Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

Stefan watched the sailors hustling across the deck below, his eyes burning with fatigue and nagged by a growing sense of uncertainty about their fate and future. He wondered how long they would be able to survive, hunted by the Kriegsmarine . They were all just one mistake away from transforming the Eagle into a coffin. Stefan couldn’t hide the grim smile that split his bearded face. With Sieinski in command, it would be a miracle if they lasted the week. And the fault would be his alone.

There was a small crowd on the pier, a brave few willing to venture out to see the submarine off despite the threat of more German air attacks. The old man who had brought the meats in the middle of the night was waving a huge red and white Polish flag. “Good hunting, Eagle ,” he screamed hoarsely. “Bring us back some German heads!”

It took the tugboat only a few minutes to pull the Eagle far enough out into the bay so she could maneuver on her own. Stefan leaned over the edge of conning tower and signaled the bow crew. They cast off the tug’s line, and it backed quickly away, signaling her goodbye and good luck with a blast from its whistle before wheeling around and steaming off in the other direction.

“Your orders, sir,” Stefan said. He had the brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes. His eyes scanned the water ahead. Both hands clasped the Zeiss binoculars hanging against his chest.

Sieinski stood motionless, a slight figure next to the big-boned bulk of his executive officer. He was still hatless, despite the bite in the early morning air. The blow to his head had made it impossible to fit his cap over the swelling without some discomfort. A breeze tousled his thinning hair, the pale skin around his eyes tight as he scanned the morning sky.

“Sir?” Stefan said again.

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Orders?”

“Yes, of course. Take us out. I double checked with Hel. We’re to patrol the Gulf of Gdansk. You there, stay sharp!” Sieinski directed an angry stare at the young gunner sitting behind the Bofors AA gun in the aft part of the conning tower. His hands were up in the air, his face bright with excitement, waving at the crowd on the pier. At the captain’s shrill reprimand, his expression froze and then disappeared completely, his eyes immediately drawn skyward.

“Aye, aye,” Stefan said dryly. He pulled the speaker tube up to his mouth. “Ahead slow. Port five degrees,” he relayed to the helmsman in the control room below decks.

“I suppose I owe you my thanks.”

Stefan shrugged. He didn’t want to be reminded of the evening. His legs still ached from the marathon up to the hotel and back again, and something still smelled vaguely of vomit. It was probably his boots.

“I suppose you met Marie?”

“Yes, sir,” Stefan said. “An interesting woman.”

Sieinski gave a coarse chuckle. “Yes, indeed. I suppose you could say that.”

“She was worried about you,” Stefan said.

“Of course she was,” Sieinski said lightly. “By the way, I can’t find my overcoat. I don’t suppose?”

“Sorry, sir. Don’t recall whether I managed to grab it or not.”

Sieinski’s gave Stefan an appraising glance. He had always been careful about his personal habits. Damn bad luck the Nazis would pick the previous night to attack. Hard to tell with this one, he thought. Despite his reputation, Stefan had kept his emotions under wraps, though Sieinski could tell he was seething over being skipped over for captaincy of the Eagle . But life wasn’t fair. And resentment was something Sieinski could use. He was always good at sniffing out the weakness in an adversary, turning it to his advantage. Of course, it was a mistake to have gotten so out of control at the party. Perhaps Stefan was considering how to use that fact to his advantage. Who could fault him? It is what Sieinski would do in his place. But that was the difference between the two.

“Leave something important behind, Captain?” Stefan asked. He was peering through the binoculars, his lips set in a straight line.

Sieinski smiled. Careful now. “Yes and no. A gift from my dear mother. Expensive. Worth a year’s pay.” He watched Stefan’s lips thin as he finished the sentence: “…for someone like you, but that was his only response. Not bad, not bad at all, he thought. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter. Marie will take care of the coat. Or perhaps it will find its way onto the back of someone who needs it more than I.”

“That is an admirable sentiment, sir,” Stefan said.

Sieinski glanced sharply at Stefan, ready to pounce. But he gave no indication that he meant anything else other than the compliment. Yes, indeed, Sieinski sniffed, it was an admirable sentiment. And if the poor slob discovered what he had left in the pocket, what would it matter? It was war now. He had told Marie he could give it up at any time. But could he? He supposed that now he would discover if it was bluster or true. It was the kind of test his father would have loved. He could almost hear his father’s remark: “It’ll be a test of character.”

Yes, it would.

Both men turned their heads in unison. There was a distant popcorn crackle to the southeast. Antiaircraft shells blossomed like flowers in the early morning air, and then began marching from the horizon toward the Eagle .

“Goddamn Germans,” Sieinski hissed.

Stefan glanced at the boy, Henryk, and the other gunner behind them. He noted with satisfaction that they had already rotated their gun in the direction of the approaching aircraft. Stefan reached for the speaker tube, glanced at the captain. He was frozen in place, hypnotized by the approaching aircraft.

“Take us up to flank speed,” Stefan said.

“Sir?” came the puzzled response.

“Do as I say,” Stefan snarled. “And on my mark, set a new course. One-four-five degrees. Prepare for evasive maneuvers. Ready? Mark.”

As the roar from the submarine’s diesels deepened, the wave at Eagle’s bow rose sharply and then parted, foaming white. Despite the previous night’s attacks, the harbor was still filled with enough freighters and other vessels of every size and disposition to make even a normal passage to open sea tricky. At full speed, it was foolhardy at best. Stefan, however, wasn’t prepared to be an easy target. He glanced at Sieinski, but he was still captivated by the approaching aircraft, mouth open. Stefan knew the feeling. He doubted that Sieinski had ever experienced the thrill and horror of knowing that someone was about to try and kill him.

“Here it comes,” Sieinski shouted, pointing to the approaching shadow.

It was a single plane. He snuck a quick look, and then returned his gaze to the obstacle course ahead of them. Messerschmitt. ME109, he thought they called it. The aft gun opened fire, barking rhythmically. And then it was roaring past them, banking gracefully and climbing steeply into the sun, a tracer trail, too slow to catch it, marking its path.

“It didn’t attack!” Sieinski exhaled with astonishment, turning to Stefan. “It didn’t attack.” The relief was almost too much for him. He clutched the edge of the conning tower, his mouth open, breathing heavily, shaking his head.

“Port 10 degrees. Now,” Stefan barked. The Eagle heeled over, the bow turning away from the side of a barge directly in their path, low in the water, burdened by a small mountain of gravel. The astonished men who had been sitting on the gravel flanks, holding shovels in their hands, watched the dagger prow of the Eagle turn away, waved and shouted as they passed. Stefan couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at his mouth. Probably thought they were crazy, or terrified. Might be a little of both, he imagined. But he had no intention of slowing down even if Sieinski ordered it. There would be more planes. And soon. They wouldn’t be safe until they made it to deeper water.