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Thread: *First Resistance*

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    *First Resistance*

    Copenhagen, Summer 1940

    Christian Nielsen walked along the pavement, careful not to attract attention. He looked about, slyly, to ensure no one was watching then slid down a narrow gateway to a backyard leaving behind the bustling sunny streets of Copenhagen.

    He looked back at the light in the street before entering yet another backyard and turning toward the entrance to the basements.

    So much had happened these last few moths. If one took a look at the streets one would not notice at first, it was a bright sunny day, people were out shopping, the stores still sold the latest dresses. He shook his head, it was in all the little details one should find the change. There were fewer cars on the streets now, more bicycles.

    He smiled bitterly, yet still people didn’t see what was happening, already some things were hard to get, he tapped his pocket, the cigarettes were still there, but he refused to light one, they would have to last. He could still buy some, but soon, soon it would be over. Soon silk fashion from Paris would be unattainable to anyone but a select few, soon tobacco and petrol would be a memory only to the majority. And yet, they seemed not to care.

    His mind drifted back to the street he had left as he descended the steep concrete stair into the basement. There were more visible sign of the changes. On the corner, on the corners of many streets, where people suddenly chose the other side of the street, where a large vacuum suddenly opened up. There they where.

    He reached up and pressed the light, a dim bulb on the far end of the corridor blinked to life and he started out towards it.

    They just stood there, silent, courteous, not doing anything, but they were there nonetheless. In their impeccable uniforms. He shook his head sadly, and fished a key out of his pocket. Bending over he opened a wooden door to one of the storage rooms of the apartments above. Retrieving a brown parcel he quickly secured the door again and moved further into the basement.

    He edge by a few old baby carriage and turned right at an intersection, his had softly touching the bulb making it swing slightly sending strange shadows across the floor and walls. They just stood there, the German soldiers. He ground his teeth unwittingly at the thought as he started up another set of stairs. Denmark had been invaded in the spring, and as the dog she was she had rolled over at the first sign of fight. He opened the door and exited out into yet another backyard were the sun never came.

    His shoulders trembled slightly as he clenched his hands at the thought crossing the deep shadows towards the gateway. He couldn’t in honesty blame the military for not fighting. A few had fought and died before the order to cease fighting came, but truly, truly the nation would not have stood a chance.

    He stopped in the gateway and took a deep breath before putting his hands on heavy door pushing it open. Surely the mines in the belts and harbours would have prolonged the fight and needless blood would be spilled. He could not blame the army, not even the government for surrendering. He sighed; he could blame the politicians, the Social Democrats for ten years of not preparing for what he and a few others had seen as inevitable, for not setting aside money for the army.

    He entered another backyard, this one just as gloomy though the houses that shielded the nice early summer sun were more upscale. He shook his head in sadness for those few that had tried to oppose the Germans in Sønderjylland, armed with machine guns, bicycles, and outdated light field guns had they attempted to stop the Germans and defended their headquarters and barracks.

    He exited unto a more quiet street than the one he had left, four hundred meters as the crows flies, or as the man who knows the shortcuts walks he thought wryly, but a long roundabout for those not aware of the connecting yards and basements.

    He was so caught up in his gloomy thoughts that he accidentally bumped into a man passing by, almost dropping the parcel, he hefted the heavy pack in the last minute before it slipped from his grasp and mumbled an apology, hurrying along the street, berating himself for his carelessness.

    He quickly turned a corner then another and opened the front door of an innocuous looking apartment building bounding up the steps and locking him self in. The air in the apartment was stuffy and stale with the sun beating on the high windows all day. He placed the heave parcel on the small table and shrug of his grey coat hanging it neatly on a hanger before scurrying through the rooms looking for telltale signs and opening the windows.

    Finally coming to rest in his small office he allowed a deep breath and a moments rest. Nobody had been here since he left, he was being paranoid they would not be looking for him yet, no not yet. He was missing from duty, and as such a refugee, but doubted anyone would report it, some might know why he was gone, some might guess, but none of those would report it. At least he hoped so.

