Fire in the Sky Read online

  Fire in the

  Sky

  Fire in the

  Sky

  by Candice F. Ransom

  illustrations by Shelly O. Haas

  Millbrook Press / Minneapolis

  To Taylor—C.F.R.

  To my father, who was strengthened by both the larger-than-life events and the marbles of his childhood—S.O.H.

  Special thanks to Micah and Jimmy—S.O.H.

  Text copyright © 1997 by Candice F. Ransom

  Illustrations copyright © 1997 by Shelly O. Haas

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Millbrook Press

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A.

  Website address: www.lernerbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ransom, Candice F.

  Fire in the sky / by Candice F. Ransom ; illustrations by Shelly O. Haas.

  p. cm.

  Summary: More than losing at marbles, worrying about his relatives in Germany, or hearing his favorite radio hero, Jack Armstrong, nine-year-old Stenny Green is focused on getting to see the Hindenburg when it lands near his home in Lakehurst, New Jersey, in 1937.

  ISBN-13: 978–0–87614–867–9 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)

  ISBN-10: 0–87614–867–4 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)

  1. Hindenburg (Airship)—Juvenile fiction. [1. Hindenberg (Airship)— Fiction. 2. Family life—Fiction.] I. Haas, Shelly O., ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.R1743Fi 1997

  [Fic]—dc20 96-5739

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  3/1/11

  eISBN: 978-0-7613-8276-8 (pdf)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-3209-3 (ePub)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-3208-6 (mobi)

  Contents

  The Marble Chump

  Stenny’s Zeppelin

  No Kind of Hero

  Fire in the Sky

  The End of the World

  Thirty-four Seconds

  Ordinary Hero

  Afterword

  The Marble

  Chump

  Stenny Green was losing. He wasn’t surprised. He always lost at everything.

  Click-clack.

  “Got another one!” Buzzie Martinelli crowed. He scooped up Stenny’s favorite moonstone marble and put it with the growing pile. Then he leaned down, aimed, and shot again.

  Stenny shifted his weight. It was uncomfortable kneeling in his school pants. The waist was pretty tight, even though his mother had moved the button over twice. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten two hot dogs for lunch. Stenny’s mother always fed him a big meal when he went home for the midday break.

  “You awake, Stenwood?” Buzzie teased. He knew that Stenny hated his full name. But at least Buzzie hadn’t called him Chubbo, the way he sometimes did in class. “Say good-bye to that blue cat’s-eye.”

  “It’s not a very good marble.” Stenny tried to sound as though he didn’t really care. But it looked like he would never even get a turn, much less win the game. He wondered what Jack Armstrong, the hero of his favorite radio program, would do if he were here. Jack Armstrong wouldn’t let Buzzie Martinelli win. Stenny pushed his glasses up on his nose. He wondered if the Jack Armstrong Hovering Disc he had sent away for had come in the mail that day.

  “Missed!” Buzzie said suddenly.

  Stenny stared at the circle drawn in the dirt. Incredibly, a stray pebble had caused Buzzie’s marble to skitter past the target.

  “My turn,” Stenny said.

  Now was his chance! He hunkered down, aiming his best shooter carefully at one of Buzzie’s marbles. Nervously, he pushed his straight blond hair off his damp forehead and shot. The large yellow-striped marble rolled feebly across the bumpy ground, stopping two inches short of Buzzie’s marble.

  “You missed,” Buzzie said cheerfully. Then he proceeded to win the rest of Stenny’s marbles.

  When it was over, Buzzie stuffed Stenny’s marbles into a bulging marble sack along with his own. He never played for anything but keeps. “Good game,” he said.

  Stenny’s own marble sack was pathetically empty. “It wasn’t a fair game,” he protested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s too hot today,” Stenny complained. It was unseasonably hot for the fifth of May. “New Jersey is never this hot this early.”

  Buzzie burst out laughing. “Stenny Green, you just kill me! Anyway, I’m still the marble champ.”

