The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  As the Eagle came abreast of the ship, the German flag was pulled down from the mast. “Why are they doing that?” Squeaky said.

  “Afraid they’ll piss us off,” one of the gunners answered, bringing smiles to the faces of the bridge crew.

  Stefan jogged past the Estonian sailors without drawing a challenge and hustled up the gangplank. He ignored Squeaky’s hail from the bridge, ran over to the aft access hatch and dropped into the engine compartment. He grabbed the first sailor he met. “Those Dutch engineers. Where are they?”

  “Gone,” said the young seaman.

  “They left an hour ago,” Chief K said, stepping out from behind one of the diesels, grinning enthusiastically. “Goddamn those boys were efficient. I’d like to thank them myself. That new pump arrived pronto, also a spare. Plus some extra gaskets, a couple of new springs for the valves.”

  “What do you mean?” Stefan.

  Chief K gave Stefan a puzzled look. “You know, all that equipment we needed. They took care of it just like they said while you were gone. In fact, I’ll be finished with the pumps in a few hours. We can get out of port any time you want after that.”

  Stefan exhaled loudly to hide his confusion.

  “What the hell is wrong?” Squeaky asked, joining them in the aft compartment.

  “Nothing .... I guess,” Stefan said with bemusement. “Something spooked me. That’s all. Seeing ghosts. It was nothing, nothing at all .... lack of sleep. Did they say where they went?”

  Chief K shook his head. “Nope. Probably some fancy hotel. And I owe them beers, too.” He dug at his ear with a dirty thumb.

  “What about the Yanks?”

  “Gone, too,” Squeaky said, eyeing Stefan closely. “Kate said something about needing a hot bath in the worst possible way. She said they’d drop by later on.”

  Kate in a bathtub. It wasn’t hard for Stefan to imagine that particular vision of heaven, and from the look on the faces of Chief K and Squeaky, it wasn’t hard for them either. Stefan felt a hot flush of fatigue wash over him. He closed his eyes, let images of Kate drift into the blackness. Right at the moment, even a few hours of uninterrupted sleep sounded heavenly. “Need me for anything?” he asked hoarsely.

  Squeaky and the chief looked at each other and then shook their heads.

  “With our guests gone, I guess that means I get my bunk bank,” Stefan said “That’s where I’ll be. Don’t bother me unless it is something important like, say, the second coming of Christ himself.”

  “One thing before you go,” Squeaky said. He unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to Stefan. “We’ve been invited to a party. The entire boat. Food, drink, music ….”

  “Girls?” Chief K’s eyes were glowing.

  “Probably,” Stefan said with a tired chuckle, scanning the invitation. The party was sponsored by the Polish-Estonian Friendship Society. Who the hell were they? He handed the paper back to Squeaky.

  “What should I tell the men?” Squeaky asked.

  “Tell them good fortune has decided to smile upon them.” Stefan hid a yawn with the back of his hand. “Leave a skeleton crew of eight behind. Poor bastards. I don’t care how you pick them.”

  “What about the officers? Who should I leave in charge?”

  Stefan pointed a thumb at his own chest. “Me.”

  Squeaky began to protest, but Stefan cut him off. “You know how much I hate parties. Besides, I have work to do here on the Eagle.” Stefan turned, and headed down the passageway. He paused. “Oh, one other thing. Come get me if the captain happens to return.”

  “Christ or the captain,” Squeaky said. “Got it. By the way, where is he?”

  Stefan had a pretty good idea where the captain had disappeared after the meeting with Admiral Kalm. He didn’t feel like sharing his suspicions. “Hell if I know,” he said.

  Stefan watched the two military trucks pull up to the pier precisely at 1800, most of the crew, wearing their dress uniforms, were already milling around on the wharf beside the boat. Earlier, they had rigged up a portable coldwater shower on the deck of the submarine. As a result, they all looked pink-faced and freshly scrubbed.

  “Have a good time, boys,” Stefan said to Eryk and Squeaky, who were standing impatiently on the deck below the conning tower. Keep them out of jail.”

