The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  Sieinski ignored the barb. He stared out the window, watching buildings flick by, windows lit up warmly, everything normal. He wondered what was happening in Poland. His cousin had been listening to the BBC when he arrived at her house. The news was bleak: Germans advancing across all fronts, Warsaw surrounded. He couldn’t help wonder how different it would be if had ignored Ritter’s advice.

  “Could we have made France?” Sieinski asked.

  Ritter knew what Sieinski wanted, but it wasn’t his place to give it to him. He would have to find that in a cathedral. “Yes, of course,” he said dismissively.

  Sieinski’s shoulder dropped ever so slightly. What little that had remained of the man who had existed the night before the Eagle left Gdynia had now vanished completely. “What do you want me to do?” Sieinski asked dully.

  “In the morning, your men are to be taken to a safe haven,” Ritter said. “The Lituanian government has agreed to accept them for the time being. From there, they will be repatriated back to Poland, or to a neutral country of their choice.”

  “What about me?”

  Ritter couldn’t hide the sneer. Of course, he was true to type. How had this narcissist become a leader of men? He only thought of himself. His men were nothing to him. He was a disgrace. It was unfortunate that the crew couldn’t be freed instead and this man taken to the border their place and handed over to the NKVD, the Soviet secret police. “You are free to do what you want.” He watched Ritter’s fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. “And as for your men, I want you to tell them what I just told you. Assure them that no harm will come to them. They will be treated with all due respect. Tell them that this has been worked out with the Polish embassy.”

  “Has it?”

  Ritter didn’t respond.

  “I see,” Sieinski said. “And my father?”

  “As soon as you do what I have asked, I will notify my superiors of your cooperation.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “Yes, yes,” the German sighed. “There it is. How can you trust anyone today? Who knows what is in another’s heart and mind, really? You make love to a woman, and assume she has thoughts only for you, but in reality, she is dreaming of another, perhaps your best friend, or the man playing saxophone in the band at the club you just visited. And while you are making love to her, you are thinking of another, maybe that lovely American woman who accompanied us on the Eagle, eh? Who knows anything in times such as these? But on this I give you my word as one officer to another.”

  Sieinski glanced at the German next to him. “Very well,” he said softly. Not that he had any choice in the matter.

  Stefan finally gave up and bothered someone for a couple of cigarettes. That distraction settled, he had returned to his seat in the corner, ignoring the looks and comments from his officers, and then proceeded to light the first one, smoking it slowly, watching the smoke eddy toward the ceiling.

  He was on his third cigarette when, as promised, food and drink arrived. Plates of steaming sausages, noodles, bread, soup, potatoes, bowls of grapes and apples, and bottles of beer and cider were set up on tables along with plates, cutlery and cups. Amazing what effects a good meal and drink can have on a person, Stefan thought, watching his men line up. Bellies quickly filled, the crew of the Eagle, sullen and restless earlier, had quickly settled down. Soon enough the last of the food was gone, a few of them men laughing and joking with the two guards in the room, asking when the music would begin and the dancing girls would arrive. Instead of complaining when they were told none were coming, a couple of sailors began singing Polish folk songs, their voices bright and cheerful. A few of the jokers among them even tried their hands at dancing, their male partners doing their best impressions of shy country girls.

  From his chair in the corner of the room, Stefan showed little interest in the antics of his crew. He was smoking slowly, his thoughts remained locked up. Eryk had brought a plate of food over to him, but when Stefan hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge his presence, he had left it on the floor. It was still there, uneaten.

  Stefan didn’t notice Kate when she first stepped through the doorway, the Estonian officer on one side of her, Reggie on the other. That wasn’t the case with the rest of the crew, however, who as soon as they recognized who it was, began whistling their approval at the change that had come over their former passenger. Kate smiled in response. When she twirled around like a movie star or a model, their cheers increased, and she was immediately surrounded, all of them begging for a dance.

