The Last Eagle (2011) (21 page)

Squeaky had been the one to notice it. “Nice coat,” he had remarked. “But might piss off the captain if he saw you wearing it.”

Stefan glanced down at the sleeves, realizing now they ended inches from his wrists. He’d grabbed the wrong coat. Simple as that. Easy enough to know how the mix-up had happened. One of the crew had taken the captain’s coat and left it in Stefan’s compartment along with a stack of his clothes, mistakenly assuming it was his. Stefan pulled up the collar. It was a nice coat. The captain had been right. More importantly, it was warm. And Stefan wasn’t about to send someone off to find a replacement right at that moment. This would do for now. Besides, the captain wouldn’t need it. He had left strict orders to not be bothered until they reach Tallinn. “Yes, it is a nice coat,” Stefan had agreed, in no mood to talk.

Squeaky knew when to leave well enough alone.

 Only later, when Stefan thrust his hands into the pockets and discovered what they contained, did he realize how wrong he was about the captain. He pulled out the ornate snuff box and pried open the cover. Instead of snuff it contained a white powder. He already knew enough, but he dabbed the powder with his pinky finger and then tasted it just to be sure. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered under his breath.. Of course it made sense. The smell of opium in Sieinski’s suite. The sweats and shakes since leaving port. Obvious, now that it was more than the aftereffects of cracked skull or the flu to blame for all that.

 “What the hell?” Squeaky hissed.

“Quiet,” Stefan whispered, thrusting the container back into the pocket.

“Was that? …”

Stefan whirled on Squeaky. “Tell no one about this,” he whispered into his ear. “No one, understand?”

Squeaky nodded. He was silent for minutes afterward. And then, out of the darkness, Stefan heard him whisper. “But Stef, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Stefan replied after a long pause.

That was the question that tormented him throughout the remainder of the night. What was he going to do about it? When it was time for the new watch, Stefan had remained, barely noticing when Squeaky threw the slicker around his shoulders and patted him on the back before departing below decks.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do.

Stefan brought he binoculars back to his burning eyes. Nearly dawn. The rugged Estonian coastline off to his right was beginning to emerge from the darkness, growing more distinct with each passing moment.

Throughout the night, the sea had remained quiet, as the
Eagle
raced toward Tallinn, away from danger, away from where she could do the most good. They had avoided a couple of ships along the way, the faint lights of each spotted early enough to give them wide berth, too far away even to identify their types. Stefan hated to pass them by, but he had his orders. The
Eagle
did not pause. And now, up ahead, was the entrance to the Bay of Riga. It wouldn’t be much longer before they were docked in Tallinn.

Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t have been any question about procedures. Stefan would have put on his dress uniform, combed his beard, and then marched to fleet headquarters and made his accusations directly to the admiral in charge. Both Sieinski and Stefan would have been relieved of their responsibilities, a court of inquiry would have been convened. Stefan had no doubt of the outcome. Sieinski would have quietly retired, his pedigree no match for the risk his peculiar appetite posed to one of Poland’s most prestigious naval weapons.

But this was different.

They were about to enter port of country that was neutral at best. Stefan dared not risk a radio transmission for instructions. And that, of course, assumed that Polish naval Headquarters was still standing, and not rubble destroyed by German dive bombers. The Polish embassy in Tallinn wouldn’t be any help. What did career diplomats know of such things? By chance, there might be a naval attaché or some other military advisor stationed there, but Stefan doubted he would be of high enough rank to provide any help.

That left him to decide.

Of course, Stefan wanted command of the
Eagle
more than anything. There was no denying that both desire and frustration had been his closest companions since learning of Sieinski’s appointment. And here was the perfect chance to satisfy both of them.

But that was the problem. He would inherit the job by circumstance, not merit. And for how long? If Poland survived, would someone else, someone with the right family connections, be put in Stefan’s place? Would Sieinski’s failure, in the strange ways of leadership, also taint Stefan?

These were questions that for the moment had no answer. Though Stefan knew the answer to the latter two was probably, yes.

And yet, though torn by the actions that awaited him, part of him could not help but rejoice. Here was the means by which he would become captain of the
Eagle
for however long that fate and the Polish Naval Command allowed him. It would be better to earn command, but he knew that under normal circumstances that would forever be denied him. 

Stefan shook himself violently, like a bear awakening from a deep sleep, and in that instant he decided—Sieinski had to go—and woe to anyone who got in his way. He tore off his oilskins, and then the captain’s coat. He bundled it into his fist, stared down at it for a moment, and then flung it into the wind.

The two lookouts watched the coat drop into the sea and then disappear beneath the foam. They glanced nervously at Stefan, and then at each other.

“Don’t worry, boys,” Stefan said grinning wildly. He stuck his face over the edge of the conning tower, let the breeze tear at his hair and beard, blow away his fatigue. “Damn thing was made by Germans.”

The lookouts grinned at each other, and then laughed, the sound joining the cry of seagull’s wheeling high above.

The
Eagle
would be repaired. That was Stefan’s first priority. And when she sailed again, Captain Sieinski would not be on board. Stefan would make certain of that. As for the
Eagle
and her crew, Stefan would make sure everyone did his duty. That was his job. What happened to Sieinski was someone else’s burden, not his.

“What do they want, Pablo?” Stefan asked. His old captain, Westling, had taught him English, Swedish and passable German. Russian would have been another choice, as well, but Westling had a deep, visceral hatred for Lenin and his “communist butchers,” as he called them. Since he couldn’t do anything about them, he refused or ignored all things Russian, from Russian vodka to Russian literature. “I’d rather teach you Frog,” Westling had retorted when Stefan queried him about it. It was the ultimate insult for Westling detested the French above all others.