    He leaned back and sat a few moments with his eyes closed. Finally he sighed deeply and went to get the package in the small hallway. Picking it up he hoped everything would be inside he had asked for. He felt the familiar shape and weight, smiling humourlessly he knew that something he had asked for was there.

    Back in the office he set the package on the table with a low thud, staring for a long moment at the brown paper reluctant to open it. He left it one the table and went through the rooms once more undoing his tie and opening his shirt he ended up in the kitchen. Leaning on the table he looked across the roofs of Copenhagen. He would have to decide, and soon, would he be like the others, abiding by the commands, docilely submit, or hopefully biding their time or should he act, follow his instincts and his heart?

    He straightened up, his decision made, he opened the icebox and pulled out a Tuborg, and opening it he took a long pull and strode purposefully towards the office. Setting the bottle on the table he pulled out his pocketknife and in one swift motion cut the string holding the package together. He quickly flipped open the brown paper revealing a number of smaller packs wrapped in newspaper. Berlingske from the day before yesterday he noted absentmindedly. He pocketed the knife and took another pull of the beer, then almost casually he picked up the largest package weighing it slightly in his hand before unwrapping it.

    Unwrapping it he looked at the content for a while without moving, as if the opening of the package, releasing the contents into his hands had somehow sealed his fate, decided the course of his life to be.
    He set the content on the table, careful to have the paper beneath the slightly oily surface. A gun, standard army issue, the heavy steel shining dully on the table in the light from the window.

    Finally he grabbed the handle sending a familiar feeling through his fingers and he quickly operated the bolt securing the gun and checking no bullet was chambered before setting it down again. He quickly unwrapped the remaining packets; spare clips, a few packets of ammunition, and gun oil, all you needed to keep the gun at ready.

    He drained the beer, and quickly wrapped the packets again tying a knot where he in his haste had cut the string. Leaving the parcel on the table he stood on a chair and removed a number of book from the high cases that covered the walls, behind then a small panel appeared almost in line with the wall, unnoticeable by the casual observer, even with the books gone. Prying it open he lifted the parcel up to rest behind another similar shaped box. He smiled as he saw it, the official gun, the one he would have to hand over if they came to claim it.

    Restoring the books to their previous place he looked about the room. First step accomplished, now he had time to spare, waiting time, nothing would happen until he was ready. Nothing he could control at least.

  2. #2
    Nice. It reminds me of a book by Ken Follett I read once...can't remember its name though. Is this just fiction or did you play a game as Denmark (pretty short game I suppose) or someone else?

  3. #3
    The last leftist

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    Great start, Valdemar.
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  4. #4
    Valkyria Black Lotus's Avatar
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    Is this just fiction or a real game? Cause if it's a real game it might be short , but....if it's fiction it's really good so far
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    Thank you gents

    Its fictional in the sense that true resistance is not portrayed in the game

    Denmark is indeed overrun thus the game is soon over, but the AAR on the other hand have tons of possibilities

    V

  6. #6
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    I agree - a ton of possibilities. Nice to see the resistance covered. Great to see you at it again, sir. I look forward to more!
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  7. #7
    Hurricane Sergeant of Arms Amric's Avatar
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    Egads! Valdemar is writing a new solo AAR!? Wonderful. I have been missing his Byzantium story...and he sneaks into HoI and starts writing something! Good thing I lurk around in here periodically and read stuff, or I would have missed this!
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  8. #8
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    Coz, Amric thanks

    The Byzantine story is not abandoned, but I have been to far removed from the story for too long, the notes are lost and the story it self has for a number of different reasons developed into a direction I did not anticipate... thus the story needs some rethinking, a process I started with the last sequence of posts with the small army and the new marshall. I'm still writing it, and will finish it, its a matter of pride, but as originally announced it will not be a GC and instead of the planned several generations it will likely end with this generation possibly this campaign....

