording. Nielsen examined his equipment and quickly re-set the stylus on the recording disc.
"Get this, Charlie; get this, Charlie! It's fire – and it's crashing! It's crashing terrible! Oh, my! Get out of the way, please!"
In a matter of 34 seconds the Hindenburg was consumed by fire and reduced to a glowing metal skeleton lying on the tarmac amid towering flames and thick, black smoke.
"It's smoke, and it's flames now; and the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring-mast. Oh, the humanity!"
As Morrison watched, ghostly figures materialized out of the cloud of smoke that surrounded the wreckage. Here was a member of the ground crew, running with a burnt section of mooring line still clutched in his hand. Then came a woman whose hair and most of her dress had been burned off by the flames. Morrison apologized to her as she stumbled past him, one of her high heels broken off. Later, he wouldn't be able to explain why he had told her he was sorry.
Morrison felt sick to his stomach. His eyes and lungs burned, but he continued reporting. He could hardly believe what he was seeing when a form emerged from the wreckage long after he would've expected anyone to make it out alive. It was a man. He had to have been a passenger. He was dressed in a suit. He seemed annoyed, patting at spots where the material had been singed and was still smoking. Soot covered the man's face and hands. He was walking straight toward him.
Morrison held out his microphone as the man approached.
"Sir, were you on…"
His voice caught in his throat as the man looked up. Josef's eyes were glowing, and when he opened his mouth Morrison saw that his teeth ended in sharp points. Josef lunged toward the men and hissed. Morrison and Nielsen took a startled step back, letting him pass. Josef continued into the hangar, where he disappeared into the darkness. Later, the reporter and his engineer wouldn't be able to remember much about the strange survivor. They chalked it up to having been in shock from the horror they had witnessed.
