Five minutes later, Squeaky was back. “Here you go,” he said, tossing the trousers at his friend.
Stefan had been leaning up against the gangplank, ignoring the grinning guards. He held the trousers out, sniffed the air, and then nodded to himself. They’d have to do. “Chief K on board yet?” he asked, buckling the belt.
“He said he needs another two hours.”
“Do you believe him?”
Squeaky shrugged. “I think he’s only concerned about being shot. We won’t do much good if we get out to sea and then run into mechanical trouble.”
“I know,” Stefan replied, rubbing his face again. “But we do Poland no good staying here. We’ve been lucky so far, but—” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“Have you heard anything?”
Stefan shook his head.
“How do you think we’re doing?”
Stefan gestured for a cigarette, waited for Squeaky to fumble in his jacket and then hand one over. He lit it, taking his time to reply. “Haven’t heard many of our planes, have you?”
Squeaky shook his head.
“That tells you how we’re doing in the air. The Army? Well, we have brave men, yes. And I suppose we’re about evenly matched in terms of numbers. The French and English did us no favors warning against mobilization. The trick is what the French will do now. If they attack, we might have a chance. But I fear that they will stay safely in their warm bunks behind their Maginot Line, and the Englanders are too far away to do us much good. We are on our own.”
“But we cannot lose!”
Stefan didn’t reply. He finished his cigarette, flicked the butt into the water. He patted Squeaky on the shoulder. “We must do our part,” he said simply. “That is all we can do. You OK here?”
Squeaky nodded.
“Pablo and the rest of the men on board?”
“An hour ago,” Squeaky said. “We’re all here.”
Stefan glanced to the east. There was already a faint hint of light. They didn’t have much time.
Chapter Thirteen
Stefan could smell the stink of hydraulic fluid two compartments away. Not a good sign. He increased his pace, ducking and weaving his way down the choked passageway, surprisingly agile for such a big man, but still finding the time along the way for a word in one sailor’s ear, a joke for another and a pat on the back. It was the behavior of a natural leader. Of course, he didn’t think of it that way. Wasn’t even aware of it. But it was exactly what his crew needed. His presence wafted through the ship like a fresh breeze.
“How soon?” Stefan asked, standing in the opening to the compartment, staring down at the huddle of men so stained with grease, it was hard to distinguish one from another.
Ritter glanced up from the pump, wiped his face with his sleeve, started to reply but held back. He and his men weren’t even supposed to be on board.
Chief K banged a pipe with his wrench, not sure how long Stefan had been watching and hoping it would create the impression that he had been in the thick of the repairs instead of sitting on the side, holding his aching head. He flashed yellow teeth. “One, maybe two hours. I got this sonofabitch patched together. But we need a goddamn new pump. Or a complete rebuild. The seals on this damn thing are kaput.”
“How long will it last?” Stefan interrupted.
The chief winced and then glanced in Ritter’s direction. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Commander.” Ritter stood, held out his hand.
“Hans?” Stefan said with surprise, grabbing Ritter’s soiled hand, feeling the strength in the grip. “Not the safest place to be right at the moment.”
Ritter couldn’t help smiling. He liked this man. He was smart, a good sailor. If he had been in command, he had no doubt they would have been sent packing weeks ago and the Eagle would be war-ready.
“We couldn’t stay away,” Ritter said. “And I know you are a man who likes direct answers, so I will give you one. I don’t know how long it will last. It could last minutes, or it could last months. It is, of course, our fault. We should have caught and fixed this problem when the Eagle was still in dry dock. You have my deepest apologies. We have played with the lives of you and your men. Offering our help is the least we can do.”
“If we survive this, I will look up the fellow who installed this pump the first time and, uh, have a little chat with him.”
Ritter laughed. Yes, indeed, he liked this man very much. It almost made what would happen a shame. “It is the least we can do.”
“A permanent fix—what will it take?”
“A new pump, or time to rebuild this one and then time to make sure the lines are purged of contaminants,” Chief K chirped in, unwilling to defer everything to Ritter.
“Where can we get our hands on a new pump?”
“Maybe Hel or Warsaw, but now—?” Chief K shrugged.
“We have some at our facility in Tallinn,” Ritter suggested.
“We may end up there,” Stefan muttered. “At this point, I’d sail to hell and back if it would get this boat healthy. Right at the moment, we don’t have time to take a little summer vacation. Your repairs will have to do. Let me know when you’re done, Hans. I’ll want to see you before you go.”
Ritter cleared his throat. “Yes, about that, sir. We were wondering if you could use some extra hands for the next few days?”
“I could use the help,” Chief K chirped hopefully.
Stefan’s first reaction was “No.” A submarine was hardly the place for civilians during war. On the other hand, they were in a pinch, and if these men could help— “Have you notified your company?”
Ritter shook his head. This is on our own.”
“You understand the risks? Last time I checked, this wasn’t your war.”
Ritter smiled.
“Welcome aboard,” Stefan said, slapping Ritter on the shoulder. “You work for the Chief, but you report to me. You’ll have to bunk where you can find space. You stay as long as the captain and I say so and when we say go, you go without any arguing. OK?”
Ritter nodded. “Thank you,” he said with feeling. He meant it.
“Torpedo tube leaks?” Stefan barked.
“Fixed ’em yesterday,” Chief K replied, tiredly. He needed a nap, but it might be days before he would get the chance.
“We leave in an hour,” Stefan announced. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”
Stefan pulled on a heavy wool coat and grabbed a mug of coffee before climbing up into the conning tower. Still soaked with sweat from his trek with Sieinski, he was cold in the predawn chill.
Stefan took a sip from the mug, the coffee just the way he liked it, hot and bitter, and surveyed the scene. Smoke softened the waterfront and his view of the city. The last flames had been doused hours earlier, but crews continued to pour water on the piles of blackened rubble, columns of smoke and steam angling into the cloudless sky, already glowing pink with approaching sunrise. If there were more attacks, they would get no help from the weather.
He had men on the stern, adding a few more liters of diesel to their tanks and topping off their supply of fresh water. No telling when they would be able to get back into a Polish port, if ever. The Polish Corridor, the narrow tongue of land that was Poland’s only access to the sea, was squeezed on one side by Germany herself, and by the German province of East Prussia on the other. If it wasn’t already severed by the German Army, it was only a matter of days before it would happen. Gdansk and Gdynia would fall. And then they would be on their own.
Stefan wondered where they could go. It was hard not to think about it. It was too soon to consider while Poland was still fighting, but the time would come soon enough. By then Sieinski would be recovered. Stefan was glad he wouldn’t be forced to make the decision. Stefan knew how to fight. Surrender or exile was a choice he hoped he never had to make.