“Grand theft submarine,” Reggie muttered.
“Exactly,” Kate said.
Reggie peaked out the window. Ritter and the other officer were no longer in sight. Time to go. He slipped the car into gear, backed quickly around the corner. Depressed the clutch, dropped the steering column shift into first and goosed the gas pedal. “That was close,” he said. “Definitely time to be gone. Our ship doesn’t leave for another day, but maybe we should go there now?…”
But Kate was already shaking her head. “Sorry, Reggie. We have a few things to do first. First stop, the British embassy.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Kate grinned. “Paying back a few favors,” she said, “and maybe adding a few more pages to the greatest stories of our lives in the process.”
“I like that sound of that,” Reggie said. “I think…”
Chapter Thirty-One
Rear Admiral Karl Dönitz had no hobbies, though he sometimes allowed himself a few moments to fantasize about something far removed from submarines: flying a hot-air balloon. It was always the same place. He would be swinging in a basket below a brilliant white orb, drifting peacefully over the lush Bavarian landscape, the Alps smiling in the distance, the sky that intense color of blue that happens only once or twice each summer. No interruptions. No phones. Complaints, politics, conflict and death just bad memories. Most of all, except for the creak of the basket, the occasional roar of the burner, and maybe a faint moo or two from the cows grazing far below, it would be quiet.
“Warsaw is now surrounded.” The triumphant words brought him back to the moment.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Dönitz remarked.
“No, sir.”
“What are our casualties?”
“They are expecting only 10,000 dead.”
“Only?”
“I could be worse,” blurted the young officer.
Dönitz stared back. “Have you ever seen anyone die in combat?”
The officer shook his head.
Dönitz narrowed his eyes. “Sometime in the next few weeks, I expect you to visit one of the local military hospitals. While there, you need to talk with three soldiers. Find out what they thought of combat. And then I want to hear about it. Their names, ranks, and what happened to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dönitz flicked his hand impatiently. “Anything else?”
“Just some news from Ritter, sir.”
Dönitz couldn’t disguise his eagerness. His eyes sharpened, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, go on…”
“He says everything is going according to plan. The Estonians have interned the vessel, and they have the Polish crew in custody.”
“When will we have control of the Eagle?”
“Two days.”
“Is our crew ready to go?”
“They are awaiting orders aboard a freighter at anchor nearby.”
“Excellent!” Dönitz grinned. “Send my congratulations to the captain. Tell him I look forward to congratulating he and his men personally.”
“One more question, sir.”
“Yes?”
“He says the Estonians are asking for instructions about what to do with the Eagle’s former crew.”
Dönitz pressed his hands together. “I assumed the Estonians would turn them over to the Polish ambassador.”
The aide shrugged.
Dönitz sighed. Such a waste of good men. “If they are unwilling to turn them over to the Polish ambassador, suggest that they drive them to the border and hand them over to the Soviets.”
The officer clicked his heels together, saluted crisply, and then departed the office.
How did the Americans say it? Time to let the cat out of the bag. Of course, Dönitz didn’t doubt that Hitler already knew about his operation. He did little to hide his distrust of the military. Dönitz knew that a number of his own aides did double duty as informants for the Gestapo. At some point it might become a problem, but so far he made sure they reported what he wanted them to pass on. And now it was time to make Ritter’s capture of the Eagle official. Dönitz spoke into the intercom his desk. “Fritz?”
“Yes, sir,” came the immediate response.
“Get me a few minutes with the Führer. As soon as possible. Tell him I have a present for him… ”
“Sir? Wasn’t his birthday in April?”
Dönitz chuckled. He didn’t mind the correction. Fritz was just making sure Dönitz wasn’t embarrassed. “Just do as I say.”
“The Eagle’s wings have been clipped.”
Winston Churchill pointed his cigar at the speaker. I’m not in the mood,” he growled. “Speak plainly.”
The face of the man hovering in the doorway of the recently appointed First Lord of the British Admiralty reddened noticeably.
“Sorry, sir. You,uh, asked us to keep you apprised of the situation of the Polish submarine the Eagle.”
“Quite right, go on.”
“Word from our embassy in Estonia. She put in to Tallinn earlier today. A few hours ago, she was interned.”
“What?” Churchill roared with alarm.
“Their embassy has lodged a protest.”
Churchill snorted loudly. “All the good that will do. Their captain must be a fool. What of her crew?”
“Apparently, they are being confined. And here is the interesting news. We’ve learned that the Germans have some sailors waiting aboard a freighter in the harbor.”
“Bloody hell,” Churchill glowered. “The Eagle’s new crew?”
“Apparently.”
Churchill shook his head. “Send a message to the ambassador and our naval attaché there. Have them do what they can. The last thing we need is another German submarine on the prowl, not that we’ll be able to do much about it right at the moment.”
The young messenger ducked out of sight.
Churchill sucked on his cigar, the bright end glowed. He held the smoke in his mouth, letting his tongue taste its richness, and then he let it trickle out a corner. Another German submarine? He restrained a shudder. Even though England was unprepared for this war, few of the obstacles facing her were fatal. German U-boats, however, were causing nightmares that haunted his sleep. How many U-boats did Dönitz have? And now, one more to torment them with. Churchill’s gaze drifted to the half-eaten sandwich sitting on a plate on the corner of his desk. They had enough food for now. Six months from now it might be different. He reached out, pulled the plate closer. Time to set a good example and get in the habit of not wasting food, he thought to himself. He sat the ever present cigar in the ash tray, and picked up the remainder of his sandwich. He took a hearty bite and went back to work.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Captain Duncan McBride of the Royal Navy gave the woman standing in front of his desk a lingering glance—he couldn’t help himself—and then he carefully placed his magnifying glass on the desktop, closed the worn leather notebook containing his stamp collection. She was definitely a looker, he thought, giving her another long gaze. Beautiful red hair. Green eyes. And the kind of mouth you would never grow tired of kissing. Unconsciously, he reached up and straightened his tie, brushed back the sides of his hair.
She had barged into his office when he was right in the middle of adding three new stamps to the notebook that had once been his father’s, and before that, his grandfather’s. Something about a bunch of Poles, he thought she’d said. He’d always had trouble following the American accent.