Chapter 4 #3
Harald's collar felt too tight underneath his tie. Through the tall windows, he could see cadets already forming up on the muddy field below, their breath visible in the autumn air.
"After all," Christian murmured as they reached the door, his tone perfectly pleasant and utterly threatening, "a prince should be prepared to get his hands dirty. Shouldn't he?"
The heavy oak door swung open, and the cold bite of October wind cut through Harald's uniform like a promise of what was to come.
August 29, 1939
The morning air bit cold against Harald's cheeks as the cadets assembled in the courtyard. Christian stood before them, clipboard in hand, his lieutenant's insignia catching the weak autumn sunlight. The smirk playing at the corner of his mouth made Harald's teeth clench.
"For today's tactical exercise," Christian announced, "we'll be conducting a defensive position assessment.
Each fire team will have one hour to fortify their assigned position.
Then Teams Beta and Delta will attempt to overrun Alpha and Gamma's defenses.
" He smiled thinly. "The objective is to hold your position for thirty minutes once the assault begins.
Teams will be evaluated on both their defensive preparations and tactical execution. "
He held up his clipboard. "To maximize the educational value, we'll be mixing experience levels and backgrounds across four fire teams, designated Alpha through Delta. Fire Team Alpha will be commanded by Prince Harald."
Harald stepped forward, forcing himself to stand straight despite the weight of everyone's stares.
"Joining him..." Christian made a show of selecting names. "Cadet Eliasberg."
Jakob moved to stand beside Harald, his face carefully neutral.
"Cadet Stensson, Cadet Rydberg, and Cadet Dahl."
Erik Stensson's lip curled as he took his place, positioning himself as far from Jakob as possible. Otto Rydberg glanced nervously between Harald and Christian, while Magnus Dahl clutched his tactical manual to his chest like a shield.
Christian continued assigning the remaining teams, each one stacked with his supporters and experienced upperclassmen.
"Now for positions." He gestured to the training ground that stretched before them.
"Alpha Team will take the lower ground by the stream.
Beta will hold the ridge..." He continued, but Harald had stopped listening, staring instead at their assigned position.
The stream had overflowed its banks after yesterday's rain, turning the surrounding ground into a muddy mess. What few defensive positions existed were half-submerged in water. They'd be fighting uphill, in the mud, against better-equipped teams holding the high ground.
"An interesting tactical challenge," Christian said, that damned smirk still in place. "An excellent way to test innovative thinking, wouldn't you say, cousin?"
Harald met his cousin's eyes. "Indeed."
"You'll find your equipment allocations at your assigned positions." Christian's gaze swept over Alpha Team. "I trust you'll make do with what you have. Dismissed."
As they trudged toward the stream, Harald heard Erik Stensson mutter, "Great. Stuck in the mud with a farmer and a bookworm."
Otto Rydberg laughed nervously, too loudly. "Well, at least we know what Cadet Lieutenant Vasa would do in this situation..."
Harald glanced at Jakob, who walked silently beside him, eyes already scanning the muddy ground with an intensity that suggested he saw something the others didn't. God, I hope he does, Harald thought, because we're going to be defending against Christian and his hand-picked squad of upper-division cadets.
"Any great ideas?" Hal asked his team.
Magnus and Erik shook their heads. Otto looked woeful. But Jakob was clearly thinking.
"We'll have to use the advantages that we have," Jakob said after a moment. "including using the terrain itself."
"The terrain itself?" Magnus looked up from his textbook, brow furrowed. "But that's not—"
"Friction," Jakob said quietly. "Remember what Clausewitz wrote? About how the simplest things become difficult in war?"
Harald nodded, warming to the idea. "And Christian's team will be moving downhill, in formation, trying to maintain proper tactical spacing..."
"While fighting mud and uneven ground," Jakob continued. "The more precise they try to be—"
"The harder it becomes," Erik finished, surprising them all. He was looking at the ground with new interest. "And Christian always tries to be precise."
Otto shifted nervously. "But Lieutenant Vasa will expect us to perfectly execute the standard tactical doctrine in the textbook..."
"Which is exactly why it won't work here." Harald felt more certain with each passing moment. "He'll try to make reality conform to theory—"
"And that's where friction kills you," Jakob said. He knelt, pressing his hand into the mud. "Look here. See how this patch seems solid, but..." He pushed harder and his hand sank suddenly. "If we can map out where these soft spots are..."
