alone once again. She noticed the faint smile on his face, realizing that he was now watching her. He tipped his beer mug in salute, drank deeply, and then rose to follow his companions out the door.
“And what is your story, you ugly, well dressed bastard?” Kate McLendon said to herself, as she watched him step through the doors and out into the night.
“What’s that?” the man at her left elbow asked, stubbing out his cigarette in the remnants of dinner.
“Oh nothing,” Kate said.
“Say again, dear? It is just so bloody noisy in here, someone could yell ‘fire’ and no one would pay the slightest bit of attention.”
“Doesn’t matter. Be a sport and walk me back to the hotel?” she yelled.
“You’ve never needed any help before.”
“No, I mean it, Reggie,” she said, grabbing his sleeve, surprised by a sudden shiver. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Me, I hope.”
“Not if you were the last ...”
“All right, all right,” Reggie interrupted, helping Kate slip into her coat, and then pulling on his own.
As they left the pub, Kate couldn’t help wondering about the man with the scar. “Creepy,” she said softly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Kate shivered again. As they stepped out the door, she glanced at her watch. Already one o’clock.
That made it the first day of September, 1939.
Chapter Five
“Halt, who goes there?”
“Adolf Fucking Hitler,” Stefan grumbled sourly, stepping out of the shadows and pausing in front of the boy guarding the end of the gangplank. The walk from the pub back to the quay where the Eagle was docked had taken fifteen minutes. His only entertainment along the way had been pausing to watch a pair of rats dig through the contents of an overturned garbage barrel. It wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts from taking their usual turn of late, wondering how he could stomach another day of reporting to his current captain without punching him in the face, berating himself for drinking too much (realizing, of course, that the two were most likely linked) and then drifting off to something more pleasant, trying to find the perfect name for the red–haired American woman with the broken nose. He had come up empty and doubted he would ever get the chance to ask her himself.
“Oh, it’s you, sir,” the seaman replied with relief.
Stefan gingerly pushed aside the barrel of the Mauser knock-off that was pointing at the middle of his chest. “Yes, it’s me. No boogeyman or German. You can relax. What’s your name?”
“Henryk Stachofski, sir.”
Stefan looked the young man—really no more than a boy—up and down. “You like submarines?”
A shrug. “It isn’t a chicken coop,” he said, adding the word, “sir,” after moment.
Stefan smiled. All it had taken was an honest comment from this boy to flip his mood to the better. “For me, it was a fishing boat. Not sure which stinks worse. I was about your age when I joined up. Something to be said for change, eh?”
The boy nodded.
Well, Stachofski. I’m going to do you a favor. You’re on watch until when?”
“Six.”
“Oh-six-hundred you mean.”
The young seaman sputtered. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Always have trouble with that.”
Stefan held up his hand. “Don’t spoil it or I may change my mind. Here’s the favor. Go crawl into your warm bunk with a teddy bear or one of your girlie magazines. I’ll finish your watch.”
Stachofski’s face reddened. “Thank you, sir. But I’ll need to check with the chief first, make sure it’s okay?”
Stefan repressed a smile. “And who does the chief report to?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Ahh, I see your point.”
“Exactly. Now be off with you.”
“Thank you, sir.” He saluted, spun around awkwardly, and then marched up the gangplank.
Stefan watched him for a moment and then barked, “Seaman!”
Stachofski stopped in his tracks. “Sir?”
“Forgetting anything?”
Stachofski
“And what is your story, you ugly, well dressed bastard?” Kate McLendon said to herself, as she watched him step through the doors and out into the night.
“What’s that?” the man at her left elbow asked, stubbing out his cigarette in the remnants of dinner.
“Oh nothing,” Kate said.
“Say again, dear? It is just so bloody noisy in here, someone could yell ‘fire’ and no one would pay the slightest bit of attention.”
“Doesn’t matter. Be a sport and walk me back to the hotel?” she yelled.
“You’ve never needed any help before.”
“No, I mean it, Reggie,” she said, grabbing his sleeve, surprised by a sudden shiver. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Me, I hope.”
“Not if you were the last ...”
“All right, all right,” Reggie interrupted, helping Kate slip into her coat, and then pulling on his own.
As they left the pub, Kate couldn’t help wondering about the man with the scar. “Creepy,” she said softly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Kate shivered again. As they stepped out the door, she glanced at her watch. Already one o’clock.
That made it the first day of September, 1939.
Chapter Five
“Halt, who goes there?”
“Adolf Fucking Hitler,” Stefan grumbled sourly, stepping out of the shadows and pausing in front of the boy guarding the end of the gangplank. The walk from the pub back to the quay where the Eagle was docked had taken fifteen minutes. His only entertainment along the way had been pausing to watch a pair of rats dig through the contents of an overturned garbage barrel. It wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts from taking their usual turn of late, wondering how he could stomach another day of reporting to his current captain without punching him in the face, berating himself for drinking too much (realizing, of course, that the two were most likely linked) and then drifting off to something more pleasant, trying to find the perfect name for the red–haired American woman with the broken nose. He had come up empty and doubted he would ever get the chance to ask her himself.
“Oh, it’s you, sir,” the seaman replied with relief.
Stefan gingerly pushed aside the barrel of the Mauser knock-off that was pointing at the middle of his chest. “Yes, it’s me. No boogeyman or German. You can relax. What’s your name?”
“Henryk Stachofski, sir.”
Stefan looked the young man—really no more than a boy—up and down. “You like submarines?”
A shrug. “It isn’t a chicken coop,” he said, adding the word, “sir,” after moment.
Stefan smiled. All it had taken was an honest comment from this boy to flip his mood to the better. “For me, it was a fishing boat. Not sure which stinks worse. I was about your age when I joined up. Something to be said for change, eh?”
The boy nodded.
Well, Stachofski. I’m going to do you a favor. You’re on watch until when?”
“Six.”
“Oh-six-hundred you mean.”
The young seaman sputtered. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Always have trouble with that.”
Stefan held up his hand. “Don’t spoil it or I may change my mind. Here’s the favor. Go crawl into your warm bunk with a teddy bear or one of your girlie magazines. I’ll finish your watch.”
Stachofski’s face reddened. “Thank you, sir. But I’ll need to check with the chief first, make sure it’s okay?”
Stefan repressed a smile. “And who does the chief report to?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Ahh, I see your point.”
“Exactly. Now be off with you.”
“Thank you, sir.” He saluted, spun around awkwardly, and then marched up the gangplank.
Stefan watched him for a moment and then barked, “Seaman!”
Stachofski stopped in his tracks. “Sir?”
“Forgetting anything?”
Stachofski
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