  The two officers waved, and dashed down the gangplank, joining the men already crowding into the back of the trucks. A moment later, the trucks pulled away, men leaning out the back, singing and shouting.

  Stefan gave a final wave, eyeing the unfortunate eight below who were sullenly beginning to take apart the portable shower. It didn’t help their moods any that he had chosen to stay behind.

  “Hold there,” Stefan said, a sudden thought popping into his mind. “There’s one more person that needs to use that.”

  He disappeared from the bridge, then climbed out of the forward hatch a minute later, the sour expressions on all of their faces changing to good natured hoots and hollers as he strode white-legged and barefoot across the deck, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, towel slung over his shoulder, hat cocked on his head. Even the Estonian guards on the wharf joined in the laughter.

  Stefan waved to them all like a movie star. Amazing what a few hours sleep could do to a person’s mood, the thought. That and the thought of finally being rid of the captain made him feel downright giddy. “Sorry you had to stay behind, men. But I asked Lieutenant Pertek to have some fresh food and drink sent down to the boat for later on.”

  “Music and girls?” asked one of the sailors hopefully.

  “Don’t push your luck,” Stefan growled. He stepped under the shower head, stripped off his shirt, turned on the water, and began singing loudly, the words to the Polish folk song echoing across the pier. The water was cold, but Stefan didn’t mind. He took extra time, soaping twice, and then let the chilly spray beat down on his head, momentarily driving away the ghosts and frustrations.

  When he ducked his head out from beneath his towel, there she was, standing on the pier next to Eagle, arms crossed, smiling. In the distance, Reggie was leaning up against a car. He waved a greeting.

  “I’d offer you a shower, too,” Stefan said, his face reddening as he hurriedly pulled on his T-shirt, “but it doesn’t look like you need one.”

  “Ever the gentleman, Mr. Petrofski. Please, don’t hurry on my account. I was enjoying the,uh, show. What was the name of that tune? It sounded familiar.”

  “Polish folk tune,” Stefan said briskly. “I see you are situated?”

  Kate nodded. Thanks to the American embassy. A couple of secretaries that happen to be my size. And you and your men. You and the captain left before we could say thanks….”

  Stefan bobbed his head with embarrassment. Such a lovely, tough woman, he thought. Another time and another place it might be different. “My pleasure,” he said wistfully.

  They were spared the need for any further conversation by a shout from the aft of the boat. Chief K was half out of the hatch, motioning rapidly with his arms, his face white as bread flour. “Come, come quickly,” he choked, and then he slipped back inside the Eagle.

  Stefan gave Kate a puzzled glance. “I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his hat, trotted across the slick wood deck to the aft hatch and then slid down the ladder. He found Chief K sitting on the floor next to the opening to the battery compartment. He was holding his head in both hands, rocking back and forth, moaning.

  “What the hell is wrong? I thought you’d gone?”

  Chief K looked up, his face wet with tears, snot messing his upper lip. “I ... I was looking for Jerzy ...”

  Stefan shook his shoulders. “What is it?”

  Chief K began patting the battery compartment hatch with his open palm. “That poor boy. That poor, poor boy. …”

  “Oh, dear,” Kate said, stepping off the bottom of ladder, kneeling next to the chief, embracing him with her arms. Chief K leaned his head on her shoulder, began sobbing like a child.
r />   “You shouldn’t be down here!” Stefan said sharply.

  “Not that again,” Kate retorted. “I suggest you see what’s there.”

  Stefan pulled open the battery compartment hatch, then reeled away from the stench that billowed out of the hold and filled the engine room. Kate and Chief K turned their faces and began to gag.

  “Kee-rist,” Stefan said, pulling his T-shirt over his nose, and then leaning over the opening again.

  There were any number of ways to die aboard a submarine. Bad luck. Stupidity. Mechanical failure. One of the most feared, however, was a problem with the batteries. The Eagle’s batteries weighed 50 tons, held in two compartments under the decks. If they happened to get flooded with saltwater, the resulting chemical reactions produced chlorine gas. If it happened while the boat was underwater, the results would be catastrophic.

