The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  Henryk looked up, questioning, breaking the spell. Stefan nodded. He waved to the men on the bow, who reluctantly lowered their fists.

  “You are the executive officer?”

  Stefan looked over the lip of the bridge.

  Finally, it was all beginning to make sense. He wasn’t sure how, but it was all connected, he was sure of it now. The captain’s insistence that they port here. The mechanical problems. The Dutch engineers. The party. Even Jerzy’s death. All of it. “Get off my ship,” Stefan said evenly.

  The Estonian naval officer shifted his weight uncomfortably and replied in heavily accented Polish. “I’m sorry I can’t do that. It is unfortunate we could not met under better circumstances.” From the look on his face, it was clear that he would have preferred shoveling chicken manure to this duty.

  Stefan didn’t reply. He continued to stare down at the man, unmoved.

  “My name is Commander Jaak Talli,” the officers said. “By order of the Estonian government and under direction of the admiral of the Estonian Navy and the port authorities of the city of Tallinn, I am officially notifying you of the internment of your vessel.” He pulled a document out of his pocket, slapped it onto the side of the Eagle’s conning tower. “And now I must escort you and your men to safe keeping.”

  Stefan vaulted over the edge of the conning tower, slid down the ladder. He stood in front of the officer. “By what right do you do this?” he said.

  The captain shrugged, barely able to meet Stefan’s gaze. “I have my duty,” he said. He must have realized how inadequate that sounded. He glanced over each shoulder. “This is unpleasant, I know. I asked the same question. I was told that Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania have agreed that if any submarine or aircraft involved in the war enters the territorial waters or airspace of any country, it will be immediately interned. It is just this war, you know ...”

  “And when was the agreement struck?” Stefan asked sarcastically. “This morning?

  The captain looked stricken, but he kept quiet.

  Stefan sighed. It was over for them, he realized. The war. Everything. There was nothing more he could do. “It won’t do any good, you know,” he said quietly. “After they devour Poland, they will come after you.”

  “And we will fight,” was the soft reply.

  Stefan gathered himself, glancing around just to make sure that there was no other possibility. But there was none. He had been a fool. No sense continuing the charade. “I don’t want any of my men hurt,” Stefan croaked.

  “You have my personal promise,” Talli said. He held out his hand.

  “And I will hold you to it,” Stefan said, keeping his hands at his side.

  Talli gave him a mournful look, dropped his hand, turned and marched down the gangplank. Stefan patted the side of the Eagle’s ironclad conning tower, and then followed him. Henryk and the rest of the men formed up behind Stefan.

  Stefan was the last one to climb into the back of the truck. He lingered for a moment, breathing heavily. Across the water, he saw the German flag shoot back up the freighter’s mast and then begin to ripple in the gray light. At the same time, one of the Estonians ripped the Polish flag from Eagle’s bow. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the water like it was nothing more than a bag of garbage.

  “Take care of my man,” Stefan said bleakly, gesturing toward the canvas wrapped body of Jerzy. It wasn’t a request.

  “But of course,” Talli said quickly. He wrinkled his nose as the swirling breeze brought the stench of decay to his nose. “There’s a butcher with a large cooler a few blocks from here ...”

  “Good enough,” Stefan said with a nod of appreciation. “I don’t think Jerzy will mind ...”

  Parked behind a line of garbage cans nearby, it was easy to see it all.

  Kate and Reggie watched Stefan hesitate, glance back at the Eagle, and then at the men with weapons at ready, closely watching his every move.

  When his shoulder’s slumped with resignation and he climbed into the back of the truck, Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  Of course, they had almost missed it happening. Kate and Reggie had been on their way back to their hotel when they’d passed the truck, loaded with armed sailors, racing in the other direction.

  Reggie had watched Kate turn around in the seat, her brow furrowing. And then she was barking loudly in his ear: “Turn this piece of shit car around. We must go back. Now!”

  “Aww, Kate,” Reggie had moaned. But he’d done what she wanted anyway.

