The third partition E-Book

Martin Elmberg

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 662

Beschreibung

While Sweden experiences criminal gangs and their shootings and bombings, the Swedish archenemy Russia is lurching in the east. The single mother and police officer Alva gets personally targeted by the criminal gangs, while at the same time, the married Swedish couple tries to escape from their terrible past. Eighty years earlier, a Swedish fighter pilot finds himself in the center of events as Europe's future is decided in the closing stages of World War II. This thriller is based on actual events, from European World War II history and modern-day European events like Ukraine from 2014 onwards.

Leseprobe

Contents

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

AFTERWORD

LITERATURE

PROLOGUE

He sat down in the worn brown office chair. In front of him were the two monitors with the images from the surveillance cameras. He would let the surveillance slideshow display the different camera images one after the other, as it always did.

First, there was the outer area with the gravel yard, the red-painted Swedish-looking houses, the green fields, and the image of the downhill driveway. The next set of images was of the inside, with the locker room and the larger room with its black bar. Then the other rooms. First, the two rooms that are behind the office and the gym. Then the fourteen rooms upstairs plus the corridor.

It was quiet today, he only had one Guest at the moment. Eight of the fourteen rooms were occupied, but soon there would be nine. He thought about number nine. He would soon be finished with her. She had been here for fourteen weeks. Number ten, on the other hand, was still new and had many weeks left. There were five weeks left of the breakdown. Only then would the eight weeks of buildup begin.

He zoomed in on the camera in number ten's room one more time. He would release her in three weeks. That's how the schedule worked. The first four weeks naked in a dark closet, sitting on a portable chemical toilet with hands and feet tied with cable ties. No food, just water to drink the first week. Barely enough room to sit, let alone lie down and sleep. All to break down the psyche so that it would be easy to reshape later during the buildup phase. He followed the Over-caretaker instructions to the letter.

He zoomed in on the camera facing the driveway. Abbe was his Sub-caretaker. He should soon arrive with one of the Guests. Abbe handled much of the daily tasks such as fetching and dropping off Guests. It was very important that the Guests never saw where the estate was located. They had to protect the secret.

It had been three hectic years. First, finding an estate and then building all of this as camouflaged as possible. It had been relatively easy out here in the Swedish countryside. No one asked any questions. They had built much of it themselves. The Over-caretaker had lent the money needed.

Finding Numbers was surprisingly easy. The Over-caretaker had a large network of contacts. He often selected a young girl who had fallen outside of society in some way. Someone who wouldn't be missed.

Number five and number seven were boys. They had been called “unaccompanied minors” in the Swedish media. Asylum seekers from outside of Europe. They were the easiest targets. The authorities wrote them off after just a week or so of their disappearance.

For the girls, it was almost the same thing. A girl who had problems at home. Who had previously run away from several foster homes. Another disappearance surprised no one, even if she didn't come back this time. The authorities often assumed that the girl had run away abroad.

They kidnapped the Numbers as quickly as possible in a secluded place without witnesses. They usually used the white van. It had been out of commission for a long time and they used fake license plates. Different plates for each occasion. Abbe printed them out on the 3D printer. They left nothing to chance.

They usually used a stun gun to sedate the Number. Then it only took a few seconds to drag the Number into the van, close the door, and drive away.

He had information about each Number on his desktop computer. It had never been connected to the internet, all to keep their operation secret. In the computer, there was all the data about each Number. What size of clothes each Number had. What food the Number would get to maintain a suitable weight. The Number's exercise schedule.

He only used the number. Never the real name. He preferred them to be just a number among the others. Never get attached to any of them. Never call them by their real names. Only using the number. That's what the Over-caretaker had taught him.

He got up and walked down the hallway to the door of number nine and unlocked it. She looked up at him silently. She wore the black hard plastic collar around her neck. He quickly checked that the collar was securely in place.