  The first thought that flashed through Stefan’s mind was that this smell was chlorine and they needed to get off Eagle quickly, but as his brain began to classify the various organic molecules that he had detected, he quickly realized it wasn’t chlorine after all. In fact, it was a smell like no other: decaying human flesh.

  Chief K began to vomit. Eyes watering, Stefan peered into the hold. He couldn’t miss it. A body. He stared at the clothes, the bloated face. Hard to tell who it was. And then he noticed the bare feet, soles bruised and scabbed. He pushed the hatch back in place. “Come on,” he said to Kate and Chief K.

  In the clear air topside, Kate was the first to recover. “Who is it?” she asked, the reporter in her going to work. She reached for the notebook in her purse.

  “The farm boy,” Stefan replied. “Jerzy. Chief, when was the last time you saw him?”

  “Huh?” Chief K replied dully.

  “Jerzy!” Stefan barked sharply, glaring down at the man. “He’s one of your men. How long has he been unaccounted for?”

  Chief K recoiled as if slapped. “I ... I ... dunno exactly.”

  “Think, man.”

  “Yesterday. Yeah, that’s it. Maybe, midday. Left him tinkering. I went to get some shuteye. Then we surfaced, and everything got busy. Hans said he was sick. Flu or something. I didn’t think anymore about him.” The chief grabbed his head, began moaning. “What the hell was he doing down there. He should have known better. I should have watched him. …”

  Stefan motioned for one of the sailors on the deck. He had him take Chief K aside.

  “I don’t understand,” Kate said. “How could something like that happen? And he’s been there the whole time while we? …”

  “I’m sorry,” Stefan said. “You need to go. I must contact our embassy, get someone to look at the body.”

  “Wait,” Kate protested.

  Stefan shook his head, began leading her to the gangplank. “Please don’t make this difficult,” he said. “I’m very pleased to have met you, Miss Kate Roosevelt. Maybe we shall see each other again.” He turned and disappeared into the boat.

  “I’ll take that bet, sailor,” Kate said.

  Chapter Thirty

  “My dear captain, you look much better, if I may say so.” Ritter stood and smoothed down the front of his uniform.

  Sieinski looked out from beneath his towel, glanced with surprise around the room, and then back at Ritter. Steam still billowed out of the bathroom behind him. There was a slosh of water, and a woman’s giggle.

  “What the hell? …” Sieinski said, reaching back and closing the door.

  Ritter pointed to small pile of white powder on the table. “Refreshments and a bath and some recreational activities. You must feel like a new man. I must say you look like one.”

  Sieinski blinked, recognition suddenly flaring across his face. He flung the towel aside, pulled his robe tightly around his waist and marched up to Ritter. “Who are you?” he said, jabbing a finger in front of Ritter’s nose.

  In anyone else, Ritter would have admired the man’s composure. In this one, it was simply poppy-based courage. Ritter clicked his heels together. “Let me formally introduce myself. Fregattenkapitän Peter von Ritter of the German U-Bootwaffe. Under normal circumstances, I would then say ‘at your service.’ But really, the point of my visit, is to say, you are at my service.”

  “Eagle?” Sieinski said with alarm.

  “Aren’t you the sharp one, Captain. Indeed, Eagle.” Ritter glanced at his watch. “Right about now, Estonian officials are interning your vessel.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand? The Eagle is a wonderful vessel. The Third Reich needed it. And so ...”

  Sieinski began to nod. “It has been you all along. The mechanical problems. The delays …”

  “Of course, Captain,” Ritter cut in smoothly. “I never figured you for a stupid man. Distracted, but not stupid. We had to prime the pump of your gullibility. Convince you of the fragility of your new vessel. It wasn’t too difficult.”

  Sieinski visibly sagged. He stepped away from the German officer, slumped into the chair. “My ship,” he whispered.

  “Actually,” Ritter said, finger in the air, “my ship now.”

  Sieinski struggled to rise, his face contorting in rage. Ritter stepped forward, pushed him back into the chair.

  “And now we meet to discuss your fate, Captain.”

  “What do you mean?” Sieinski said dully. His glance drifted over to the cocaine on the table.

