Dönitz glanced down at his hand, the one holding the message. It was shaking slightly. He watched it, willing it to stop, but it was no good. He set the paper down on his desk top. They had come so very close to success. He had a nagging sense that their chance was gone, and her escape would come back to haunt them in some fashion or another. And now he would never know what difference she might have made in the conflict with England.
A few hundred kilometers to the west, Churchill sat in his basement office, listening to rumble of detonating German bombs overhead. Hitler hadn’t wasted any time, he thought.
Churchill was nearly finished with a letter to the American president, Franklin Roosevelt. Of course, direct contact such as this, bypassing the Foreign Ministry, the Prime Minister, and other, normal channels of communication, was fraught with its own risks, especially with American interests divided about intervening in the war against the Germans. In fact, the current American ambassador, Joseph Kennedy, was decidedly pro-German. Given the choice, Churchill didn’t doubt that Kennedy would prefer to see England lose to Germany. Most people dismissed this as simply the usual Irish antipathy toward anything British. Churchill suspected it was more complicated than that, but he had no intentions of sitting down with Kennedy and attempt to discover his true feelings. Thank God for one thing: the man wasn’t president of the United States. Not yet, anyway.
Churchill finished his last paragraph, and then signed the letter with a signature he would continue using in all future correspondence, even after being elevated to prime minister: “Naval Person.”
That done, he puffed his cigar back to life, and then returned to the note that he had just set aside. It was from the British Naval Attaché in Tallinn, Estonia. Churchill shook his head as he read the note again, grunting with pleasure. “God bless them,” he thought. There was little chance the submarine, the Eagle, would survive, but at least they would not rot in prison, and the Eagle would fight the way, and for whom she was intended.
Churchill expected Poland to fall within the week. Gdynia and the other Polish coastal cities had already been taken by the Germans. Soon Eagle would have nowhere to go. If a miracle happened, and she survived, Churchill hoped she sailed for England and not Sweden or France. The British Fleet could use her services.
He reread the note’s last line, shook his head with wonder. He couldn’t imagine a woman aboard a submarine. But leave it to an American. Curious, he wondered how she had gotten involved . The note didn’t say, but that was a story he would like to hear some day. When McBride, the naval attaché, arrived in England, he was going to make it a point to ask him about it.
Churchill had a sudden thought. He picked up his pen and added a postscript to his note to Roosevelt:
P.S. We believe two American news reporters—a man and woman (I am attempting to discover their names) —are aboard the Polish submarine Eagle now in the Baltic. She will undoubtedly be hunted by the Germans. I have no knowledge of her course or disposition, but I shall keep you informed should we come in contact with her or hear more news.
N. P.
Churchill rubbed his eyes. The bombing had stopped. He wondered where the Eagle was now. It wasn’t hard to imagine what they were experiencing. Depth charges must be a lot like what Londoners were facing. An unknown attacker from above. The click of a detonator and instant death. The inexplicable waiting from one moment to the next, wondering how much longer you might have to live.
Churchill folded the letter, set his still burning cigar to one side. He pushed back his chair, crossed to the other side of his room, unloosening his collar and belt as he went, and rolled onto his cot. He reached up and turned off the lamp on a table beside his cot. He would sleep. For a few hours, anyway. He closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind. But tonight sleep was even more difficult to find than usual. He couldn’t help wondering what it must be like to have 50 fathoms of water overhead, and the threat of someone waiting to destroy you if you surfaced. When he finally flicked the lamp back on a half an hour later, his pale forehead was damp with sweat. The bombing had started again. He quickly pulled on his shoes and slippers, his navy cap. He needed some air. The walls and ceilings in his basement office seemed to be pressing in on him from every side. He padded down the corridor followed by one of his personal guards, then started up the stairs, until he found himself on the building’s roof .
“Dangerous, sir,” the guard muttered, reminding Churchill of the obvious. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Churchill blew out a deep breath, looked up at the dark sky. The distant thrum of German bombers was easy to hear. It sounded like an orchard in spring heavy with buzz of ten thousand bees. To the east, the sky was punctuated with flashes from the anti-aircraft guns, and sliced by spotlights, weaving nervously back and forth. “No, this is fine. I can imagine worse places. Indeed I can.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Orders?” Talli stood, arms crossed, waiting.
Stefan heard the request, but he remained mute, his thoughts elsewhere. A magician had once visited his village when he was just a boy. He had tried to get close enough to see, but sharp elbows and jabs finally convinced him to give up, so, instead, he had climbed onto the roof of the building across the street. He crept up to the edge, and from there was able to peer down on the spectacle below just as the magician made chicken appear beneath a purple cloth that had moments before covered nothing but an egg. The crowd had gasped and then applauded with delight. Even though Stefan knew it had been a trick—it had to be—he couldn’t help being impressed. How had the magician done it? He had often wondered.
He was thinking about that magician now, wondering if that memory could inspire him to produce his own trick. He knew what his men expected. But he wasn’t sure he could summon enough of his own magic to get them to safety.
