The Last Eagle (2011) (24 page)

“Actually,” Ritter said, finger in the air, “my ship now.”

Sieinski struggled to rise, his face contorting in rage. Ritter stepped forward, pushed him back into the chair.

“And now we meet to discuss your fate, Captain.”

“What do you mean?” Sieinski said dully. His glance drifted over to the cocaine on the table.

“Soon enough, Captain,” Ritter purred, “I will leave you to your vices. But first you must do something for yourself and your men. Your ship is no longer under your command. But you still have men to lead. I’m told the Estonians are willing to send them home—and we will guarantee them safe passage—but only under your command. If not, their fate is uncertain, as is yours …”

“I need time to think,” moaned the captain.

“No time,” Ritter barked. “The fate of you and you men rest in making a decision at this point. Your father is also waiting to hear from me. Your cooperation will go a long way toward demonstrating the kind of cooperation we will expect from him and his rich friends when we complete our conquest of your country.”

Sieinski stared blankly at the German. “My father? But they will blame me.”

Ritter shrugged. “That is the nature of men and their leaders. You are forced to make difficult decisions. And then held accountable for them. And so, your decision, please.” Ritter began to pull on black leather gloves.

Sieinski, face in his hands, nodded. “I’ll do what you ask. I have your word we will be treated safely?”

“One gentleman to another,” Ritter bowed his head briefly.

“All right, then,” Sieinski surrendered.

“Very well, Captain,” Ritter said. “Good choice. Get dressed. You will stay here until an officer from the Estonian Navy comes to get you.” He crossed the room, opened the door. A German soldier was standing guard. “One of our men from the embassy. For your protection,” Ritter said, smiling.

Sieinski looked up. “And what of Poland?” he asked.

“Poland is no more,” Ritter said simply. He opened the door and left. Halfway down the hall he heard a muffled crash as Sieinski began to vent his rage on the furniture in his suite. “But of course, you already knew that,” he said to himself.

Stefan and two other sailors, their faces covered in masks, laid Jerzy’s body, wrapped in canvas, on the dock, and then backed away.

Removing the boy from the battery compartment had been a grisly task. Despite the masks, the men were almost overwhelmed by the smells from his already putrefying body. Rigor mortis had set in, forcing Stefan to break both of his legs in order to pull him out. At the sound of the first leg cracking like a piece of rotten wood, the eyes of one of the sailors standing by to help had rolled back in his head and he had dropped on the spot.

“What the hell happened to him,” panted one of the men, moving up wind.

Stefan was white-faced. It was hard to think what might have motivated the boy to crawl into the battery compartment on his own. And even if that unlikely event had managed to occur, why hadn’t anyone heard shouts from the trapped boy? And that still left someone to put the hatch cover back in place. Jerzy couldn’t have done it.

Stefan knelt down, pulled aside the canvas. He peered closely at Jerzy’s neck. He was no expert, but there was only one thing that could explain the dark blue bruise across Jerzy’s neck: a blow to throat.

Stefan stood, covered Jerzy’s face. “I need to go to the embassy,” he said. “Make sure he is not disturbed.”

Stefan reentered the
Eagle
. He was still barefoot, wearing wet shorts and a T-shirt. He slipped into his cubicle and dressed quickly, stomping into his salt-stained boots as a last act. Done. First the embassy. He would use them to contact Naval Headquarters, and then make arrangements for someone to take charge of his body. At the very least, it needed to be put on ice somewhere. And then to track down Hans and ask him a few questions.

Stefan climbed up the conning tower onto the bridge. It took a moment to digest the scene before him. A gray military truck was idling next to the
Eagle
. A dozen or more Estonian Navy sailors, armed with submachine guns, were standing along the pier. On the other side of the
Eagle
, a motorboat was nuzzling against the
Eagle’s
flank like a hungry cub. One of the
Eagle’s
crewmen was sitting on the deck, hand to his face, a beard of blood coloring his chin. Three men dog paddled in the water, screaming profanities, another clung precariously to the side of the
Eagle
, ducking every time a length of chain whizzed above his head. In control at the other end of the chain was the young sailor, Henryk, his face red with anger. He was wielding the chain like a cowboy, Stefan thought in the brief instant before he realized he needed to end it before someone else was seriously hurt. “Stand down,” he roared, his voice filling the midday air. High above, the sun was obscured by a thick layer of clouds. Except for the sounds of gulls, all was quiet, each person frozen in a moment of time, only Stefan seemingly outside of it, watching it all like a distant observer.

Henryk looked up, questioning, breaking the spell. Stefan nodded. He waved to the men on the bow, who reluctantly lowered their fists.

“You are the executive officer?”

Stefan looked over the lip of the bridge.

Finally, it was all beginning to make sense. He wasn’t sure how, but it was all connected, he was sure of it now. The captain’s insistence that they port here. The mechanical problems. The Dutch engineers. The party. Even Jerzy’s death. All of it. “Get off my ship,” Stefan said evenly.

The Estonian naval officer shifted his weight uncomfortably and replied in heavily accented Polish. “I’m sorry I can’t do that. It is unfortunate we could not met under better circumstances.” From the look on his face, it was clear that he would have preferred shoveling chicken manure to this duty.

Stefan didn’t reply. He continued to stare down at the man, unmoved.

“My name is Commander Jaak Talli,” the officers said. “By order of the Estonian government and under direction of the admiral of the Estonian Navy and the port authorities of the city of Tallinn, I am officially notifying you of the internment of your vessel.” He pulled a document out of his pocket, slapped it onto the side of the
Eagle’s
conning tower. “And now I must escort you and your men to safe keeping.”

Stefan vaulted over the edge of the conning tower, slid down the ladder. He stood in front of the officer. “By what right do you do this?” he said.