  “Soon enough, Captain,” Ritter purred, “I will leave you to your vices. But first you must do something for yourself and your men. Your ship is no longer under your command. But you still have men to lead. I’m told the Estonians are willing to send them home—and we will guarantee them safe passage—but only under your command. If not, their fate is uncertain, as is yours …”

  “I need time to think,” moaned the captain.

  “No time,” Ritter barked. “The fate of you and you men rest in making a decision at this point. Your father is also waiting to hear from me. Your cooperation will go a long way toward demonstrating the kind of cooperation we will expect from him and his rich friends when we complete our conquest of your country.”

  Sieinski stared blankly at the German. “My father? But they will blame me.”

  Ritter shrugged. “That is the nature of men and their leaders. You are forced to make difficult decisions. And then held accountable for them. And so, your decision, please.” Ritter began to pull on black leather gloves.

  Sieinski, face in his hands, nodded. “I’ll do what you ask. I have your word we will be treated safely?”

  “One gentleman to another,” Ritter bowed his head briefly.

  “All right, then,” Sieinski surrendered.

  “Very well, Captain,” Ritter said. “Good choice. Get dressed. You will stay here until an officer from the Estonian Navy comes to get you.” He crossed the room, opened the door. A German soldier was standing guard. “One of our men from the embassy. For your protection,” Ritter said, smiling.

  Sieinski looked up. “And what of Poland?” he asked.

  “Poland is no more,” Ritter said simply. He opened the door and left. Halfway down the hall he heard a muffled crash as Sieinski began to vent his rage on the furniture in his suite. “But of course, you already knew that,” he said to himself.

  Stefan and two other sailors, their faces covered in masks, laid Jerzy’s body, wrapped in canvas, on the dock, and then backed away.

  Removing the boy from the battery compartment had been a grisly task. Despite the masks, the men were almost overwhelmed by the smells from his already putrefying body. Rigor mortis had set in, forcing Stefan to break both of his legs in order to pull him out. At the sound of the first leg cracking like a piece of rotten wood, the eyes of one of the sailors standing by to help had rolled back in his head and he had dropped on the spot.

  “What the hell happened to him,” panted one of the men, moving up wind.

  Stefan was white-faced. It was hard to think what might have motivated the boy
to crawl into the battery compartment on his own. And even if that unlikely event had managed to occur, why hadn’t anyone heard shouts from the trapped boy? And that still left someone to put the hatch cover back in place. Jerzy couldn’t have done it.

  Stefan knelt down, pulled aside the canvas. He peered closely at Jerzy’s neck. He was no expert, but there was only one thing that could explain the dark blue bruise across Jerzy’s neck: a blow to throat.

  Stefan stood, covered Jerzy’s face. “I need to go to the embassy,” he said. “Make sure he is not disturbed.”

  Stefan reentered the Eagle. He was still barefoot, wearing wet shorts and a T-shirt. He slipped into his cubicle and dressed quickly, stomping into his salt-stained boots as a last act. Done. First the embassy. He would use them to contact Naval Headquarters, and then make arrangements for someone to take charge of his body. At the very least, it needed to be put on ice somewhere. And then to track down Hans and ask him a few questions.

  Stefan climbed up the conning tower onto the bridge. It took a moment to digest the scene before him. A gray military truck was idling next to the Eagle. A dozen or more Estonian Navy sailors, armed with submachine guns, were standing along the pier. On the other side of the Eagle, a motorboat was nuzzling against the Eagle’s flank like a hungry cub. One of the Eagle’s crewmen was sitting on the deck, hand to his face, a beard of blood coloring his chin. Three men dog paddled in the water, screaming profanities, another clung precariously to the side of the Eagle, ducking every time a length of chain whizzed above his head. In control at the other end of the chain was the young sailor, Henryk, his face red with anger. He was wielding the chain like a cowboy, Stefan thought in the brief instant before he realized he needed to end it before someone else was seriously hurt. “Stand down,” he roared, his voice filling the midday air. High above, the sun was obscured by a thick layer of clouds. Except for the sounds of gulls, all was quiet, each person frozen in a moment of time, only Stefan seemingly outside of it, watching it all like a distant observer.