The Last Eagle (2011) Read Online Free Page B

And a few older crones looked exactly like the old women that populated every small village in Poland, backs twisted into pretzel shapes by endless years of stooping and hauling.
    As for the occasional rich person who passed by, they looked suspiciously like the aristocracy of his own land. The same shimmer in their eye, the arrogant cock to their smooth chins. They may not have the title or the family history, but they had everything else. Class distinctions were as prevalent in America as anywhere else, Stefan suspected. They were just better disguised in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
    Stefan finished the beer, suppressed a belch. “I am a Polish sailor,” he said, more to himself than to his young friend across the table. “That is who I am. That is how I will die.”
    Pertek shook his head with exasperation. It was no use arguing. He’d seen that glint in Stefan’s eyes before. It was time to change the subject. He brushed his hand through thick, curly black hair that was the envy of many women. “And so, will it be war?” he asked, persistent as a child.
    “I am only second in command,” Stefan said with a harsh laugh, the bite to his words revealing the sting he still felt from once again being denied command of not just any ship, but a vessel he had dreamed about his entire career. “What do I know about such things? Best to ring up that shit Hitler and ask yourself.”
    “I mean it,” Pertek insisted, grasping his older friend by the arm. “What do you think?”
    Perhaps it was the beer that was made this night different. Or perhaps it was something else? Sailors were nothing if not superstitious. His shoulder had been aching since that morning. It hadn’t bothered him years. Why had it chosen today to awaken? “You know, there’s this wonderful invention,” he said. “More powerful than any crystal ball, it provides the key to many secrets. It even tells me what Hitler will do next. I’ve tried to convince our fearless leaders of its importance, show them its secrets, but they ...” Stefan shrugged.
    “What is it?” Pertek knew he was being suckered, but he couldn’t help it.
    “Reading. Pick up a newspaper or book now and then and you might not be so ignorant about the intentions of Mr. Herr Heil Hitler.”
    “Come on, Stef,” Pertek said impatiently.
    Stefan sighed. “It is only a question of when, not if. And very soon, if my shoulder has anything to say about it.”
    “Shoulder? What about reading?”
    “Oh, yeah. That too.” Stefan winked. He pulled the brim of his cap down low, stood suddenly, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “I will sleep on board the Eagle tonight,” he announced.
    He pushed off across the room, unsteady at first, and then gaining steam, heads turning here and there as shipmates followed his progress. They turned to Pertek to see if they should follow. He shook his head, raised a hand for them to stay put. Even drunk, Lieutenant Commander Stefan Petrofski was in no danger from anyone he might encounter on the docks. A stocky six-footer, he was equipped with a pair of bricklike fists and well skilled in their many uses. In fact, Pertek almost wished a thug or two would attack his friend on his way back to the boat. It might improve his mood. It couldn’t make it any worse.
    It was common knowledge that Stefan was his own worst enemy. He had little patience for the subtle political game playing that was required in order to rise to the higher ranks. All of that could be overlooked if you happened to be the son of the vice chairman in charge of this or that, or the grandson of a grand duke. But Stefan had neither of these advantages. If he were not the best submariner in the Polish Navy, he would have been court–martialed, or worse, long ago. Fortunately, the staff at Polish Navy Headquarters were not that stupid. For now, they needed Stefan’s experience on the Eagle .
    Ever since they had taken delivery of the boat from its Dutch