“Closer,” Stefan said. “We can’t afford a miss.”
As the Eagle surged ahead, Stefan made another course correction, angling the Eagle’s bow slightly ahead of the lead freighter. If they missed it, there was still a chance they would hit the second one.
He watched through his binoculars as the distance narrowed, confident that the Eagle’s low-slung shape would be impossible to pick out in the dark. And if by some miracle they were spotted? It was already too late to do to run from them. . He could feel the lookouts behind him nervously shifting their weight back and forth. They were close enough now to make out detail on the ship, see faint figures in the bridge, high above the water.
Stefan waited until they were 1,000 meters from the target, watching the freighter closely for any change in direction, singing quietly under his breath: “Hold, hold, hold.” And then he dropped the binoculars. “Fire one!” he yelled into the voice tube.
There was a slight shudder, as a pulse of compressed air propelled the 7-meter long French-made torpedo stuffed with 148 kilograms of high explosives from the tube. Like a bloodhound hightailing after a fox, the torpedo didn’t hesitate; it raced away from the Eagle at better than 40 knots.
Stefan didn’t wait to see the impact. He already knew it wouldn’t miss. “Bring us about,” he shouted. “Rudder hard port. New course two-two-five. Let’s get out of here.”
The Eagle’s conning tower leaned toward starboard as her bow ported, away from the freighters. Spray broke over the bow as her twin diesels accelerated to maximum.
Even though Stefan had no doubt what would happen, he was still startled by the explosion. It lit up the sky like sunshine on a summer day. He felt a wave of heat on the back of his head, and then a thump in his chest as the pressure wave went past the Eagle.
“Holy Christ, what was she carrying?” a lookout exclaimed.
A second explosion peppered the night. “Probably not frozen pork,” Stefan said. He glanced over his shoulder, the fires from the ship dazzling his eyes, momentarily ruining his night vision. It was clear from the bow’s 45-degree angle that the Eagle’s torpedo had broken the freighter in half. She was already sagging in the middle, circles of burning fuel spreading out over the water like molasses from a broken bottle. He could see men jumping from her stern, disappearing into the dark water.
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.
Chapter Forty-One
“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. “Min
d 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.”
Stefan sipped his coffee, dark eyes boring into Kate. “But at least you have these.”
Kate nodded. “So how about telling me your story? Bet no one but you knows it. Be a shame to die without telling someone, don’t you think?”
“You think we will die?”
Kate shrugged. “Eventually it’ll get us all.”
Stefan chuckled. “All right.” But just as he began to tell the untold story of Stefan Petrofski, Eryk stuck his head past the curtain.
“Message coming in from Hel. You should see it.”
“Sorry, American lady,” Stefan said. “Maybe some other time, eh?”
“You have a date,” Kate said, smiling sadly, flipping her notepad closed.
“What do you think?”
Stefan reread the message, and then snorted. “They insult us. Nothing for days from headquarters and now this. And they want us to specify our current position so they can have Wolf bring us charts. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“You mean, Wolf?”
Stefan shook his head. “No, about the charts. We didn’t radio them with that information.”
“How did they get it?”
“Exactly. They couldn’t have picked it up from the Swedes.”
“Shit,” Eryk said, with sudden understanding.
“Yes, it is the Germans thinking we are complete idiots,” Stefan said. “I almost feel insulted.”
“We’ll ignore it, then.”
Stefan smiled. “No, no. Send a message. Say we are heavily damaged, taking on water. Give them a false position, someplace south of the Bay of Gdansk.”
“You think it will fool them?”
“No,” Stefan said. “But it’s as close as I can get to saying ‘Piss off’ in person.”
Chapter Forty-Two
By noon the following day, the Eagle was lurking beneath the surface along the shipping routes approaching Helsinki, her hydrophone operator listening for the sounds of any oncoming freighters.
It was mid-afternoon when he finally reported something more interesting than the sounds of passing whales. “Got something.,” he sang. “One slow screw.”
Stefan slow-danced around the periscope, looking for a telltale shape silhouetted against the horizon. The hydrophones weren’t exact enough to tell the sound’s source, just its approximate distance. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.
“Still getting louder, sir,” the hydrophone operator said. “They gotta be coming our way.”
And then he spotted it. He glanced at the gyrocompass. “Bring us around, heading one—five-five.” Stefan’s words roused the men at their stations around the control room like an orchestra coming to attention at the sound of a conductor tapping his music stand.
“One-five-five, aye,” echoed the helm.