The Eagle had left the harbor far behind, and she was now following a twisting course dictated by the reassuring blinks of the occasional navigation buoys. Below deck, the radioman was attempting to contact the Polish base at Hel. But no word. Not a good sign, Stefan knew, but he kept that to himself. The radio transmitter could be destroyed, or worse, the Germans might have taken charge of the base.
Despite the lookouts, Stefan couldn’t help an occasional glance aft. He was surprised that no Estonian ships had taken up their pursuit. They had motor launches that were more than a match for Eagle’s speed. But the line of white foam, the only indication of their passing, faded into the darkness and they remained alone. But for how long?
According to Talli, they would soon pass beyond the last buoy. After that, they would be blind, navigating by the seat of their pants. Stefan knew the Baltic waters off the Estonian coastline were dotted with small islands and unseen rocky shoals lurking just a few meters below the water’s surface. One wrong move, and their jagged teeth could easily tear through the Eagle’s steel skin. Escape had been the easy part. Now that they had accomplished the unthinkable, where would they go? Stefan had always wanted command. But right at the moment, he would have gladly turned it over to someone else, even Sieinski. What was the saying? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. He had it in spades. But like it or not, he was in charge now, responsible for everyone on board. It was up to him. Or no one.
“Commander?” Talli cleared his throat.
Stefan breathed deeply through his nose, looked up at the sky. Unseen clouds shrouded the stars. The wind had shifted to the east a half an hour earlier; it was now blowing in increasing puffs. Maybe a storm by morning, Stefan thought. He could smell it on the breeze. Not a bad thing. They would be harder to find in nasty weather. The deck of the Eagle was already moving rhythmically, like a galloping horse, through the slight swells. She seemed as glad as her crew to be free. “What direction will they expect us to go?” Stefan asked, wondering if he decided to start wearing a magician’s cape, or began wielding a magic wand, it would make the future easier to see.
“Home.” Kate answered, turning away f
rom the conning tower’s edge, pulling at the cigarette that dangled from the corner of her mouth.
After the escape from the harbor, Kate had stayed on the bridge. Stefan knew it was probably against a Polish Navy regulation to have any civilian, let alone, a civilian female, on the bridge when the threat of attack was imminent. But there was probably little left of the Polish Navy. And no one aboard would care if Stefan made up a few of his own rules. And so, Stefan had decided on the spot that rule number one would be this: let any gorgeous female stay on the bridge as long as she wanted— but only if she wasn’t a pain in the ass. He wondered how the rule would look, typed up on official paper and posted in the galley. It would give the men a good laugh, of that he was sure. Of course, the rule was tailored specifically to fit Kate. She was gorgeous, in a rough sort of way. And she wasn’t a pain in the ass. At least, not since leaving Tallin behind. In fact, she hadn’t said a word until now.
“Yes, I think you are right,” Talli said. He glanced at Stefan and when he made no move turned to Kate. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been formerly introduced. Commander Jaak Talli. Estonian Navy.” He bowed stiffly in Kate’s direction.
Kate flicked her cigarette into the wind, brushed back her hair with her open hand. “What is it with you guys? All the bowing and heel clicking.” She held out her hand. “Kate McLendon. I’m a reporter with NANS.”
Talli grabbed it and they shook. “American?”
“That, too.”
“My pleasure,” Talli said. “You can imagine my curiosity. You speak Polish very well. And I hope to hear how you ended up involved in all of this before I must leave.”
“You got a date, Jaak, for later on,” Kate said. “Might be helpful telling it to somebody. I’m not sure I’m going to believe it myself.”
“And so…” Talli began and then paused.
Stefan filled in the missing beat: “Please call me Stefan…” he said.
“As you like, Stefan. What is your home port?”
“Gdynia,” Stefan said.
Talli shook his head. “Ah, I think no longer. The Germans will have taken it by now.”
Stefan noticed a hint of change along the eastern horizon. Daylight soon, and then the hunt would begin in earnest. Most German ships would be far to the southwest. Not so the planes of the Luftwaffe. They would be combing the skies above them at first light. Eventually, if they were to escape the Baltic, they would have to make their way southwest. But not yet. That is what they would expect. “Can you take us northwest?”
Talli nodded, smiling. “Yes, I know those waters very well,” he said. “Almost all the way to Sweden. I began fishing it as a boy.”
“Another goddamn fisherman,” Stefan laughed. “I knew there had to be another reason why I liked you. Northwest it is then. And how do you like Swedish cooking, commander?”
“My favorite,” Talli replied.
“Good,” Stefan said. “That’s where we’ll drop you and your buddy off then. No sense you getting killed along with the rest of us. In the meantime, I rely on you, commander, to get us there. We are in your hands. And, of course, if you happen to make a mistake and lead us aground, I promise you that I will throw you overboard and make you pull us free with your teeth.” Stefan was smiling as he said the words, but their was no humor to them.
“He said that to me, too,” Kate interjected with a soft laugh. “First time we met. I’m not sure I’d believe any of that throw-you-overboard business.”
But Talli understood very well what Stefan was saying. Even so, he didn’t hesitate. He picked up the speaker tube. He motioned to his right. “Last buoy. Do you mind?”
