The Army brought in an airship in 1922.
I watched as the process from beginning to end, fully expecting to see some sort of foolishness that would result in calamity. I had served in enough armies through the years to know full well the bad choices a bureaucracy can make. In this case, the Army did everything right.
They chose a well-placed parcel of land which had no bad history attached to it. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20, and so I should have given the parcel a bit of thought. There aren’t many places in Cross where nothing untoward has happened over the centuries.
Well, the Army came in, they cleared what needed to be cleared, built a few barracks, and prepared a station where airships could dock and hangars for their repairs. Technicians were moved in as were other elements of a semi-permanent garrison, and again, these should have been warning signs to me.
I admit I was rather taken in by the thought of having something so modern as an airship in the vicinity of Cross. Granted, I doubted that the airships would make much of a go of it – I had seen what happened to the German airships during the Great War and nothing leaves an impression like a man who has fallen several hundred feet to his death – but I thought it would be an interesting time.
It was, unfortunately, far more interesting than anyone desired.
When the first airship came in, the wind was wrong.
It was too cold and fast. What compelled the wind is something I still don’t have an answer to.
As we watched, powerless to help, thirty of the forty-seven soldiers there were killed.
The bones of the airship are still there, a mute testimony to some unseen creature’s fury.
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