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    General Seidita's Avatar

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    very impressive start, i hope you update again soon.

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    Holmen, Copenhagen, Fall 1940

    The elderly gentlemen stood in front of the crowd and watched as the fire fighters fought the small fire in the barracks behind his main office. The helmeted men moved about with a quiet determination that bespoke of true professionalism and years and years of experience.

    The major in charge of the navy fire corps saluted the elderly man, “The fire will under control in less than an hour admiral, it will not spread to the main buildings.”

    The Vice admiral in charge of the offices in question, nodded and threw a slight glance to his left at the German guards that stood of to the side, “do not hurry on my account Major, in fact I would not be displeased if it turned out that the corner office in there turned out to be unsalvageable.”

    The Major let his eyes dwell briefly on the windows of the burning building seeing nothing but ordinary offices behind the broken glass, alight by fire and nodded slightly and went back to directing the efforts of his men.

    Moments later the roof caved in on one end of the building sending a shower of sparks into the dark autumn night. The Vice admiral whose command these barracks were along with the more official historic building in front nodded slightly in satisfaction, an odd reaction for a man who had just lost years and years of work to a random fire. The old mariner that had left his last command at sea almost half a generation before let his eyes scan the small crowd that had dared break the curfew to help the fire fighters or merely watch the spectacle. Most were navy men, Holmen still a navy facility despite the inactivity of the fleets, but a few civilians that worked or lived nearby had shown up too.

    Upon seeing a familiar face the old gentleman nodded slightly to himself, had he been a waging man this was just man he would have expected to see, or rather not to see behind this fire. He shivered slightly in the cool air despite the pyre before him, had he not seen that figure this could have been a random, if fortunate accident. As it was it was obvious to him that this was no coincidence, he would have to walk a fine line in the days to come, the Germans would have to investigate a fire at a navy facility, it would be up to him to brush it aside as an accident.

    Christian Nielsen blended back into the crowd, he had allowed him self this considerate risk to allow the Admiral to know he was alive still. Walking carefully through the dark but familiar alleys of Denmark’s ancient naval yard he wondered if this had been the right way to do it, others might have seen him, and until a few moths ago he had been a regular if not common face among the hundred of employees at the yards that also housed both the naval base and headquarters of the Royal Danish Navy.

    He shrugged and dismissed the thought; few had known his name, and even fewer his true occupation the Admiral’s offices covering a multitude of smaller navy enterprises. He route seemed random, but ultimately carried him to the water’s edge next to the old torpedo boat sheds, lighting a match briefly he leaned against the wall in the deep shadow. He was rewarded by the gentle lapping of waves against a hull as a small boat appeared out of the reeds by the banks of the channel.

    Nodding briefly to the young man at the oars Christian stepped into the boat with a move that bespoke of long practise and the boat quietly slipped into the calm waters of the old channel. He reflected briefly over the many charges that these waters had witnessed when the Swedes had stood on the island trying to take Copenhagen, not once had it fallen despite the land it self being occupied, always had the nation risen to the challenge and evicted the invaders. It was a smaller Kingdom now than it had once been under the Valdemars and the first Christians and Frederiks, but it had always survived. This time had been different and the Germans sat heavily on all of Europe. Only the British still stood against them on their Island fortress protected only by their navy and the air force.

    Chrisitan sneered slightly, the English navy, the pride of the nation, like it had been the pride of his only less than two centuries ago before the same British had stolen it and build their strength upon that of his nation’s pride. He shook his head, it was of no matter know, but one had to know once history in order to know where to look for help, and help he would need if he was ever to see Denmark free again. He looked back at the diminishing glow on the night sky. This had been the first strike, though it had been a small one, and only held true import to a select few that knew just what sort of files had gone up in smoke.

    The boat bumped gently against the docking in Christianshavn, the labour quarter that housed the civilian workers from the navy yard and the large civilian shipyard of Burmeister and Wain on the tip of the Dock Islands in the harbour. Christian clambered unto the dock and turned to see the young man off,

    “Will you be needing me again Commander?”

