South East of Berlin on the ridge

 The ridge cracked with burning timbers and pieces of the vessel. Much of it simply rained down as ash. The area was a smoldering waste now, portions of the former airship were buried in the partial crater that had formed from the blasts up on the ridge. The explosions of the lifting engines had warped wood and rock alike with their forces. The wind had died down and all that could be heard was the sound of various crackling trees on fire nearby. The wreckage was strewn across the area, and anyone looking amongst it would find it difficult to find anything.

 Among the fires, however, something was happening...
This message was last updated by the GM at 09:34, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

The wreckage is molten, but quickly cooling.  Whatever it had once been, there is no telling now.  Flames flickered from the trees and the scrub, burning brightly in the frosty night air.  Strangely, with the number of personnel, and other... things, that had been aboard, there was no sign.  In fact, only the form of one body can be seen, lain at the center between the two slagged halves of the strange pseudo-zeppelin.
The body is charred beyond recognition.  A smoking lump of charred flesh that could not possibly be alive.  But it is.  The head raises, eyeless, mouth agape in soundless agony, as one arm reaches up wards and outwards towards the ring of flames surrounding the crater.
Then it happens.  The flames stretch inwards towards the charbroiled figure, as if all the fire from the scrub and trees is being drawn towards it.  The form is engulfed in fire, as those around it are extinguished.  The fire burns hot, the flames reaching higher than the height of a man.
Over the space of a bit more than an hour, the conflagration burns, gradually growing smaller, condensing into an almost humanoid form.  Eventually, the shape is decidedly humanoid, with the flames flickering down to those of candle spread all over the shape.  When the finally extinguish themselves, Phoenix stands, naked as the day he was born.  He stands, hunched over and apparently hurting.  But, as he scans the horizon, back in the direction he is sure the one from which he had come, he slowly stands straighter, as if recovering his strength.
He looks up, scanning the sky for any trace of heat left by the crashing "zeppelin" so he is certain of the direction he needs to travel to get back to the others and the train.

The form of Phoenix turns to look into the night towards the city, he can see the swath of destruction the thing left even hours later, but heat is gone in the chill of the night, only a few tiny brush fires along the route remained. In the distance, he can see motor vehicles moving towards his location, husky vehicles that looked designed to function in the snow and on rougher terrain. One had a track system in place but was smaller than a typical roadster. Though he could see little in the falling snow, they did not appear to be any standard vehicles he knew of. So it was either the German military or more of Zola's goons.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:13, Fri 20 Aug 2021.

I have a train to catch, he says aloud to nobody.  The chill of the snowy night does not seem to reach him, the snow falling upon him evaporating immediately; his body temperature is high, an automatic defense against the chill.
His skin glows slightly from within as the flames begin to flicker across it, obscuring him, his identity.  Initially just floating off the ground, he streaks off into the night sky, into and above the cloud cover, making an arc towards Berlin.  Perhaps from there he can follow the tracks to Moscow.

 Phoenix flies easterly under his own power, having shed his clothing and flesh, burnt to smoldering ash. His form glowed in the night skies, far above the ground so as to appear to onlookers like a meteor. As he flies he can make out metropolitans and small hamlets below. The hilly country is covered in fog now and snowy powder, but the chill air did not touch Phoenix, wrapped in a tight cocoon of fire as he streaks across the sky.

 Soon he finds what he sought, train tracks, and he follows them. In time he comes to see cultural differences with the architecture of the buildings he saw below, though it was subtle differences in roof style, doorframe design, and color. Things seemed normal below until Phoenix spotted the train yard. The fireball flew over the compound where he sees something he might not see from the station itself. To the side of the yard where the cargo was being offloaded and some crates are even being craned off the cars covered by canvas material. By itself, this would not be so strange but the men carrying much of the cargo seemed to be filling a vehicle similar to the one he saw earlier outside Berlin, coming to investigate the crash. They appear to be collecting crates from the East, even in the waning hours of the night.

It appeared he was near the border of the Russian Empire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:44, Fri 27 Aug 2021.

Phoenix snuffs his flames, using the dwindling heat to land somewhere he is unlikely to be seen.  Hovering or flying while flaming like a falling meteor is not conducive to stealth.  He finds a spot to watch from a distance to avoid being seen.

 Hidden behind some of the crates inside the trainyard gave him many more possible hiding spots. However, from his vantage point, he could see what was happening clearly though and he would be unlikely to be seen. His knowledge of Russian was fairly limited but James was able to understand some of the location names. "Санкт-Петербург" was "St.Petersburg". The Capital of the Russian monarchy and its aristocracy. The head-foreman seemed to be directing the rest to the vehicles, while the driver inside the vehicle waited patiently while smoking on a pipe.

 Of the crates, some of them appeared to be mundane crates, made of wood, and nails with bits of straw to line the interiors. However, there were other crates, like the ones sometimes used for archeological digs. These were more carefully crafted and allowed no shortcuts on the wood to encapsulate all manner of oddly-sized items...each being hoisted onto the motor carriage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:50, Mon 30 Aug 2021.

Standing naked in the cold, Phoenix keeps his body temperature high enough to prevent frostbite.  Which, of course, means melting the snow immediately around him.  He watches, debating.  Killing all the men would be easy enough to do, and he would be able to see what is in the crates at his leisure.  But, the potential ramifications, such as a possible international incident, as well as incarceration, would be severe.  Something tells him that it might be worth it.  That the objects in the sealed crates are related to the mission.
Continuing to use crates as cover, he tries to position himself where he can see the men picking up the crates they are loading.

 Peering through the spaces between the cargo in the yard, James can see the thickly muscled cossacks hefting large boxes and team-carrying even larger ones. They look typical of Russian soldiers, for the most part, thick beards or mustaches with their fur-lined headwear but they do appear to be tougher than average men. Perhaps inoculated with the gas, or just picked for their strength.

 Something begins to happen as James hears a whistle from nearer the train. It looks like a second foreman or perhaps a sub-foreman is calling them to finish quickly, wrapping up their activities. They begin to carry the last of their crates as the vehicles quickly fill up. After the first is full they move to the next until that one is filled. The canvas over the top of the carriage makes it easy to see when it's filled to the brim as corners appear to jut out from beneath. As the workers begin to finish, they begin to pile into and onto the vehicles, caring little for the winter's cold themselves.

The only thing I can really think for Phoenix to do here is use his fire to capture or kill all of these soldiers, so what they were loading, take someone's uniform,and drive off with the truck.  The problem is that leaving them alive, while the right thing, leaves to possibility of pursuit, revenge, a call for reinforcements, etc.  Killing them would solve that, but likely leave him with nothing to wear, and is just wrong, as they are not at war.