  “Marbles are dumb,” Stenny said. “I have more important things on my mind.”

  “Like what? That zero on your arithmetic test?”

  Stenny winced. Fourth grade arithmetic was too hard. He would rather read any day. Or work on his model of the Hindenburg, the famous airship. “I was busy thinking about tomorrow,” he said, “when the Hindenburg gets here. This is its first flight of 1937.”

  Buzzie shrugged. “So tell me something new.” Of course Buzzie knew when the dirigible was arriving. Buzzie’s father was a member of the civilian ground crew. When the steam whistle blew, men all over town left their jobs or their homes and hurried to the nearby Naval Air Station. Many hands were needed to help land the huge airship, which traveled from Frankfurt, Germany, to Stenny’s hometown of Lakehurst, New Jersey.

  “I’ve seen the Hindenburg a zillion times,” Buzzie patted back a yawn.

  “No, you haven’t,” Stenny corrected. “It only made ten flights here last year.”

  “Same thing,” Buzzie said.

  “Have you ever been on the Hindenburg?” Stenny asked, knowing the answer. “I’m going on it tomorrow. My brother is getting me a special pass.” Well, he might tour the Hindenburg. He hadn’t obtained permission yet. But Buzzie didn’t know that.

  Buzzie looked at Stenny skeptically. “You said that last year. And you never got on it.”

  “Well, last year Michael was busy.”

  Stenny’s nineteen-year-old brother was an enlisted man at the Naval Air Station. He was studying to become an airship navigator at the Naval Aerological School. He would help guide an airship by planning and charting its course.

  Buzzie scooped his bike off the lawn. “See you in school tomorrow.”

  “I may be late!” Stenny called after him. “I don’t know how long that tour will take. Maybe three or four hours!”

  “Yeah, sure!” Buzzie raced down Cedar Street.

  Stenny went inside his house. His mother was fixing supper. Pot roast, from the smell of it. An apple pie cooled on the windowsill.

  “Hi, Ma,” Stenny said. “Did I get anything in the mail today?”

  “Not today.” Mrs. Green frowned. “How many times have I told you not to play in your good clothes?”

  “I’ll change.”

  In his room, Stenny changed into play clothes. Lately they didn’t fit very well, either. But his only other clothes were for temple.

  Stenny went over to his bureau and picked up the model he was building. It wasn’t easy making a replica of the Hindenburg, but Stenny wanted to get it just right.

  “The Hindenburg is a dirigible,” he said, liking the sound of his own voice. “Sometimes a dirigible is called an airship. It is not a balloon, even though it looks like one. Dirigibles are engine driven. You can steer them. The Hindenburg is a zeppelin, an airship with a rigid body, invented by a German man, Count von Zeppelin.”

  Stenny touc
hed the tiny balsa wood box attached to the bottom of his model. That was the control car, where the officers flew the airship. The framework of the real Hindenburg was made of duralumin girders, strong but lightweight. The outside skin was fashioned from heavy cotton fabric, waterproofed and painted silver.

  Stenny’s model was ten inches long, not 803 feet. He had made it out of scraps of aluminum from his father’s hardware store. The frame was covered with fabric from an old sheet. When his model was finished, Stenny would hang it from fishing line over his bed, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

  The real Hindenburg had big pockets inside filled with hydrogen, a gas that was lighter than air. Stenny wished he could make his model fly, but his father said hydrogen was dangerous—so forget that idea.

  Now Stenny frowned. Something about the model wasn’t right. He had overlooked some important detail. He ought to go through his scrapbook and see what was missing.

  The clock on Stenny’s night table told him it was almost 5:15. His favorite program was on. Stenny ran into the living room and switched on the Philco. Then he settled himself on the blue rug in front of the radio. The announcer cried, “The All-American Boy!” as a chorus swelled into the “Hudson High Fight Song.”