    Christian hissed slightly, “Never call me that in public lieutenant, never again until we are done.”

    The young man nodded submissively, and the Navy Commander continued less harshly, “I will contact you again, this was merely the first step. Najaden isn’t done fighting yet.” He smiled in the darkness at the grin on the younger man’s face, “in fact we haven’t even started yet, talk to Magnussen, an Johansen if you can, but be careful what you say, not all are ready yet for this decision, Denmark has yet to awaken, and they are slow to realize it.”

    The young man nodded, and turned the boat towards its moorings, “God’s speed Erik,” the Commander whispered as he slipped across the street to yet another backyard dodging the patrols that enforced the curfew.

    Slipping into the small apartment he had borrowed for the week he allowed himself to relax for the first time this night. Everything had gone as planned despite the risk of detection in staying in the crowd. The first strike had been dealt though to the uninitiated it was not easy to know what the office had contained. He smiled wryly, in fact it was only a few old cases, long gone affairs and while it would have been of cursory interest to the Germans it was other cabinet that held the true gems had been stored.

    He leaned back in the chair closing his eyes, personnel records he thought dryly, all he had destroyed tonight was personnel records.

  11. #11
    Holstein's Envoy in Vienna Syt's Avatar
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    Nice, and an interesting twist, writing an AAR from the perspective or resistance. Looking forward to more.
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    Copenhagen, Winter 1940-41

    The hall was full of people in the brief span in time when two different teams switched places between two training sessions. Up on the ledgers small knots of white clad people were sitting chatting, friends or teammates, before or after training, the ideal picture of a carefree youth.

    Christian entered, the perfect picture of a fit gymnast, if a tad too old, in fact older than most. Scanning the room he hefted his duffel bag with the tennis gear and started up the stair to the topmost seats and their low light and relative calm.

    He had not been sitting for then a minute before the fist man joined him, this one also carrying a bag of gym clothes. To the casual observer they were idly looking at the younger women doing gymnastics on the floor while engaging in small talk, in reality they scanned and evaluated every entry and exit to the hall.

    Half an hour later a total of ten men sat gather in three or four groups clustered around the original two and it would be hard to tell if they sat in the vicinity of each other by accident or on purpose.

    Christian raised his voice enough to carry no further than the outer rim of the group, a smile still on his face his eyes on the women, and his head turned slightly towards the man next to him.

    “You all know why we are here, we have to decide how best to aid the efforts in Britain.” Nobody responded, but Christian sensed their attention. “You all served with me at one time or another onboard Najaden, for some of you it’s been a while, for others you were on my last command there, before I went ashore.”

    He shifted his eyes briefly to observe a couple of German soldiers that had entered the hall. Taking seats further down, watching the girls with open admiration, much to the open displeasure of the rest of the hall. Except the ten men. While they observed the intruders carefully they never expressed their distaste, they couldn’t afford the attention.

    The Commander was silent for a brief moment more before continuing. “This is we do, you three down there, you are still at Holmen, I need to know what sort of movements the Germans carry out in our waters, you know who to talk to, who not to.” The trio nodded slightly. Without turning his head, “you two, you will gather what the rest finds out, and make sure I get it, you know how. The rest of you, you are to get in contact with the civilian harbours, and the army, you’ll know what to say, our first mission will be one of build up and information.”

    The men began to disperse, “please stay for a moment Erik,” the young lieutenant sat again, “you and I will need to go north, Hornbæk I think, or Gilleleje, we need to find a contact that can take us to Sweden. Erik nodded, “The ferry still sails.” Commander Nielsen nodded, “that may be necessary at one point, but for now the patrol on the Sound is light, no need to draw attention.”

    He rose and hefted the bag, heading towards the changing rooms. “Tomorrow at Hovedbanegården, Kystbanen nine thirty to Helsingør.”

    The young man nodded and headed to the tennis courts in the other hall, he had a late game with a lovely lady from the one of the departments in the domestic services.

