The Last Eagle (2011) Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked down at his fly, and then remembered the rifle on his shoulder. He smiled with embarrassment. “Sorry, sir.” He scurried back, handed the rifle to Stefan. “It isn’t loaded,” he confessed.
    “Then why don’t you leave me with a few rounds, if you don’t mind? This isn’t much good without them.”
    Stachofski bobbed his head, dug a handful of cartridges out his coat pocket.
    “Thanks again, sir,”
    “Get outta here,” Stefan growled.
    Stefan shook his head as he watched the boy scamper up the gangplank. He should have placed him on report. An unloaded weapon while standing watch was against regulations. But it probably saved an accidental shot in the foot or something worse, the memory of the barrel pointing at his chest still fresh. Besides, overlooking the infraction would deny the captain the pleasure of demeaning the boy in front of his mates tomorrow morning. That alone made it worthwhile.
    As the echo of the boy’s footsteps faded away, Stefan loaded five rounds into the rifle's internal magazine and then leaned against a wooden crate, his mind drifting back to Eryk’s questions earlier in the evening. Of course it would be war. What was he thinking? Hitler was nothing if not direct. His desires and threats were clear enough even for the fools and idiots who were Poland’s military and political leaders. He still couldn’t believe that they had listened to the English and French, warning against mobilizing all of the Polish reserve troops for fear of provoking Hitler into an attack. Brave men who would have been happy to wear a uniform and squat in trenches along the Polish-German border were now out harvesting a second cutting of hay and picking pears. At least the idiots at naval headquarters weren’t that stupid. The Eagle’s sister submarines were out on patrol in the Baltic. If not for an inexplicable series of breakdowns, the Eagle would have been, too.
    Stefan stared past the harbor entrance, marked by cold, green lights glowing like Christmas decorations in the distance. He pulled up the collar of his thick wool pea coat. Better out there. Room to run from danger, hide in the Baltic’s chill depths if threatened. Until the Eagle was fixed, they were as exposed as a baby’s bare ass.
    Stefan reached for his pipe. Frowned when he pulled out a stub of a cigar instead. Must be in the other coat, he thought. A cigar would have to do. He struck a match, and then sucked in the strong acrid smoke. Of course, mechanical problems were not all that unusual, especially with a new boat. Any piece of machinery as complex as a submarine required a shakedown period. Everyone expected it. But something wasn’t quite right with this boat. It was like a stink too faint to detect, a mouse rotting away in some obscure duct. Hard to find, but there nonetheless. At times he had been tempted to dismiss the boat as jinxed, and look for help from one of the gypsy crones he’d see from time foretelling the future in the street markets. But that was nonsense.
    The past few months had gone so badly, the Eagle’s builders had even sent a trio of engineers to help with the problems. At first, Stefan welcomed their arrival. But after two weeks, they were no closer to reducing the number of the Eagle’s problems. If anything, the Dutch had only added to the confusion. Stefan had pointed out that very fact earlier in the evening. The captain, however, wouldn’t hear any discussion of it.
    “And where did you get your university degree from, Lieutenant Commander?” he had asked, stopping by the submarine on his way to a party, not even bothering to get out of the back seat of his car.
    “You know I’m not a university-educated man, sir” Stefan admitted, squeezing the door handle so hard his knuckles cracked.
    Commander Józef Sieinski  didn’t need to say any more. Argument won, he gave Stefan a condescending look. “How does my tie look?”
    “Fine, sir.” It could have looked like it had been tied