Night flying monsters L u c a s D u r a n D Night flying monsters Its massive frame gliding through the sky like a predator hunting its prey. Lucas Durand Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Night flying monsters Night flying monsters Lucas Durand Lucas Durand An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Night flying monsters T he chill of January had settled heavily over Great Yarmouth, the kind of cold that crept into bones and made the heart feel brittle. The night was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional whistle of wind slipping through the narrow streets. The only beacon of warmth and life was the Wound- ed Eagle , a pub nestled at the edge of the harbour, where a motley group of locals nursed their ales and shared whispers of distant war. Harold Clegg, a fisherman with hands as rough as the North Sea, sat closest to the crackling fire. He raised his pint and muttered, “More talk of German ghosts in the sky. Load of nonsense, if you ask me.” “Not ghosts, Harold,” corrected Edith Spencer, the innkeeper. She leaned over the bar, her piercing eyes fixed on him. “Zeppelins. Flying machines. I read about them in The Times . They’re real enough, bombed Antwerp, didn’t they? Flattened half the city.” Lucas Durand Arthur Bell, the town constable, sat near the door, his polished buttons glinting in the dim light. He smirked, though his hand trembled slightly as he lit his pipe. “They wouldn’t dare cross the Channel. Too risky. Our boys would send them crashing into the drink.” A voice piped up from the corner, where young Timothy Hargrove, barely out of school, was clean- ing glasses. “But what if they did come? Could we stop them?” Before anyone could answer, a new sound joined the wind outside. A low hum, faint at first but grow- ing steadily, like the drone of a distant horn. The room fell silent as each person strained to listen. “What’s that?” Timothy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Harold set his pint down with a heavy thud. “Prob- ably just the wind. Or maybe one of them fancy new aeroplanes from the RAF.” Edith’s expression darkened. She moved quickly to the door, her boots clapping against the wooden floor. When she opened it, the cold night air rushed in, making the fire flicker and dance. She stepped onto the cobbled street and looked up. Night flying monsters Dark shapes loomed against the star-specked sky, their outlines faint but unmistakable. Massive and lumbering, they moved with an eerie grace, the hum growing louder as they drew closer. Flickers of light glinted from their underbellies, signals of menace. “God help us,” Edith breathed, stepping back in- side. “They’re here.” “Who’s here?” Arthur stood, his hand instinctively going to the billy club at his belt. “Zeppelins,” Edith said, her voice steady but grim. “The Germans.” The word sent a shiver through the room. Harold rose slowly, his face pale. “You can’t be serious. Not here. Not in bloody Yarmouth.” “Serious as the grave,” Edith snapped. “Get the lan- terns out. Warn the others.” “Warn them of what?” Harold’s voice rose, his bravado crumbling. “What are we supposed to do against... that?” “We’ll do what we can,” Arthur said, already pull- ing on his coat. “Timothy, ring the church bell. If we’re under attack, we need everyone to take cover.” Lucas Durand The boy froze, his face ashen. “Take cover where? There’s no trenches here, Constable.” “Then stay inside and pray,” Arthur barked, shov- ing the door open. “Harold, come with me. Edith, stay here and keep people calm.” The two men disappeared into the night, their hur- ried footsteps swallowed by the rising hum. Edith turned back to Timothy, who was trembling by the bar. She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Snap out of it, lad. Get upstairs and fetch my lan- tern. We’re going to need light if those things start dropping bombs.” Timothy nodded and bolted up the stairs, leaving Edith alone in the dim room. She took a deep breath, her hand gripping the edge of the bar to steady her- self. Outside, the hum had become a growl, accom- panied by a faint whistling sound. Then it came—the first explosion. A distant thud, followed by a faint orange glow on the horizon. The glasses on the bar rattled, and Edith felt the floor tremble beneath her feet. She rushed to the window and saw flames licking at the edge of town. Timothy stumbled back down the stairs, the lan- Night flying monsters tern clutched in his hands. “Miss Spencer, what do we do?” “We stay alive,” Edith said firmly, taking the lan- tern from him. “And we help anyone who needs it. Now come on.” Together, they stepped into the street, where the townsfolk were beginning to emerge, their fac- es masks of fear and confusion. Another explosion rocked the night, closer this time. The shadow of one of the Zeppelins passed overhead, so low they could see its dark undercarriage illuminated by the fire be- low. “Look!” someone shouted. “There’s more of them!” Edith turned and saw another Zeppelin looming on the horizon, its massive frame gliding through the sky like a predator hunting its prey. She raised the lantern high, signalling to the others. “Get to the church!” she yelled. “It’s the sturdiest building in town. Move quickly!” The crowd began to scatter, some running toward the church, others to their homes. Edith and Timothy led a small group of stragglers, their breaths visible in the frigid air. The