  “This is none of our business, Kate,” he said now. One more try, though he could tell by the grim look on her face that it wouldn’t do any good. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.” He revved the car’s engine impatiently.

  “Not yet,” Kate snapped.

  “What do you think is going on?” Reggie asked with a tone of resignation.

  “I don’t know. But I think our Polish friends have just lost control of the Eagle. My, my. Who have we here?”

  The black Mercedes, black, white and black swastika standards flying from the corners of the front bumper, came to a stop next to Eagle. First out was a round-bodied fat man dressed in an ornate black uniform. He was followed by a German officer. As the man stood, he glanced at the sky, and then gazed around the pier.

  Both Reggie and Kate ducked lower. “Did you see who that was?” Reggie began to babble excitedly. “Hans—or whatever his name is—is a goddamn Nazi. Do you think he saw us?”

  Kate stared at nothing for a moment, thinking hard. What was going on? Stefan and his crew arrested, the Eagle seized by the Estonians and now this, Hans, the Dutch engineer, transformed into a German officer. And then she smiled. “Of course,” she breathed. “Brilliant. Do you see what they’ve done? They managed to pick up a brand new submarine without firing a shot.”

  “Grand theft submarine,” Reggie muttered.

  “Exactly,” Kate said.

  Reggie peaked out the window. Ritter and the other officer were no longer in sight. Time to go. He slipped the car into gear, backed quickly around the corner. Depressed the clutch, dropped the steering column shift into first and goosed the gas pedal. “That was close,” he said. “Definitely time to be gone. Our ship doesn’t leave for another day, but maybe we should go there now? …”

  But Kate was already shaking her head. “Sorry, Reggie. We have a few things to do first. First stop, the British embassy.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Kate grinned. “Paying back a few favors,” she said, “and maybe adding a few more pages to the greatest stories of our lives in the process.”

  “I like that sound of that,” Reggie said. “I think ...”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rear Admiral Karl Dönitz had no hobbies, though he sometimes allowed himself a few moments to fantasize about something far removed from submarines: flying a hot-air balloon. It was always the same place. He would be swinging in a basket below a brilliant white orb, drifting peacefully over the lush Bavarian landscape, the Alps smiling in the distance, the sky that intense color of blue that happens only once or twice each summer. No interruptions. No phones. Complaints, politics, conflict and death just bad memories. Most of all, except for the creak of the basket, the occasional roar of the burner, and maybe a faint moo or two from the cows grazing far below, it would be quiet.

  “Warsaw is now surrounded.” The triumphant words brought him back to the moment.

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Dönitz remarked.

  “No, sir.”

  “What are our casualties?”

  “They are expecting only 10,000 dead.”

  “Only?”

  “I could be worse,” blurted the young officer.

  Dönitz stared back. “Have you ever seen anyone die in combat?”

  The officer shook his head.

  Dönitz narrowed his eyes. “Sometime in the next few weeks, I expect you to visit one of the local military hospitals. While there, you need to tal
k with three soldiers. Find out what they thought of combat. And then I want to hear about it. Their names, ranks, and what happened to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dönitz flicked his hand impatiently. “Anything else?”

  “Just some news from Ritter, sir.”

  Dönitz couldn’t disguise his eagerness. His eyes sharpened, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, go on ...”

  “He says everything is going according to plan. The Estonians have interned the vessel, and they have the Polish crew in custody.”

  “When will we have control of the Eagle?”

  “Two days.”

  “Is our crew ready to go?”

  “They are awaiting orders aboard a freighter at anchor nearby.”

  “Excellent!” Dönitz grinned. “Send my congratulations to the captain. Tell him I look forward to congratulating he and his men personally.”

  “One more question, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “He says the Estonians are asking for instructions about what to do with the Eagle’s former crew.”

  Dönitz pressed his hands together. “I assumed the Estonians would turn them over to the Polish ambassador.”

  The aide shrugged.