    *****

    The black locomotive and the red cars roared into the high vaulted station and coming to a complete stop in cloud of smoke and steam.

    Erik stood at the appointed place and hour but saw no sign of Commander Nielsen. He looked at his watch and the huge clock on the far wall, the time was right, the conductor looked at him questioningly, and the young lieutenant shrugged and climbed aboard the coach.

    The conductor slammed the door, looked for confirmation from the train driver and raised his flag. As the doors were shut all the way down the train he blew his whistle and the trained lurched into motion.

    First stop Østerport, Erik leaned back and wondered if he should get of at the next stop or continue all the way north when the door was pulled open and Christian Nielsen entered, holding up a hand to stall any comments, seating himself the Commander waited until the trained had pulled out of the station and finally checking the aisle outside before speaking,

    “I thought it best not to join you at the Central Station, too many nosy types there, no need to put you and me in connection with each other.”

    Erik merely nodded and looked out at the dreary and grey winter city, they were pulling along the harbour now, almost devoid of shipping apart from a few vessels flying German and Swedish colours, and off course the ever present blue wooden fishing boats.

    The train thundered north along the coast through the rich villas of the powerful in the nation without a word being spoken, first when they pulled out of Klampenborg and the open woods of the old Royal hunting park with its renowned stags closed around the tracks did Erik looked away from the window.

    Christian poured tow cups of coffee from his thermo, “this will likely be the last in a while.” Erik nodded his thanks and they rode for a while in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

    “Remember that time north of Skagen?” The older man broke the silence. Erik smiled and nodded, it had been a boring watch in the depth of winter when suddenly a distress call had been sent, a small cargo ship had gotten a list when the cargo had shifted in the winter storm and the icing on its masts and topside had threatened to force it under. Najaden had been the closest ship and had responded to the call. The task was not daunting for the experienced crew but carried its own hazards in the treachery winter sea. Erik, a lieutenant fresh out of the academy had expected to be released from the watch as soon as they pulled near the floundering merchantman, but while the Captain had come onto the bridge he had not taken over control, merely watched the young officer as he went through his first true command.

    Needless to say the rescue had been a success and in the slow news days after Christmas Najaden had earned a brief moment of fame for its actions. Erik Smiled at the memory, it was things like that that had made Captain Christian Nielsen a popular officer and Najaden the ship to learn the trade. The torpedo boat was one of the newest in the navy and while a small ship a formidable fighter in the closed waters of Denmark.

    The two men spend the reminder of journey in amiable reminiscence of past journeys onboard various vessels and the Commander spend a lot of time questioning the young officers on the shape of the ships and crews after he himself had left the water in favour of e “command” on land. Erik answered to the best of his abilities without questioning the assignments that had made his old Captain leave the sea.

    “A lot of the crews are frustrated at being laid up in harbour since the occupation began. They fear that the ships will end up in German service. Only the coastal patrols and mapping ships are still sailing, mine hunting and police assignments, and always with a German soldier aboard.”

    Christian nodded, he knew of the various orders, but had no longer access to first hand impressions from the sailors.

    He stared out at the winter seas of the Sound as the train passed by yet another small fishing village. “Do you know what the Admiral’s offices did before the war?”

    “The Vice Admiral, the one whose offices almost burned a few months ago? He was in charge of personnel and training. Not head of the officers school, more on the administrative side I understand, and pensions and stuff.” Christian smiled at the slight contempt the last words had been uttered with, for a young man pensions had to be a strange concept yet.

    “And you find that is a strange place for me to end? It did carry a promotion you know, from Captain to Commander.” He smiled to show that he knew what the younger man would say. The lieutenant grimaced, but didn’t answer, he felt that it was not something he should comment on.

    “You feel that a promotion can be bought to dearly?” He smiled again, “well I would agree, had it only been personnel, and had we not lived in these times, when I went ashore the Germans had only just elected their new Chancellor, but some, including the Admiral had a notion that this could change the world as we see it, and there are more offices, more discreet tasks under the old sailor than mere assigning you hotheads like you to his majesty’s ships.”