"We can use Christian's own precision against him," Harald said. He turned to Magnus. "What does your textbook say about defensive preparation in marshy ground?"
Magnus flipped pages frantically. "There's... nothing specific, sir. It just says to avoid such positions where possible."
"Well." Harald smiled grimly. "I suppose we'll have to write our own chapter."
For the next forty minutes, they worked with a precision that would have impressed even Christian—though not in any way he would have expected.
Jakob showed them how to test the ground with long branches, marking safe paths with small stones while Harald sketched a rough map of the treacherous spots.
"The deeper mud's like quicksand," Jakob explained, demonstrating with a pole. "Step wrong and you'll sink to your knee. But it looks exactly like the firmer ground, especially if we..." He grabbed a handful of dead leaves, scattering them across a particularly deep patch.
"Camouflage," Harald said. "Not for our position, but for the terrain itself."
Erik, who had been watching with increasing interest, pointed to a slightly elevated patch near a fallen log. "We could put Magnus there with the light machine gun. Good fields of fire, and it's one of the few solid spots."
"That's what they'll expect," Harald said. He glanced at Jakob, who nodded.
"It's too obvious," Jakob agreed. "But if we make it look like we're trying to hide our preparation there..."
"While actually setting up here." Harald indicated a less obvious position. "They'll focus on what they expect to see."
Otto wrung his hands. "But sir, Lieutenant Vasa always says that elevated positions—"
"Are critical to proper defensive strategy. Yes." Harald's smile was grim. "Which is exactly why Christian will look for them. He'll see what he expects to see."
Magnus finally set his manual aside. "This is going to be completely unorthodox."
"Yes," Harald said. "But I think it's going to work."
From the ridge above, they heard Christian's voice calling out crisp orders to his assault team. Harald looked at his mud-covered squad, at the carefully concealed traps they'd laid, at the false paths they'd created. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't proper. But maybe, just maybe...
"Time to get into position," he said quietly. "And remember—let them think they know exactly where we are."
Jakob caught his eye as they moved to their hiding spots. There was a glint of something like approval there, mixed with what might have been anticipation.
This was going to be interesting.
Harald crouched behind the fallen log, acutely aware of Jakob pressed against his side. Through gaps in the dead leaves they'd scattered over their position, they watched Christian's team approach in perfect formation.
"Look at that spacing," Jakob whispered, his breath warm against Harald's ear. "Exactly like the book says."
Christian stood tall at the head of his squad, every inch the perfect officer. Even from here, Harald could see his cousin's satisfied smile as he gestured his team forward. "Maintain formation," Christian called. "Watch your intervals."
The first sign of trouble came when his point man stumbled, breaking formation to catch his balance. Christian's smile tightened. "Mind your footing, Cadet. Back in line."
"Three steps to the left," Jakob murmured. "That's where the ground gets really soft."
Sure enough, the next soldier stepped exactly where Jakob had predicted. His boot sank ankle-deep and he lurched sideways, colliding with his squad-mate. The pristine formation wavered.
"Compose yourselves," Christian snapped. "This is basic tactical movement."
Harald felt Jakob's silent laugh. "He's going to go in to try to restore order..."
"Which means he'll step..." Harald couldn't help his grin as Christian moved to demonstrate proper technique.
"Exactly where we want him to," Jakob said, and Harald could hear the smile in his voice.
Christian's first step was firm. His second landed in the deepest pit they'd prepared—the one Jakob had specifically engineered to look solid. Christian's leg plunged in to the knee.
For a moment, everyone froze. Then Christian tried to pull free, his face reddening. "Don't just stand there," he barked at his team. "Assist—"
The sudden jerk as his leg came free threw him off balance. His boot, however, remained stuck in the mud with a wet sucking sound that echoed across the training ground.
Harald pressed his sleeve against his mouth to stifle his laughter. Beside him, Jakob's shoulders shook with silent mirth.
Christian hopped awkwardly on one foot, his pristine uniform now splattered with mud, his stockinged foot held above the muck. "I said assist me," he snarled at his team, who were clearly trying not to stare at their commanding officer's sock.
Two cadets moved to help, only to find themselves sinking into hidden soft spots. The more they struggled, the more their perfect formation dissolved into chaos.
"Should we..." Harald gestured at their waiting team.