“Carry on, Chief,” said Karpov, and as he turned to head back, Tunguska shuddered with another impact and a loud boom. He saw what looked like greenish blue lightning running along the interior framework in eerie streaks of Saint Elmo’s fire. It was a weather phenomenon where luminous plasma formed in a coronal discharge. It could center on the tip of any sharp object, like the high mast on a ship, but he had never seen anything like this before. A strong thunderstorm could generate more power than a nuclear detonation, and produce very strong magnetic fields.
When Karpov made it back to the control gondola, he saw that Bogrov’s face was white with apprehension. His men were battling the control wheels, straining to turn them this way and that as they struggled to keep the ship level and stable, fighting the heavy winds. Karpov took one look at the compass and saw the needle was spinning wildly around in jittery circles.
“We’ve blundered into ice, just as I feared,” said the Captain, “and we’ve been hit by lightning at least twice. I’ve lost the number six engine aft and rudder control is very loose right now. This could get bad, Admiral.”
“Should we get lower?” Karpov really did not know much about the aerodynamics of the airship. He was a commanding officer, but not a real Zeppelin Captain here. He had no sense of how to maneuver the ship in these circumstances, and was relying on Bogrov.
“We’ve no say in the matter now. We’re icing up too bad and getting heavy. The gas bags are filled to the bursting point, and yes, I’d advise we let the ship descend.”
“Then take her down, Captain.”
The air seemed to have a strange smell of ozone, ionized by the storm, and the strange glow infused every region of the ship now. Tunguska’s bones were tingling with an eerie magnetic fire, infusing the metals that had been mined in the place that gave the ship its name.
“Candles of the Holy Ghost,” said Karpov, using an old seaman’s name for the effect he was seeing. When Charles Darwin had first noted the effect while cruising on the Beagle, he had described it thusly: ‘everything is in flames-the sky with lightning-the water with luminous particles, even the masts are pointed with blue flame.’ Karpov had seen it aboard Kirov, but under circumstances that gave him a chilling warning of grave danger here. Saint Elmo’s Fire was usually a fluorescent blue or violet color. The strange luminescent green rippling along the inner framework of the ship put a bad feeling in his gut.
It was a difficult ride down, taking all the skill that Bogrov had to manage the inflation and prevent a major gas bag from collapsing as the pressure changed. Helium expanded at high altitude, and contracted as they descended. He had to manage a careful balance but his crew was skilled, and the ship began to stabilize at lower altitudes.
They could see the tall angry storm off the starboard side of the ship, and Bogrov turned to try and avoid plunging into the billowing column again. Evil twisting wind spouts seemed to curl and form at the fringes of the column, and the bridge crew was deathly quiet as they watched.
“Land ahead!” a watchman finally called out the sighting, and Bogrov rushed to his navigation chart.
“Damn if we haven’t been blown another fifty kilometers southwest,” he said, moving his puckered eyes from the charts to the view panes, now wet with rain. “That’s England there, sir,” he pointed. “And we’re at no more than 5,000 meters now and still descending. I’m releasing helium from the reserve and we should level off soon.”
“You may keep us low,” said Karpov. “I doubt if we’ll run into any British fighters at night, and in this weather.”
His prediction was on the mark, except on one count. They descended lower and there was no sign of any other aircraft in the sky, and there was soon no sign of the rain or storm they had just come through either. But they were too preoccupied to notice this at that moment. One of the forward Topaz radars had been hit by lightning, and was no longer functioning, and reports were now coming in from all over the ship.
“We were lucky,” said Bogrov as he tallied the damage. “But she’s a good ship, Admiral. Tunguska came through well enough. What we need now is a little time to catch our breath. Then I can see about that number six engine aft and everything else on this list. We can try making some of these repairs in flight, but it would be much better if we could find some high ground down there and anchor the ship in place. This storm seems to have moved well out to sea, and quicker than I thought. Not a sign of any rain now, and it feels much warmer, strange as that sounds. There should be cold air behind that front. Well sir, we can certainly get down to ground level now.”
“As you wish, Captain,” said Karpov. “Find us an nice bald hill somewhere with a tall tree and we’ll anchor there. But the locals will get an eyeful, won’t they.”
They would.
