Chapter 7 #2
"The Poles never had a chance," Freddie said, pacing by the windows. Unlike Hal, who had shed his jacket hours ago and rolled up his sleeves, the Crown Prince remained immaculate in his formal uniform. "Their cavalry against German tanks? It's medieval thinking in a modern war."
"It's not that simple," Hal murmured, studying the map. "The Polish forces actually performed well when they managed to engage on favorable terrain. It's the speed and coordination that overwhelmed them."
"Which is exactly my point," Freddie said. "Overwhelming force, decisively applied. The German approach is textbook perfection."
Hal frowned. "Except for the deliberate targeting of Polish civilians."
"Unfortunate collateral damage," Freddie said with a dismissive wave. "But strategically sound. Breaking civilian morale accelerates capitulation."
"That's not collateral damage. That's the point." Hal picked up a cable from the stack. "They're burning entire villages, Freddie. Executing people in market squares. This report says German planes circled back to strafe civilians fleeing from a burning town."
Freddie's expression tightened. "War is ugly, Hal. Always has been."
"This is different—"
The door opened, and both princes straightened as King Gustav entered, followed by a secretary carrying more dispatches. Gustav looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been even a week ago, but his gaze was exacting as it swept over the maps.
"The British War Cabinet has concluded their first meeting," he said without preamble. "They're predicting a three-year conflict, minimum."
"Three years?" Freddie looked startled. "That's absurd. Germany will have Poland wrapped up within weeks."
"They're saying that Poland is only the beginning," Gustav said, lowering himself carefully into his chair.
"Britain and France won't simply allow Germany to keep expanding.
They believe that Hitler won't stop with Poland.
" He nodded to the secretary, who placed the new dispatches on the desk and quietly withdrew.
"What's Sweden's position, Father?" Freddie asked. "Surely we'll maintain our neutrality, as we did in the Great War?"
"Neutrality served us well then," Gustav agreed, though something in his tone made Hal look up from the map. "But whether history will repeat itself remains to be seen."
"The situations are completely different," Hal said, thinking aloud. "Last time, the powers were evenly matched. This time..." He gestured to the map. "Germany has been preparing for years while everyone else disarmed."
Gustav nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes that Hal missed as he bent over another dispatch.
"There's more," Gustav said. "The first British merchant vessel was torpedoed in the North Sea yesterday. Without warning."
Freddie frowned. "That violates all conventions of naval warfare."
"Precisely." Gustav coughed, a dry, rattling sound that he tried to disguise as clearing his throat. "And it raises serious concerns about our own shipping routes in the Baltic."
"The Germans wouldn't dare interfere with Swedish vessels," Freddie said confidently. "Our iron ore is too valuable to them."
"Which makes us a target for the British," Hal pointed out. "If they decide to cut off Germany's supply lines."
Gustav watched his younger son with quiet intensity. "Go on."
"We're caught in the middle," Hal said, warming to the analysis. "Germany needs our iron. Britain needs to deny it to them. Our ships will be at risk no matter which route they take." He traced the shipping lanes on the map. "And if either side becomes desperate enough..."
"They might decide neutral Sweden is an obstacle rather than an asset," Gustav finished. Another cough shook him, and this time he couldn't hide it.
Freddie was at his side instantly. "Father, you should rest. The doctors said—"
"The doctors can wait," Gustav said, waving him off. "This cannot." He pulled a thin folder from beneath the maps. "This came through diplomatic channels an hour ago. For your eyes only."
Hal opened the folder and felt his blood run cold. The report detailed atrocities in occupied Poland—systematic roundups of intellectuals and community leaders, mass executions, entire Jewish communities being forced into ghettos.
"This can't be accurate," Freddie said, reading over Hal's shoulder. "Even the Germans wouldn't—"
"It's accurate," Gustav said heavily. "Confirmed by multiple sources. Note the specific mention of Wieruszów. Twenty Jewish citizens executed in the market square as an 'example.'"
Hal's mind immediately flashed to Jakob—his quiet intensity when speaking of his family's flight from Russia, the careful way he navigated the antisemitism at Riddarhuset. What would happen to someone like him if Sweden fell under German influence?
Gustav noticed his reaction. "You're thinking of your friend at the academy."
It wasn't a question. Hal looked up, surprised. "I—yes. Cadet Eliasberg."
"Ah, yes." Gustav nodded. "Excellent tactical mind, from what I hear."
