Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Good enough,” Stefan said with a nod of appreciation. “I don’t think Jerzy will mind…”

Parked behind a line of garbage cans nearby, it was easy to see it all.

Kate and Reggie watched Stefan hesitate, glance back at the Eagle , and then at the men with weapons at ready, closely watching his every move.

When his shoulder’s slumped with resignation and he climbed into the back of the truck, Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Of course, they had almost missed it happening. Kate and Reggie had been on their way back to their hotel when they’d passed the truck, loaded with armed sailors, racing in the other direction.

Reggie had watched Kate turn around in the seat, her brow furrowing. And then she was barking loudly in his ear: “Turn this piece of shit car around. We must go back. Now!”

“Aww, Kate,” Reggie had moaned. But he’d done what she wanted anyway.

“This is none of our business, Kate,” he said now. One more try, though he could tell by the grim look on her face that it wouldn’t do any good. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.” He revved the car’s engine impatiently.

“Not yet,” Kate snapped.

“What do you think is going on?” Reggie asked with a tone of resignation.

“I don’t know. But I think our Polish friends have just lost control of the Eagle . My, my. Who have we here?”

The black Mercedes, black, white and black swastika standards flying from the corners of the front bumper, came to a stop next to Eagle . First out was a round-bodied fat man dressed in an ornate black uniform. He was followed by a German officer. As the man stood, he glanced at the sky, and then gazed around the pier.

Both Reggie and Kate ducked lower. “Did you see who that was?” Reggie began to babble excitedly. “Hans—or whatever his name is—is a goddamn Nazi. Do you think he saw us?”

Kate stared at nothing for a moment, thinking hard. What was going on? Stefan and his crew arrested, the Eagle seized by the Estonians and now this, Hans, the Dutch engineer, transformed into a German officer. And then she smiled. “Of course,” she breathed. “Brilliant. Do you see what they’ve done? They managed to pick up a brand new submarine without firing a shot.”

“Grand theft submarine,” Reggie muttered.

“Exactly,” Kate said.

Reggie peaked out the window. Ritter and the other officer were no longer in sight. Time to go. He slipped the car into gear, backed quickly around the corner. Depressed the clutch, dropped the steering column shift into first and goosed the gas pedal. “That was close,” he said. “Definitely time to be gone. Our ship doesn’t leave for another day, but maybe we should go there now?…”

But Kate was already shaking her head. “Sorry, Reggie. We have a few things to do first. First stop, the British embassy.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Kate grinned. “Paying back a few favors,” she said, “and maybe adding a few more pages to the greatest stories of our lives in the process.”

“I like that sound of that,” Reggie said. “I think…”

Rear Admiral Karl Dönitz had no hobbies, though he sometimes allowed himself a few moments to fantasize about something far removed from submarines: flying a hot-air balloon. It was always the same place. He would be swinging in a basket below a brilliant white orb, drifting peacefully over the lush Bavarian landscape, the Alps smiling in the distance, the sky that intense color of blue that happens only once or twice each summer. No interruptions. No phones. Complaints, politics, conflict and death just bad memories. Most of all, except for the creak of the basket, the occasional roar of the burner, and maybe a faint moo or two from the cows grazing far below, it would be quiet.

“Warsaw is now surrounded.” The triumphant words brought him back to the moment.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Dönitz remarked.

“No, sir.”

“What are our casualties?”

“They are expecting only 10,000 dead.”

“Only?”

“I could be worse,” blurted the young officer.

Dönitz stared back. “Have you ever seen anyone die in combat?”

The officer shook his head.

Dönitz narrowed his eyes. “Sometime in the next few weeks, I expect you to visit one of the local military hospitals. While there, you need to talk with three soldiers. Find out what they thought of combat. And then I want to hear about it. Their names, ranks, and what happened to them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dönitz flicked his hand impatiently. “Anything else?”

“Just some news from Ritter, sir.”

Dönitz couldn’t disguise his eagerness. His eyes sharpened, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, go on…”

“He says everything is going according to plan. The Estonians have interned the vessel, and they have the Polish crew in custody.”

“When will we have control of the Eagle ?”

“Two days.”

“Is our crew ready to go?”

“They are awaiting orders aboard a freighter at anchor nearby.”

“Excellent!” Dönitz grinned. “Send my congratulations to the captain. Tell him I look forward to congratulating he and his men personally.”

“One more question, sir.”

“Yes?”

“He says the Estonians are asking for instructions about what to do with the Eagle’s former crew.”

Dönitz pressed his hands together. “I assumed the Estonians would turn them over to the Polish ambassador.”

The aide shrugged.

Dönitz sighed. Such a waste of good men. “If they are unwilling to turn them over to the Polish ambassador, suggest that they drive them to the border and hand them over to the Soviets.”

The officer clicked his heels together, saluted crisply, and then departed the office.

How did the Americans say it? Time to let the cat out of the bag. Of course, Dönitz didn’t doubt that Hitler already knew about his operation. He did little to hide his distrust of the military. Dönitz knew that a number of his own aides did double duty as informants for the Gestapo. At some point it might become a problem, but so far he made sure they reported what he wanted them to pass on. And now it was time to make Ritter’s capture of the Eagle official. Dönitz spoke into the intercom his desk. “Fritz?”

“Yes, sir,” came the immediate response.

“Get me a few minutes with the Führer. As soon as possible. Tell him I have a present for him… ”

“Sir? Wasn’t his birthday in April?”

Dönitz chuckled. He didn’t mind the correction. Fritz was just making sure Dönitz wasn’t embarrassed. “Just do as I say.”

“The Eagle’s wings have been clipped.”

Winston Churchill pointed his cigar at the speaker. I’m not in the mood,” he growled. “Speak plainly.”

The face of the man hovering in the doorway of the recently appointed First Lord of the British Admiralty reddened noticeably.

“Sorry, sir. You,uh, asked us to keep you apprised of the situation of the Polish submarine the Eagle .”

“Quite right, go on.”

“Word from our embassy in Estonia. She put in to Tallinn earlier today. A few hours ago, she was interned.”

“What?” Churchill roared with alarm.

“Their embassy has lodged a protest.”

Churchill snorted loudly. “All the good that will do. Their captain must be a fool. What of her crew?”

“Apparently, they are being confined. And here is the interesting news. We’ve learned that the Germans have some sailors waiting aboard a freighter in the harbor.”

“Bloody hell,” Churchill glowered. “The Eagle’s new crew?”

“Apparently.”