  Dönitz sighed. Such a waste of good men. “If they are unwilling to turn them over to the Polish ambassador, suggest that they drive them to the border and hand them over to the Soviets.”

  The officer clicked his heels together, saluted crisply, and then departed the office.

  How did the Americans say it? Time to let the cat out of the bag. Of course, Dönitz didn’t doubt that Hitler already knew about his operation. He did little to hide his distrust of the military. Dönitz knew that a number of his own aides did double duty as informants for the Gestapo. At some point it might become a problem, but so far he made sure they reported what he wanted them to pass on. And now it was time to make Ritter’s capture of the Eagle official. Dönitz spoke into the intercom his desk. “Fritz?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the immediate response.

  “Get me a few minutes with the Führer. As soon as possible. Tell him I have a present for him … ”

  “Sir? Wasn’t his birthday in April?”

  Dönitz chuckled. He didn’t mind the correction. Fritz was just making sure Dönitz wasn’t embarrassed. “Just do as I say.”

  “The Eagle’s wings have been clipped.”

  Winston Churchill pointed his cigar at the speaker. I’m not in the mood,” he growled. “Speak plainly.”

  The face of the man hovering in the doorway of the recently appointed First Lord of the British Admiralty reddened noticeably.

  “Sorry, sir. You,uh, asked us to keep you apprised of the situation of the Polish submarine the Eagle.”

  “Quite right, go on.”

  “Word from our embassy in Estonia. She put in to Tallinn earlier today. A few hours ago, she was interned.”

  “What?” Churchill roared with alarm.

  “Their embassy has lodged a protest.”

  Churchill snorted loudly. “All the good that will do. Their captain must be a fool. What of her crew?”

  “Apparently, they are being confined. And here is the interesting news. We’ve learned that the Germans have some sailors waiting aboard a freighter in the harbor.”

  “Bloody hell,” Churchill glowered. “The Eagle’s new crew?”

  “Apparently.”

  Churchill shook his head. “Send a message to the ambassador and our naval attaché there. Have them do what they can. The last thing we need is another German submarine on the prowl, not that we’ll be able to do much about it right at the moment.”

  The young messenger ducked out of sight.

  Churchill sucked on his cigar, the bright end glowed. He held the smoke in his mouth, letting his tongue taste its richness, and then he let it trickle out a corner. Another German submarine? He restrained a shudder. Even though England was unprepared for this war, few of the obstacles facing her were fatal. German U-boats, however, were causing nightmares that haunted his sleep. How many U-boats did Dönitz have? And now, one more to torment them with. Churchill’s gaze drifted to the half-eaten sandwich sitting on a plate on the corner of his desk. They had enough food for now. Six months from now it might be different. He reached out, pulled the plate closer. Time to set a good example and get in the habit of not wasting food, he thought to himself. He sat the ever present cigar in the ash tray, and picked up the remainder of his sandwich. He took a hearty bite and went back to work.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Captain Duncan McBride of the Royal Navy gave the woman standing in front of his desk a lingering glance—he couldn’t help himself—and then he carefully placed his magnifying glass on the desktop, closed the worn leather notebook containing his stamp collection. She was definitely a looker, he thought, giving her another long gaze. Beautiful red hair. Green eyes. And the kind of mouth you would never grow tired of kissing. Unconsciously, he reached up and straightened his tie, brushed back the sides of his hair.

  She had barged into his office when he was right in the middle of adding three new stamps to the notebook that had once been his father’s, and before that, his grandfather’s. Something about a bunch of Poles, he thought she’d said. He’d always had trouble following the American accent.

  “I don’t suppose you would mind repeating yourself, umm?” he said, the clipped, measured tones of an Oxford graduate wrestling with a rich Scottish brogue. When he was angry or excited, which, at the moment, he was neither, the brogue always won out.

  Kate glanced over at Reggie, who was leaning against the doorframe, hat tilted back on his forehead. He shook his head as if to say, He’s all yours.

