The Last Eagle (2011)

by Michael Wenberg

  Talli squinted back at the pier. Despite the darkness, there was enough light from the fire to see Ritter’s blond hair even without binoculars. “Fencing scar on his face?” he asked

  Stefan nodded, lowered his binoculars. “Know him?”

  “His name is von Ritter. Peter. I met him yesterday. He is a Fregattenkapitän in the Kriegsmarine. How do you know him?”

  Stefan shook his head. “I am a fool,” he muttered angrily.

  “He was aboard the Eagle with two others,” Kate interjected. “Posing as Dutch engineers, weren’t they?”

  Stefan nodded.

  “Saved me from some trouble,” she said, touching her forehead, her eyes losing focus for just a moment. “Wonder why they bothered?”

  Talli nodded knowingly. “Ahh, they were after your vessel all along.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “So it seems,” Stefan said through teeth clenched so tightly his jaw was beginning to hurt. He was half tempted by a wild thought: to leap off Eagle, swim back to the pier, and then proceed to kill with his bare hands the man who had murdered Jerzy.

  “What is your plan now, Captain?” Talli asked dryly. The question brought Stefan back to the moment. He tore his gaze away from Ritter. “Oh, I don’t know,” he croaked harshly, gesturing futilely at the freighter that was moving to block their way out, “I was kind of hoping you might suggest something.”

  Talli shook his head and smiled.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “What about that?” Kate pointed at the deck gun.

  Stefan shook his head. “I’m afraid it would do about as much good as spitting watermelon seeds at an elephant.”

  “Uh-oh,” Kate said, gesturing at a distant motorboat, light bow wave spilling high in the air, racing toward the submarine from the other side of the harbor. “What do you think they want? Don’t look friendly either.”

  “One of yours?” Stefan asked Talli.

  Talli squinted at the distant boat, visible in the tapestry of shadows and reflected city lights that winked and dazzled across the harbor’s surface. “Private,” he said, frowning. “Some rich man’s yacht, I think.”

  The motorboat closed quickly, banked at the last minute and came abreast of the submarine’s bridge, and then cut its speed to match pace with the submarine. The figure piloting the boat from the flying bridge high above the cabin, turned his face toward the trio in the conning tower, and grinned.

  “Hey?” Kate said. “ Isn’t that …”

  “Captain Sieinski,” Stefan finished for her. “Yes.”

  “What is he doing?” Talli said.

  Sieinski stared at Stefan for a moment. He pointed to the freighter.

  Stefan spread his arms wide, palms upward, acknowledging the futility of it all. The freighter would block the way, and then it would be over. There was nothing he could do.

  Sieinski looked again at the freighter, then back to Stefan, staring intently at his second in command for another moment. And then saluted.

  “Why did he do that?” Kate said.

  Talli and Stefan said nothing. Sieinski gave a final nod, turned away and shoved the throttles forward. The bow of the powerful yacht leapt into the air like a dog let out of kennel, and then veered away from the submarine, straight toward the stern of the freighter.

  “What can he do?” Kate said with growing alarm. “That little boat is no match for that, that monstrosity …”

  Talli interrupted Kate’s rant by gripping her arm tightly. “Time to pray,” he breathed.

  Hope and horror. Stefan couldn’t ignore the sudden appearance of either emotion as he realized what Sieinski was going to attempt.

  “He’s not going to do what I think he’s going to do, is he?” Kate said. “It would be suicide.”

  “Don’t call it that. …” Stefan said sharply

  They watched silently as the yacht raced up quickly behind the lumbering freighter. Lights began to wink along the freighter’s back railing.

  “They’re shooting at him,” Kate said with surprise. Talli and Stefan remained mute.

  The shots had no effect. The dark water and the night making the bouncing yacht a difficult target for even the most expert marksman. And Sieinski didn’t flinch from his goal. At the last moment, the yacht seemed to accelerate into the freighter’s stern. It disappeared in a sudden flash followed by the dull thump of an explosion. A ball of flame mushroomed into the air, lighting up the entire harbor. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. The freighter continued on course, seemingly no more bothered by the yacht’s assault than a cow is bothered by one fly.

