The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  “All set?” McBride said.

  Stefan nodded. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said in English.

  “Couldn’t have put it any better meself,” McBride roared.

  But as he pulled the door shut, an arm and shoulder suddenly got in the way. “Oww,” squealed Reggie. “Open up, open up. I need these.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” McBride half stood in his seat, jammed the door lever forward, face blossoming red.

  Before Reggie had a chance to respond, Kate jabbed him in the bottom. He spread his arms in apology, and then scampered aboard the bus.

  “Nice to see you again, boys,” Kate announced.

  “You must get off,” Stefan said, furious. “This is no place …”

  “For a woman?” Kate finished for him. “I’ve heard that before. Didn’t work earlier, and it won’t work now. You aren’t leaving us behind. Without us, you’d still be sucking your thumb back there. Besides, I don’t have the ending to my story yet.” And with that, she sat down on the front seat and crossed her arms.

  “We don’t have time for this,” McBride sputtered. He dropped back into his seat, closed the door, shoved the bus into gear. “Next stop, Eagle!” he roared.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Ritter said.

  “Fire, sir,” replied the driver of the Mercedes, half turning around in his seat to address the officer behind him. “The street —it’s blocked.”

  “Go another way. …”

  Ritter leaned forward, peering through the front window. Two fire engines were parked in front of the burning building. The cobblestones along the street glistened like river rock wet with spray. Hoses were coiled like gigantic anacondas, their mouths held by two firemen pointing their spray at the flames that seemed intent on spreading to the upper stories of the building and the adjacent structures. The mansion where the Polish crew was being kept was up ahead, just over a block away. Ritter noticed a red bus pull away from the front of the building. Curious. He watched it accelerate down the block toward the fire, and then lean to the left as its driver made a sharp right turn down a narrow street leading toward the harbor. Even seeing the bus crowded with men wasn’t enough for Ritter to realize what was happening. It was locking eyes for just an instant with the figure of the bearded man standing over the bus driver, that made everything clear.

  “Back, back,” Ritter screamed. When the German driver didn’t move immediately, Ritter scrambled over the front seat, pushed open the door and kicked the man out. He pulled it closed, dropped the Mercedes into reverse, and with a squeal of tires, began racing backward. He braked hard as the big German car raced through the intersection, spun the wheel to the right to whip the massive front hood around and then hard to the left. Before the slide was stopped, he’d jammed the car into first, popped the clutch and stomped on the accelerator. The Mercedes leapt forward.

  “What the hell is going on?” Sieinski shouted from the back seat, responding to the sudden crazy antics of his keeper.

  Ritter shook his head, his laughter filling the car. “A worthy opponent after all. It was always him I was worried about. You are a fool, and except for that poor boy, the rest of the men could be deceived easily enough, but not him. I should have known better ...”

  “What are you saying?” Sieinski shrieked, his face contorting with ignorance.

  “Did you see that red bus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your men are on it.” Ritter was almost gleeful. “And they are heading back to the harbor.”

  “But why?”

  “My God, you don’t deserve any of them. Isn’t it obvious? Even that poor boy was worth a dozen men like you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sieinski said, a strange sense of calm settling over his features.

  “Your crew. Not yours any longer, I suspect. What’s his name. Stefan? Yes, that’s it. It is his crew now. And they are going to take back their boat. Eagle. Or, I suspect, die in the trying.”

  When Ritter glanced in the rearview mirror, Sieinski had his face in his hands. And that was the last that he thought of him for while. Ritter wrestled the Mercedes through the narrow streets of Tallinn, brushing aside a few smaller cars that happened to be sticking too far out in the street with shriek of metal and a contrail of sparks. Within moments, Ritter had caught up with the lumbering bus.

  “We’ve got company.” When Stefan frowned, McBride pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Only one organization that has those particular type of motorcars, and they’re not the fellows we want to see.”

  “Germans?” Stefan said.

  “Righto on that one, chum,” McBride said.