  Kate put her hands on the top of the desk, smiled sweetly. “Okay, Mac, pull your dick out of your ear and listen up. I’m in no mood to repeat myself. The Estonians have interned the Polish submarine Eagle. Maybe that’s not news to you. But here’s the kicker. It looks like it is at the behest of their buddies, the Nazis, who are already pawing over it. Reggie and I saw one guy looking her over like he was checking out the latest Buick. Anyway, I don’t think your superiors would be happy to learn that you did nothing about it when you had the chance. So I’m here to see if maybe you’re interested in becoming a hero.”

  McBride smiled. What a refreshing change. Nothing like your typical English woman, he thought to himself, but then again, he’d always heard that Americans were more volatile. More like the Scots. And by the look of this one, she definitely had some Scottish in her.

  “What did you say your last name was?”

  “I didn’t. It’s McLendon. Kate McLendon.”

  “And mine is Goldberg,” Reggie added.

  McBride began to beam. Scottish after all. He offered Kate a cigarette. She shook her head. He gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, motioned for Reggie to take a seat. McBride took his time lighting his own cigarette. “I suppose I deserved some of that,” he said. “But telling me to extract my, what did you call it, dick from my ear. . .a little uncalled for don’t you think?”

  Kate settled awkwardly into the chair. She looked at Reggie for help.

  “She’s upset,” Reggie volunteered. “It’s American, for,uh, a pickle. You know, cucumber in vinegar … ”

  “I see,” McBride said. “Pickle, eh? I never liked them. Thank you, though. I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to use it sometime. As to the point you were trying to make, Of course I know about the Eagle. I’m not sitting here with my – and here’s some Scottish slang for you – thumb up my Arse.” He emphasized his point by raising his voice and then swallowed hard, continuing on in softer tones. “In fact, I know your friends are being held in a once lovely sixteenth-century mansion in the old part of the city. The previous occupant, a wealthy Jew, owner of a local glass factory, had the place completely renovated. Wonderful man. Gave some of the best parties in town. About a year ago, however, he decided to relocate h
is family. Alarmed with the government’s move to cozy up to the Germans. So they left for Sweden all of a sudden. Smart man. Can’t say I blame him. Troubling news.…. In any case, it seems it is the only place they could find on short notice to hold them all. Not a prison, but it might as well be. Built like a fortress, narrow windows, few access points, easily guarded. As for being a hero, most of them end up dead. And I’m not ready for that—not yet anyway. So what’s your interest in this matter?”

  Kate settled back in the chair. “Nothing official. I mean, we’re not representatives of the U S of A, if that’s what you mean. We’re with North American News Service. We were in Poland doing some reports when the Nazis invaded. The boys on that sub got us out of Gdynia,” Kate said, “and we’re feeling obligated.”

  “That’s N.A.N.S. for short,” Reggie added.

  “My partner and I – well, we just couldn’t sit by and do nothing,” Kate said.

  McBride nodded. “I see. What do you expect from His Majesty’s government?”

  Kate waved her hands. “What else. We help bust my friends out of the clink—give ’em a chance to get their boat back!”

  McBride smiled. After months of quiet, activity had suddenly quickened at this Baltic outpost of the British Empire. A few days earlier, the ambassador had dropped by his office. “I suppose you’ll need to see this,” he sneered, letting the slip of paper flutter out of his hand. It was brief. Just two words: “Winston’s back!” No wonder the ambassador was in a foul mood, McBride realized immediately. He was a die-hard Churchill hater from the first war. This was the worst possible news. McBride, on the other hand, felt energized. This would mean his recall back to England. He was sure of it. But more importantly, with Winston back at the Admiralty, maybe they had a fighting chance against the Huns. And then, an hour ago, a message from the old man himself: he was to do what he could to help the crew of the the Eagle. Just the kind of open-ended request that could get him back in the good graces of his superiors. Never hurt to do a favor for the Admiralty. And so McBride had pulled out his stamps. He always thought better when he had something to occupy his hands.