The Over-caretaker had given them the box of black plastic collars. They had a built-in GPS and transmitter. The collar contained a battery that could deliver a powerful electric shock to the Number. He could control the collars from the office or with the small extra remote controls. If a Number tried to escape, the alarm went off. As soon as the collar went outside of the geo-zone, the Number received an electric shock. The collars meant that they always had total control over the Numbers. And the Numbers knew it.

He waved his left hand a little and she nodded that she understood. She took off her sleepwear and lay on the bed backwards. She was thirteen. The Numbers were young.

The new one, number ten, was the youngest of them all. He preferred slightly older girls, but the Guests wanted it this way. He thought of number two, who had been fifteen when they brought her here. Now she was almost seventeen and more adult-looking. A little more to his liking.

He had sex with number nine two times in an hour. The first one was quick. The second one took longer and he pushed a bit harder.

Probably the group of five guests in the highest Guest class would book her as soon as her buildup was complete and she was moved to the upper floor. Then she had to be prepared for rough handling. He had to prepare her a little better so that she could handle it.

He thought of numbers five and seven, the two unaccompanied minors. They had been tough from the start and had managed the group of guest women without any major problems.

When he was finished, he immediately stood up and left her on the bed without even looking at her.

1

He pushed the lever forward while applying full throttle. The speed increased, and after a few seconds, he pulled the lever sharply towards him. The horizon disappeared under the hood, and he could only see the sky. He loved it!

He was at the top of the loop. Far away, he saw the coastline of Öland and Blekinge, but upside down. He had been there earlier today. Now he was over the forest between Bromölla and Älmhult in southern Sweden. He felt the belts tighten around his shoulders as dust and small stones began to fall past his face onto the inside of the transparent cabin hood.

He pulled off the throttle and began the descent to finish the loop. Suddenly he saw only forest in front of him. He knew he was at several thousand meters of altitude and had a big margin down to the ground. Yet he felt a tingling sensation in his stomach as he dove with several hundred kilometers per hour straight down towards the Swedish dense forest.

After a short while, the horizon with the Öresund sound appeared in front of him. He brought the lever back to neutral and applied full throttle again. A big smile played on his lips, and he started laughing to himself.

He flew an Italian thoroughbred. The plane was called Reggiane 2000 Falco in Italy. In Sweden, it was called the Fighter Aircraft (Jaktplan) 20 or simply J20 in bureaucratic Swedish.

He was glad they had received these planes as a replacement for the outdated biplane Gloster Gladiator. He laughed again, a bit bitterly this time. “Biplanes. Against the German Messerschmitts. We would have stood no chance at all”, he thought to himself.

The Fighter Wing F10 was established in record time in 1940. It was the threat from Nazi Germany that drove the parliamentary decisions to protect Gothenburg and Skåne. The two new Fighter Wings F9 and F10 were formed, but they were not ready when the Germans invaded Denmark and Norway in April 1940. The Swedish defense was completely surprised. To defend southern Sweden, there were only a few soldiers from the coastal defense and a few aircraft from the Swedish Airforce. If the Germans had attacked Sweden, there would have been hardly any defense in place to defend from the German invasion.

But by this time there were more defenses around. The Per-Albin Hansson defensive line of fortifications was being built along the Swedish coastal belt, with fortified gun emplacements and machine-gun posts. The F10 Fighter Wing had been established in Malmö in 1940, and with the new J20 planes, they were no longer hopelessly inferior to the German Luftwaffe.

At the same time, he was not particularly afraid of the Germans. Rather the opposite. Germany had shown no intentions of attacking Sweden. Historically, it was Russia that was Sweden's archenemy, not Germany.

He was on his way home from a routine patrol mission. His patrol leader Arvid had experienced engine failure with his J20 and therefore he had to fly off on the mission alone, without Arvid. There was no other plane available for Arvid at such short notice.

That’s why he could do a bit of stunt flying on the way back to the airfield. A loop or two and a few extra rolls couldn't hurt. They weren't allowed to fly the planes that much, but he thought it was important to get to know his plane. If he ended up in a dogfight with German fighter aircraft, he wanted to know his plane and hopefully be a better pilot than his opponent.