    They rode on in silence again, the Commander leaving the young man across the small compartment to consider what he had learned. Slowly the train pulled in to Helsingør, the old town on the mouth of the Sound, only a quick sail from Sweden. The two men quickly changed to a smaller and slower local train and rode again through wintry Sjælland almost without another word, finally getting of in Gilleleje, one of the small hamlets on the coast, almost deserted now except for the fishing families, a bustling city in the summer when Copenhagen left the warm streets for the open air and white sandy beaches.

    They almost in unison pulled their coats tighter as they turned into the steep street that carried them to the small harbour, finding shelter in a small inn on the tip of the pier while they waited for the fishermen to clean out today’s catch and ready the ships for the next days work. Slowly crew after crew drifted in to the tavern with a few sidelong glances to the newcomers. Finally a large barrel-chested man entered and seeing the pair headed their way.

    “So Captain, you finally come to see me? Its been what? Seven years?”

    Christian smiled and threw a glance at the full room, the large man nodded a fraction and pulled up a chair while the rest of his crew dispersed in the room.

    “Jens here is one of the few men who knows or guesses what I did after I left the fleet, he was my boatswain on my first command, he decided to give his native fishing a chance after that.”

    The large man nodded, “aye, I dared not set foot on another navy ship as long as Nielsen here was out sailing.”

    This drew a large smile from the Commander, but he quickly turned serious, “how often do you go out nowadays?”

    “Ah, once every second day or so, the Germans like it that some of us stay in.”

    Christian nodded, “and the Swedes?”

    “They go out every day or so, getting the benefit of our limitations they are.” He looked knowingly at his former commanding officer, “but we do run into them now and again.”

    The Commander nodded, “I wonder if not you could have slight malfunction and stay over the night, soon, in Göteborg?”

    “It could happen why, do you already crave that much for real coffee in Copenhagen?”

    “Well that too, yes, but also, they have a rather renowned mail system, and I have friend who happened to have stayed over in Stockholm, at the embassy, if I send him a letter, he’ll be meeting you in Göteborg, helping your repairs,” he slipped a sealed enveloped across the table, covered by the beer bottles.

    “I see,” the letter disappeared into the other man’s pockets, “I’m going out tomorrow, but the weather in January is usually foul, it is not unheard of a few boats having to spend a few days on the other side if the winds do not favour an early return.”

    The talk turned to old sea stories, and Erik and Christian had to run to catch the last train in direction of Helsingør.

  13. #13
    Banned MuckyPup's Avatar

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    lovely

  14. #14
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    Not quite used to you updating so quickly. I hope you keep it up, for this is fun to read.
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    Well thank you kind sir, I might add that I updated the Slow AAR too not to mention FC

    I have the story all ready in my head, what I ned to write it is a, quiet and b the right mood, it needs to be a tad sad and/or gloomy

    V

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    Copenhagen, Spring 1941

    The morning sun broke through the grey heavy clouds, just as the ferry docked in the Swedish harbour of Helsingborg as if to greet the guest from occupied and cold Denmark to a sunny Sweden where spring somehow didn’t seem so far off.

    How appropriate. Erik squinted down on the dock, seeing the train to Stockholm already at the station, waiting for the few passengers from Helsingør that where still allowed to travel across Øresund. He boarded the train without trouble and settled in for the long haul up to Stockholm and the small Danish official Embassy there.

    The trip was uneventful and he allowed himself to use a small part of his meagre reserves of Swedish currency to pay for both some chocolate and a cup of real coffee on the train, both goods that had gotten increasingly scarce in Copenhagen.

    He left the train in Stockholm and purposely strode directly for a tram taking him to the Embassy, pointedly ignored two other passengers that he had begun to suspect being either German or Swedish intelligence watching him.

