No post until I feel better

My head is a stuffy mess and when I tried writing earlier it was so full of typos it wasn't even funny. I just can't think right so I am on break for a couple of days, sorry.

The Journal of Water and Air IV

I went on a tour of the dirigible today, soaking up as much as I could, though some of what I have learned will not be written about for the paper for security reasons. All of my letters to the paper, like the letters of all of our armed forces, will go though the censures. It is the depressing truth that my carefully chosen words and neat phrases might fall, never to see the light of day, under the black pen of the government.

The captain heard I was wandering the ship and sent a member of the crew to invite me up to the bridge to take a proper look around. I had been so terrified my first visit that I had noticed nothing about it, now that I was sure I was welcome I soaked it all in. The instruments, the radios, the sweeping windows, far more spectacular then the ones in the mess hall. The officers meandered, specialists in their arts, deciding where we were, speaking into the radio, keeping watch out of the windows. They spoke in a different language, though I recognized the words, they spoke of wind, lift and pressure in acronyms and numbers. I have been thinking about my bafflement ever since and now I have a new concern, when I truly understand my new environment will other people still be able to understand what I write? I cannot write about it because I don't understand it but when I understand will others know what I am speaking of or will I take on all of the feeling and passion of a mechanics manual. If that is what happens I doubt I will keep my job for long,

I am starting to like this life I must admit, now that I get to know it. Everyone is kind to me, which I didn't expect and the food is better then what civilians normally get in rations. I am even getting used to wearing a uniform, though I still haven't learned how to keep mine as neat as the members of the crew keep theirs. So for I have seen nothing to look out for, and I intend to write my father and tell him that. His love of the sea gets in the way of him accepting new technology. I think I will also mention that he knows the captain of the dirigible, maybe that will make him feel better.

I am writing this now because we are in the middle of a storm. The captain said he saw it coming and he tried to get us above it but it was no use, the storm is higher then we can go and we are being rocked on all sides by the wind and rain. I had become comfortable in the safety of this ship, and forgotten how much at the mercy of nature we are, when the wind decides to go against us we have a lot of difficulty fighting it, and sometimes we can't. This is one of those times, I think that we have been blown far from where the captain wants to be from the look on his face. He hasn't slept all night just trying to keep us in the air, though of course none of us have gotten much sleep with us cast on the elements like we are. Even if the enemy never sees us we might never make it. All of the original fears I had about this business have turned out well founded.

I'm lucky that my letter to my father is still in the mail room. Once this storm is over I am going to go and ask for it back, I don't want to sound like an idiot and I am sure that he knows all too well how these things really work. If he got my letter he would just think I was an idiot and he would be right. I was an idiot for forgetting the nature of my new assignment. I will try not to fall into that sense of complacency again.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air III

Yesterday will be remembered as one of the strangest of my life. We are now air born, though I have no idea what our orders are because only the captain knows. I was horribly air sick the day before , I am told it is a common thing to happen, but I felt much better yesterday and was able to go and eat breakfast in the mess with everyone else. After breakfast I loitered in the mess so that I could look out of the gallery windows and see the landscape passing below us. It was a breathtaking experience though I don't remember a time I have felt so small. I was so mesmerized by the scene that I didn't even realize at first that the captain had come to stand right beside me. It was the first time I had seen him since our first meeting since he spends almost all of his time on the bridge and I had been laid up in my room.

“I was just admiring the scenery,” I commented. “I find it remarkable, though of course I'm sure you're used to it by now.”

“Not at all,” he responded, still as serious as when I had seen him the first time. “I continue to admire it every day, though I doubt I can look at it with as much harmlessness as you seem to. I am always reminded that all it would take is the slightest error on my part and every one of us would fall from this great hight. It is a heavy weight.” Suddenly the view looked much more sinister and I stepped back from the window. I had no desire to be reminded that my feet weren't on solid ground at the moment. My moment of comfort was shattered and I felt ill again, not from motion this time but from fear.

