Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Gdynia,” Stefan said.

Talli shook his head. “Ah, I think no longer. The Germans will have taken it by now.”

Stefan noticed a hint of change along the eastern horizon. Daylight soon, and then the hunt would begin in earnest. Most German ships would be far to the southwest. Not so the planes of the Luftwaffe . They would be combing the skies above them at first light. Eventually, if they were to escape the Baltic, they would have to make their way southwest. But not yet. That is what they would expect. “Can you take us northwest?”

Talli nodded, smiling. “Yes, I know those waters very well,” he said. “Almost all the way to Sweden. I began fishing it as a boy.”

“Another goddamn fisherman,” Stefan laughed. “I knew there had to be another reason why I liked you. Northwest it is then. And how do you like Swedish cooking, commander?”

“My favorite,” Talli replied.

“Good,” Stefan said. “That’s where we’ll drop you and your buddy off then. No sense you getting killed along with the rest of us. In the meantime, I rely on you, commander, to get us there. We are in your hands. And, of course, if you happen to make a mistake and lead us aground, I promise you that I will throw you overboard and make you pull us free with your teeth.” Stefan was smiling as he said the words, but their was no humor to them.

“He said that to me, too,” Kate interjected with a soft laugh. “First time we met. I’m not sure I’d believe any of that throw-you-overboard business.”

But Talli understood very well what Stefan was saying. Even so, he didn’t hesitate. He picked up the speaker tube. He motioned to his right. “Last buoy. Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead,” Stefan said.

“Helm. Set new course at one-eight-three. Both engines ahead full.”

Who the hell is that?” came the sharp response.

“Our temporary pilot,” Stefan said, squatting over the hatch opening and yelling down at the men in the control room. “Do as he says until I say otherwise.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Say, commander, think you can handle it solo for a few minutes?”

In fact, Talli could barely contain his excitement. Piloting a submarine. Who could have imagined the inexplicable turn of events that had brought it about? He didn’t dare speak, so he nodded, smiling gratefully.

Stefan slapped him on the shoulder. “Very well. You have command. I’ll be meeting with my officers below. Back in ten minutes. No longer. Sing out if you get in over your head.”

“Aye, aye.” Talli snapped to attention and saluted.

Stefan chuckled. “No, I think I need to thank you. Get us through the obstacle course facing us, and maybe I buy you a beer after the war, eh?”

Talli doubted it was a promise that would ever be kept, but he nodded at the gesture. “Yes, I would like that very much indeed.”

Stefan started down the hatch opening, and then hesitated. “Are you coming, Miss MClendon? You may want to hear this. You know, for your story.”

They met a few minutes later, the Eagle’s officers, and Kate and Reggie, were crowded into the galley and spilling out into the passageway. Stefan stood, one foot up on a chair. Despite their recent success, there was no celebrations. The group was quiet, fully aware of the risks before them. They waited for Stefan to begin. He didn’t need to hear the question that he knew was on everyone’s mind. It was written plainly on their faces: “What now?”

Stefan cleared his throat. Never one for eloquent speeches, he kept it simple and blunt. “And now our escape truly begins. We must decide. I have attempted to contact headquarters and heard nothing. I think we are alone in this. We have three choices, it seems to me. One, we surrender to the Germans.” The sudden angry headshakes, a couple of sharp nos elicited a grin from Stefan. “I didn’t think you’d go for that. OK then, here is the other two. We find another neutral port. We would be safe in Sweden, but the war would be over for us, I think. They will not want to anger the Germans by allowing us to escape. Or we try for France or England, and do what we can to continue the fight.”

Squeaky raised a finger in the air. “This may be obvious but I’ll throw it out anyway. How do we get anywhere without charts?”

Of course, that was a key problem. There was also the matter of only two torpedoes, and Stefan had also learned that while they had been held, the Estonians had offloaded most of their food and water. Even with short rations, they could go a couple of weeks at the most. No more than that.

The immediate concern, however, was navigation charts. While on the bridge, he had come up a solution, of sorts. It was crazy, though probably no crazier than what they had just successfully carried out, and it was the best he could come up with. Stefan pushed his cap back on his head. “No charts,” he said, “really!” He began tapping his forehead, his mouth dropping into a grin as he looked around the group.

The response was puzzled looks. Had their new captain gone daft? Kate, however, began to smile and nod. “Get out your crayons, boys,” she laughed.

“This is no time for uh, nonsense,” Squeaky said sternly, even though he wasn’t sure what a crayon was. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of Kate’s warm thigh pressing hard against his leg. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “This is serious…” he added, voice wobbling like a choir boy’s.

Kate elbowed him sharply in the side. “You think I’ve never sailed before, buddy boy? Well, think again. I know a thing or two about it. Don’t you see what he’s getting at?”

Silence. Stefan smiling, enjoying the befuddled looks on his men’s faces. Finally Eryk ventured into the hazardous waters. “You want us to draw our own charts?” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Exactly,” Kate and Stefan shouted in unison.

“Move that boy to the head of the class,” Kate added, giving Eryk a smile that turned him red with embarrassment.

“We are sailors, are we not?” Stefan said. “Some of us have sailed the Baltic for most of our lives. Now is the time to prove how good we are. Between us all,” Stefan interjected, “think of the thousands of hours we’ve spent on the Baltic, looking at navigation charts? We won’t get perfection, I know, but even something that is pretty good would help. What do you think, Eryk?” Stefan eyed his navigator. He needed his whole-hearted agreement. If he didn’t think it was possible, then there was only one choice: Sweden.

Eryk scratched the top of his head, squinting as he stared off into nothing. And then he shrugged. “Of course it can be done,” he said simply. “If that is what you decide, then I will do my best.”

It was a cautious response, but it was good enough for Stefan. “Then we have two options. Sweden or?…”

“Where do you say we go, Stef?” Squeaky interrupted.

Stefan stared intently above their heads, his eyes boring holes in the bulkhead. “Of course, if we all want to eat well, we go for France. But since I don’t care about pleasing my belly, and because I want to fight with the best Navy in the world, that means England. So I say this. We try to hook up with the British Fleet. And that means getting the Eagle out of the Baltic and into the North Sea….”

He let it hang there in the air between them, shimmering brightly in their imaginations like a Christmas ornament.

“Jesus,” Reggie whispered.

Kate glanced around the group. No one seemed willing to say out loud what the rest of them were thinking. She pushed back her hair, “Giddyup, cowboy,” she said.

“What?” Stefan said. He had seen enough movies to recognize the word cowboy but had no idea what the American idiom giddyup meant.