airships | CW Hawes

8 Sentence Sunday On Dieselpunks #24

In today’s snippet, Rand Hart gets a mysterious envelope:

Hart was roused from sleep by someone knocking on his cabin door. He got out of bed, went to the door, and called out, “Yes? What is it?”

“A message for you, sir.”

Hart slipped on his robe over the pajamas and opened the door. The steward handed him an envelope.

“Just a minute.” Hart rummaged through a drawer and gave the man a dollar.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.” Hart closed the door, sat on his bed, and opened the envelope.

To be continued!

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #23

It seems Rand Hart and Dorothy Gale have something in common: there’s no place like home. Here is today’s snippet:

He walked over to the stairs and went down to B deck. His cabin was on the lower deck, but he decided to stop in at the bar and smoking lounge instead. He went through the pressurized airlock. Four other passengers were in the lounge having a smoke. Hart took a seat by himself and set on the table a cigarette paper and a package of Briggs Pipe Mixture. He put tobacco in the paper and rolled a cigarette. When finished, he put it between his lips and lit it.

Yes, he thought, it would be good to get home. Be good to enjoy his winnings. Enjoy some time doing nothing.

To be continued!

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8 Sentence Sunday On Dieselpunks #20

Rand Hart not only won his poker game, he gained possession of Herr von Osler’s personal memento — a gold ring from the Führer.

We pick up from where we left off last week.

A steward came and collected the chips. “I’ll take these to the purser, sir.”

“I’d like the money in American dollars.”

“Yes, sir,” the steward said and left with the chips.

Hart looked at the ring and tried it on several fingers before he found it fit the middle finger of his right hand. He walked to the promenade and looked out the window of the Hindenburg. In a couple hours the sun would be up. Down below, on the Atlantic, Hart saw the lights of a ship. Otherwise, there were only the stars.

To be continued!

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #18

Last week, we left Rand Hart in the midst of the final hand of a poker game on the Hindenburg. This week we pick up where we left off. Herr von Osler does not have enough chips to match what Hart has put into the pot and has offered to write a check. Hart replies to the German industrialist.

“That gold ring on your finger. I’ll settle for that.”

The German was conflicted. He looked at Hart, looked at the cards in his hand, shrugged, pushed his chips into the center of the table, and took the ring off his finger. He looked at it for a moment, then placed it amongst the chips.

Herr von Osler flipped his cards over. “Four eights, mein Herr.”

Hart turned his cards over and said, “Four Jacks.”

To be continued!

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Eight Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #17

I am presenting a new character and a new story. A dieselpunk adventure set in 1938. The character’s name is Rand Hart. He’s a professional gambler who spends most of his time on board the great zeppelins, crossing the North and South Atlantic, on the great Pan Am clipper seaplanes, flying from North to South America, and in Europe. His games are poker, Chemin de fer Baccarat, and backgammon.

Today’s snippet takes up where last Sunday’s left off where we left Rand Hart going through the probability tables in his head.

He looked at the German, in his black suit, his blond crewcut, gold ring on his finger, and the stack of chips in front of him. Hart looked at his own chips.

“I think it’s time, Mr von Osler, we see who’s bluffing.” Hart pushed all of his chip into the pile in the middle of the table. “That’s thirty-five thousand dollars. And I call.”

The German counted his chips. “It seems, Herr Hart, I’m short two thousand. Perhaps I might write a check?”

To be continued!

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #16

Today we meet a new character: Rand Hart. He is the main character in a new story I’m writing. My intention for the Eight Sentence Sunday is to simply put out for review and comment successive 8 sentence snippets of the first chapter of the story.

The time is Friday, 6 May 1938. Hart is aboard the Hindenburg, playing poker. He is a professional gambler. For those who know a bit about the Hindenburg, you will have already caught the initial alternative history element: the Hindenburg was destroyed by fire on 6 May 1937.

Without further adieu, here is Rand Hart:

Rand Hart couldn’t imagine what the German’s hand was. He was looking at four jacks. Certainly the possibility existed the fellow had something better, but that possibility was slim. Very slim.

The last round of betting saw the other American fold. Now only Helmut von Osler and he remained at the table. The chips in the center represented over twenty-three thousand dollars. Hart ran through the probability tables in his mind.

To be continued!

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #15

One of the things I love about the time period from 1920 into the 1950s, is the concept of the future they had. What the future would look like, what we would be doing. What might have been. And, yes, I’m still waiting for my flying car.