“How can you deal with the responsibility?” I asked. I must admit that I think that I would kill myself if I thought I was making choices for so many lives. He might seem serious but he also seemed calm and I found that I had a new respect for him.

“You grow used to it, to the point where your shoulders no longer feel their burden. If I am not mistaken your father carried a weight much the same on the water as I do in the air.” I was completely shocked to hear him speak of my father, I knew I had not mentioned him and I didn't think that my documents talked about him either.

“Do you know my father?” was the only reason I could think of that he would know him to be a captain. It was incomprehensible that my father should know a man in the air force though after looking with such contempt at the sky.

“I did know him, he was my captain, many, many years ago,” said the captain, he smiled for the first time I have ever seen. It was like a flash of light suddenly crossed his face. “I was on the ocean as a boy, before the dirigibles took flight and captured my young imagination. Your father was a good man, he spoke of you often, I thought it must be you when I heard your name, it isn't a common one.” In the face of the captains enthusiasm I could say nothing, he chatted on about the old days, his face back to serious but not as careworn now, until a member of the crew came to get him with a message from his first officer and he had to return to the bridge. I know that he was truly speaking of my father because of the incidents he talked about, I remember hearing of them in my childhood, but it was still almost as if he were talking of a different man. The man he talked about was firm but kind, stern but gentle, I always seemed to see only the firm and stern, and I am sure that the old man never talked of me to anyone. We never did see eye to eye.

Having been fully ruffled by the captain I spent the rest of the day having a crew member show me around the ship and explain to me how each part of it worked. It did accentuate what the captain had said about one error sending us all crashing. After I was done with my tour I sat to write my correspondence and an article about our aerial might for the paper, by the time it was finished it was late and I went straight to bed which is why I have only written about all of this today. I am not likely to forget it any time soon however.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air II

I'm not sure what is expected of me in this new world I find myself in. No amount of research and briefing when I was at the paper could have prepared me for the real thing. It is hard for me to even believe that this is the same type of vehicle as the other dirigibles that I have been on. What differences there are between a commercial zeppelin and a military one. Of course it isn't just the type of dirigible that is different in this case, there is another large difference between this one and the last I was on and it is one that terrifies me. This ship uses hydrogen instead of helium. It amazes me that they haven't banned the creation of all dirigibles instead of just commercial ones since the helium embargo. It's as if they think it's okay if people in the armed forces blow up. I have heard that in the army smoking is a great comfort but this comfort is forbidden to the air force for obvious reasons. This means that on top of everything else I am forced to give up the solace of my cigarettes.

I reported to the airfield at eight o'clock in the morning like I had been ordered. There was a member of the crew waiting for me when I arrived and instantly the whirlwind began. My luggage was scooped up by one member of the crew, while a petty officer began to lecture me about how I should have arrived in uniform, all the while my guide was trying to respectfully whisk me off to the bridge. He finally won over the petty officer by reminding that the captain wanted to see me.

It seemed as if the captain had been waiting for me as well, and that only succeeded in worrying me more. From my experience with my father having a captain wait for you, and making them wait, would lead to an all mighty tongue lashing and a permanent hatred. The captain didn't act angry though, just serious, during our very brief meeting. He told me very frankly but without any personal dislike that he hadn't wanted a reporter on his ship and that he only allowed me on his ship because he had been ordered to. He said that he understood that I had no training but that he expected me to learn and not drag my feet about it. He also added that he expected me to do my share, that on dirigibles they don't like to have a pound of dead weight, but I still don't know how he intends to put me to use.

I was then swept from the bridge without being able to say anything in response and told that they didn't want to see me there unless I was invited. Then my guide showed me to my room and left me to my own devices. Like the officers I get my own room, which is more then I expected. It isn't on the lower deck so it doesn't have a window but I can live with that in exchange for privacy to write in. It's smaller then the cabin of a steamer in size, the desk is a fold away and I can't get up into my bunk when the desk is lowered. I suspect that my portable typewriter is going to become my new love in this confined space. My room also has a wash stand and a small closet so I can address basics in my room without having to mingle with the crew. If the glances that I got while I was dragged through the ship are any indication I will be grateful to not have much to do with them. They look a rough lot and I suspect that they would flatten me into the deck if I bothered them.