He looked outside along the mottled green-brown camouflage of the left wing and saw the Baltic Sea out there. The patrol mission had consisted of flying along the coast of Blekinge up to Öland and protecting the two convoys of cargo ships heading north. There were both German and Swedish cargo ships in the two convoys.

Sweden and Germany had a lot of trade between them. Officially, the trade involved the important Swedish iron ore. Germany's armaments industry needed high-quality Swedish iron ore.

Sweden exchanged the iron ore for coke and coal from Nazi-occupied Europe, but he knew it was more than that. German war supplies were transported on empty iron ore ships up to Swedish ports in the north and stored in warehouses. German-controlled truck traffic drove these supplies to Finland, which was in alliance with Germany against the Soviet Union. He had even heard stories of German soldiers being transported on these ships that partly sailed in Swedish waters.

During the past summer, the cargo ships had been attacked by Soviet submarines. Both German and Swedish cargo ships had been sunk. The first Swedish ship torpedoed by a Soviet submarine was the Ada Gorthon, an iron ore ship clearly marked with Swedish neutrality markings and sailing in Swedish waters. Several attacks had followed, and more Swedish ships had been sunk. The Swedish navy had found parts of exploded torpedoes with Russian text near the sunken ships.

There was no doubt that the Soviet Union was behind it all, but the Russians denied any knowledge of the events. He had no doubts. In reality, Sweden and the Soviet Union were at war. During the patrol flights, he had seen Swedish naval ships drop depth charges, trying to hit Soviet submarines inside Swedish waters. The Swedish defense leadership was concerned that Soviet bombers might also attack the ships. Therefore, the Swedish Air Force conducted patrols of the shipping routes with fighter planes.

For his part, it was time to fly home to Ripa secondary airfield near Åhus in Skåne, the southern part of Sweden. They were temporarily based there to be closer to the patrol area near Blekinge and Öland. The squadron's main airfield was Bulltofta in Malmö, but they were often stationed at one of the secondary airfields.

He had been stationed at Ripa for just over two weeks now and was beginning to tire and long for home at Bulltofta. The proximity to Malmö and city life was much more enjoyable than the rural surroundings at Ripa. He eased off the gas a bit and began to slowly reduce altitude to land.

2

He looked out over the sea and enjoyed himself for the first time in many days. It was relatively calm with weak winds despite being out on the Atlantic. The waves were still relatively high. It was mostly old swells from before and the boat followed the rhythm of the waves calmly and nicely. The sail was almost perfect. They held a southern course. The winds came from the starboard side, slightly aft of the beam. Perfect wind for the old sailboat, which made good speed ahead.

He was glad they had made it this far. Now they were off the coast of Ireland, on the west side. To the west, there was open sea all the way to New York. But they were not headed that way; they were sailing south towards warmer climates.

He began to relax for the first time in many days. It felt like the worst part was over. Even though he had planned and done much of the preparation work for this trip, he was still pleasantly surprised. Perhaps deep down, he hadn't really believed it would work out.

But here they were now, out on the Atlantic, in their old plastic boat. It was a Maxi 95, a Swedish sailboat from the 1970s leisure boat boom. It had been a cheap buy because it was an old and worn-out boat. Besides, not many people wanted leisure boats anymore in Sweden.

He had bought it from an older couple who had had the boat at the yacht club near Karlholm, south of Gävle in the middle east coast of Sweden. They had kept the boat at the old yacht club. No one had cared, and officially, the yacht club seemed to have ceased operation a few years earlier. Those who still had boats at the club collected money each year to pay the rent to the municipality, but that was it.

He leaned back against the coaming in the cockpit and once again let his gaze sweep across the entire horizon. It had become routine, he didn't even think about it. The wheel was steered by the autopilot down at the stern in the aft cabin. His only job right now was to keep watch and periodically check the course and their position. The sea around them was empty.