  Kate laughed with delight, apologizing loudly. She pushed them aside and marched across the room and right up to Stefan. “Doesn’t look like we’re going to get our dinner with Hans,” she said, taking a deep breath, “so how about a dance instead?” She gave Stefan the kind of smile that would have wakened a dead man.

  The Eagle’s crew whistled their approval. The singers began another song. Stefan stubbed out his cigarette and looked up. “Why are you here?” he said listlessly.

  Kate’s smile dissolved into a look of contempt. She glanced down at the plate of uneaten food on the floor next to his chair. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sarcastically. “Maybe I came to the wrong place? I thought there were some sailors here itching for a fight with the Germans. I guess I was wrong. I see now it’s just a room filled with a bunch of dumb Polacks. And I’m beginning to think that you’re the dumbest of the lot. Having a little pity party, are you? Tricked out of your boat, of all things, my, my. And betrayed by your captain. Didn’t even get a chance to fight the bad guys. And now, I see you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. You poor little baby.” She reached out to pat him on the cheek. “Looks like I’m wasting my time. …”

  Kate’s words had had their desired effect. Each one was like a puff of wind on a hot cool night. Stefan began to rise, his face hardening. He intercepted Kate’s wrist just before her hand touched his cheek. “Enough,” he whispered fiercely, aware now that the singing had stopped, that everyone was watching, including the Estonian officer, who had begun to cross the floor, a puzzled expression on his face. “What do you want?”

  Kate gave Stefan a strained smile. “Just get up and dance with me, you big dope. Please …”

  “I must warn you,” Stefan said as he slowly stood and forced a smile to his face. “I cannot dance.”

  “Jesus, you’re a hopeless shit,” Kate said. “Just follow my lead.” She took his hands, lead him out onto the floor. The two singers began another tune. While the crew of the Eagle stomped and whistled with excitement, Kate and Stefan began to dance.

  Walter Veski watched the pair for a moment, then snorted with disdain. American women. What had he been thinking? He still had half a plate of food uneaten on his desk. “You get two hours,” he said loudly. “No more.” He turned on his boot heels, and stomped out of the ballroom.

  For Stefan, worries about the war, and his men had been shoved aside by a more immediate fear: that he was just a clumsy ox after all and he would end up stepping on this beautiful, entrancing, spirited woman’s feet. But as they slowly moved across the floor and that didn’t happen, Stefan began to relax. There was something in her gestures and the way she cocked her head and stared into his eyes that made him realize for the first time what he had missed by never settling down. And that realization filled him with a sense of remorse so swift and terrible he winced with pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Kate said.

  “It’s just …” Stefan fumbled with his thoughts and feelings. “If only it had been … different.”

  “But then you and I might never have met, eh?” Kate replied softly. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My name really isn’t Roosevelt.”

  Stefan laughed suddenly, pulled her closer. “I knew it,” he said.

  “Forgive me?”

  “Never.”

  “And there’s one other thing.” She leaned her head on his sh
oulders, and began to whisper in his ear. Eryk and Squeaky saw the glance he gave her, noticed the change in the way he moved.

  “Lucky sonofabitch,” Eyrk said. “Imagine having a babe like that tell you she loved you.”

  “Yeah,” Squeaky breathed softly. “I can. …”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Veski and the two guards had forgotten all about the Poles.

  The trio was standing on tiptoe by the lead-glass windows at one end of the banquet hall, straining to see through the thick antique glass what was happening down the street. Another fire truck had just screamed past the front pillars of the 16th-century mansion. The orange glow of flames was like the colors of an angry dawn on the windows of buildings across from the blaze.

  Veski noticed it first. A bright red municipal bus idling next to the curb in front of the mansion’s steps. Strange place for a stop, he thought. He peered more closely. The driver looked vaguely familiar and somehow out of place, like a man wearing a business suit on a hot day at the beach, or a child in a bowler hat driving a car.

