Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

The following freighter fired off distress flares, but instead of slowing to look for survivors, began taking evasive action, veering away from the doomed ship, her captain no doubt concerned that he was going to be the next one victim.

In his mind, Stefan could almost see what was happening in Gdansk. Rescue ships already scrambling to get out of port, along with sub chasers. They couldn’t be certain it was the Eagle . Perhaps there was another Polish submarine loose in the Baltic, or maybe the freighter had hit a mine that had become untethered? But they couldn’t take that chance. If the dying freighter’s captain had managed to send a message, he would tell them what had happened. Torpedo. To the north, German and Soviet warships would be veering south, their captains’ sleep interrupted by news of the attack on the freighter.

Stefan turned his back on the burning vessel, already thinking about the next target, a Soviet vessel. No sense letting the Germans get all the fun. Helsinki, Finland, a day and a half’s cruise north, was a destination port for Soviet materials. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a Soviet freighter or two. Another explosion underscored his decision.

“Just in, sir.” The junior officer saluted and then disappeared off the bridge.

Ritter scanned the message quickly. “Sonofabitch,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Pardon me?” sniffed the Leberecht Maass’s captain , Albert Funkt.

Ritter waved the message in his hand. “Report of a freighter sunk off Gdansk a few hours ago.”

“Hit a mine?”

Ritter shook his head. “Lookout recovered from the water reports seeing a submarine fleeing north. Wasn’t close enough to identify her.”

“The Eagle ?”

Ritter shrugged. “You count ’em. Three in Sweden. One sunk. Another in England. She’s the only one left.”

“But what is she doing there? I thought you said…”

“That she would try to escape,” Ritter finished for him. “Yes, I remember. And that’s what I still think.”

“Heading in the wrong direction, then.” After breakfast, the captain had reclaimed his chair on the bridge. He leaned back in his seat, uniform immaculate, and glanced knowingly at Ritter. “They are Poles. Now they will run for safety. Sweden, I think.”

Ritter shrugged. “You may be right, captain, but our orders stand.” He glanced again at the note. It also had news from Sweden. Two Estonians picked up on Gotland. The message indicated that they were the ones taken by the Eagle .

It had been Ritter’s idea to say that the men had been executed. Of course, it was just wishful thinking on his part. He hoped news of their murder would prevent the international press from hailing the Eagle’s crew as heroes. It had worked in Germany, but no where else. And now he wondered if anyone would remember that these Estonians were supposed too be dead. Too bad they had turned up in Sweden. If they had been picked up by the Germans, they wouldn’t have survived the night.

“Where can they go?” Funkt said. “No charts, is that right?”

Ritter nodded.

“It would be foolhardy to continue. Yes, if the captain is a reasonable man, they will turn themselves over to the Swedes.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Herr Captain.”

“How so?”

“Their captain is not reasonable.”

After destroying the freighter, the Eagle ran hard on the surface until morning until she was forced to submerge when lookouts spotted two distant warships, steaming down from the north. She remained hidden until the hydrophone operator indicated it was clear, and then surfaced again for another few hours until a lookout picked out a high-flying plane approaching from the southeast. Another crash dive, and then worry that they had been spotted. But no bombs were dropped, and Stefan finally decided it was clear. Back to the surface once again. That set the pattern for the day, a constant yo-yoing, diving at the first sign of anything, and then cautiously back to the surface, and full speed ahead.

Stefan spent most of his time in the control room, consulting Eryk’s charts, marveling again and again at their apparent accuracy, worrying about how best to attempt the narrow passage at The Øresund when the time came. Too shallow to run the passage underwater, they would be forced to do it on the surface at night. Daylight would be suicide. “Anyone know the maximum ebb tide flow through the passage at the Sound?” Stefan asked.

Cooky surprised them all by volunteering the information. He stood in the entry to the control room, balancing a tray of coffee cups on his head. “Eight knots,” he said, though I’ve seen it higher.”

“Thank you, Cooky,” Stefan said.

“Don’t mention it, sir. More coffee?”

“Not now.”

“What are you thinking, Stef?” Eryk asked.

“I’m thinking that if we’re very lucky, we’ll be able to float right by the Germans using the tide and our electric motors.”

The one break Stefan allowed himself was soon interrupted by Kate and Reggie, who found him sitting by himself in the galley. The submarine was quiet, hiding underwater from three planes picked up on the horizon and heading their way. The sound of the electric motors was a welcome change from the incessant roar of the diesels.

“Mind if we join you?” Kate asked.

Stefan was chewing on a piece of salami sandwiched between two slices of bread that were only partially covered with mold. He took a drink of coffee, motioned to the open chairs at the table.

Kate pulled out her notepad and pen.

“Business, I see,” Stefan said.

“I thought I’d better catch you when I can,” Kate said. “Mind if Reggie snaps your shot.”

Stefan was too tired to care. He glared across the table as Reggie set up his camera. “Say cheese,” Reggie said in English. Stefan frowned, not recognizing the English words. Reggie clicked the shutter. “Scary,” he said, pulling his head out from beneath the cloth. “Moldy bread. Nice touch. And those black circles beneath your eyes look permanent. You are a modern-day pirate.”

“I suspect that’s what the Germans must think of me,” Stefan said, smiling wickedly. “I hope you got my best side.”

“Didn’t know pirates had one,” Reggie laughed. “I suppose your mother will care, though.”

“My mother is dead,” Stefan said simply. “Long ago.”

“Oh,” was all Reggie could think to say. “I think I’ll go bother someone else.” Embarrassed, he gathered up his camera gear and scooted off down the passageway.

“When?” Kate asked.

“I was a boy,” Stefan said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“What about your father?”

“I didn’t have one.”

“I see,” said Kate.

“Do you?” Stefan said, tearing fiercely at the bread. “Do you really? Did you know your father?”

She nodded.

“And did you know he loved you, treasured you more than anything.”

She nodded again.

“As it should be. But that means you have no idea what it was like for me and those like me to grow up without a father.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb. “But I became strong and survived,” he rumbled.

Kate hadn’t bothered to write any of it down. She didn’t need to. Something about Stefan made him impossible to forget. She had a sense that even as an old woman, she would still hear his voice as fresh as it sounded at this very moment. “You’re right. You don’t know what you missed. Just a nagging sense of loss that haunts you. Me, my father is dead now. I knew he loved me, always did. And now he is gone, and I am haunted by what I had, and have no more except memories.”