  Then came the Wheaties commercial. Stenny hugged his knees. He ate Wheaties cereal every single day, just like Jack Armstrong. He saved the box tops and sent away for premiums. He already had a Whistle Ring. If only his Hovering Disc had come today. He imagined using the disc to save Jack Armstrong if Jack got in trouble. Not that Jack Armstrong needed saving. He was the best! He could fly a plane and sail a ship. Jack Armstrong could do anything.

  “Stenny!” his mother called. “Come set the table.”

  “When my show is over,” he called back.

  “Now, please.”

  Sighing, Stenny turned the radio up louder so he could hear it. In the kitchen, he took plates from the cupboard. “Four places,” his mother remarked. “Remember, your brother is coming for dinner tonight.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  How could he forget? His brother ate dinner with them every Wednesday. Michael would sit across from Stenny, tall and thin in his dazzling white uniform, and talk about his exciting life at the air station.

  Music trumpeted from the radio. Stenny’s program was over. Oh, well. He’d listen to Jack Armstrong tomorrow. Picturing the radio character, Stenny saw his brother’s strong chin, his flinty gray eyes. Stenny wanted to be just like Jack Armstrong. He wanted to lead safaris in Africa and expeditions to the North Pole. Most of all, he longed to pilot his own airship. That would be better than being an airship navigator any day.

  Then he remembered playing marbles with Buzzie Martinelli. Stenny couldn’t even win a simple game, much less fly an airship on great adventures. Instead of being the marble champ, Stenny Green was just a marble chump.

  Stenny’s

  Zeppelin

  Stenny’s brother was late for dinner. Mrs. Green glanced worriedly at the phone. “He usually calls. It’s not like him to be late, especially since we see so little of him. And I made pot roast.”

  “He’s always here for Wednesday supper. And you always make his favorite food,” Stenny said, trying to keep jealousy from his voice.

  “Let’s hold dinner,” Mr. Green suggested. “A few minutes won’t hurt.”

  It would hurt Stenny. He was starving. Then he wondered if his brother’s tardiness had something to do with the Hindenburg. “Isn’t the Hindenburg supposed to land this evening?” he asked. “I didn’t hear the whistle.”

  Mr. Green shook his head. “The last I heard, it’s not due until early tomorrow sometime.” Just then the door banged open and Michael strode into the dining room. His normally spotless seaman’s uniform was filthy, and his face was streaked with soot.

  “Michael!” Mrs. Green cried. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing, Ma.”

  “Nothing! Stenny, get your brother a glass of water.”

  “I can’t stay,” Michael said apologetically. “Sorry I didn’t call, but we’ve been busy today.”

  Mr. Green looked at Michael solemnly. “Is it the fire?” he asked.

  “Yeah. They’re even evacuating people around Toms River. The guys from Fort Dix have been on the scene since lunchtime. Thanks, kid.” Michael gratefully accepted the glass of water Stenny handed him.

  “What fire?” Stenny asked.

  Michael explained that the piney woods northwest of the Naval Air Station were on fire. Now smoke blew over the airfield, jeopardizing the Hindenburg’s landing. Local fire departments and the navy landing crew couldn’t battle the blaze alone, so troops from nearby Fort Dix had been called in to help.

  “Jack Armstrong wouldn’t call in the army,” Stenny said, pretending to wield a heavy fire hose. “He’d put that fire out all by himself.”

  Michael laughed. “I don’t doubt it!”

  “Can’t you stay and eat?” Mrs. Green asked him.

  “It’s pot roast and apple pie,” Stenny added. Maybe his brother would take him to see the fire after supper.

  Michael grinned. “You can have my slice of pie, Sten. I have to get back to the base.”

  “Just be careful,” Mr. Green warned.

  “Can I go, too?” Stenny asked.

  “Of course not!” his mother said.

  Stenny considered jumping on his bike after supper and racing off to see the fire anyway. But in truth, he was afraid of fires. Even barbecue pits made him nervous. Buzzie Martinelli would laugh like crazy if he knew.

  Michael headed toward the door. “I wish I could stay, folks, but the Hindenburg is coming in early tomorrow morning and the CO is already antsy about this fire.”