  Veski raised a finger as a hazy image of the man began to take shape. As he recalled, however, this man—or someone who looked very much like him—had been wearing the uniform of a British officer. Why? Veski eyes widened with a sudden thought. He nodded, his finger bobbing in unison to the beat of his chin. “I know him. …” he breathed.

  “Good for you,” came the whispered response. He felt something sharp jab at his side. “Have your men hand over their rifles.” And then another jab.

  Veski jerked with surprise. He couldn’t help it. Stefan responded by digging hard with the barrel of the pistol. The motion elicited a loud “ouch” from the Estonian, which was finally enough to drag the attention of the two guards away from the fire. They turned, started to bring up their rifles and hesitated when they saw Eryk, who was positioned behind Veski and Stefan, legs apart, arm out, pointing a pistol steadily in their direction.

  “Say it!” Stefan said. “Our quarrel isn’t with you and your boys.”

  Veski nodded. That made sense. “All right … all right,” he sputtered. “Just don’t hurt me. You two there, put down the rifles. Do as I say.”

  The guards looked almost relieved. They leaned their rifles against the wall, stepped quickly away and raised their hands. Stefan glanced out the window, noticed McBride waving furiously from the driver’s seat of the bus.

  It was time.

  Stefan had listened with growing excitement as Kate sketched out the plan, her breath soft as a flower petal on his ear. “One o’clock sharp. Be ready then. A bus will be out front.”

  He held her delicately, hand resting lightly on the small of her back, trying to concentrate on her words, his footwork and the music, but her closeness—the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the smell of her hair—was maddening.

  He saw the bemused looks on the faces of his officers, Reggie’s sarcastic leer, and the longing smile of every single member of the crew, all them watching their performance, all of them wishing the same thing. He didn’t blame them one bit.

  And then the men finished their song, the impromptu trio bowing and smiling and scattered applause. Someone suggested another tune. And then she was off, pressing her handbag into his hand before being pulled away by Squeaky of all people.

  “I better take over,” he said with a broad grin, as the men began singing another song. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

  Stefan stood awkwardly, watching the pair dance away, admiring Squeaky’s confident steps. He knew how to dance. Kate was smiling, enjoying the skill of her new partner, acting as if dancing were the only reason she was there. As they whirled by him, Kate winked. And right that moment, Stefan vowed that when this was all over ...

  “Put your tongue back in, commander,” Reggie interrupted, grabbing Stefan by the elbow and steering him off the floor. “Don’t you think you should find some place safe for the purse and the,uh, paperweight inside?”

  “Damn you,” Stefan said softly.

  “I know, I know. But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

  Stefan pulled his elbow free. “Since you’re so insistent on being useful, find Eryk and send him over. We have a few items to discuss.”

  Reggie clicked his heels together in mock salute. “As you wish, Herr Captain.”

  “Don’t push your luck, American,” Stefan growled.

  Kate gamely danced for another hour. Even one of the Estonian guards took a spin, the Poles hooting good-naturedly while the other guard held his rifle. When she had danced with everyone who wanted a turn—nearly the entire crew— the singers were as hoarse as seals. By then, Stefan had filled Eryk in on the plan. They had split up, moving unobtrusively through the crew, briefing the rest of the officers. By that time Kate prepared to leave. As she was saying her goodbyes to the singers, she picked up her coat off the back of a chair and then walked over to Stefan, who was leaning against the far wall, smoking quietly by himself. Most of the men had settled down in their makeshift beds, mattresses and blankets on the floor. Many were already snoring, succumbing to the effects of the food and drink and late hour.

  “My purse?”

  Stefan pulled it from beneath his arm and handed it to her. She hefted it in her hand, nodded her approval. “Thank you for the dance,” she whispered.

  “My pleasure,” Stefan replied. “I hope I can repay you for your help.”

  She stared at him, a solemn expression on her face, as if her inner eye was attempting to discern their future. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Commander.” She surprised him with a light kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you around.” And then she was off, striding like a prom queen across the floor. She found Reggie by the door, hooked him by the arm. The guard at the doorway let them out, bowing slightly as they passed.