  “What a waste,” Kate said, turning on Stefan like it was his fault.

  Stefan kept the Eagle on course, cutting through the dark water at top speed. He would have to decide their fate in another moment. Perhaps ramming the freighter was the only course left to them.

  “Look,” Talli said.

  Slowly, imperceptibly, the big freighter began turn away from the harbor opening.

  “I don’t understand.” Kate said.

  When Stefan made no move to respond to her question. Talli did it for him. “His sacrifice was not in vain. He has damaged her rudder.”

  “He knew what he was doing then. …,” Kate murmured.

  “He was a sailor,” Talli said. “He knew. …”

  Stefan’s mouth was a straight line. In a way, it changed nothing. Stefan still despised Sieinski and all that had made him the way he was. And yet, at the end, he was a captain in deed as well as title. Stefan touched the tip of his cap in final salute.

  Ritter watched with curiosity as the motor yacht raced out of nowhere, approaching the submarine. At first he assumed it was the Estonian harbor authorities, attempting to persuade the Eagle to give way and stop. But when the yacht turned away from the submarine and raced toward the freighter, he began to worry. As seconds passed, and the yacht quickly closed on the freighter, his alarm increased. “Shoot, you fools,” he screamed finally, his voice ragged and hollow in the predawn darkness.

  A moment later, the light from the muzzles of a dozen rifles began to wink along the railing of the freighter.

  There was no change, however, in the yacht’s course. Of course, what could a motor yacht do? He tried to assure himself. It was an empty gesture. A craft of wood and glue against a monstrosity of iron and steel a hundred times its size.

  Ritter felt himself calm as he watched the last moments. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it and then exhaled at the same moment the yacht disappeared beneath the freighter’s stern. There was a momentary flash of fire as the fuel tanks detonated, and then nothing else. It had been futile. He wondered who had been piloting the motor yacht. A local anti-Nazi partisan? Not likely. Someone from the Eagle’s crew staying behind to sacrifice himself? Again, not likely. He had watched the way Stefan treated his crew more like family than sailors. He would no more leave someone behind than a father would leave behind a son. Whoever it was must have known he wouldn’t survive the impact. He had to be prepared for death with nothing to lose.

  Ritter continued to watch the race, relaxed now, smoking casually. When he finished his cigarette, he would jog over to the Estonian Naval Headquarters and settle it all with Admiral Kalm. At the moment, he was enjoying the spectacle, and the time alone.

  And then the worst began to happen. The freighter’s bow wavered and then with agonizing slowness, it began to turn away from the harbor opening.

  “No,” Ritter whispered in disbelief. He flipped his cigarette into the water. Somehow, the yacht had damaged the freighter after all. It gave the Eagle the chance it needed. Now it had an open shot to the sea.

  There was only one thing left to do. Destroy the submarine. She couldn’t be permitted to escape. That had been clear from the outset.

  It was almost as if Ritter gave the order. There was a flash followed by a loud crack from the harbor battery on the nearby bluff. Ritter held his breath and then exhaled when a plume of
white spray erupted into the air, 150 meters short and another 75 meters behind the Eagle.

  The Eagle shifted course slightly and seemed to hunker down lower in the water like a jaguar dropping her head and then running for her life. Her deck gun fired in response, but the shell exploded against the side of a building far short of the harbor battery.

  Ritter clenched his fists as he watched all that he had worked for, all that he had dreamed about, begin to dissolve before his eyes. He had been so close, within mere hours of taking over control of the vessel. And now this, she was on the verge of escaping, or worse yet, being destroyed.

  Though it wasn’t technically his fault, how would he explain it Dönitz? He had carried out the entire plan with meticulous precision only to falter at this last moment. Ritter shook his head. Enough time later for recriminations.