  Stefan moved quickly down the aisle, using the seat backs to help him keep balance. Chief K handed him the rifle as walked past. Stefan chambered a round, kneeled on the back seat, raised the rifle butt and punched out the back window. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and hesitated, eyes going wide with sudden recognition. “You sonofabitch,” he roared. He fired and missed, Ritter swerving to the side just at the right moment, bouncing off the cars lining the street like a pinball off a bumper. Stefan fired two more shots in quick succession just as Ritter jammed on the brakes. The first round transformed the windshield into a spider web of cracks with a bullet hole directly in front of where Ritter’s face had been just a moment before. The second shot went through the Mercedes’ radiator, burying itself in the engine block. The Mercedes skidded sideways on the wet slick streets, plowing into a bench and flipping a parked motorcycle into the air.

  McBride whipped the bus around a corner. As Stefan lost sight of the car, steam was curling up from beneath the hood.

  “Mighty fine shooting, sir,” said the young sailor on Stefan’s right.

  “You keep this for me, eh?” Stefan handed the boy the rifle, and then made his way back to the front of the bus.

  “We’ll be at the harbor in a another couple of minutes,” McBride said.

  “And who do I thank,” Stefan said in heavily accented English, grabbing hold of McBride’s shoulder and squeezing hard.

  “Easy boy,” McBride winced. “I don’t have a spare.”

  “So sorry. I can never repay your kindness.”

  “Forget about me, laddie. Just doing my job. If you get a chance to return the favor, keep in mind His Majesty’s government. I think we’re going to need friends like you in the coming months. Follow me?”

  Stefan nodded. “I understand you,” he said in English.

  McBride wheeled the bus around the last corner, relieved that no one else had picked up the chase. The pier was directly ahead, the Eagle’s dull gray deck and conning tower visible in the glare of overhead arc lights. McBride gave a guard a friendly wave as passed through the gate, braked the bus to a stop right next to the Eagle and pulled open the door. “Last stop,” he yelled, “Eagle!”

  “You stay close to me,” Stefan said in Polish to Veski.

  Veski nodded blankly.

  “We’re coming with you,” Kate reminded him.

  “Jesus …” Stefan sighed. He looked to McBride for help.

  “Sorry, friend,” McBride replied with a grin. “I tried to argue with her, and look how it’s ended for me . I think you’re stuck with ’em. They’re adults. They know what they’re doing.”

  “Just … just get aboard and stay out of the way,” he whispered fiercely. Then it was time for last minute instructions to the crew. “I want no shooting, understand? Leave the rifles here. Go to your stations, prepare to get underway. Let me deal with whoever is in charge here.”

  “What about the deck crews?” Eryk asked.

  “Man the deck guns, of course,” Stefan said. “But remember, our quarrel is not with the Estonians. If we’re lucky, they might just let us go.”

  “Too damn much trouble to keep around,” Squeaky added.

  That brought chuckles from the men in their seats.

  “Exactly!” Stefan added, grinning wryly.

  Chi
ef K pushed to the front. “I must do something,” he said apologetically.

  Stefan knew instantly what the chief had in mind. “We don’t know where he is.”

  “That officer—I heard him say he was going to find a cold place nearby,” the chief replied. “Shouldn’t be hard to find the nearest meat market. Jerzy. I won’t leave him behind, no sir.” He wagged his chin stubbornly. “If he can’t come along, well, I’ll just stay behind to keep him company.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Stefan said gently.

  “But I do,” was the blunt reply.

  Stefan knew it was useless to argue, even if he did have the time. And he didn’t. The chief’s mind was set, and Stefan couldn’t blame him for it. He patted the chief on the cheek, smiled sadly. “All right,” he said. “We’ll wait as long as we can.”

  As Chief K blinked back tears and nodded gratefully, Stefan leaned forward and whispered into McBride’s ear. McBride glanced at the chief, hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

  Stefan smiled faintly, and then raised his voice. “Now let’s do our jobs,” he said. He tucked the pistol into his belt and stepped off the bus.

