Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

When he finally stopped, he had to wipe his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Roosevelt,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed with so much pleasure.”

“You’re welcome,” Kate replied, her eyes narrowing.

“Under the circumstances, why would I have any objections to interviewing my crew. Just don’t interfere with their duties. You’ll agree with me that there’s no sense in having us all get killed because one of my boys is paying more attention to you than to their jobs. Of course, I’ll need to double-check with the captain. If he says otherwise, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m sure you will,” Kate said, giving him a warm smile. She wrinkled her nose, looking up at the spaghetti of pipes and conduit on the ceiling. “What’s that smell? Salami? God, is that it? Did you know, Mr. Petrofski, that there’s meat hanging from pipes in the ceiling. Bags of onions, too. It’s like the corner grocer from Hell in here.”

“I’m sure you’ve notice that space is precious on a submarine,” Stefan said. “And now, I must get to the bridge.” His eyes lingered for a moment on Kate, and then he carefully brushed past her.

“What about that interview with you?” Kate said.

“I’m a nobody,” Stefan said. As he continued on down the corridor, he reached into his pocket, felt a warm, greasy hunk of meat in his pocket, leftovers from his visit to the captain. He’d forgotten all about it.

“Where are we?” Ritter asked.

Chief K didn’t look up from the gauges. “Somewhere off Gdansk. We’ll sit on the bottom till dark, and then see if we can’t bag us a few Germans.”

“How does everything look?” Ritter was squatting on the deck next to Chief K. They were both watching Ritter’s men clean up, using already filthy rags as best they could. Their clothes and faces were still streaked with grime. Ritter had some bread and meat for them when they were done. He was famished, as well, but he would wait and eat with them.

“So far, so good,” Chief K grunted with satisfaction, flashing yellowed teeth in Ritter’s direction. “You boys finally did the trick.”

Ritter nodded, returned the smile. Fool. During the preceding weeks, when they had been doing everything they could to keep the Eagle in port, he had been easy to distract and when that didn’t work, they had simply appealed to his vanity. He would set down the wrench, ignoring what was going on, and the begin a long discourse on some obscure topic or long-ago experience that only he cared about.

The pimply-faced boy watching behind them, however, had been another matter. He was like an unwanted shadow, observing everything they did, rarely said a word. Probably nothing more than a dumb farm boy, nonetheless, he had made Ritter uneasy. He still did, though this time, instead of sabotaging equipment, they were repairing it.

“You there, boy, run get us some coffee, would you?”

The boy looked at Chief K, who flicked his hand with impatience. “Yes, yes, get to it.”

Jerzy Rudzki swung down from the pipes and padded down the passageway. As he moved away, Ritter noticed he was wearing tattered, blood-stained socks.

Chief K noticed Ritter’s glance. “Won’t take ’em off. A little slow, I think. Follows me around like a pet rooster, you know. But a good boy.”

Ritter feigned a smile.

Stefan trained his binoculars at the distant glow along the southeastern horizon that marked the port city of Gdansk. What interested him, however, had nothing to do with the city. It was the dark shape silhouetted against the light. A ship. At least 10,000 tons by the look of her. Their first target.

Stefan glanced at his watch. He had just heard from the captain about a meeting at sea with a Polish Navy motorboat. Unusual timing. What was so important it couldn’t be handled by a radio message? He wondered. Of course, the fact that the captain hadn’t shared any details only added to Stefan’s growing frustration. But that meeting was still three hours away. They would have plenty of time to skewer this fat pig of a German freighter and make it to their planned rendezvous. No escorts in sight. Just like the Germans. Overconfident to a point of arrogance, or stupidity. And definitely German by the look of her. They would get closer before firing, but Stefan didn’t need the confirmation. He knew it in his bones.

He spoke briefly into the speaker tube. “Get the captain,” he said. As a tingle of excitement warmed his belly, he brought the glasses back to his eyes.

After escaping from Gdynia, the Eagle had zigzagged for nearly two hours in a northeasterly direction, protected from German aircraft flying high above by the fog’s gray shroud. By mid-morning, however, the fog began to thin. Stefan ordered the decks cleared, and the Eagle submerged, taking refuge in the black-green depths of the Baltic. Under battery power, and at a much slower 2 knots, Stefan changed course, south toward Gdansk. She had cruised in this direction until mid-afternoon. He had ordered all stop, and the Eagle had settled quietly, 15 fathoms below the surface, waiting here until nightfall.

The captain joined Stefan and three lookouts on the bridge. He was breathing heavily from the climb up the ladder. Stefan slipped the binoculars from around his neck and offered them to the Captain.

Sieinski took them without comment. “What do you have?” he said weakly.

In the pale red light of the conning tower, Sieinski looked ghastly. Despite the chill, his face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. His lips were purple and the garish bruise on his forehead had mushroomed into a multi-hued stain that began at his eyebrows and disappeared under his hair line. Holding the binoculars seemed to much. His hands were visibly shaking.

“Vessel off the port bow, moving slowly. Ten thousand meters. Doesn’t seem too worried about us. Looks like a freighter. Low in the water. She’s loaded with something.”

“Anything else?”

Stefan shook his head. “I recommend we move in for a closer look.”

Sieinski chewed on his lower lip. He peered through the glasses again, breathing shallowly. “Three hours until we meet the M10.”

“We have time,” Stefan replied hastily, alarm bells beginning to go off in his head. Sieinski couldn’t be thinking that they should let this ship pass by unscathed, unchallenged?

Sieinski lowered the glasses and stared at Stefan. “When I want advice, I’ll ask for it.”

“She’s probably a German freighter. You can tell by the pattern of lights along the bow. Just our luck she’s out here alone.”

Sieinski began to cluck his tongue. “So there we have it. We don’t have the time. And even if we did, I still wouldn’t want to risk an attack going bad and miss our rendezvous with M10.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Stefan didn’t bother to keep the tone of disdain from his voice. “We’re at war and there’s a potential target…”

“I thought I was clear enough, Mr. Petrofski,” Sieinski barked. “Bring us about and let’s head for our rendezvous point.”

“But, sir!”

Sieinski shook his head and sighed. “I know, I know,” he said in a voice one might use with a child or an idiot. “I want to attack, too. But the best hunter has a cold heart. And if by some chance that freighter is German, she will radio for help as soon as we attack. With the coordinates they provide, we’ll have destroyers chasing us in short order. I don’t want to risk our meeting with M10. Does that make sense?”

Stefan choked back a hot retort. He didn’t need this inexperienced blueblood explaining risk to him. “Aye, aye, sir,” he managed to mumble.

Sieinski handed the binoculars back to Stefan. “Get me when we find the M10.” He disappeared down the hatch.