  It had been a risky plan from the start. In some sense, it was amazing they had gotten this close. Of course, that wouldn’t matter to the Dönitz, or Hitler, for that matter.

  The Estonian guns on the harbor’s other side opened fire. The results were the same—a column of spray shot into the air. Another miss. The crack of the big guns, firing now with persistence, sounding like thunder rolling across the harbor and town. Behind him, all the buildings were ablaze with light. Everyone in Tallinn was awake, watching the show.

  Still the Eagle continued to streak for the harbor opening, her passing marked by a trail of white foam.

  Two more shots, two more misses, the shells striking rock and concrete on the harbor jetty instead of the submarine’s iron skin. Closer. But Ritter could see they were too late to zero in on the submarine. Or perhaps they were missing on purpose. He would never know. The remaining shots were acts of futility. Ritter watched the Eagle race past the jetty, disappear into the night. He sighed heavily, turned on his heels, and began to trudge away. The Eagle was gone.

  He didn’t get far. A moment later, a dark black Mercedes, identical to the one Ritter had left destroyed on the streets of Tallinn, glided to a stop on the quay. The head of the Estonian Navy, Admiral Kalm, stepped out of the car. His face was puffy from lack of sleep. He licked his lips and said, “We did what we could.”

  Ritter shook his head with mock regret. “I’m afraid I will have to report otherwise to my superiors.”

  “What of my,uh, remuneration?”

  “Ah, yes. Of course, good intentions count for nothing. Since we received nothing, you will get nothing.”

  The admiral sagged and then caught himself. “I will talk to Dönitz.”

  Ritter laughed. “By all means. Please do. You’re a fool if you think it will do any good. I did everything including handing you the submarine on a silver platter, and now you let it get away.” Ritter stepped closely, his face inches from Kalm’s nose, who too, his credit, did not back away. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here,” Ritter breathed, a sudden flush of rage rushing through his body. And then the moment passed and he stepped back, cocking his head with a sudden thought. “Take me to your headquarters,” he ordered. “I need to make some new arrangements.”

  The head of the Estonian navy bowed his head in acknowledgement, held open the door for Ritter, and then climbed in after him.

  The drive back to the headquarters was short. Ritter didn’t mind. He had already dismissed that pig of an admiral. He would pay. Not now, of course, but later. The Reich had a long memory.

  As for Ritter, he would pay as well. It was as he expected. But before that time came, he still had a few options. Of course, it would require the services of a German destroyer, but under the circumstances, that might not be hard to come by.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Moments after he had learned the news of the Eagle’s escape from Tallinn, Dönitz was summoned by Hitler.

  He trotted down the granite steps at German Naval Headquarters two at a time and slipped into the back seat of the waiting Mercedes without bothering to acknowledge the driver who was holding open the door for him. Across the street, a gaggle of children were crowded around the sausage vendor, clamoring for food like young birds in a nest. One boy’s face was already smeared with mustard. He caught Dönitz eyeing him, and smiled without restraint, holding out the bratwurst in his fist as if to say, “Can you imagine anything as wonderful as this?” And then Mercedes pulled away from the curb.

  Dönitz wasn’t surprised that Hitler already knew about Eagle. He had expected to be called in for an explanation. He just hadn’t expected the call so soon. Even so, he wasn’t worried. There was little to the operation that Hitler could find objectionable, except the outcome, of course. It had been a risky operation from the start, but it had cost little terms of men and material, so the benefits had been worth the risk.

  As the driver negotiated the mid-afternoon traffic in Berlin, Dönitz chuckled silently under his breath. Those damn Poles. The sailor in him couldn’t help but admire the resiliency of the Eagle’s crew. Hutter and the rest of them had underestimated their tenacity as much as they had overestimated the capabilities of the Estonians to keep them under control.

  After a five-minute drive, Dönitz was quickly ushered into Hitler’s office. He was surprised to find Göring there, filling a chair in front of Hitler’s massive desk like a huge, bloated toad.

