The Last Eagle (2011) by Michael Wenberg Page B

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