“Take us up and then rig ship for surface attack. I want to make sure they have no doubt who we are and we give them plenty of time to let someone know. I’m sure our German friend, Hans, will hear about it soon enough.”
Stefan was first on the bridge. The sky was cloudy, the sea gray and restless, but the air was clear, the visibility excellent. He noted with satisfaction that despite the long hours, his men were still hustling. The deck gun crew spilled out of the forward hatch, had the barrel unplugged and the Bofors ready in just a minute. The same was true for the conning tower AA gun crew. He was joined by three lookouts, Squeaky, and then Kate and Reggie, the latter cursing as he hauled his camera equipment up with him.
“You can’t have that here.” Squeaky said.
“Need some action shots for posterity,” Reggie replied.
“We’ll stay out of the way,” Kate interjected.
It was difficult enough arguing with Reggie, Squeaky knew he had no hope with Kate. “Stef?”
“Just stay quiet and when I say get below, you go.”
“Yes, sir,” Reggie said, saluting casually.
“Thanks, Stefan,” Kate said. She was breathing in the fresh air with visible pleasure.
“Ahead full,” Stefan said into the speaker tube. He scanned the distant freighter for any signs of identification. They had nothing against the Finns or Swedes. They wouldn’t attack any vessel from a neutral country.
There was a momentary hesitation as the Eagle switched from electricity to diesel. The engines coughed awake, and then began to roar. Eagle quickly surged toward her still unsuspecting target.
“They must be asleep,” Squeaky said with disdain, amazed that the freighter wasn’t yet taking some sort of evasive actions, hadn’t seen them knifing across the water directly at them.
“Awake now,” Kate said, as the freighter began a lumbering turn away from the Eagle. Despite the distance, they could all see now that she was, indeed, Russian.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Reggie said, his face alight with anticipation. “I haven’t felt this kind of excitement since we chased Eddie Vick’s little brother around the house.”
“Why were you chasing him?” Kate asked.
“Can’t remember,” Reggie said, “but you know how it is with little brothers.”
“What did you do when you found him?”
Reggie smiled.
“That’s what I thought….”
From then on, everyone was quiet, eyes intent on the freighter like children peeking underneath the curtain at a circus freak show.
Stefan broke the spell, murmuring into the speaker tube, passing on a slight course correction and then saying, “Ready tube two.”
The sudden scream from the lookout ripped through the air like a gunshot.
“Holy shit … ” a startled Reggie exclaimed, but his further comments were overwhelmed by yells from all of the lookouts.
“Rocks dead ahead!”
The freighter was instantly forgotten. Stefan pulled the binoculars away from his eyes. In an instant, he scanned the waters close at hand. Noticed the slight discoloration, the odd shaped waves caused by the shallows. “Hard starboard rudder,
” he yelled into the speaker tube. “Reverse engines….”
There was a few seconds hesitation, and then the Eagle began to slow, her bow moving ponderously to starboard. There was even a brief moment when everyone thought they might make it. But certain laws of motion and momentum are immutable, particularly when the vessel weights 1,500 tons.
For Kate, the collision unfolded like a slow-motion train wreck. There was a screech of metal, like fingernails pulled across a chalkboard. Eagle’s bow lazily climbed into the air as she ran up onto the rocks and then came to an abrupt, shuddering halt, throwing everyone forward.
Stefan was the first to recover, sliding down the conning tower ladder into the control room. “Keep the engines at maximum,” he screamed and then he was racing forward, pushing aside anyone who got in his way. “Damage report,” he yelled as he ducked through the doorway into the forward section.
“Hard to say sir.” The sailor in charge, a man named Lech, stepped forward, wiping his brow with a filthy rag. The rest of the torpedo crew crowded around, their bare arms streaked with grease, faces strained with worry, glancing up at the forward hatch, and then nervously at the bow, expecting a sudden gush of water to burst through the hull at any second. “What the hell did we hit?”
Stefan ignored Lech’s question. He pushed through the knot of bodies, scanning the torpedo tubes and the various pipes, gauges and levers that choked the Eagle’s bow section, and then dropped to his knees, peering down at bilges. No apparent leaks. Of course, they were on the surface, no telling what would happen underwater, but still, it was a good sign. If they were lucky, she hadn’t been seriously holed.
“OK, everyone aft. Hustle. We’ve got to get off this shoal.” The torpedo crew sprang into action, stampeding down the passageway toward the submarine’s stern. Stefan stepped aside in the control room, letting the men pass by, listening intently for any telltale sounds of movement as the diesels continued to race. Nothing.
The Last Eagle Page 27