I will not be able to avoid the others completely, the mess is public and has scheduled meals at which I am to eat. I have yet to see the quality of the food yet but I have steeled myself for the worst. I have heard stories about what the food given to the armed forces can be like sometimes. The food isn't all that grate even at home with the food rationing going on. On the plus side the mess hall has windows that can be opened so I will get some fresh air and sunlight even though I am now going to be traveling inside of a giant balloon. I have to go now though, I have to write my first real article to send back to the paper about everything that has happened so far, instead of indulging in my own private self reflection.

To be continued...

The Journal of Water and Air

I have no idea how long this journal floated in the river before I noticed it as I was crossing the bridge. With the paper shortage of the war it wasn't something I could just pass by. I felt like a fool climbing down the muddy bank to go fish garbage out of the water, I am sure that every person who crossed the river was laughing at me. Still, once I had taken the trouble to climb down the bank I would not give up my prize or I really would have been a fool.

Once I had this sodden journal in my possession I returned to the bridge, panting and slightly damp myself. I would have been infuriated had I discovered the pages were full after all that trouble but I was relieved to find that only the first few pages had been filled. They were covered in numbers and what looked like accounts. I tore those pages out and threw them in the first rubbish can I came to, making this journal truly mine. Having gone home and changed my clothing, leaving this journal behind a radiator to dry, I headed out to say goodbye to my father.

I suppose I ought to be grateful that I have not been sent into the war before. It is one of the few times that I have been thankful for my weakness and sickliness. The misfortune of my career made it inevitable that I would end up on the battlefield however. I will admit that despite the fact that I have expected this to happen, I am filled with dread of my departure. One of the reasons I am keeping this journal is to help release this feeling. I certainly cannot share it with another person, with so many off to war and dying cowardice is not tolerated by anyone or anywhere.

Things have always been awkward between my father and I. Most of my last visit with my father was silent, even when to break the discomfort I suggested we walk along the docks. Even now that my father has retired from the ocean I doubt he will ever live far from the sea.

“So you'll be on an airship then,” my father said finally, I had known he wouldn't be happy about that. “Don't trust them, they aren't reliable, watch yourself.” Father looked up at the sky with total disgust , disgust that was so intense that it remained on his face even when he looked back down at the ocean. Having said his piece my father fell silent again and I grew so uncomfortable that I finally excused myself.

My gear had been sent to my rooms by the time I got back from saying goodbye to father. I sorted through it and signed the douser for it, but looking it over made me sick to my stomach. I am a writer, I was never meant to spill blood, but now I was being handed the tools for both trades. It was a union between the newspaper and the air force that resulted in the packages on my bed, a fact all too accentuated by the emblems that covered them. This marriage that left me defenseless against the war apparently felt the need to then rub itself in my face.

I have now finished my final packing and finding myself at lose ends I pulled out this journal. Now I have written it all out on paper I feel a little better and my alarm clock is ticking me out a lullaby, reminding that I have to get up early.

To be continued....

The Game of.....

I am taking a creative writing class and is the very rough draft of the short, short story I am writing for it.

CHICKEN, I thought I's so cool, too cool to die, too cool to burn, well let's test that. I'm freakin' out at this point, my seatbelt has me stuck, and I can smell the smoke. I watch movies, cars on fire blow up. All I wanted was to show I wasn't a coward, chicken.

They keep pushin' me though, they'd never let me be. So I had somethin' to show and let them say what it'd be, chicken. Not real smart but they'd got me in a corner. So they got us facin' each other, me in the car, and their leader lookin' at me, just standin' there. I wait 'til they've got it all set up and they wave at me, so I put my foot on the gas. It would've been fine if the guy would've just moved out of my way. He had no business holdin' out so long. I'd already promised I wouldn't turn first 'cause loosing would have no point.

