The Last Eagle (2011) (44 page)

Ritter stopped mid-tracks.

“Helm, bring us in behind her. Signalman. Here’s what I want you to send them: ‘Surrender, or we’ll blow her out of the water.’”

“Aye, sir.”

“Uh, captain, you might like to know that the
Eagle
has an aft torpedo tube.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Ritter,” the captain. “I also know that except for two forward torpedoes, all were removed in Estonia. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir, but …”

“It seems to me, that except for her forward deck gun, and possibly one torpedo in a forward tube, she’s defenseless. So let me handle this. … Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Ritter’s scars seemed to whiten on his face. He smiled coldly. “As you wish, captain.” He remained where he was standing, folded his arms.

In the distance, the
Eagle’s
signal lamp began to blink. “What do they say?” the captain asked, barely able to contain his excitement. His ship had captured the renegade Polish submarine
Eagle
. Now the Reich newspapers would quit reporting about the submarine’s exploits and carry instead stories about his ship and her brave captain. He wondered what sort of medal would be in store for him. Maybe even a post in Berlin?

The signal operator gave the captain a puzzled look.

“Well?”

“They, uh, they replied, ‘Long live Poland’ ... that was it. How do you want me to respond?”

The captain smiled. “Fire at will,” he said. “And don’t stop until she’s sinking.”

It was almost dawn, the light a gray wash, blending sea and sky. It was a miracle they had happened across the
Eagle
. Another moment earlier or later, and she would have escaped unscathed into the North Sea. He wasn’t surprised by their response. They couldn’t surrender now. Under the circumstances, he would have done same thing.

He was watching the
Eagle
closely, saw the sudden darkening of the water at her stern as her screws slowed to a stop. “Nicely done,” he said under his breath, blinking at the flash from the forward gun, and then noticing the shell splash in front of her bow. There would be no more tricks. The next would be a direct hit.

 “Half speed,” the captain said “We’ve got her now.”

Ritter was first to notice the streak of white begin to arrow toward the destroyer, saw the froth of water at the
Eagle’s
stern, her screws churning once again, her bow swinging to starboard. He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips. “Oh, damn,” he said.

The explosion lifted the bow of the destroyer half out of the water, shattering the windows in the bridge. Ritter picked himself off of the deck, noticed the captain crumpled against the bulkhead, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. He staggered forward, stared out through the glass-free openings, as the gray shape of the
Eagle
moved off in the distance. Sirens were screaming across the ship. He waved his hand in a half-hearted gesture of salute and then turned his attention to the crippled destroyer.

Two days after her confrontation with the
Leberecht Maass
, the
Eagle
rendezvoused with the British destroyer HMS
Valorous
, 70 kilometers east of the Isle of May, and was escorted through mine fields to the base at Rosyth, Scotland.

Stefan remained in the bridge while the
Eagle
docked, proud at the way his men hustled to their lines even though they were all so exhausted and weak from their ordeal that many had barely been able to walk moments before.

He waited until most of the men had filed over the gangplank, made their way down an obstacle course of officers, their fresh, clean, sharply pressed uniforms in stark contrast to the filthy rags worn by many of his crew. His boys, however, behaved like gentlemen, smiling, shaking their hands. Once past the group, they were intercepted by British sailors and a few nurses who, pantomiming gestures of food, drink and sleep, lead them off to a nearby building.

“Shall we go, Commander?”

Kate stepped up onto the bridge for the last time. The last few days of peace had helped repair some of the damage the stress of the previous weeks had caused. She still had dark circles under her eyes, but her hair looked freshly washed, and someone had found clean clothes for her. Stefan sniffed. She was even wearing perfume.

Kate saw the look in his eye. “That Cooky, he’s a marvel. And know what the men did? They gave me some of their water ration sent over from the
Valorous
. Enough to wash my hair and take a spit bath. I must say that was the most marvelous bath I’ve ever had. And the water, I hated to get rid of it. It was more precious than holy water.”

Stefan smiled. He’s heard about the gesture from his thirsty men, thought it was one of the nicest things he’d ever heard. “They’re good boys,” he said simply.

“Well, I wanted to give you this,” Kate said. She thrust a damp envelope into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“My story,” Kate said, “I mean, your story. The story of the
Eagle
and what happened. All of it. What it was like all those hours underwater. The chase. Sieinski’s death. I had to write it you know, but the newspaper will never run it like this. Too long. Of course, I’ll have to write something for them. But this, well, this isn’t mine. You deserve to have it. Consider it returning a favor,” she said.

Stefan glanced down at the folder in his hand. He leaned down and kissed Kate on the lips.

“You two going ashore sometime or what?” Reggie yelled up from the base of the conning tower.

“I still owe that dinner, you know,” Kate said, sniffing and then wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

“I didn’t forget.”  Before Stefan lifted her onto the ladder, he kissed her again, this time accompanied by cheers by some of the
Eagle’s
crew.  “I think I liked you better as a Roosevelt,” he said.

Kate smacked him on the arm and slid down the ladder like an old hand before he had a chance to respond.

Holding hands, Stefan and Kate were the last ones off the
Eagle
. A nearby band was again working its way through the Polish national anthem. Kate kissed him on the cheek and than hurried to catch up with Reggie. As Stefan approached the line of British officers waiting for him, he was so tired he could hardly keep on his feet. He saluted and shook hands with each in turn.

The last in line was short, pudgy-faced man wearing a fedora and swathed in a khaki raincoat. He was watching Kate, who had grabbed Reggie by the arm and was walking off arm in arm with him. He barked out a laugh. “I wonder if there’s more like her where she comes from,” he said, shaking his head. And then he noticed Stefan. “Welcome to England, son,” he growled, grasping Stefan’s hand squeezing it hard. “I’ve followed your epic adventure with utmost interest. We have much to talk about. Much!”

