Intermezzo
Somewhere in Stockholm..
Konstantin Päts fiddled with the pen in his hands. He felt old; terribly old. The summer sun slanting through the window did little to lift his gloom. The roar of guns, the screams of the dying filled his mind: suddenly he was back, 20 years ago. The charnel house smell of burning bodies, the gut wrenching fear, the numbness of seeing more than the mind is capable of handling. It would never end, soon there shall be no-one left.
Per Albin Hannsson looked across the table at the man who had visibly aged since their last meeting. He quickly glanced At Risto Ryti: he too seemed older, shrunken. A little tic had appeared over his eye, yet he sat calmy in his chair, his eyes half closed. Hannsson cleared his throat.
"Gentleman, in the last week the world changed. The old order has been swept away; The two most evil regimes have sworn a fight to the finish."
Ryti opened his eyes. "Yes, either way it will be to the last Finnish. Of that we have no doubt." He smiled wryly. "Comrade Stalin sent me a message expressing our historic ties and feeling of mutual friendship last night. How nice of him!"
Päts placed his pen on the table and lifted up a small sheaf of paper. "Here: I too have messages expressing our historic ties and feeling of mutual friendship. This time from Hitler - it is nice to have such friends, no?" He threw them down in disgust. "I do not need to tell you Gentleman what such promises are worth. Whoever wins, we lose in the end." Ryti nodded in agreement.
Hannsson stood and walked to the window. To the east, a large black cloud was on the horizon: a storm was coming. To the west, the skies were clear. The air was still, not a blade of grass moved in the wind.
"It seems to me, we have a choice between one evil or another. Or we stay neutral, and fall in the end. Whoever wins that struggle will be stronger than before. Our latest Intelligence suggests that the German attack may not be developing as planned, although the Red Army has sustained substantial losses already. But we all know how resiliant they can be. I believe Hitler has consigned his Reich to the graveyard, with Stalin to emerge triumphant."
Ryti snorted. "Yes, and we all know what will happen then! We shall never surrender to the Bolsheviks, never! We have lost too much, too many men already for that. But we cannot support Hitler either! We are not strong enough to fight them on our own!"
Silence descended on the room. Päts looked at Hannsson, still standing at the window, at Ryti, staring angrily at nothing, fear and desperation written across his face.
"Maybe not, perhaps, on our own..."