Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Ever the gentleman, Mr. Petrofski. Please, don’t hurry on my account. I was enjoying the,uh, show. What was the name of that tune? It sounded familiar.”

“Polish folk tune,” Stefan said briskly. “I see you are situated?”

Kate nodded. Thanks to the American embassy. A couple of secretaries that happen to be my size. And you and your men. You and the captain left before we could say thanks….”

Stefan bobbed his head with embarrassment. Such a lovely, tough woman, he thought. Another time and another place it might be different. “My pleasure,” he said wistfully.

They were spared the need for any further conversation by a shout from the aft of the boat. Chief K was half out of the hatch, motioning rapidly with his arms, his face white as bread flour. “Come, come quickly,” he choked, and then he slipped back inside the Eagle .

Stefan gave Kate a puzzled glance. “I’ll be right back.” He grabbed his hat, trotted across the slick wood deck to the aft hatch and then slid down the ladder. He found Chief K sitting on the floor next to the opening to the battery compartment. He was holding his head in both hands, rocking back and forth, moaning.

“What the hell is wrong? I thought you’d gone?”

Chief K looked up, his face wet with tears, snot messing his upper lip. “I … I was looking for Jerzy…”

Stefan shook his shoulders. “What is it?”

Chief K began patting the battery compartment hatch with his open palm. “That poor boy. That poor, poor boy….”

“Oh, dear,” Kate said, stepping off the bottom of ladder, kneeling next to the chief, embracing him with her arms. Chief K leaned his head on her shoulder, began sobbing like a child.

“You shouldn’t be down here!” Stefan said sharply.

“Not that again,” Kate retorted. “I suggest you see what’s there.”

Stefan pulled open the battery compartment hatch, then reeled away from the stench that billowed out of the hold and filled the engine room. Kate and Chief K turned their faces and began to gag.

“Kee-rist,” Stefan said, pulling his T-shirt over his nose, and then leaning over the opening again.

There were any number of ways to die aboard a submarine. Bad luck. Stupidity. Mechanical failure. One of the most feared, however, was a problem with the batteries. The Eagle’s batteries weighed 50 tons, held in two compartments under the decks. If they happened to get flooded with saltwater, the resulting chemical reactions produced chlorine gas. If it happened while the boat was underwater, the results would be catastrophic.

The first thought that flashed through Stefan’s mind was that this smell was chlorine and they needed to get off Eagle quickly, but as his brain began to classify the various organic molecules that he had detected, he quickly realized it wasn’t chlorine after all. In fact, it was a smell like no other: decaying human flesh.

Chief K began to vomit. Eyes watering, Stefan peered into the hold. He couldn’t miss it. A body. He stared at the clothes, the bloated face. Hard to tell who it was. And then he noticed the bare feet, soles bruised and scabbed. He pushed the hatch back in place. “Come on,” he said to Kate and Chief K.

In the clear air topside, Kate was the first to recover. “Who is it?” she asked, the reporter in her going to work. She reached for the notebook in her purse.

“The farm boy,” Stefan replied. “Jerzy. Chief, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Huh?” Chief K replied dully.

“Jerzy!” Stefan barked sharply, glaring down at the man. “He’s one of your men. How long has he been unaccounted for?”

Chief K recoiled as if slapped. “I… I … dunno exactly.”

“Think, man.”

“Yesterday. Yeah, that’s it. Maybe, midday. Left him tinkering. I went to get some shuteye. Then we surfaced, and everything got busy. Hans said he was sick. Flu or something. I didn’t think anymore about him.” The chief grabbed his head, began moaning. “What the hell was he doing down there. He should have known better. I should have watched him….”

Stefan motioned for one of the sailors on the deck. He had him take Chief K aside.

“I don’t understand,” Kate said. “How could something like that happen? And he’s been there the whole time while we?…”

“I’m sorry,” Stefan said. “You need to go. I must contact our embassy, get someone to look at the body.”

“Wait,” Kate protested.

Stefan shook his head, began leading her to the gangplank. “Please don’t make this difficult,” he said. “I’m very pleased to have met you, Miss Kate Roosevelt. Maybe we shall see each other again.” He turned and disappeared into the boat.

“I’ll take that bet, sailor,” Kate said.

“My dear captain, you look much better, if I may say so.” Ritter stood and smoothed down the front of his uniform.

Sieinski looked out from beneath his towel, glanced with surprise around the room, and then back at Ritter. Steam still billowed out of the bathroom behind him. There was a slosh of water, and a woman’s giggle.

“What the hell?…” Sieinski said, reaching back and closing the door.

Ritter pointed to small pile of white powder on the table. “Refreshments and a bath and some recreational activities. You must feel like a new man. I must say you look like one.”

Sieinski blinked, recognition suddenly flaring across his face. He flung the towel aside, pulled his robe tightly around his waist and marched up to Ritter. “Who are you?” he said, jabbing a finger in front of Ritter’s nose.

In anyone else, Ritter would have admired the man’s composure. In this one, it was simply poppy-based courage. Ritter clicked his heels together. “Let me formally introduce myself. Fregattenkapitän Peter von Ritter of the German U-Bootwaffe . Under normal circumstances, I would then say ‘at your service.’ But really, the point of my visit, is to say, you are at my service.”

“ Eagle ?” Sieinski said with alarm.

“Aren’t you the sharp one, Captain. Indeed, Eagle .” Ritter glanced at his watch. “Right about now, Estonian officials are interning your vessel.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? The Eagle is a wonderful vessel. The Third Reich needed it. And so…”

Sieinski began to nod. “It has been you all along. The mechanical problems. The delays…”

“Of course, Captain,” Ritter cut in smoothly. “I never figured you for a stupid man. Distracted, but not stupid. We had to prime the pump of your gullibility. Convince you of the fragility of your new vessel. It wasn’t too difficult.”

Sieinski visibly sagged. He stepped away from the German officer, slumped into the chair. “My ship,” he whispered.

“Actually,” Ritter said, finger in the air, “my ship now.”

Sieinski struggled to rise, his face contorting in rage. Ritter stepped forward, pushed him back into the chair.

“And now we meet to discuss your fate, Captain.”

“What do you mean?” Sieinski said dully. His glance drifted over to the cocaine on the table.

“Soon enough, Captain,” Ritter purred, “I will leave you to your vices. But first you must do something for yourself and your men. Your ship is no longer under your command. But you still have men to lead. I’m told the Estonians are willing to send them home—and we will guarantee them safe passage—but only under your command. If not, their fate is uncertain, as is yours…”

“I need time to think,” moaned the captain.

“No time,” Ritter barked. “The fate of you and you men rest in making a decision at this point. Your father is also waiting to hear from me. Your cooperation will go a long way toward demonstrating the kind of cooperation we will expect from him and his rich friends when we complete our conquest of your country.”