The Last Eagle (2011) Read Online Free
soon, nightmares and memories still too fresh in so many minds. Ritter was confident that when confronted by the combined might of the German Wehrmacht , Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine , their resolve would vanish like smoke before a Teutonic gale.
As the trail crested a final rise, Ritter began to jog, the pain in his knee finally subsiding. He hurried along the trail as it headed toward his destination, anxious now to get to the prow of land that gave a panoramic view of the city and the harbor.
He stepped out onto a huge rock discarded by a receding glacier 12,000 years earlier, and looked out. Below him, the lights of Gdynia twinkled in the dusk. A dozen ships hung on their anchors in the harbor. Assorted freighters and fishing boats, mostly. The Baltic beyond lay black and quiet and smooth, a mist already beginning to erase the horizon. Closer in, however, huddled next to the quay, was a Polish submarine.
He had wanted one last look, remembering the De Schelde shipyards and the first time he had gazed at the Eagle , remembering how it felt.
Early tomorrow, hundreds of kilometers to the west, the dying would begin, but if luck held, he and his men would soon be in possession of what he and Admiral Dönitz desired most.
After he seized command, his first order as her new captain would be to replace the Polish flag flying above her bridge with one bearing the German swastika. Eagle , however, she would remain.
Chapter Four
“It’s not fair,” Sublieutenant Eryk Pertek of the Polish Navy’s submarine Eagle said pointedly, slapping the scarred tabletop for emphasis.
His boss, Lieutenant Commander Stefan Petrofski, scratched the side of his beard and shrugged in the direction of his navigator and friend. As second in command of the Eagle , he knew he shouldn’t have another beer. In addition to Pertek, there were a dozen other members of the Eagle’s crew scattered throughout the pub. Part of Stefan’s job as a Polish naval officer was to be a good example to his men. And that meant staying reasonably sober when he was out in public. Tonight, he didn’t care. He drained his mug, and then roared “Beer!” in a voice that demanded obedience.
His shout was like a slap on the bottom of the plump waitress behind the bar. She filled another mug to overflowing and began waddling in their direction, not bothering to stop and apologize to the customers she wet with spilled beer along the way.
Stefan admired the way she wove between the tables like a skilled soccer player on the attack, avoiding slaps and pinches, twisting away from grabs and caresses, using a combination of bluster and sweetness to get her message across: look, but don’t touch. There was enough to enjoy, particularly in the bounce of her ample breasts.
A few years earlier he might have made a try for her. Flirting was a holy obligation of every sailor. If he put his mind to it, he might have succeeded in convincing her that he was more than a worn-out sailor. He knew from experience that a smile transformed his bearded, sea-weathered face into something that some women found appealing or, at least, sympathetic. But tonight was not the night. So instead, he said “Tthank you” when she slammed his beer on the table, pushing a bill in her direction that more than covered the price of a dozen.
“Too much,” she protested, glaring at him with suspicion, brushing aside a dark wet strand plastered to her forehead.
“I expect nothing but a smile in return. Honest.”
A wink coaxed a harried smile to her face followed by a throaty and giggle of appreciation she couldn’t restrain. “I suppose I could use some new silk stockings.”
“And so!” Stefan exclaimed. “Another fair maiden pulled away from abyss. New stockings it is.”
A shout from the bar pulled her eyes away. She slipped the bill into her blouse, nodded her thanks, and then braved another passage across the crowded pub.
Stefan watched her leave, shaking his head
As the trail crested a final rise, Ritter began to jog, the pain in his knee finally subsiding. He hurried along the trail as it headed toward his destination, anxious now to get to the prow of land that gave a panoramic view of the city and the harbor.
He stepped out onto a huge rock discarded by a receding glacier 12,000 years earlier, and looked out. Below him, the lights of Gdynia twinkled in the dusk. A dozen ships hung on their anchors in the harbor. Assorted freighters and fishing boats, mostly. The Baltic beyond lay black and quiet and smooth, a mist already beginning to erase the horizon. Closer in, however, huddled next to the quay, was a Polish submarine.
He had wanted one last look, remembering the De Schelde shipyards and the first time he had gazed at the Eagle , remembering how it felt.
Early tomorrow, hundreds of kilometers to the west, the dying would begin, but if luck held, he and his men would soon be in possession of what he and Admiral Dönitz desired most.
After he seized command, his first order as her new captain would be to replace the Polish flag flying above her bridge with one bearing the German swastika. Eagle , however, she would remain.
Chapter Four
“It’s not fair,” Sublieutenant Eryk Pertek of the Polish Navy’s submarine Eagle said pointedly, slapping the scarred tabletop for emphasis.
His boss, Lieutenant Commander Stefan Petrofski, scratched the side of his beard and shrugged in the direction of his navigator and friend. As second in command of the Eagle , he knew he shouldn’t have another beer. In addition to Pertek, there were a dozen other members of the Eagle’s crew scattered throughout the pub. Part of Stefan’s job as a Polish naval officer was to be a good example to his men. And that meant staying reasonably sober when he was out in public. Tonight, he didn’t care. He drained his mug, and then roared “Beer!” in a voice that demanded obedience.
His shout was like a slap on the bottom of the plump waitress behind the bar. She filled another mug to overflowing and began waddling in their direction, not bothering to stop and apologize to the customers she wet with spilled beer along the way.
Stefan admired the way she wove between the tables like a skilled soccer player on the attack, avoiding slaps and pinches, twisting away from grabs and caresses, using a combination of bluster and sweetness to get her message across: look, but don’t touch. There was enough to enjoy, particularly in the bounce of her ample breasts.
A few years earlier he might have made a try for her. Flirting was a holy obligation of every sailor. If he put his mind to it, he might have succeeded in convincing her that he was more than a worn-out sailor. He knew from experience that a smile transformed his bearded, sea-weathered face into something that some women found appealing or, at least, sympathetic. But tonight was not the night. So instead, he said “Tthank you” when she slammed his beer on the table, pushing a bill in her direction that more than covered the price of a dozen.
“Too much,” she protested, glaring at him with suspicion, brushing aside a dark wet strand plastered to her forehead.
“I expect nothing but a smile in return. Honest.”
A wink coaxed a harried smile to her face followed by a throaty and giggle of appreciation she couldn’t restrain. “I suppose I could use some new silk stockings.”
“And so!” Stefan exclaimed. “Another fair maiden pulled away from abyss. New stockings it is.”
A shout from the bar pulled her eyes away. She slipped the bill into her blouse, nodded her thanks, and then braved another passage across the crowded pub.
Stefan watched her leave, shaking his head
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