The voice and face were unmistakable. “Thank you very much, Mister Churchill,” Stefan said slowly, struggling with the English, his words thick with emotion. “We’re happy to be joining you in the fight.”

“And we’re glad to have you, my boy,” Churchill said, gruffly, swiping at the tears in his eyes.  “I want you to tell me everything. But first, why don’t you begin with that woman. I understand she’s related to Mr. Franklin Roosevelt…”

Winston Churchill put his arm over the shoulder of the big Polish seaman, and together they walked off the dock.

Rear Admiral Karl Dönitz jumped high for the ball. The effort was not unrewarded. It knocked off his cap, which sailed in one direction, while the rubber ball struck the tips of his outstretched fingers, and careered in the other, bouncing twice before disappearing into a waist high crop of nettles.

His granddaughter’s joyous screech split the late afternoon air, heavy with sunshine. Dönitz brushed back his hair and then smiled with embarrassment. Too much time in a chair, he thought. A year ago, he would have caught the ball.

Movement caught his eye. A tall, lean German officer approached through the woods. A black Mercedes was parked in the drive. Its engine was still running, the driver leaning against the door, reading a newspaper. This wouldn’t take long.

“Afternoon, Herr Admiral.”       

“Hello, Peter. How is your new command suiting you?”

“Well, sir. And thank you. It was more than I deserved under the circumstances.”

Dönitz smiled sharply. “I know,” he said. “One moment.” He turned and without hesitating walked into the nettles, noticed a flash of red, and reached down to pick up the ball, ignoring the pain in response to the stings. He tossed the ball to his granddaughter. “Go find your mother,” he said. “I’ll join you both in a moment. I feel like warm cocoa. How about you?”

“With cream?” asked his granddaughter, her blue eyes bright.

“But of course,” Dönitz said.

“Beautiful child,” Ritter commented.

“Yes, she is,” Dönitz said softly. “And I wonder what will become of her, of us all.”

“Sir?”

Dönitz shook his head. He had just learned of Hitler’s plans to break his agreement with the Stalin and attack the Soviets. German troops were already stretched to the breaking, fighting in the Baltic states, in North Africa, in English skies and seas, and the North Atlantic, and now he wanted to add another front to the war, Russia. “Ever study Napoleon?”

Ritter thought for a moment. “I’ve done a little reading on his campaigns.”

“You might want to refresh your memory,” Dönitz suggested.

Ritter gave him a puzzled look. He was about to ask another question, but he was familiar with the look on the admiral’s face, and decided against it.

“What brings you out here, Peter?”

“Sorry, sir. I was at headquarters when the word came. There was a standing order to let you know about it. I thought, under the circumstances, it might as well be me. It is the
Eagle
. Naval Intelligence has deciphered British transmissions. It’s been corroborated by our contacts in England. She’s missing. Haven’t heard from her in a week.”

“Any survivors?”

Ritter shook his head.

“
Ach
. Too bad. It is always too bad. How strange, I almost feel like she was one of ours.”

“She almost was,” Ritter quipped with humor. Dönitz flashed one of his infamous looks and Ritter continued on without missing a beat. “I know what you mean, sir. It doesn’t seem  ... right.”

“Another story without a happy ending. I fear there will be more. Did we have any forces in the area she was patrolling?”

“No.”

“And so, she finally ran out of luck. Had her share of it, I would say, though I think we make most of the luck that comes our way. Or make ourselves ready or not when it presents itself. Could have been any number of things, you know. An accident. A catastrophic equipment failure. A mine ...  What did you say they called her captain?”

“Ox.” When Ritter smiled, the scar on his face almost disappeared

Dönitz closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “God in heaven ... ” he chanted silently, the only fragment of a prayer he ever allowed himself when he heard about the loss of one of his own boats. In this case, it had come unbidden to his mind, an unconscious salute to a worthy foe. When he reopened them, the moment had past.

“When does your patrol begin?”

“Two days.”

“How about your boat?”

“She is an excellent example of German engineering,” Ritter said mechanically.

“I hope you know you don’t have to do that with me,” Dönitz said softly, giving his former aide a glacial smile.

Ritter nodded his head. “Sorry, sir. One has to be more careful nowadays.”

“Indeed.”

“She is a decent boat. We have found and fixed a few problems. Makes me wonder who they have working in the factories now. Definitely not patriots of Germany. I just hope we found them all. My crew. My God, how young they seem. They call me ‘the old man’ behind my back. I suppose I am. We will see what happens. We will do our best.”

 “I expect good hunting as a reward for my trust in you,” Dönitz growled with affection.

“Of course, sir.” Ritter snapped to attention with a click of his heels.

Dönitz watched him march back across the perfectly manicured lawns, slip into the rear seat of the Mercedes. There was a grind of gears, and then the car was off. Dönitz was alone. He stood there, silently flexing the hand that still burned and tingled from the sting of the nettles. Nasty weeds. And yet, even they had their uses. In the bleak days after the first World War, he could remember a number of meals where nettles were the chief ingredient. His wife had read somewhere that if they were boiled, they were as nutritious as spinach. Dönitz had intended to tell his estate manager that he wanted them all destroyed. It wouldn’t do to have his granddaughter stumble into them. On the other hand, news of the upcoming attack on the Soviets had left him with a feeling of dread. On second thought, the nettles would stay. Not a bad thing for his granddaughter to learn: the world had stinging nettles, and much worse.