sound of the Zeppelins filled the Lucas Durand night, a mechanical roar that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Above them, a flare lit up the sky, casting an eerie red glow over the town. Edith glanced up and saw the silhouette of a bomb falling, spinning lazily as it descended. She pushed Timothy forward, shouting, “Run!” The bomb struck a barn nearby, detonating with a deafening roar. The force of the blast threw Edith and Timothy to the ground, and the air filled with the ac- rid smell of smoke and burning wood. When Edith looked up, she saw the barn engulfed in flames, the heat searing her face even from a distance. “Keep moving!” she shouted, hauling Timothy to his feet. “We’re not dead yet.” As they stumbled toward the church, the bells be- gan to toll, their mournful clang echoing through the chaos. The Zeppelins continued their relentless advance, their bombs lighting up the night like fall- ing stars. And above it all, the hum of their engines droned on, a harbinger of more destruction to come. Night flying monsters I. The North Sea stretched vast and unforgiving be- neath the cold January night, its waves shimmering faintly under the pale moonlight. High above, the German Zeppelin L3 lumbered through the sky, its shadow a black spectre against the heavens. Inside the gondola, the crew worked in tense silence, their breaths visible in the freezing air. Captain Hauptmann Friedrich Wurster stood at the observation window, gripping his binoculars. His steel-blue eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the faint outline of the English coast. The hum of the engines was a constant reminder of the immense machine’s power, but it was the silence of his men that gnawed at him. Even seasoned soldiers grew un- easy in the face of an untested mission. Lucas Durand “Any sign of land, Herr Kapitän?” asked Lieutenant Klaus Ritter, the navigator. His voice, though steady, carried an edge of anticipation. “Not yet,” Wurster replied, lowering the binocu- lars. “But it won’t be long. Maintain course.” Ritter nodded and returned to his maps. Nearby, Oberleutnant Hans Krieger, the bombardier, adjust- ed his instruments. He glanced at Wurster, his ex- pression unreadable. “You’re quiet tonight, Krieger,” Wurster said, his tone light but probing. “Just focused, Herr Kapitän,” Krieger replied, his hands steady as he calibrated the bomb sights. “This is a new kind of war, isn’t it?” Wurster didn’t answer immediately. He turned back to the window, watching as the horizon began to glow faintly. England. The land they had been sent to strike. A land filled with families, children, and dreams, all soon to be shattered. His stomach churned, but he forced the feeling down. “It’s war,” Wurster said finally, his voice colder than he intended. “And war demands sacrifices.” Night flying monsters “Sacrifices,” Krieger echoed, his tone contempla- tive. He didn’t press further. The Zeppelin’s radio operator, Feldwebel Otto Brenner, broke the silence. “Herr Kapitän, the wind’s picking up from the west. Should we adjust altitude?” Wurster nodded. “Take us higher. We’ll need to stay above any ground defences.” As the crew moved to carry out his orders, Wurst- er’s thoughts turned to the orders from command. This was not a mission to engage military targets. This was a demonstration—a calculated effort to strike fear into the heart of Britain. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Meanwhile, in Norfolk, the town of Great Yar- mouth remained blissfully unaware of the approach- ing danger. In the dimly lit streets, Constable Arthur Bell walked his usual patrol, his boots crunching on the frosty cobblestones. The faint hum he’d heard earlier was growing louder, but he dismissed it as the wind playing tricks. “Evening, Constable,” called out Edith Spencer, stepping out of the Wounded Eagle with a lantern in hand. “Quiet night?” Lucas Durand Bell tipped his hat. “Quiet as a church mouse. Cold enough to freeze the Thames, though.” Edith chuckled, but her laughter faded as the hum grew louder. She stopped, her brow furrowing. “Do you hear that?” Bell paused, tilting his head. The sound was un- mistakable now, a low drone that seemed to vibrate through the air. “Aye, I hear it. What do you reckon it is?” “Not the wind,” Edith said, her voice tight. “And not an aeroplane. Too deep.” The two of them turned their eyes skyward. The moonlight revealed nothing at first, but then—a shadow. Large and menacing, it slid across the stars like a predator stalking its prey. “God above,” Edith whispered. “Arthur, that’s a Zeppelin.” Bell’s heart raced. “Get inside. Raise the alarm. I’ll fetch the church bell.” Edith didn’t argue. She hurried back into the pub, shouting to the patrons. “Out of your seats! We’re un- der attack!” Night flying monsters Inside the L3 , Krieger’s voice broke through the tension. “Target in sight, Herr Kapitän. Orders?” Wurster hesitated. His hands gripped the railing, his knuckles white. Then, with a heavy heart, he gave the command. “Commence bombardment.” The first incendiary bomb fell with a whistling shriek, striking a barn at the edge of town. The ex- plosion lit up the night, sending a fiery plume sky- ward. The ground shook, and the screams of towns- folk pierced the air. Edith burst from the pub, her lantern swinging wildly. She saw the flames and the chaos unfolding around her. “To the church!” she yelled, grabbing a young boy