Now it was Freddie's turn to look surprised. "You have reports on Hal's classmates?"
"I make it my business to know who's training to lead Sweden's military," Gustav said mildly. "Particularly those who impress my sons." He fixed Hal with a penetrating look. "You want to return to Riddarhuset."
Again, not a question. Hal nodded. "I've been away too long. And with Christian still there..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice his concerns about his cousin in front of Freddie, who had always been closer to Christian than Hal was.
"Christian knows his duty," Freddie said stiffly. "He wouldn't do anything to embarrass the family."
Hal and Gustav exchanged a brief glance that spoke volumes.
"You may return tomorrow," Gustav said, turning to Harald. "But I want you to continue receiving daily dispatches. The situation is developing too rapidly for you to be uninformed."
"Yes, Father."
"And Freddie," Gustav continued, "I need you to review our coastal defenses. If—" Another cough interrupted him, this one lasting longer. When it subsided, his face was ashen.
"Father, please," Freddie said, concern evident in his voice. "Let me call for the doctor."
Gustav waved weakly. "In a moment. First, I need to speak with your brother alone."
Freddie hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "I'll wait outside." He squeezed his father's shoulder before leaving, a rare display of physical affection that made Hal's chest tighten.
When the door closed, Gustav turned to Hal, his golden eyes—so like Hal's own—suddenly intense despite his exhaustion.
"You see patterns where your brother sees only force," he said quietly. "It's a rare gift, and one Sweden will need in the coming years."
Hal blinked, unsure how to respond. "Freddie is a fine soldier—"
"Freddie is exactly what he was trained to be," Gustav agreed.
"But these times require more than soldiers.
They require thinkers." He tapped the report on Poland.
"The world is changing, Harald. Old certainties are crumbling.
Freddie will need men who can adapt, who can see beyond doctrine and tradition when he is King. "
"I'm not sure I'm that man, Father," Hal said honestly.
Gustav's smile was tired but genuine. "That's precisely why you are." He closed his eyes briefly. "Now, tell me more about this cadet who has you so concerned."
Hal hesitated. "Jakob — Cadet Eliasberg — is brilliant. Tactically innovative, hardworking. But he's... vulnerable at the academy. Especially with Christian there."
"Because he's Jewish?"
"Partly. And because he's the son of the school laundress. And because..." Hal trailed off, not sure how to explain the complex dynamics without revealing too much about his own feelings.
"Because he's your friend," Gustav finished simply. "And Christian has always resented anything that diverts attention from him." He sighed. "Your cousin has many fine qualities but generosity of spirit is not among them."
Hal nodded, surprised by his father's perception. "Christian's been worse lately. More... openly contemptuous of anyone he considers beneath him."
"Like many young men, he's looking for certainty in uncertain times." Gustav's expression darkened. "Unfortunately, he seems to be finding it in troubling places."
Before Hal could ask what he meant, another coughing fit seized the king, this one violent enough to double him over. Hal rushed to his side, supporting his father's shoulders until the spasm passed.
"I'm calling the doctor," Hal said firmly, no longer a request.
Gustav nodded weakly, too exhausted to protest. As Hal moved toward the door, his father caught his wrist.
"Harald," he said, voice raspy but urgent. "Watch over your friend. And watch Christian. There are currents moving beneath the surface of this war that few can see."
"I will, Father."
As Hal stepped into the corridor to summon help, he found Freddie waiting, his posture betraying tension only in the tight set of his jaw.
"How is he?" Freddie asked.
"Tired. But still sharp." Hal hesitated. "He's worried about Christian."
Freddie's expression closed. "Christian knows his place."
"He knows his place," Hal said quietly, "and everyone else's."
Their eyes met, a rare moment of understanding between the brothers.
Then Freddie nodded once, a soldier acknowledging a valid tactical concern.
It wasn't much, but it was something. Tomorrow he would return to the academy, to Jakob, armed with new knowledge and a clearer sense of the gathering storm.
September 8, 1939
The Shabbat candles were already laid out on the table when Jakob arrived home from his Friday lecture.
He paused at the gate, taking in the familiar sight—the small farmhouse with its weathered siding, the carefully tended garden, the thin curl of smoke from the chimney.
After a week of war news and Christian's veiled threats, home should have felt like sanctuary.
Instead, he found himself scanning the tree line, noting how exposed the house was from the main road.