I figure I've lost as I get my seatbelt off, 'cause last time I looked he was still standin' there and the car's in a tree. I don't know for sure 'cause the last few seconds my eyes were closed, chicken. I get the door open an' get out. People are clappin' me on the back an' tellin' me how great I am, I don't get it. So they tell me he ran an' I kept on goin' straight, so I've won. They figure it's the first time he's lost, so I'm sort of a hero.

So now I'm gonna be left alone, which was all I wanted, but I wrecked the family car an' the cops came, ended up at the station. I'm a minor so it doesn't matter much turns out, first time too, got off light considerin' all they said I'd done. My mom says she's sendin' me to Oklahoma to stay with Grandma. So none of it changes 'cause no one's gonna believe me if I talk about this over there. I figure people'll mess with me there just like here, I don't look like much. Guess I'll have to do it all over when I get there to prove it. I'm no chicken.

The Captain's Peace X

Once Rosemonde had left Annabel hailed another cab, they were going to have to get to the ball very quickly or Alexander would realize that something must be wrong. This gave George time to think about everything that had happened and start to piece it together. He had told himself that he wasn't going to question his new boss but now that everything was over he had far too much unanswered to not curb at least a little of his curiosity.

“So that was your teacher we just saved? You could have told me you know.” George hadn't meant to say the last part and he was shocked and more then a little appalled to hear his own reproachful tone. To his shock though Annabel looked guilty and ashamed instead of angry with him.”

“It wasn't like I didn't trust you really. I didn't think you were going to go report us, I just wasn't sure how loyal you were going to be. We were doing something dangerous and had you been captured before the plan went through I didn't want you falling to torture. The world is not kind to captured spies and I was afraid. Monsieur Rosemonde is very important to me if you couldn't tell.”

“You don't have to worry about it, I'm not really angry with you,” George was ashamed in turn for making Annabel feel bad. “I just wanted to let you know that you can trust me. I am not going to give you away.” They fell silent after this declaration, both of them too embarrassed to say anything else. It continued this way until they were safely in the cab on their way to the ball. It was the most privacy they had had together truly for several days. Even when they had been alone before the job had been looming over them in such a way that they both felt like they were being watched. If only for a couple of minutes they were free.

“Monsieur Rosemonde taught you how to do your work as a spy then?” George asked. It had been on his mind since hearing the conversation between Rosemonde and Annabel.

“He taught me French first, when I was only around twelve. The government was looking for females with connections to act as spies back then though and he saw talent in me. Being a French refugee the government had a lot of interest in him and he had their ears. So he taught me both the language and how to serve my country and I will be forever grateful to him. I hadn't seen him in years though, when Napoleon offered asylum to the refugees the English government ordered Monsieur Rosemonde back across the channel to serve as our eyes and ears. I had thought I would never see him again and I actually cried when I heard that he had been taken captive.”

“But our government freed him,” George pointed out. “You must have known that they would.”

“You should know, if you want to continue this life, that spies rarely last long enough to be saved once they are captive. Even when they do last long enough there are times when the government of your country chooses to simply pretend that you never existed. Monsieur Rosemonde was lucky, he knows things that the English would like to know so he was worth freeing. Hope that you are so lucky if the time comes,” Annabel added bitterly. “It is part of my prayers nightly.”

“I would like to continue working with you,” George admitted. “I don't think I would like working with anyone else but I don't mind working under you.” She nodded her head and he took that to be assent. He decided he wasn't going to tell her that the real reason he wanted to continue working with her was a vague chivalric feeling she was vulnerable and needed protecting. She seemed like the sort who would take that badly, even if the rest of the world would agree that was his duty as a gentleman. He wasn't going to tell her that he was seriously considering asking her to marry him, well not yet. That could come, with time, and Alexander could bring on all of his duels.