Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“So it’s war?”

“Looks like it,” Kate replied, not really caring. If it was war, it would be far away from this peaceful place and moment. She heard frogs croaking, saw a big trout swirl its tail near the surface, leaving ever-expanding rings of shadow and light behind.

“You gonna head over there to cover it?”

Kate shrugged.

“Reporter’s gotta be where the action is. Don’t let them use ‘female’ as an excuse to keep you away from the show. That’s how you make a name for yourself. How I did. I was there when Babe pointed to the outfield and whacked it, you know.”

“I remember, Daddy,” she sighed happily. It was a story she’d heard a million times and would have traded anything to hear it a million more.

“Miss me, Kate, girl?”

“More than you can ever know.”

“But I do know,” he father said, a broad smile warming his face.

Kate leaned into the oars, enjoying the rough feel of the wood on her hands and the motion of her body. She’d always loved rowing, especially at this place, the pond on her grandparents’ farm in upstate New York. She had spent a handful of happy summers here as a little girl. Once she made it to college, however, there never seemed to be enough time to come back for a visit. Kate took another stroke, pulling hard this time, jerking her daddy back and propelling the rowboat forward. She took a deep breath, and then wrinkled her nose. Skunk nearby, she thought. Couldn’t very well drop the oars and pinch her nose, so she drug the right oar deep in the water and let the boat pirouette around it. Probably better on the other side, she thought. She leaned forward, dipped the blades, and then pulled.

“What a stink,” her dad exclaimed, adjusting his hat with one hand. He reached in his pocket, lit a cigarette, and then exhaled. “That’s better,” he said.

Kate didn’t think so. Now it smelled like smoke and skunk. It was getting stronger, too. Her father didn’t seem to notice. He pulled on his cigarette, eyeing her carefully, sadly.

“Sorry, Kate, child,” he said.

“Daddy?”

“You be careful. And remember what I said about those fellas from the Dodgers.”

The dream dissolved like mist before a morning breeze. Kate coughed, and then winced as a sharp stab of pain lanced over the top of her skull. She sat up suddenly, banging her head on the bunk above.

“Holy Christ, Kate, keep still.”

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“On a Polish submarine,” Reggie replied, taking her hand.

“What’s the awful smell?”

“Welcome to the world inside the belly of the beast.” Reggie said, gesturing with his hands. “Now we get to know how Jonah must have felt. Where do you suppose all that stink goes when this thing is underwater?”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. Sanitary accommodations leave a little to be desired. I think they have one you-know-what on this place. One that I can find anyway.”

“How’d we get here?” Kate closed her eyes, touched her head. It was swathed in bandages. “I don’t remember much.”

“The doc or the cook—take your pick; he does both on this boat—thinks you have a concussion. He might even be right. You took a mighty whack on the back of the head. Fortunately some fellas intervened before they, uh…”

“Now I remember.” She fought back a need to vomit. She felt her nose. At least they hadn’t broken it again. “And where were you while I was getting the holy hell beat out of me?” Kate took a deep breath and winced. Bruised ribs, too, maybe broken.

“Trying to protect the camera equipment,” Reggie retorted hotly.

“So, you managed to save it?” Kate was feeling less groggy by the minute. The opportunity to be on a submarine in the middle of the war was enough to help cut through the fog.She’d been hoping to find a great story, one that would ensure that newspaper publisher in the country recognized her byline. Maybe this was it? Her growing excitement was even lessening the pain in her head.

“No,” Reggie replied glumly. “I tried. Indeed I did. But it was to no avail. In the end, I was overcome by superior force.”

Kate squinted up at Reggie and held her tongue. He looked so forlorn, so hopeless, she didn’t have the heart to berate him. Later, perhaps.

“Those other guys. Well, they came in too late to save the cameras, but boy did they stomp the shit out of hose hooligans ’scuse my French, see blue play.”

“You’re welcome,” Ritter said in heavily accented English, pushing beside Reggie and peering past the curtain that functioned as a door and into her room. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Kate crinkled her forehead. She knew this man from somewhere else. She just couldn’t remember where and when.

“You aren’t Polish?” Kate said.

Ritter shook his head and smiled. “No. Indeed not. Dutch. An engineer with the company that built this fine vessel. My men and I have been in town the past few weeks helping the Poles with a few,uh, problems. You may have seen me around.”

“So, you’re one of the guys who, who —”

Ritter bowed his head and smiled with real embarrassment. “It was what any man would do under similar circumstances,” he said.

Kate glared at Reggie. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I owe you—we owe you. Thanks,” she said, holding out her hand. “My name is Kate, and my valiant protector and partner over there is Reggie.”

“Very happy to make your acquaintances,” Ritter said, taking Kate’s hand, squeezing it briefly, “though I regret the circumstances. It is now war, you know.”

Kate nodded, more convinced then ever that this was going to make a great story. If, of course, they didn’t find a way to kick her off this boat..

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Ritter said, glancing down the passageway.

“I’ll be all right,” she said, tapping the side of her skull. “A Polish-Scottish noggin. Nothing harder.”

“Tough as nails,” Reggie said.

“I can see that,” Ritter replied with a smile. “Please. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. And now I must get back to work.” He touched his forehead in salute, and then disappeared.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Reggie said. “Saved our asses.”

“Uh-hmm,” Kate mused. Distinctive. That was the word that came to mind as she considered Hans. Definitely more there than meets the eye, and not just because of the scar on his face, though that in and of itself would make him someone worth remembering. She still couldn’t place him, her mind still fuzzy from the attack. “Wish I’d been able to get in a few kicks,” she mused, flexing her hands, “and maybe a right cross or two.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Reggie smiled and grabbed his crotch. “You did some damage,” he said in falsetto.

Kate couldn’t restrain a grin of her own, but even that hurt. “Gotta cigarette, Reg?”

“I don’t think you can smoke down here.”

Kate stuck out her lower lip, though she didn’t need to do anything to look even more forlorn.

“Don’t let them blame me,” Reggie grumbled, feeling the front of his jacket. He shook his head. “Want me to look around?”

“Would you?”

He disappeared out the doorway. Kate waited a minute, then sat up, held the side of the bunk until the waves of dizziness passed. No cameras. That was a problem. On the other hand, a first-hand account of the war from inside a submarine, that was a scoop no one could match. The fact that she was on a boat full of men wouldn’t hurt either. She could play up that part as well. The trick would be figuring how to stay put, and then get her reports off the submarine and on to London.

Kate glanced around the room. She’d seen bigger closets. She was sitting on a narrow bunk covered in a wad of blankets. There was blood on the pillow. At first, she wondered if the original inhabitant had had a bloody nose, and then she realized the blood was her own. Gray metal walls covered in girlie pictures. A spaghetti of cables, conduit and pipes choked the ceiling. There was a small writing table in the corner with a quilt thrown over the chair. It was a garish touch of home.