Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

“Flood the rear trim tanks,” Stefan barked. Eryk pulled two levers on the bulkhead. As he watched the needle on the gauges begin to climb, they all felt the Eagle settling at the stern. “Keep those engines going,” Stefan said.

Again they waited, bodies attuned to any sense of movement. Still nothing.

Stefan noticed that everyone in the control room was staring at him. They didn’t need to say a word. What next? It was clear on all their faces.

“Engines all stop,” Stefan said. “When’s high tide?”

Eryk dug around beneath the chart table. He pulled out a book that had tidal information for the entire Baltic. “At least they left us this,” he said, thumbing through it. “Who’d have thought it would come in handy. Ah, yes, here it is. He glanced at his watch, and then toward Stefan. “Hour and a half.”

“All right,” Stefan nodded. “Blow the stern ballast. For now, keep everyone aft. Every five minutes, we’ll try to pull off this thing. Hopefully, we can do it before the Soviets send visitors.”

“Sorry, Stefan,” Eryk said.

“For what?’

“My charts… I didn’t have this down…”

“Forget it. My fault. Your charts are fine and they’re still going to get us out of here alive. Don’t worry.”

But as Stefan climbed back up to the bridge, he was wishing he felt as confident as his words. In fact, they were in serious danger. The freighter had already contacted Soviet authorities. He was sure of that. Even now, pilots were probably scrambling to their planes, ground crews loading the racks with bombs.

“Look, they’re curious,” Reggie said, pointing to the approaching freighter. “Can’t imagine why they’re coming back. If it was me, I’d be high-tailing it out of here.”

“I’m sure the captain would like to do just that,” Squeaky said. “He’s probably been ordered back by his superiors. If he disobeys, he gets a first-class ticket to Siberia.”

The freighter circled the submarine at a safe distance, tracked the entire way by the deck gun crew. They were willing to try a shot, but Stefan shook his head. “It would be like spitting grapes at an elephant,” he said.

After fifteen minutes, the freighter’s signal lamp began to flash, and then the vessel resumed her course toward Helsinki.

“What did they say?” Kate said, looking up from her notebook where she had been writing furiously, her eyes wide.

Stefan couldn’t help chuckling. “Their captain said he was sorry for our misfortune and wished us all a speedy trip straight to hell.”

“My word,” Reggie said, taking another photograph of the departing vessel. “What does he mean by that?”

The water at the Eagle’s stern began to froth again. There was a shriek of metal, a slight sense of movement, and that was it. “Almost,” Squeaky said under his breath.

Stefan wasn’t paying attention. He was scanning the northeast horizon. He saw them at the same time as the lookouts. “Planes,” they yelled in unison.

“That’s what they meant,” Stefan said, pointing. “If we don’t get off this rock in the next ten minutes, we’re dead.”

There was a knock outside Ritter’s door. He suppressed a groan. After three nonstop days and sleepless nights, he had finally retired to one of the destroyer’s Spartan guest quarters, determined to get some rest. He had just pulled off his shirt and socks.

He pulled open the door. “Yes?”

The sailor took a step back, frightened by the look on Ritter’s face. The scarring didn’t help, either. “Here.” He thrust the paper into Ritter’s hand, and then scooted down the passageway.

Ritter unfolded the sheet. Another radio message. Soviets had found the Eagle . She was stranded in the North Baltic approximately 43 kilometers southeast of Helsinki. They were sending forces to neutralize her.

The antiseptic language didn’t disguise what was about to happen. Or what had happened already. Submarines, for all the fear they inspired, were still surprisingly fragile vessels. A destroyer or battleship could take on planes and survive the encounter. A submarine’s only protection was the deep. If the Eagle couldn’t dive or move, she was dead. It was as simple as that. She was probably already gone.

Ritter couldn’t help feeling disappointment. He had hoped to meet up with the crew again, deal with the submarine personally. And now that too had been taken from him.

As for Dönitz, he wouldn’t be happy to learn that Eagle was destroyed by the Soviets and not ships of the mighty Kriegsmarine . It was almost as bad as having one of Göring ’s planes do it.

Everyone in the conning tower watched the planes take shape, growing more distinct with each passing second. And then they heard them, a far off drone, like bees working in an orchard.

There were two of them. “They’re called the Illyushin IL-2M3,” Stefan remarked. “Should have four bombs each, plus machine guns.”

“How do you know that?” Reggie asked.

“Bedtime reading courtesy the staff at headquarters,” Stefan replied with a blank stare. “They actually thought the Russians would be the first to invade. Decided it would be good if all the senior officers new the difference between an Illyushin and a Yak. I always figured one could kill you just as dead as the other, regardless of what they were called. In any case, these pilots won’t do anything fancy. You two should go below.”

Kate shuddered. “Sorry. Like I said back in the harbor, I think if I’m going to die, I’d rather do it up here. I promise to stay out of the way. Hell, give me a rifle, and I’ll shoot at them myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Stefan said. “But we need everyone we can spare in the aft end of the submarine. Another few kilos might make all the difference. You boys, too,” he said to the lookouts.

Kate swallowed hard, decided the fierce look on Stefan’s face made it clear what he thought about an argument. She was the first to leave, disappearing down the ladder without another glance. Reggie and the rest of them followed her. “You, too,” Stefan said Squeaky. “And when you get down then, I want everyone to start racing back and forth between the fore and aft sections. Squeeze as far forward and back as you go. Keep at it until I tell you to stop. It might be enough to help wiggle us off the rocks.”

Squeaky didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

From then on, it became race between nature and plane. Each passing minute, the tide rose another few inches, while the planes flew a few kilometers closer to the Eagle . Stefan had no idea who would win.

The AA crew in the aft section of the conning tower had their guns swiveled in the direction of the approaching planes. “They’re Russians,” Stefan advised them. “That means they’ll come in low, lengthwise and vodka for everyone on the plane that sends one down our throat.”

The two young men at the gun tugged nervously at their gray helmets, licked their lips. Better here than in that iron coffin down below, Stefan knew they were thinking. From below, he could hear someone bellows and shouts, urging the dog-tired crew to keep going, all the way to the bow of the boat and then back again. And it was helping. He could feel a faint shift in the Eagle each time they ran back and forth down the passageway.

It would be close.

The Eagle’s engines roared constantly now, the seawater at the stern whipped into a frenzy, the exhaust floating near the surface like an early fog. The two Russian bombers wheeled around in front of Eagle , and then lined up on her bow, still four kilometers away, and began their approach. Stefan saw the bomb bay doors swing open. The AA gun behind him opened fire, flinging shells into the sky. It was too soon, but he didn’t say anything.