The captain shrugged, barely able to meet Stefan’s gaze. “I have my duty,” he said. He must have realized how inadequate that sounded. He glanced over each shoulder. “This is unpleasant, I know. I asked the same question. I was told that Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania have agreed that if any submarine or aircraft involved in the war enters the territorial waters or airspace of any country, it will be immediately interned. It is just this war, you know ...”

“And when was the agreement struck?” Stefan asked sarcastically. “This morning?

The captain looked stricken, but he kept quiet.

Stefan sighed. It was over for them, he realized. The war. Everything. There was nothing more he could do. “It won’t do any good, you know,” he said quietly. “After they devour Poland, they will come after you.”

“And we will fight,” was the soft reply.

Stefan gathered himself, glancing around just to make sure that there was no other possibility. But there was none. He had been a fool. No sense continuing the charade. “I don’t want any of my men hurt,” Stefan croaked.

“You have my personal promise,” Talli said. He held out his hand.

“And I will hold you to it,” Stefan said, keeping his hands at his side.

Talli gave him a mournful look, dropped his hand, turned and marched down the gangplank. Stefan patted the side of the
Eagle’s
ironclad conning tower, and then followed him. Henryk and the rest of the men formed up behind Stefan.

Stefan was the last one to climb into the back of the truck. He lingered for a moment, breathing heavily. Across the water, he saw the German flag shoot back up the freighter’s mast and then begin to ripple in the gray light. At the same time, one of the Estonians ripped the Polish flag from
Eagle’s
bow. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the water like it was nothing more than a bag of garbage.

“Take care of my man,” Stefan said bleakly, gesturing toward the canvas wrapped body of Jerzy. It wasn’t a request.

“But of course,” Talli said quickly. He wrinkled his nose as the swirling breeze brought the stench of decay to his nose. “There’s a butcher with a large cooler a few blocks from here ...”

“Good enough,” Stefan said with a nod of appreciation. “I don’t think Jerzy will mind ...”

Parked behind a line of garbage cans nearby, it was easy to see it all.

Kate and Reggie watched Stefan hesitate, glance back at the
Eagle
, and then at the men with weapons at ready, closely watching his every move.

When his shoulder’s slumped with resignation and he climbed into the back of the truck, Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Of course, they had almost missed it happening. Kate and Reggie had been on their way back to their hotel when they’d passed the truck, loaded with armed sailors, racing in the other direction.

Reggie had watched Kate turn around in the seat, her brow furrowing. And then she was barking loudly in his ear: “Turn this piece of shit car around. We must go back. Now!”

 “Aww, Kate,” Reggie had moaned. But he’d done what she wanted anyway.

“This is none of our business, Kate,” he said now. One more try, though he could tell by the grim look on her face that it wouldn’t do any good. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.” He revved the car’s engine impatiently.

“Not yet,” Kate snapped.

 “What do you think is going on?” Reggie asked with a tone of resignation.

“I don’t know. But I think our Polish friends have just lost control of the
Eagle
. My, my. Who have we here?”

The black Mercedes, black, white and black swastika standards flying from the corners of the front bumper, came to a stop next to
Eagle
. First out was a round-bodied fat man dressed in an ornate black uniform. He was followed by a German officer. As the man stood, he glanced at the sky, and then gazed around the pier.

Both Reggie and Kate ducked lower. “Did you see who that was?” Reggie began to babble excitedly. “Hans—or whatever his name is—is a goddamn Nazi. Do you think he saw us?”

Kate stared at nothing for a moment, thinking hard. What was going on? Stefan and his crew arrested, the
Eagle
seized by the Estonians and now this, Hans, the Dutch engineer, transformed into a German officer. And then she smiled. “Of course,” she breathed. “Brilliant. Do you see what they’ve done? They managed to pick up a brand new submarine without firing a shot.”

“Grand theft submarine,” Reggie muttered.

“Exactly,” Kate said.

Reggie peaked out the window. Ritter and the other officer were no longer in sight. Time to go. He slipped the car into gear, backed quickly around the corner. Depressed the clutch, dropped the steering column shift into first and goosed the gas pedal. “That was close,” he said. “Definitely time to be gone. Our ship doesn’t leave for another day, but maybe we should go there now? …”

But Kate was already shaking her head. “Sorry, Reggie. We have a few things to do first. First stop, the British embassy.”

 “What do you have in mind?”

Kate grinned. “Paying back a few favors,” she said, “and maybe adding a few more pages to the greatest stories of our lives in the process.”

“I like that sound of that,” Reggie said. “I think ...”

Rear Admiral Karl Dönitz had no hobbies, though he sometimes allowed himself a few moments to fantasize about something far removed from submarines: flying a hot-air balloon. It was always the same place. He would be swinging in a basket below a brilliant white orb, drifting peacefully over the lush Bavarian landscape, the Alps smiling in the distance, the sky that intense color of blue that happens only once or twice each summer. No interruptions. No phones. Complaints, politics, conflict and death just bad memories. Most of all, except for the creak of the basket, the occasional roar of the burner, and maybe a faint moo or two from the cows grazing far below, it would be quiet.

“Warsaw is now surrounded.” The triumphant words brought him back to the moment.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Dönitz remarked.

“No, sir.”

“What are our casualties?”

“They are expecting only 10,000 dead.”

“Only?”

“I could be worse,” blurted the young officer.

Dönitz stared back. “Have you ever seen anyone die in combat?”

The officer shook his head.

Dönitz narrowed his eyes. “Sometime in the next few weeks, I expect you to visit one of the local military hospitals. While there, you need to talk with three soldiers. Find out what they thought of combat. And then I want to hear about it. Their names, ranks, and what happened to them.”