<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br/><br/>Through the wispy carpet of clouds stretched out in front of me, I saw the back of the huge<em>Blue Ridge</em>cresting like a whale ahead of the three lighter fighters. It had been a while since I'd landed on a carrier zeppelin; the last time had been about four years ago when I was still flying the Balmoral, doing some odd jobs for the Tommies. They were more than happy to have another aristocratic officer bombing things for them. Catching the hefty Sanderson on the arrester hook was going to be fiddly, and I decided I'd let the others land their lighter kites first.<br/><br/><strong>"<strong>Blue Ridge</strong> up ahead, Green Ranger! After you, sir,"</strong>I radioed my wingman, looking over my wing at the Grumman and the Bloodhawk speeding slightly beneath me to catch up with the flying sieve and the Petit Mort. The clouds ahead of the dirigible were looking a grim, blackish grey and stormy, and I pitched the nose down a degree to build speed and head towards the airship a little faster. I didn't want to have to land on a skyhook in the middle of a thunderstorm.<br/>