The fat man swaddled in a heavy overcoat standing legs far apart in the stern of the Estonian motorboat cruising alongside the
Eagle
raised the megaphone to his mouth and repeated his instructions.

Eryk Pertek listened carefully. “They want to know our business.”

Stefan handed him the megaphone. “Tell them we are in port for repairs, medical treatment for our captain and to drop off foreign civilians.”

Pertek, the only Estonian speaker among the officers besides the captain, bellowed a response. There was a wave from the fat man. He ducked back into the cabin, returned a moment later, and began yelling.

“What is it now?” Stefan asked, impatient to get on with in it now that he had decided what to do.

Eryk gave a puzzled shrug. He waved across to the fat man, who responded with a wave of his own, and then disappeared into the cabin. The bow of the motorboat climbed up into the air as it accelerated away from the
Eagle
. “They want us to hold here, wait for a pilot to take us into the harbor and for further instructions from the harbor authorities.”

Stefan frowned. Careful enough. Not surprising, given the onset of war. Stefan reached for the speaker tube. “All stop,” he ordered. So, they would wait. It was a pleasant enough morning. There was a light breeze from offshore, bringing with it the smells of pine and burning coal to mix with the aroma of the sea and the ever-present stink of diesel. A little over a nautical mile ahead was the harbor entrance, and the city of Tallinn beyond, climbing the hill, modern brick buildings giving way to imposing medieval stone structures. The sun was a faint orb high above, partially obscured by a thin layer of clouds.

Thirty minutes later, the motorboat appeared again, darting quickly through the harbor entrance, and then accelerating to full speed. At the same time, one of the lookouts spotted another vessel approaching slowly from their stern. Stefan easily picked it out with his Zeiss binoculars. “What have we here?” he muttered to himself. It was an Estonian Navy cruiser. “Careful, aren’t they,” he muttered.

“Why are we stopped?” Sieinski’s head appeared through the hole in the bridge deck. He labored up the last few steps of the ladder, climbed unsteadily to his feet, and then made his way over to the edge of the conning tower. “We should be docked by now.”

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“Better,” Sieinski said. “Yes, much better. Why are we stopped?” Sieinski gripped the edge of the conning tower as much to keep his hands from trembling as to keep his balance. This close to port, to relief, was almost too much to bear. He fought back an impulse to scream out orders to get underway.

 “Estonians are being careful,” Stefan said. “They want us to use a pilot to enter the harbor. It also gave them time to round up some company and possibly some additional surprises.”

 “What do you mean?”

Stefan gestured at the cruiser lurking behind them. The Estonian motorboat continued to head directly at the
Eagle
. As she came closer, her speed dropped and she settled into the water. Whoever was in charge waited until the last possible moment to swing the wheel, turning away from the
Eagle’s
flank, ending the possibility of a collision, and revealing half-dozen armed sailors waiting on the deck behind the cabin.

“Surprise,” Stefan said uneasily. In response, the barrel of the deck gun began to drop toward the boat. “I don’t like this …,” he said. “I think it is time to ….” He reached for the speaker tube, but Sieinski grabbed his arm.

“Do I need to remind you who is captain?” he said fiercely. And then to the gun crews, “Stand down. Barrels in the air.”

No weapons moved. Gazes flicked back and forth between the captain and Stefan. “Do it,” Sieinski bellowed. Still the hesitated. Finally, Stefan nodded, and then they obeyed.

The captain began dancing with anger. “I should have you hauled up on charges,” he shrieked, his eyes lit by a strange glow. “This is not over ….”

Stefan was surprised at how calm he felt. He stared dispassionately at the madman before him. “Off course it isn’t,” he said evenly. “Prepare for lines,” Stefan said.

Sailors at the bow and stern of the motorboat flicked lines into the air. Like lizard tongues, Stefan thought. His crew pulled the motorboat close and then made the lines fast.

An older white-bearded man in black pants and coat, an English cap, scrambled over the motorboat’s gunwales and onto the deck of the
Eagle
, followed by the six armed sailors. He made his way to the bridge with two of the sailors, while the rest fanned out on the narrow wood covered deck of the
Eagle
.

“I tell my wife I will retire soon,” grumbled the old man in fluent Polish, as he flung his leg over the lip of the conning tower and dropped spryly onto the bridge deck. “I am getting too old to be climbing around like a monkey. I am Adolf,” he said with a giggle. “The harbor pilot, not the,uh, you know who ….”

Sieinski reached forward, grasped the pilot’s hand and shook it. “Welcome aboard the
Eagle
,” he said hurriedly, already fully recovered from his previous outburst. “I’m Captain Sieinski. We’re here for repairs. I don’t understand all of this.”

Adolf eyed Sieinski’s forehead. “It is none of my business, of course. But what is your problem?”

“Hydraulic pump,” Stefan said.

“Easy enough to fix,” Adolf said with a shrug. “Now to business. You’ve been given permission to enter port. That is why I am here. If you run aground, it will be my fault, you see, not yours. As for these others”—he flicked his hands dismissively toward the armed sailors on the deck— “and that”—he gestured toward the cruiser approaching from behind—“they are here for my,uh, protection.”

Stefan covered the smile on his face with his hand.

“My feelings exactly, young man,” Adolf said. “And you’re ….”

“Stefan. I’m the XO.”

“Very well, Stefan. So, what will it be, gentlemen. Do I get to go home and finish my tea, or do I get the opportunity to bring this wonderful vessel into Tallinn harbor?”

“It’s all yours, sir,” Sieinski said.

“Very well.”

Adolf waved from the conning tower. “Cast off the lines,” he yelled. He picked up the sound tube. “Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.”

“Both engines. Ahead half speed,” he said. “Yes, wonderful boat. Dutch, isn’t she?”