In the forthcoming The Golden Fleece Affair, I’ve incorporated a couple of those wonderful things imagined by the dreamers of the dieselpunk era. We’ve already met Ernest the robot. Today, we’ll see what a suburb of the the “future” is like. We “meet” the New York City suburb of Grand Futureton. Granted, we only have a barebones description today. In the retrofuture that never was, we’ll learn more about Grand Futureton as Lady Dru pursues yet another story.

The “suburb” covers three square miles and is a two thousand five hundred foot tall building. The shape of the massive skyscraper is that of a domed cylinder. Radiating out from the cylinder are twenty columns which comprise the living units. Each column is one thousand seven hundred feet tall and has one hundred ten floors. Inside the cylinder are places of business, shops, department stores, light industrial establishments, roads, and parks. A rail line enters the cylinder on the ground floor. Airships can dock in the dome. Surrounding the skyscraper is an enormous park.

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Air Travel – It Ain’t What It Used To Be

Last week I flew to California. Once again, I enjoyed the feeling of over a hundred people squashed into a space smaller than that of the average city bus. Air travel. What a delight.

Having mentioned what air travel was like in the past, I thought I’d post a few pictures to emphasize what was and what we’ve lost. Air travel, 1930s style.

The dining area of the Boeing B-314 flying boat:

The interior of the Martin M-130 flying boat:

The seating and sleeping area of the Martin M-130 flying boat:

The interior of the Dornier Do X flying boat:

Another view of the Dornier’s interior:

Airships were even more luxurious, rivaling the ocean liners of the day. Having seen what we’ve lost in air travel, why do we put up with what we have today?

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #13

We cannot today imagine the luxurious air travel that was once the standard for travelers. The world’s first airline was the DELAG, founded on 16 November 1909. The airline used Count Zeppelin’s rigid airships. By the time World War I began, DELAG had carried over 34,000 passengers on almost 1600 commercial flights. While there were a couple accidents, no passengers were killed and only one was injured. The accommodations were spacious and passengers were served food and drinks by a steward.

After the war, airship travel became legendary and easily equalled if not surpassed the luxury provided by any ocean liner of the day. The Hindenburg even had a bar and smoking lounge and on its first year of operation, a grand piano. Showers were also available for passengers.

But fixed wing, heavier than air, seaplanes almost rivaled the airships in comfort during the years between the world wars. The Boeing Clippers and the Dornier DoX interiors look like lounges in a fancy bar compared to today’s plane seating where one feels like a squished sardine in an overstuffed can.

After World War II, plane travel in the 1950s kept to the earlier tradition and transoceanic flights even offered sleeping accommodations for passengers.

The question one must ask one’s self is, what happened? My guess is airlines chose profit over passenger comfort.

In today’s snippet from my forthcoming novel, The Golden Fleece Affair, we get a taste of what flying used to be like. Admiral Rosendahl explains why the Argo is flying around Chicago and then Lady Dru describes breakfast, airship-style. Our snippet:

“I’d rather fly around a storm, than through one. Makes for a smoother ride,” he said.

When I woke Sunday morning, Detroit was behind us and we were over Lake Erie. Lakehurst was before us and the completion of the first leg of our journey. Breakfast was continental-style and we served ourselves from a table loaded with pastries, rolls, jam, marmalade, fruit, soft boiled eggs, toast, coffee, and tea.

To our surprise, Jake Branson brought out a portable record player and a stack of records. Being Sunday morning, he started with a Bach cantata and one of Handel’s Chandos Anthems. After the sacred concert, we listened to works by Chopin and Elgar and songs by the famous tenor Mario Lanza.

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8 Sentence Sunday on Dieselpunks #11

Today’s snippet picks up from last Sunday’s. Inquiring minds wanted to know what Dru and Dunyasha were going to do with their pistols. Today we find out. The Argo, which is the former USS Los Angeles, is under attack by a pair of Soviet built biplanes. The airship is inflated with hydrogen, which makes for a potentially dangerous situation. But as Dru points out, it is difficult to shoot down a hydrogen filled airship. Everything has to be just right.

So here is today’s snippet. Once again, Dru and Dunyasha are in the thick of the action.

A second biplane appeared and opened fire, the bullets hitting above us.
“They’re going for the gas cells,” I said.
“Operation Barbecue,” Dunyasha shot back.
“Probably not. It’s pretty difficult to shoot down an airship. Even one filled with hydrogen.”
I took careful aim and, as the plane banked to avoid hitting us, emptied the magazine of the Sauer. Dunyasha did likewise with her Luger. A futile attempt.

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