by the arm and pulling him toward safety. “It’s the sturdiest building. Hurry!” Bell reached the bell tower and began ringing the massive bell with all his strength. Its toll echoed through the night, a desperate warning to the town. But as more bombs fell, he realized how futile it felt. In the gondola of the L3 , Wurster watched the de- struction below. He could see the fire spreading, the tiny figures of people running for their lives. His jaw tightened, and he turned away from the window. Lucas Durand “Krieger, enough. We’ve made our point.” Krieger looked at him, surprised. “But the orders...” “I said enough!” Wurster snapped. “We’re soldiers, not butchers.” Krieger hesitated but obeyed, signalling the crew to cease the bombardment. The Zeppelin began to ascend, disappearing into the night as silently as it had arrived. Below, the townsfolk gathered in the church, their faces pale with fear. Edith stood near the entrance, comforting a crying child. Bell entered, his uniform smudged with soot, and joined her. “Are we safe?” Edith asked. Bell shook his head. “For now. But they’ll be back.” Outside, the flames continued to burn, casting long shadows over the shattered town. The hum of the Zeppelins had faded, but their presence lingered—a silent menace that promised more nights of terror to come. Night flying monsters II. The night erupted in fire and chaos. The bombs fell with a relentless precision, each explosion rock- ing the earth and sending fiery plumes into the sky. Homes crumbled, the cobblestone streets of Great Yarmouth buckled, and terrified cries filled the air. Smoke billowed, choking the night as flames spread like an unholy tide. Edith Spencer stood in the town square, gripping a lantern as she tried to rally the panicked townsfolk. “To the beach! It’s open ground there, and safer than these streets!” she shouted above the din. Her voice cut through the noise, though barely. Harold Jenkins, the grizzled owner of a small fish- ing boat, waved her off. “You’ll not get me to leave! That boat’s my livelihood. If it’s going to burn, I’ll burn with it!” Lucas Durand “You stubborn old fool!” Edith snapped, her pa- tience frayed. “There’s no saving a wooden boat in this. We need to move while we still can!” “She’s right,” a voice chimed in. It was young Pri- vate Tom Harris, barely more than a boy in his ill-fit- ting uniform. His rifle hung awkwardly across his chest, but his eyes were sharp. “We can’t stay here. The beach is the safest option.” Harold glared at him. “And who are you to give or- ders, boy?” “A soldier in His Majesty’s Army,” Harris replied firmly. “I’ve been trained to handle situations like this. Now, for God’s sake, listen to her!” Before Harold could argue further, another bomb struck nearby, sending a wave of heat and debris washing over them. The ground trembled, and a shower of sparks lit up the night. Harold flinched, his bravado melting away. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice thick with reluc- tance. “But if that boat’s gone come morning, it’s on you lot.” Edith grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the others. “Let’s go. Everyone, follow me!” Night flying monsters High above, in the gondola of the L3 , Hauptmann Wurster watched the carnage unfold below. His ex- pression was grim, his hands clenched behind his back. The flickering fires illuminated the town in ghastly hues, a testament to the destruction wrought by their mission. Karl, the youngest member of the crew, hesitated at his post. He turned to Wurster, his voice trembling. “Herr Kapitän, these are civilian homes. Families. Children. Is this truly what we were sent to do?” Wurster’s jaw tightened. He’d asked himself the same question, though he couldn’t admit it. “War spares no one, Karl,” he said, his tone harsher than intended. “Our orders are clear. Do not waver.” “But...” Before Karl could finish, the gondola shook vio- lently. The crew staggered as a booming report ech- oed through the night. British anti-aircraft fire had found its mark, striking dangerously close to the Zeppelin. “Enemy fire!” shouted Feldwebel Brenner, his voice cutting through the panic. “They’ve spotted us!” Wurster barked orders. “Evasive manoeuvres! Gain altitude immediately!” Lucas Durand The engines roared as the massive airship began to climb, its silhouette a shadowy giant against the stars. Another explosion rocked the gondola, this one closer. Shrapnel pinged against the hull, and the crew scrambled to secure their stations. Karl clung to the railing, his face pale. “They’re go- ing to bring us down!” “Not if you do your job,” Wurster snapped. He moved to the observation window, his heart pound- ing. The British guns were relentless, their flashes il- luminating the coastline. He cursed under his breath. The mission was spiralling out of control. On the ground, Edith and the others reached the beach, the cold sand crunching beneath their feet. The sea stretched out before them, its waves glow- ing faintly in the firelight. Behind them, the town burned, a hellish backdrop to their escape. Arthur Bell arrived moments later, panting and covered in soot. He carried a young girl in his arms, her face streaked with tears. “This is madness,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What kind of monsters attack civilians like this?” “The kind that want to break us,” Edith replied, her tone steely. “But they won’t. Not if we stick together.”