  Ritter kicked open the crumpled door. Felt blood dripping from his chin. He reached up and explored the tattered edges of skin on his cheek. Another scar to tattoo his face, he thought. It could be worse. He eyed the windshield. An instant longer, and a similar hole would be decorating the center of his forehead.

  He glanced inside the wreck. Sieinski was sprawled across the back seat, moaning softly. No telling how badly he was injured, and Ritter didn’t have the time or inclination to check. A few lights had flicked on in the upper-story apartments of the buildings that lined either side of the street, but the street remained deserted, the Estonians beginning to learn what many good Germans had already discovered: In the middle of the night, it was safer to ignore crashes and sounds of broken glass, screams and shouts and cries for help. Ritter knew that if he waited for someone to call the police, there was no chance to stop them. He clenched his hand into a fist. He was not ready to give up, not yet.

  As he began to run, he slipped out of his ankle-length leather coat, letting it drop in the gutter. A present for someone in the morning. He did the same with his officer’s cap, flinging it down an alley. If he hurried, he just might make it in time. There were telephones at the guard station. He could alert the harbor batteries, officials at the German embassy. And then he thought of the German freighter anchored in the harbor just beyond the Eagle. If he could somehow contact her captain, she might just be able to block escape from the harbor. There was a flower shop on the corner, lights out because of the hour. Ritter ran up to the door, kicked out the front glass, and then reached through the jagged opening to the inside latch. Once released, he depressed the outside lock and stepped inside. The warm air was fragrant with blossoms. Ritter strode to the front counter, found the telephone hanging on the wall. “Get me the German embassy,” he said to the operator. “This is Fregattenkapitän Peter von Ritter of the German U-Bootwaffe. Get me the ambassador, schnell … I don’t care,” he said, “wake him now. A moment might make all the difference …” A minute later, Ritter was back out onto the street, running hard, urged on by the rhythmic beat of his boots echoing into the night.

  Sieinski didn’t know how long he lay there, dazed, but not completely unconscious. He was aware of Ritter leaving, like a child on the edge of sleep hearing the slam of a door as his father heads for work in the darkness.

  Sieinski moaned and sat up. He felt his forehead, once again tender from striking the back of the seat. His knee hurt, as well. But that seemed the worst of it. He worked his joints just in case, testing his shoulder, arms, neck. He would ache elsewhere later on, but nothing serious.

  What had happened? His mind replayed the previous moments. Chase. Shots. And then he remembered The bus had been filled with the Eagle’s crew. His men. And then a sharp intake of breath, as he suddenly realized the truth. Not his men, not any longer. Ritter was right. Stripped of everything he had ever valued let him see clearly for the first time the waste and wreckage that was his life. And worst of all. They had left him behind. Sieinski began to weep. He felt once again the sweet despair of being overlooked by his friends. It was felt no different now than it had as a child twenty years earlier. They had left him behind. He caught himself. Not childhood ignorance, this time. What did he expect? He had abandoned them, left them to fend for themselves. They hadn’t left him behind, it had been his choice all along. He had been captain in name only, enamored with the rights and privileges that that rank had bestowed upon him. He had forgotten all about the responsibilities that came with it. He hadn’t taken care of his men, he hadn’t taken care of his boat, and so they had learned to do without him. His anguished sobs rang out in the darkness. What was he to do now? What would the Germans do to him when they found him? Sieinski was assaulted by a flurry of thoughts and emotions. His first inclination, as was his habit, was to find some way to protect himself. But Sieinski didn’t stop there. That was a change. He was no longer the same man he had been moments before. Despair had brought him to the bottom. But unlike many, he was not content to stay there. He couldn’t. The thought of his crew back on theEagle filled him with a wild sense of hope and possibility. Maybe it wasn’t too late to help them?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Commander Jaak Talli was in the Eagle’s bow compartment when he heard the faint shouts drift down the passageway, the footsteps on the deck overhead sounding like a herd of kids bursting out of a classroom. He glanced at his watch. 1:20 a.m. He couldn’t imagine it was the German crew already. They were punctual to a fault. They weren’t scheduled to take over the Eagle until she had been towed out of the harbor. And that wasn’t going to happen until mid-morning. Curious, Talli headed for the forward hatch.