  “Michael?” Stenny asked hopefully, following him to the door. “Do you think your commanding officer—er, CO—would let me see the Hindenburg?”

  “Not this time, Sten.”

  Stenny’s face fell. “Phooey. I’ll never get a tour.”

  “Since this is the Hindenburg’s first flight of the year, security is kind of tight. Because of the way things are in Germany lately, people are afraid something might happen to the airship,” Michael told them.

  Mr. Green nodded. “Hitler.”

  Stenny had seen Adolf Hitler in newsreels. With his toothbrush mustache and silly hairstyle, Germany’s leader looked like a cartoon character. He was always ranting and shaking his fist. Hitler’s troops, the blackbooted Nazis, filled Stenny with a thrilling fear. Hitler was the kind of enemy Jack Armstrong would fight, Stenny thought. But first Jack would have to beat up all the other Nazis—

  “Germany is preparing for war,” Mr. Green said solemnly, interrupting Stenny’s daydream. “I’m a little surprised the Hindenburg is coming at all.”

  “The Zeppelin Company has an agreement with our navy,” Michael said. “That’s why the Hindenburg is allowed to land here. They don’t want war.”

  “Don’t you think our government might be a little nervous?” Mr. Green said. “Zeppelins were used during the Great War to drop bombs on London. They could be used for war again.”

  Stenny had read about the raids by an early zeppelin pilot, Captain Ernst Lehmann. As a young naval officer, Captain Lehmann had piloted a passenger airship in Germany. When war broke out in Europe in 1914, Lehmann had fearlessly flown his zeppelin on bombing runs over the English Channel.

  “The Hindenburg is a passenger airship,” Michael pointed out. “It’s only used for peacetime purposes.”

  “Situations change,” Mr. Green argued.

  Michael put on his white seaman’s cap. “Well, I need to get back to the base before my CO declares war on me.”

  Stenny walked outside with him. “Are you sure I can’t get on the Hindenburg?” he asked. For the Hindenburg’s first flight last year, a hundred thousand sightseers had come to marvel at the new wonder. Tourists had been allowed to go inside the hangar where the airship was stored, but
not to board the airship itself.

  Stenny’s brother ruffled his hair. “Maybe on its next trip, when things aren’t so hectic.”

  “Will you tell your CO that I’m an expert? I know everything there is to know about the Hindenburg,” Stenny added persuasively.

  “You’ll be first on the list.” Michael got into his jalopy and drove down Cedar Street. Stenny hopped on his bike and pedaled after him. For a while he was able to keep pace. But at the corner the car picked up speed and Stenny fell behind. He gave up the chase, panting. Even a dog moved faster than he did. Jack Armstrong could outrun a car, easy, he thought.

  Stenny could smell the smoke from the fire. The early evening sky was hazy with gray wisps. Even the thought of fire raging through the woods sent shivers down his spine. Stenny turned his bike around and slowly walked back home.

  His parents were in the living room, listening to Lowell Thomas intone the news. Stenny got out his Hindenburg scrapbook and settled onto the carpet in front of the radio.

  He did know everything there was to know about the zeppelin. Ever since the huge dirigible had made its maiden voyage last year, Stenny had cut out every newspaper and magazine article about it and pasted the articles into a scrapbook.

  The Hindenburg was nearly one-sixth of a mile long from the bow, or front, to the stern, or rear. It could travel eighty miles an hour. Inside the belly of the ship were two decks containing heated passenger quarters and public rooms. The dining room was big enough to seat fifty passengers, with fine linens and real silverware. An aluminum piano, covered in yellow pigskin, had been specially built for the airship. The Hindenburg was the last word in luxury travel.

  Stenny’s mother spoke during a break in the broadcast. “I had a letter from my sister in Germany today. She said that Jews have to sit on certain benches now. Grocery stores have signs that say Jews Not Admitted.”

  Mr. Green rustled his newspaper. “More of Hitler’s doing. Where will that man stop?”