“Go right ahead,” Stefan said.
“Helm. Set new course at one-eight-three. Both engines ahead full.”
Who the hell is that?” came the sharp response.
“Our temporary pilot,” Stefan said, squatting over the hatch opening and yelling down at the men in the control room. “Do as he says until I say otherwise.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Say, commander, think you can handle it solo for a few minutes?”
In fact, Talli could barely contain his excitement. Piloting a submarine. Who could have imagined the inexplicable turn of events that had brought it about? He didn’t dare speak, so he nodded, smiling gratefully.
Stefan slapped him on the shoulder. “Very well. You have command. I’ll be meeting with my officers below. Back in ten minutes. No longer. Sing out if you get in over your head.”
“Aye, aye.” Talli snapped to attention and saluted.
Stefan chuckled. “No, I think I need to thank you. Get us through the obstacle course facing us, and maybe I buy you a beer after the war, eh?”
Talli doubted it was a promise that would ever be kept, but he nodded at the gesture. “Yes, I would like that very much indeed.”
Stefan started down the hatch opening, and then hesitated. “Are you coming, Miss MClendon? You may want to hear this. You know, for your story.”
They met a few minutes later, the Eagle’s officers, and Kate and Reggie, were crowded into the galley and spilling out into the passageway. Stefan stood, one foot up on a chair. Despite their recent success, there was no celebrations. The group was quiet, fully aware of the risks before them. They waited for Stefan to begin. He didn’t need to hear the question that he knew was on everyone’s mind. It was written plainly on their faces: “What now?”
Stefan cleared his throat. Never one for eloquent speeches, he kept it simple and blunt. “And now our escape truly begins. We must decide. I have attempted to contact headquarters and heard nothing. I think we are alone in this. We have three choices, it seems to me. One, we surrender to the Germans.” The sudden angry headshakes, a couple of sharp nos elicited a grin from Stefan. “I didn’t think you’d go for that. OK then, here is the other two. We find another neutral port. We would be safe in Sweden, but the war would be over for us, I think. They will not want to anger the Germans by allowing us to escape. Or we try for France or England, and do what we can to continue the fight.”
Squeaky raised a finger in the air. “This may be obvious but I’ll throw it out anyway. How do we get anywhere without charts?”
Of course, that was a key problem. There was also the matter of only two torpedoes, and Stefan had also learned that while they had been held, the Estonians had offloaded most of their food and water. Even with short rations, they could go a couple of weeks at the most. No more than that.
The immediate concern, however, was navigation charts. While on the bridge, he had come up a solution, of sorts. It was crazy, though probably no crazier than what they had just successfully carried out, and it was the best he could come up with. Stefan pushed his cap back on his head. “No charts,” he said, “really!” He began tapping his forehead, his mouth dropping into a grin as he looked around the group.
The response was puzzled looks. Had their new captain gone daft? Kate, however, began to smile and nod. “Get out your crayons, boys,” she laughed.
“This is no time for uh, nonsense,” Squeaky said sternly, even though he wasn’t sure what a crayon was. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of Kate’s warm thigh pressing hard against his leg. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “This is serious…” he added, voice wobbling like a choir boy’s.
Kate elbowed him sharply in the side. “You think I’ve never sailed before, buddy boy? Well, think again. I know a thing or two about it. Don’t you see what he’s getting at?”
Silence. Stefan smiling, enjoying the befuddled looks on his men’s faces. Finally Eryk ventured into the hazardous waters. “You want us to draw our own charts?” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“Exactly,” Kate and Stefan shouted in unison.
“Move that boy to the head of the class,” Kate added, giving Eryk a smile that turned him red with embarrassment.
“We are sailors, are we not?” Stefan said. “Some of us have sailed the Baltic for most of our liv
es. Now is the time to prove how good we are. Between us all,” Stefan interjected, “think of the thousands of hours we’ve spent on the Baltic, looking at navigation charts? We won’t get perfection, I know, but even something that is pretty good would help. What do you think, Eryk?” Stefan eyed his navigator. He needed his whole-hearted agreement. If he didn’t think it was possible, then there was only one choice: Sweden.
Eryk scratched the top of his head, squinting as he stared off into nothing. And then he shrugged. “Of course it can be done,” he said simply. “If that is what you decide, then I will do my best.”
It was a cautious response, but it was good enough for Stefan. “Then we have two options. Sweden or?…”
“Where do you say we go, Stef?” Squeaky interrupted.
Stefan stared intently above their heads, his eyes boring holes in the bulkhead. “Of course, if we all want to eat well, we go for France. But since I don’t care about pleasing my belly, and because I want to fight with the best Navy in the world, that means England. So I say this. We try to hook up with the British Fleet. And that means getting the Eagle out of the Baltic and into the North Sea….”
He let it hang there in the air between them, shimmering brightly in their imaginations like a Christmas ornament.
“Jesus,” Reggie whispered.
Kate glanced around the group. No one seemed willing to say out loud what the rest of them were thinking. She pushed back her hair, “Giddyup, cowboy,” she said.
The Last Eagle Page 24