  It was a strange sight, the admiral thought: not one, but two Hitlers watched his approach across the shiny marble floor. There was the slick-haired Hitler sitting motionless at his desk, flanked on either side by flags of the Third Reich. And then there was his twin: a huge, full-length portrait hung on the wall behind him.

  Both Hitlers stared ominously at Dönitz.

  As Dönitz took a seat , Göring acknowledged his presence with a condescending smile. Hitler waited a moment and that got right to the point, his blue eyes flashing. “What now, admiral?” he asked sharply. “You have made the Reich a laughingstock, not to mention the U-Bootwaffe.”

  “Mein, Führer,” Dönitz began. “My apologies at this terrible misfortune. We assumed our Estonian friends were more competent then they turned out to be. This sudden turn of events is completely unexpected.”

  “And so, now we have a Polish submarine on the loose in the Baltic?” Göring interrupted. “That is no small problem, not with our attentions turned elsewhere. Think of the devastation it can wreak on our shipping.”

  Hitler gazed at Dönitz, waiting for an explanation. At times, there was something unnatural about him, the German admiral had always thought. It was apparent now. Hitler could perform with the best of them, crackling with energy, voice resounding through a room, or a building, or a stadium, with terrible authority. But now, he seemed shrunken, smaller. He held himself still as a reptile on a rock, eyes barely blinking, just watching. Will you eat me, too, Dönitz wondered, remembering a few of the officers who had dared challenge Hitler, or had failed at a given plan . He was too visible to disappear. No, the worst he could expect was retirement. The Alps in the fall. Dönitz could imagine worse places.

  Dönitz had never been very good at subterfuge. He wasn’t about to begin now. “Threat?” he replied evenly, glancing at Göring . “I think that overstates it. The Eagle has but two torpedoes, and, more importantly, she has no charts and little food and water. If she doesn’t run aground, or blunder into a mine field, her crew will be forced to give up.”

  “And if not?” Hitler said, eyes sharp as flint.

  “Then we will destroy her. No one can escape from the German Navy’s relentless pursuit. To resist is to die. That is the message that we will leave with our enemies.”

  Göring couldn’t surpress a cackle of laughter. “Bravo,” he mocked, clapping his hands. “Your speech writers should be commended.

  Hitler, however, did nothing. He stared another moment at Dönitz, and then stood “It was a wonderful plan,” he said. “I like it when my officers take risks for the glory of the Fatherland.” As he ended his words, his eyes fell on Göring , who immediately grew silent.

  “Than
k you, sir,” Dönitz said, cautiously.

  “I’ve ordered the Generalfeldmarschall to help out as much as possible, just in case, of course, your navy is unable to capture or destroy that submarine crewed by those Polish mongrels. Amazing how resourceful animals can be when cornered, don’t you think? I can’t imagine it will be a problem, but they’ve already surprised you once. I hope they don’t do it again. I expect you to keep me informed.”

  Dönitz stood, bowed and clicked his heels subserviently in response. “Yes, mein Führer.”

  As Dönitz left, he paused at the door, glanced back at Göring . The fat air marshal was now leaning over the German leader’s right shoulder, eyeing maps spread out across the Führer ’s desk. Göring looked up and winked. Dönitz marched out.

  A half an hour later, Dönitz was reading a message from Ritter. He was suggesting something that Dönitz was already considering. Eventually, the Eagle had only way to go and still remain part of the war: out the Baltic and west to England. Ritter was asking for a picket of ships to guard the escape from the Baltic along with a personal request to be assigned to one of them. Dönitz knew the Kriegsmarine didn’t have that many to spare, but he could probably get enough cruisers, destroyers and minelayers and then fill in any gaps by temporarily swallowing his pride and asking for Göring’s help with reconnaissance flights. Between the two of them, they should be able to spot the Eagle and sink her, if it came to that.

  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.