  “Anyone else we need to worry about?” Stefan asked.

  Veski seemed hypnotized by the pistol in Stefan’s hand. Stefan jabbed him again to break the spell. “Uh, one at the door,” Veski said, “one out back. That’s it. We didn’t think …”

  “And good for us that you didn’t,” Stefan said, cutting him off. “All right, rouse the men,” he said to Eryk. “Time to go.”

  Eryk waved across the room to Squeaky, who whispered to the other officers, and senior sailors. They quickly moved among the crew, most of whom were scattered across the floor sleeping despite the commotion outside, shaking them awake. Stefan was surprised at how calmly they woke. A momentary blank look, or a yawn, and then a curt nod, smiles even, as the officers briefly told them what was happening. Stefan had kept news of the plan from the bulk of the crew. No need for them to know until the time came. It also prevented any nervousness from alerting the guards. Within moments of understanding what was happening, each crewman glanced in Stefan’s direction, as if needing reassurance that he was he was back in charge. What they saw seemed enough for them.

  “Hurry, hurry,” Stefan hissed. “Let’s go. …” He grabbed Veski’s arm, and hustled across the dance floor. Eryk grabbed the two rifles, motioned with the pistol for the two other guards to follow. As two of the Eagle’s gun crew, he tossed the rifles to them. “No shooting unless ordered, understand?” he said. Both men nodded curtly.

  “What are you going to do with us?” Veski said with alarm. Eryk gave Stefan a questioning look, as if to reiterate: Yes, what are we doing with them?

  Stefan smiled. “For now, you’re coming with us. Think of yourselves as a guest of the Polish Navy. We’ll try to treat you as decently as you treated us.”

  Eryk’s snort of with laughter caused Veski to send a worried look in his direction. He knew from experience that Poles had a violent streak—his wife was Polish. He just hoped they didn’t take it out on him.

  Stefan paused at the door, the rest of the crew crowding behind him. “There’s a bus waiting out front for us,” he said, scanning their faces. “One guard at the front door. You all wait here while I take care of him. When I shout, com
e fast. We’ll load onto the bus, and then make for the harbor.”

  Here it was. Would the crew still follow him after all his mistakes? He noticed a few worried nods and a tight smile or two, and then Chief K pushed to the front, his face pale as a death shroud. Ever since the discovery of Jerzy’s body, he had been silent and withdrawn, occupying a special room set aside in his own private hell. But no more. His face twitched with life. He was breathing heavily as if he had just completed a long run. “And what then?” he gasped. It was everyone’s question. “We can’t very well sail a damn bus back to Poland.”

  Stefan put his hand on Chief K’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off, twisted away and asked the question again, his voice trembling with emotion. “What then, goddamnit?”

  Stefan looked out over the men. “We take back what is ours,” he said, “and then get the hell out of here. I don’t know about your boys, but I’m tired of Estonian hospitality ...”

  Chief K stared at Stefan with bruised eyes, and then, finally, bobbed his head, his face split by a grimace that was the best grin he could muster. It was the answer he had hoped to hear. It was the same for the rest of the crew, too. They pressed forward, ready to go. “Let’s get it done,” Chief K barked hoarsely. “We’re right behind you, Captain!”

  Stefan shook his head in response to the chief’s attempt at a compliment. “Not yet a captain,” he said, and then he slipped out the door. His shout came a few moments later, the guard looking sheepish, holding his nose, blood coating his upper lip like a sloppy child caught in the raspberry jam. Stefan handed the guard’s rifle to Chief K and then pushed outside.

  McBride already had the door open. “This isn’t a bloody holiday,” he spat as the first sailor climbed slowly up the steps, smiling nervously at McBride. “Get your arses in gear.”

  The boy and the other behind him didn’t understand the man’s English, but they all recognized the look and bark of an officer. They scampered up the steps and trotted down the aisle, sliding into the seats. Stefan was the last one aboard.