Michael Wenberg - The Last Eagle

Stefan set them on a course almost due west toward the Swedish coastline. Deeper waters that direction, Eryk promised, still feeling guilty about running aground, though Stefan, and everyone else, assured him it wasn’t his fault.

Nothing elegant about the plan now. Feel their way down the Swedish coast, avoiding minefields, aircraft, and Swedish and German ships. Keep everyone sharp despite little food and water. And then wait for dark, sneak through The Øresund, and on into the North Sea. As soon as they were free of The Øresund, they would contact the British Fleet.

Stefan finished the apple, core and all, licked his fingers clean. It was quiet now. The destroyers moving off, out of range, or perhaps giving up. He glanced at his watch. Dark soon. And then a long night ahead of them.

There was a knock on the bulkhead. “Enter,” Stefan said.

Kate stuck her head past the edge of the curtain, and Stefan was suddenly aware of how he must look and smell. Her pale face looked freshly scrubbed. She had finally gotten rid of the dress and was now wearing clothes borrowed from the crew, a clean men’s shirt, khaki pants and shoes. She jumped as the explosions began again. They sounded like some faraway giant whacking the side of a grain silo with a log.

“Can’t get used to those,” she said sheepishly. “Don’t know how you stand it. I thought I was going to go crazy earlier….”

“Me, too,” Stefan said.

“You?”

Stefan nodded.

“Could have fooled me.”

Stefan shrugged, rubbed his burning eyes with his thumbs. “I’m the captain now,” he said wearily. “That’s my job. Just about pissed my pants, though, when I thought that bomber was going to drop a few high explosives down our throat.”

“Go on!” Kate exclaimed with a giggle and a shake of her head. She reached out and shoved him in the shoulder like she had often done when her first boyfriend teased her. There was a stretch of awkward silence after she realized what she had done. “Say, Reggie and I had an idea.”

“Now you want off?”

Kate’s eyes flickered with anger. “No, of course not. We’re with you and your men until the end.”

“Whatever end that may be,” Stefan finished for her.

“I’m an optimist,” Kate said, raising her chin.

“What’s your idea?”

“Eryk said we’re going to be staying close to the Swedish coastline, right?”

Stefan nodded. He motioned to a chair in the corner of the cubbyhole that masqueraded as his quarters. “Sit. Please.”

Kate shook her head. “Too jumpy,” she said, smiling an apology.

“Go on….”

“Well, we were wondering about making a Swedish flag, or sign, or something. Hang it from the conning tower, cover up the Eagle’s markings. Might not fool anybody, but on the other hand, if we’re surprised, it might give us some extra time.”

“Good idea,” Stefan said, smiling. “Thanks. Get a couple of the boys to help you. Might help them pass the time.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. You want to see it when we’re done?”

“Sure,” Stefan said.

“And what about that interview. When could we finish?”

The thought that had been dancing around the back of his mind ever since he had spied her in the pub in Gdynia jumped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it: “How about dinner with me when we get to England?”

Stefan watched Kate’s face change, thinking how much it reminded him of a spring sky, just when you get used to one look, it gives you another. He couldn’t read the one he was giving him now. She stared at him and then said, “I see underneath all the grime, you’re an optimist, too.”

Stefan said nothing.

“Okay,” Kate said. “On one condition.”

“You can finish the interview over dinner, if you like.”

Another flash of anger. “You presume too much,” she warned. “That’s wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Then what is your condition?” he said, stretching the last word out sarcastically.

“Dinner and drinks are on me,” Kate said, and then she was gone.

It was Reggie’s idea. “Why can’t you just move the damn thing,” he said out loud.

They were gathered in the control room a few hours later, the regular contingent of officers and crew, along with Cooky leaning in the hatchway. Stefan and Eryk we’re peering at Eryk’s hand-made charts, attempting to dredge up any missing details, arguing about the pros and cons of various courses.

Squeaky was restlessly prowling the crowded perimeter of the control room, lamenting for the moment the damage to the torpedo doors before moving on to other woes. “A moment longer, and we could have fired,” he said. “Then it wouldn’t matter what happened.”

That’s when Reggie wagged his finger in the air and asked his question.

Cooky’s response came with a sneer. He didn’t like the effete American and didn’t mind who knew it. Of course, Cooky didn’t like most everyone, particularly Brazilians, he was always quick to point out, though the actual reasons for picking on the natives of that particular part of the world remained a well-kept mystery. His apparent affection for Kate was one exception to his universal dislike. “Go ahead,” he said. “That damn fish just weighs—oh—1,600 kilos, give or take a few hundred. Yeah, by the look of your biceps, you could almost lug it to the aft torpedo compartment all by yourself.”

There was laughter around the control room. Stefan looked up from the chart, eyes bleary and red rimmed. He turned to Reggie. “What did you say?”

“He wondered why we don’t move that fucking torpedo aft,” Cooky interjected, laughing again with ill humor.

Reggie gave a wane smile and shrugged. “What do I know, eh?”

Stefan blinked slowly, his eyes feeling as if he had gravel in them. He was halfway surprised each blink wasn’t audible. Now that they were running for England, and, essentially, unarmed, he was particularly aware of their lack of torpedoes. That one still remained onboard, unusable, only add to the bitter taste in mouth. Why couldn’t they move it to the aft torpedo room? Of course. Now would be the time to do it, before they came closer to The Øresund. Under cover of darkness, in a calm sea, it would be tricky, but not impossible.

After days of close proximity, Squeaky was watching Stefan closely, aware of every slight change in his mood. “Nah, nah,” he said, “that would be a very bad idea.”

Stefan looked blandly at Squeaky.

“I know you’re thinking about that torpedo, moving it aft. Am I right?”

Stefan didn’t respond, he just continued to stare at Squeaky.

“It can’t be done. Not now. The crew is exhausted, you’re exhausted, and you expect to get it done out here in the middle of the Baltic? OK, OK, it’s not impossible, it’s just that it would be very, very difficult. It’ll be slick as a baby killer whale, and just as heavy… the deck will be like an ice rink… I suppose we could rig some sort of pulley system above deck, but then we’d have to wrestle it aft, and reverse the process… like I said…” His voice finally ran out of steam. A look of resignation washed over his features. Still Stefan said nothing. “Aw shit,” Squeaky submitted finally. “OK, we’ll move it. I’ll get the strongest men, just tell me when.”

Stefan glanced at his wristwatch. “How about now?”

The Eagle surfaced at dusk; her diesel engines coughed to life and began recharging the batteries, though her screws remained motionless. There was a slight breeze coming from the east. Though the surface was roughed by a sharp chop, the Eagle barely moved. It was about as close to perfect conditions as one could find in September fall in the middle of the Baltic.