Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Estonia?”

“That is correct. It is a neutral port.”

“But why?”

Stefan shrugged. “He believes the repairs our Dutch friends made to get us out of Gdynia will not hold.”

“And you?”

Stefan’s forehead creased. For just a moment, he felt a million years old. His voice cracked with fatigue when he replied. “My job is to follow orders. There will be time enough to hunt. I daresay a day or two won’t make much difference. Repairs can’t hurt. And, of course, the benefit to you is that we will have you safely ashore by morning.” The image of Kate taking a bath flickered through his mind. “You and your friend and the three engineers. Then we fix the Eagle , and rejoin our sister ships in the battle. If we are lucky, they have left some prey for us.”

“Oh,” Kate said, blinking at the sudden turn of events. She had never really worried about what would happen to them, not until the depth charges began. And then, like the rest of the crew, she wondered if they would ever get off the ship, or if it would become their tomb. She also hadn’t considered the problem she and Reggie and the engineers had created for the crew of the Eagle . How do you get rid of noncombatants, people in the way? War wasn’t a game that allowed timeouts, let you set aside the people who didn’t want to play, and then resume the contest. “I didn’t realize you were so anxious to get rid of us.”

Stefan let his breath out. “Even under the best of conditions, we live too closely together. Men, we are like rats, we adjust to it. But throw a female into the mix, even one that is supposed to bring us luck, and it can only go bad.”

“Don’t think I can handle it?” Kate said, hands on her hips, eyes hot. Well, it wasn’t me who peed her pants when this place started shaking….”

Stefan felt a wash of fatigue held up his hands in surrender. He was too tired to argue. Besides, he had never been good around women. They were too quick with their tongues. And he was always saying the wrong thing. He pushed back his chair and struggled wearily to his feet. “No, I didn’t mean that at all. In fact, I think there’s very little you couldn’t handle,” he said frankly.

On impulse, he took off his battered cap and placed it on her head. “And to demonstrate my sincerity, I dub thee Seaman Kate, the most official unofficial member of the crew with all the rights and privileges that come with that lofty status.”

Kate touched the hat and smiled. “Seawoman,” Kate corrected.

Stefan bowed deeply. “Whatever you wish, m’lady.”

“What about me?” Reggie leaned in. When he saw the hat on Kate’s head, he gave a knowing laugh.

“You can be a seawoman, too,” Kate said quickly.

Reggie elbowed her in the side.

Stefan took his time, leaned to one side to inspect the front of Reggie’s trousers and then nodded. “I suppose you pass the test, too,” he growled. “He changed them, right?”

“Probably,” Kate said with a laugh. “During the attack, he held my hand the entire time, you know, babbling like an infant.”

“I did no such thing,” Reggie protested hotly.

Kate started to hand Stefan’s hat back.

“No,” Stefan said, holding out his palms. “You keep it. A souvenir from the Eagle . Something to remember us by when you are back in comfortable New York City, U S of A.”

Kate opened her mouth but Stefan cut in before she had a chance to get going: “You said something about a tour. That is one of my duties as first officer and I have neglected it. How about I give you the official tour now? It should take five minutes or so. Not that much to see. We’ll start forward…. follow me.” He ducked through the doorway and then moved with surprising quickness down the passageway, not bothering to glance over his shoulder to see if Kate and Reggie were following. As Kate watched him from behind, he reminded her of a soccer player dribbling through a field of defenders. He quickly outdistanced Kate and Reggie. When they caught up to him a moment later, he was waiting in the torpedo room, arm draped over one of the tubes. He gestured around the cramped room. Brass pipes and fittings and valves and cables were everywhere. It looked the insides of a cathedral organ designed by Edgar Allen Poe. Even more remarkable, there were men sleeping right among the torpedoes that lined the walls. “This is about as far forward as you can go, unless you’re dead and we decided to jettison your body out one of the tubes.”

“Cheery thought,” quipped Reggie.

“As you may or may not know, there’s sixty of us,” Stefan said. “Four officers, four ensigns, three warrant officers, 15 petty officers, and 44 seamen, mechanics, engineers, techs and machinists. We’re all crammed into this iron tube about 84 meters in length.”

Reggie interrupted Stefan’s narrative with a loud yawn. Kate had paused along the way to pick up a notepad and a pencil. She stopped writing long enough to slap him on the arm. “Ouch,” he responded.

“Hope you don’t mind if I take some notes,” she said. “Please continue.”

“That tube can be looked at three ways,” Stefan continued, “as three sections, or four pressurized compartments, or seven watertight rooms. Each room has a watertight door that can withstand pressure equal to a depth of about 130 meters.”

“What happens if you’re deeper?” Kate asked.

“One hopes it never comes to that,” Stefan said dryly.

“But what if it did?”

“You pray,” Stefan said.

“Oh God,” Reggie groaned.

“Of course, the watertight compartments are designed to isolate an area with a hull breech, enabling the crew to surface the vessel and repair the problem. We’re in the torpedo compartment now. Four tubes. We carry twenty torpedoes. Extras are stowed below.” Stefan stamped on the deck. “The rest of this section includes bunks and living quarters, the captain’s room, wardrooms, sound and radio across from the captain and next to the control room. Follow me,” Stefan ordered, leading the pair back in the direction they had come.

As he moved down the passageway, he narrated the sights like a well-practiced travel guide. “Galley, petty officer’s quarters.” When they entered the control room, he paused. “This is the heart and soul and brains of the Eagle ,” he said with obvious pride, his gaze taking in the periscope, helm, compass, chart closet, valves, pipes, controls, dials, wheels, cranks, meters, and other mechanisms that controlled the ship. “And up there,” he pointed, “is the tower compartment and bridge.”

“Fascinating,” Kate said. Stefan glanced in her direction. He would take Reggie’s sarcasm, but not hers, but the bright look in her eyes and the nod she gave him indicated she meant it.

Stefan cleared his throat, tried to avoid Squeaky’s sharp gaze. He was watching the trio from the chart table, pencil tapping the enamel of his tooth. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking, Stefan thought. He’d hear all about it later, no doubt.

He waved for them to follow. “Aft section, here’s where you’ll find the motors, two diesel engines for running on the surface, and recharging batteries, two electric motors when we are submerged. There’s also one torpedo tube in case someone happens to be sniffing up our ass.”

Kate pointed to the bread in the well beneath the diesels. “Now I know why your bread tastes the way it does,” she said.

Stefan shrugged. “Not enough storage room. We find it where we can and then eat the fresh stuff in a hurry. Doesn’t take long to spoil down here.”

As Stefan lead them around a diesel motor, quiet now because they were underwater, they came across Ritter and his two comrades, Kolb and Bergen, sprawled across the deck. The two faux Dutch engineers Grimp and Grump were what the submarine crew had nicknamed them—were eating apples. Ritter was trimming his fingernails.