Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“You know, I think Veski and I would enjoy Gotland this time of year,” Talli announced as the Eagle’s wake began to curve toward the southwest, “if that is all right with you, captain.”

Stefan nodded, any thought of reply interrupted by a sudden appearance from Eryk, his head popping up through the conning tower hatch like a toy jack-in-the-box. “News from the BBC,” he said. “Thought you might like to hear it. The Soviet Union has joined the Nazis, invading from the east.”

“Those bastards!” Talli exclaimed, realizing immediately what was in store for his own country.

“And three of our submarines are now interned in Sweden,” Eryk continued, “one has rendezvoused with the British. They didn’t say which one. And you’ll like this. The Germans are reporting our escape. We’re famous, or infamous. They say we executed two Estonian guards and two officers in our escape, and in an unprovoked attack, destroyed a half-track, killing all of her crew onboard.”

And with that, Eyrk gave both men a sunny smile, disappeared down the hatch. He reappeared a moment later. “Oh, yes, the Germans also say we have sunk two unarmed passenger ferries. Hundreds dead. ”

Talli shook his head. “You’ve really upset them now. Next they’ll accuse you of a sneak attack on the Führer himself.”

“If only we could get a chance at that sonofabitch,” Eryk remarked.

Stefan was only half paying attention. Word of the Soviet Union’s entry in the war was bad news indeed, though not entirely unexpected. It didn’t change anything except for more quickly sealing Poland’s fate. There had been little hope with the Germans as the sole adversary; there was none at all with the Soviets.

But as he considered the news, he realized it also had direct bearing on the Eagle . It meant even more ships would be looking for them. Before Eryk could disappear a second time, Stefan asked: “How go the maps?”

“They go,” Eryk replied evenly. “And then he was gone.

For the thousandth time since dawn, Stefan scanned the horizon, stem of his pipe clenched between his teeth. “When will we arrive off Gotland?”

Talli thought for a moment, staring up at the sky for the answer. He shrugged. “Mid-afternoon, possibly nightfall. We’ve been making good time.”

“Yes, we have. My thinking exactly. Time to get back to work. He grinned at Talli, leaned into the speaker tube and yelled. “Emergency dive.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then three blasts of the diving alarm. “Clear the bridge!” Stefan shouted. The gun crews scrambled out of their seats, the lookouts tumbled down the conning tower ladder. Stefan waited for the bow of the Eagle to begin to dip below the surface before gesturing toward Talli. “After you, sir.”

Stefan dogged the conning tower hatch, slid down the aluminum ladder, and then waited, watching the second hand of his watch, listening to elaborate call and response between the diving officer, Squeaky, and the men around the control room:

“Bleed air.”

“Bleeding air, aye, aye.”

“Pressure in the boat.”

“Pressure, aye.”

“Green board.”

“Green board, aye.”

“Five degrees down bubble.”

“Aye, five degrees.”

“Twenty meters.”

“Twenty, aye.”

“Mark,” announced Squeaky when the depth gauge touched 20 meters.

“Not good enough,” Stefan said. “If a destroyer had been close, we’d be dead by now. He stood close to Squeaky. “Next time, I want everyone, and I mean everyone, who isn’t essential to the dive’s control crowd forward. Got it?”

Squeaky nodded with understanding. This was a trick he’d heard about but they had never practiced. The extra weight in the bow would help get the Eagle below the surface much more quickly.

“Okay, let’s surface and try again.”

Throughout the rest of the day, Stefan continued to drill the crew. The practiced a dozen dives and still Stefan wasn’t satisfied. When they were surfaced, he ran the deck gun crews through their paces, having them practice loading and firing. Of course, he drilled them not just for the sake of practice. It also kept their minds and their bellies off what the German’s were preparing for them.

Throughout the day, Stefan checked with the radio operator. Except for faint reports from the BBC’s Polish section, there were no messages from headquarters at Hel, or from any other Polish vessel, for that matter.

It seemed as if all of Poland had been swallowed by a monster, and only the Eagle and her crew were left behind.

“Can’t get over how healthy you two look,” Stefan laughed, “for dead men, that is.”

Talli grinned, his white teeth visible in the darkness, but the comment made Veski look even more worried than usual. He glanced around the deck, looking for sailors hiding with submachine guns. He was, in fact, half-convinced that Stefan was going to change his mind and machine-gun them both once the raft was a few meters away from the Eagle .

The Eagle was now drifting in quiet seas a few kilometers east of Gotland, the largest island in the Baltic. It was early morning, just over twenty-four hours since they had escaped from Tallinn harbor. In that time, the Eagle had covered nearly 300 kilometers. More importantly, no one knew where they were. They had gone that entire distance without being spotted by surface ships or aircraft.

There had been a slight break in the weather. The seas were almost gentle, slapping lazily against the Eagle’s gray flank like summer waves at the beach. Bobbing next to the Eagle was a yellow life raft, prevented from floating away by two crewmen who were holding the rope attached to a rubber ring sticking out like a baby’s binky along its lip.

“All right, then. Off you go. We’ve put some food and drink in your raft. You have your paddles.” Stefan squinted into the dark. In the distance, a pale smear of beach marked Gotland. He reached into his pocket and surprised Veski by pressing a couple of bills into Veski’s hand. “Treat yourself and Talli to a couple of beers when you find a pub, okay?”

Veski gave Stefan a suspicious look, glanced at the money in his hand, and then pocketed it. “Thank you,” he said.

Stefan motioned toward the raft. Veski climbed over the side of the conning tower, disappeared from sight. Talli lingered. He held out his hand. “Don’t forget that drink you owe me, eh?”

Stefan chuckled. “I won’t. And don’t forget what we discussed. I don’t expect it to fool the Nazis, but it might confuse them a bit.”

Talli laughed. “I will play my part like, how do you say, like a Rudolph Valentino.”

“Good enough,” Stefan said. “Luck be with you.”

“And with you, my friend.” A moment later, the raft began to move away from the submarine. Talli was paddling steadily, but Veski looked like he was trying to shoo away flies with his. Stefan almost felt sorry for Talli. At the rate they were going, it would be a number of hours before they reached shore. Time enough for the Eagle to be faraway.

Stefan met his officers and the ship’s cook in the control room. Kate joined them moments after he began, notepad in hand. She seemed almost cheerful in fact, flashing him a big grin as she entered the room like a fresh spring breeze.

“I think I’m almost getting used to the smells,” she remarked, taking the chair at the chart table hurriedly vacated by Eryk. “Must have been what it was like in the Middle Ages, walking the streets of any major city. You know what I mean? Open sewers. Rats. Filth. Ick.”

“How are the interviews going?” Stefan said, ignoring her commentary on the sanitary conditions of his boat.