    Or perhaps watching over me? Not knowing, he went straight to the planned destination and saved his extra assignments for later.

    Safely on the bus he seated himself for the ride, noticing that one of the passengers caught a taxi while the other still took the same route as him. The young lieutenant shrugged, he was here on legitimate business, and with the consent of both the Danish Government, nominally still in charge of the Navy, and with the consent of the German occupation force, the de-facto ruler of Danish Foreign and Military policy.

    He got of the bus and walked the still snow covered streets towards the embassy, he had been here once before in his early years as Cadet, when his ship had visited Stockholm, nodding to the Swedish Police guard he went straight up the walk to the door opening as he approached. He was greeted by a minor functionary that helped him stow his luggage and overcoat, before finally showing him into the office of the waiting Military attaché.

    “Had a pleasant trip?” The Attaché was a rotund man that had not seen active duty in years, got up and offered his hand across the table.

    “Not bad, it is colder up here, but I got some real coffee on the train.”

    “And Copenhagen?”

    “Quiet and apprehensive, mostly just quiet, not much going on, on the surface,” he smiled wryly, “and not too much going on beneath it either.”

    “Biding your time?”

    “Complacency mostly I think, we are not really in any harm staying the way we are. That may change later, but for now its very calm.”

    “And that is what brings you here?”

    “The usual, reports from the General Staff, from the Government, and from, hmm... other sources.”

    “All right then, let me have it.”

    Erik nodded and handed over a wad of papers, documents and assorted mail.

    The attaché leafed briefly through them and then dumped them on his desk, “and those other sources?”

    “Those other sources are quite happy it is so calm at the moment, as long as the Armed forces are not disbanded it works to our advantage, we can build in the shadows, and collect for darker times.” He reached across the desk and opened what appeared to be an old issue of a morning paper, opening it on a page he pulled out a crossword and began reading from it, using the half filled puzzle as guide of his memory.

    The Attaché bent over his desk furiously taking down names of ships, counts of transports, convoys and good rattling off from the young man. Finally the tally stopped and the attaché smiled and stretched his back. “I usually gets this in smaller doses from the correspondent of Berlingske.”

    “Yes, I know, but this was better now that I’m coming by, and this way we may give the journalists a well deserved rest.”

    The attaché smiled and tucked away his notes. “Are you going to see anyone?”

    Erik nodded, “Hopefully the British if I can, later most likely I’d try and arrange for some other contacts.”

    The man across the table nodded again and stood, “let us go and have some lunch, then I’ll drop you off at your hotel and see if I can help you get some privacy.”

    Erik raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment, the older man merely smiled and winked, “They always check our couriers, but the Swedes are fairly lax, if you have lost your German escort it should be easy to slip out for a few hours.”

    The lunch went uneventfully, but amiably aided by the good attaché’s knowledge of the city. Erik slipped out briefly and placed a phone call and proceeded then to his hotel for a brief rest.

    The darkness came early this high up, and when he woke in the afternoon the stars were already blinking in the clear cold sky. He quickly redressed and went down to find something to eat.

    Following the advice of the attaché he easily found a small restaurant and sat down for a quite meal. The room was small and cosy, the food good, and he was easily able to survey the entire establishment from his table. As he finished his coffee, and paid his bill, he quickly grabbed his coat and slipped through the kitchen and out the back. Adjoining the backyard was another service entry, this time to a small and dark bar. Entering he quickly slipped into a small booth next to a small weasel looking man.

    The man looked up and smiled, “So you made it, eh?”

    Erik nodded, “I have given the ordinary report to the attaché, I’m sure he will be in contact soon.”

    The small man smiled again and padded his coat pocket, then proceeded to order drinks. When the lovely Swedish girl had served, he threw a glance at he other customers and leaned slightly forward. “Well how are things in Copenhagen, and how is my friend Christian?”

    Erik smiled after the girl, noticing how she lingered at the bar looking back at him. In love and war. He dragged his attention back towards the Englishman.