  Most of the afternoon and evening he had spent aboard the Eagle, supervising the disarming and unloading of her torpedoes through the loading hatches near the bow and stern. It was hot, greasy, grueling work, requiring a gang of men, block and tackle and chains to hoist the deadweight of the torpedoes above deck. It was also dangerous. A slip or a false move, and the TNT-packed cylinder could easily swing to one side, crushing a hand, a leg or worse.

  Despite the risks, Talli’s order had been very specific. The damn Germans were getting the submarine, but that didn’t mean she needed to be handed over fully armed. There were just two torpedoes left when he’d finally called a halt to the work. It was nearly midnight. “We’ll finish in the morning,” he said with his brevity. “Oh-seven hundred sharp!”

  He’d followed the quietly grumbling men out, and then returned, curiosity drawing him back aboard more than the coat he’d left. On an impulse, he’d decided to explore the deserted vessel, looking in every nook and cranny, the haunting presence of the crew his only companions. He spent time thumbing through the captain’s log, inspecting the engines, even rummaging through a few duffel bags like a adolescent voyeur. In the control room, he took hold of the periscope, imagining himself peering across a stormy sea at a distant target.

  Talli had always been a surface sailor, serving on small patrol boats mostly, only recently getting command of his own. The Estonian Navy had never been as large as her neighbors. Its duties mostly revolved around patrolling her rugged coast line and infrequent rescues. But that hadn’t stopped Talli from reading about submarines, learning as much as he could about them. Dreaming. When the Eagle appeared in the harbor, he could barely contain his excitement. What luck. It wouldn’t be difficult to get a tour of the boat, of that he was certain. And then, incredibly, he had been ordered to intern the crew and learned the submarine was to be handed over to the Nazis, his superior, Admiral Kalm, winning the wrestling match to see who could be first among many at providing favors for the Germans. The fools. Didn’t the realize it was only a matter of time before Estonia and the other Baltic states were eaten by the German or Russian wolves. It was inevitable becau
se, as his grandfather would have said, “it is in their nature.”

  By the time Talli climbed up through the forward hatch, the Polish crew was already fanning out over the Eagle’s deck, disappearing down the aft hatch, climbing up onto the deck guns.

  There had been three guards on the quay. He noted in a glance that they had gathered, along with the guard from the mansion, along the edge, overlooking the Eagle. They stood together like a cluster of forgotten schoolboys, looking awkward in a game that was just about to begin. Remarkably, not one threat had been made against them, and so their rifles hung limply in their arms, barrels pointed impotently at the ground. Just a few hours earlier they had been trading cigarettes and booze with these men. Now, they simply watched them go about the business of getting the Eagle underway.

  As Talli began to take it all in, he had a sudden, fleeting impulse to escape. In three steps he could be off the deck, leaping into the harbor water. A long swim underwater would take him safely away from the floodlights shining down on the Eagle. He could be back up on the quay in five minutes and on his way to finding help.

  But as he watched the men take back their vessel, these feelings were pushed aside by a sense of calm of the kind he had not experienced since he was a boy, staring in awe at the stained glass windows of the town’s cathedral. Instinctively, he knew there was something deeply right about what was happening. There was nothing he could do—nothing he wanted to do.

  When the last Pole stepped off the bus, its doors swung close, there was the sound of grinding gears. The bus backed off the quay, reversed direction, and then disappeared down a street angling away from the harbor. And then Talli noticed Stefan standing next to the conning tower, remembered him from before. The Pole. He had an Estonian officer, Veski, at his side. There was a pistol in Stefan’s belt.