The Last Eagle (2011) Read Online Free Page A

regretfully. “It is done, Pablo,” he said, using his friend’s nickname and pausing to half-drain the glass. “Once I get the boat squared away for our new captain, I’ll be reassigned or booted out on my ass. He’ll want someone of his own. And so, I follow orders. That is the way it is.”
    Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Stefan knew it, and so did Eryk. No one loved submarines more than Stefan. While other officers went out of their way to avoid service aboard these dank, moldy, sour-smelling, leaking cylinders of steel, Stefan had done just the opposite. As a result, he had more firsthand knowledge of submarines than anyone in the Polish Navy. It was all the other aspects of being an officer in the Polish Navy that he didn’t handle so well.
    “But not in America,” Pertek said, leaning over his mug and pointing his thumb at a couple sitting quietly at a table in the far corner.
    At first glance, they looked English—their clothes had probably been picked up during a stopover in London—but, of course, everyone in the pub knew they were Americans all the way from New York City. At the moment, the only makeup the woman wore was a faint, amused smile. She had pushed away her plate of pork chops and steamed cabbage, but her hands kept returning to it as if they needed something to keep them out of trouble. The man was already working steadily, head down, on a second helping, pausing every now and then to tip back his head and take a swallow or two of beer before resuming.
    Rumors had them from Hollywood, but the owner of the hotel where they were staying had set everyone in the dockside pub straight the night before. Hollywood? No. She was a foreign correspondent for an American newspaper syndicate, traveling around the country, doing a series of articles about Polish poets and artists. He was her photographer. No more, no less.
    Definitely not less, Stefan thought, eyeing the woman. Not the most beautiful he had ever seen, but there was something about the way she looked that he found intriguing. Perhaps it was her nose. Once broken, it had been set improperly. On anyone else it would have been a distraction, but on her, this imperfection only seemed to enhance her beauty.
    He watched her scan the room, stopping for a moment when their eyes met. Did her smile brighten, perhaps recognizing in him someone like herself? And then she was distracted by a comment from her companion. She tossed back her thick red hair and laughed. Stefan wondered what made a sophisticated woman like that laugh. A subtle joke? A cynical comment? Surely not anything a rough seaman could ever say or do.
    “I tell you that two men like you and me could go far in the American Navy,” Pertek continued. “Over there, what counts is what is in here and here,” he pointed at his head, and his heart, “and not who your father or grandfather happens to be.”
    Stefan clenched his fists, feeling his fingernails bite into his palms. Don’t be fooled, my young friend, he thought. Those count, too. Even in America. It didn’t help that Pertek’s older brother had been sending letters from Chicago for six months, tormenting him with tales of abundance and promise. If only half of them were true, anyone over sixteen and younger than sixty was a fool to remain a moment longer in Poland.
    Especially with the threat of war.
    But Stefan knew they were not entirely true. As a younger man, he had visited ports around the globe, including those along the American west and east coasts. His first visit to New York had been a wonder. The graceful lady towering above the harbor. The Empire State Building. Stefan had spent so much time looking up in the air, his neck had ached for a week. Two hours sitting on a bench in front of the Macy’s department store had sobered his opinion about America. Not everyone in New York was rich, Stefan realized, as he had watched the crowds surge past him. In fact, most of them didn’t look any better off than he.