    “Well he is fine, he has so far attracted no attention and no one has questioned his disappearance. The cousins, that is the official officers still working for the ministry of Defence are gathering a lot of intelligence and trying to build a small underground army. They are happy with the current peace, and do not intend to do much according to Christian.”

    The Brit nodded, “And Christian?”

    Erik smiled, “For now, he does the same, our intelligence is based on different sources, and may not be much different than what you get from the cousins. But that is merely the first phase.” He dug out a small lighter, “open it somewhere else, inside is a film, on that film is a list of things he would like to see.”

    The other man nodded and lighted a cigarette with the lighter, then casually stowed in his pocket.

    “And then what, eh?”

    Erik Shrugged, “we wait, we need more of the populace to oppose the occupation, not actively, but with an interest in getting the Germans to leave before we can even begin working our way out under their thumb.”

    The smaller man nodded. “Sounds like a reasonable plan for now, I’ll inform London. Care for another drink?”

    Erik eyed the barmaid. “Yes, actually I will. Thank you.”

    The host nodded and raised his arm bringing the girl to their table again and she quickly complied, looking mostly at Erik. The young Dane smiled and almost blushed, and thanked her in Danish.

    She smiled back, “I knew you were Danish.”

    Erik merely smiled and almost downed half his beer in one gulp.

    The English officer smiled at the scene and left soon after on a brief excuse agreeing to meet again the following night, leaving Erik with half a beer and a young Swedish girl at the bar.

    *****

    The small apartment was dark, but the moon shone coldly through the high windows as the girl quietly removed her over coat and helped Erik out of his. They stopped there and kissed for a long time, swaying slowly to the inner music in the silent hall.

    Finally she broke off and without a word gently pulled him deeper into the apartment.

    The bar had closed early, and Erik had been ready to leave looking out at the snow as he wrapped himself for the cold when she had stepped up to him. They had not spoken many words as she left the bar and directed him through the deserted streets, stopping often in doorways to kiss deeply.

    She moved along in front of him, finally pushing open a door. Louisa was her name, one of the few things they had been able to say to each other along the way. She gently tugged his hand and they entered a dark bedroom, again the moon spilled over a large bed giving it an out of worldly white glow.

    She put her finger on his lips to stall his words and slowly began to undress him, staying his hands when he reached for her. Then she gently pushed him unto the bed.

    Erik was like paralysed as she leisurely undressed before him in that white moonlight. Slowly she revealed her clear soft skin and when she finally let her long blond hair tumble free he was unable to control it any more, he reached out and she melted into his arm, wearing almost nothing.

    He felt her warm skin and soft cool silken underwear against his body and everything melted away in his mind, only those two on the bed seemed to exist.

  17. #17
    Den ökända hästen från Troja Zuckergußgebäck's Avatar
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    Not wanting to anger a mod, yet I think that both coffee and chocolate was rationed in Sweden at the time, hence making it difficult to get...

    On the other hand, this is good!

  18. #18
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    Quote Originally Posted by Zuckergußgebäck
    Not wanting to anger a mod, yet I think that both coffee and chocolate was rationed in Sweden at the time, hence making it difficult to get...

    On the other hand, this is good!
    No offense taken, it may be rationed, but still accessible no? And to a starving Dane that cannot get either it would be jsut the right thing to treat him to?

    V

  19. #19
    Den ökända hästen från Troja Zuckergußgebäck's Avatar
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    Sour shop-owner: Ration-cards?
    Starving Dane: Here
    Sour shop-owner: aWit, these are danish ration-cards, you trying to fool me?!

    *Starving Dane flees with knives whistling around his ears*

  20. #20
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    Quote Originally Posted by Zuckergußgebäck
    Sour shop-owner: Ration-cards?
    Starving Dane: Here
    Sour shop-owner: aWit, these are danish ration-cards, you trying to fool me?!

    *Starving Dane flees with knives whistling around his ears*
    He was with a resident englishman, I'm sure the UK embassy had rationing cards

    V

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