A few hours ago, his wife Angelika had seen lights from two other boats. She hadn't woken him up because the other boats didn't seem to care about them. They were probably just two fishing boats. She had told him about the other boats when he started his watch at nine in the morning.

They had to do it like that, to divide the night and day into watches. One of them had to keep watch and make sure the boat kept its course and that the sails were in the right position to the wind. The boat couldn't sail completely by itself.

They had chosen six-hour shifts. That way, they got a slightly longer period of uninterrupted sleep than if they had chosen four-hour shifts. Since Angelika was a morning person and evening tired, he took the first evening shift, which ended at three in the morning. Angelika took the next shift from three in the morning until nine o'clock in the morning, when he took over again.

That's how they had been doing it for twenty-four days now, and it had become routine. They usually slept a little during the day shifts, but despite that, there were still a few hours when they saw each other.

The sail fluttered slightly in the wind and he quickly checked the sheeting and wind direction to avoid any problems. Even that had become routine.

‘Touch wood,’ he thought. The boat had actually held up well, despite everything. The stretch over the North Sea had been really tough with both headwind, tacking, and tough watch shifts, but the boat had made it. And Angelika and he had made it.

He was actually surprised at how tough the route over the North Sea had become. They had chosen not to go through the English Channel to avoid all the traffic and especially any checks by patrol boats from the countries around the channel. By sailing north of the British Isles, they could sail in free international waters.

However, he had not counted on all the abandoned old oil platforms out in the North Sea. He had hoped that the oil platforms would have their AIS transmitters turned on so that they could see them on the chart plotter, but in many cases, the abandoned oil platforms were completely dark.

They often discovered them very late, only because of the white water breaking against the oil platform's legs. They then had to quickly turn the boat in the other direction to avoid the oil platform. Only one person could handle the sailboat in normal conditions, but in the harsh wind, high sea, and in the middle of the dark night, there needed to be two for safety.

For almost two weeks, they hadn't got much sleep at night and had tried to sleep during the day instead, when they had a longer line of sight and could avoid the oil platforms in good time.

He had really not expected the route over the North Sea to take them so many days, but the Maxi 95 was not a winner whilst sailing against high waves. They had learned that the hard way. But now they were past both the North Sea and the northern tip of Ireland.

Hopefully, they had a long and calm stretch ahead of them on their journey south. It would be warmer and more comfortable. He looked forward to it. Especially getting rid of the heavy seasickness and always being bundled up in multiple layers of clothing.

He leaned back a little against the rail and without thinking about it, he let out a sigh of relief. They were on their way! They had made it this far! Only the rest of it remained.

3

He saw Ripa Airfield in front of him and turned into the landing circuit. It was a large grass field with some wooden barracks and a tent hangar at one end. As he lowered the landing gear, he said out loud to himself, 'Orwar Andersson, make sure to make a really nice landing because everyone will be watching you.'

He reduced the throttle and lowered the flaps while the altitude decreased rapidly. While making the final turn in the circuit the landing field lay straight ahead of him.

He saw the two anti-aircraft artillery troops on both sides of the field. They were not fully manned, but he saw at least one soldier at each gun. The guns were dug in and protected by camouflage nettings. They had been given two Bofors 40-millimeter guns to protect the airfield. He thought it seemed far too little, but hoped the guns were as good as advertised.

The landing field quickly grew larger in front of his airplane and he reduced the throttle completely. It was not really an airfield, but rather a long strip of grass in the middle of nowhere in the south-Swedish countryside.

When he was just a couple of meters above ground, he pulled up the elevator slightly. Shortly thereafter, he heard the thud as the wheels hit the runway. First the two wheels in the main landing gear and then the tail wheel thud. After the second bounce, he felt no more rebounds. He was back on the ground.

This was his twenty-first flight with the J20. As he taxied back to the parking area in a zigzag pattern, he thought back to the first time he was to fly this thoroughbred. They didn't have any J20s with two seats and dual controls. Instead, they had to read the instructions, try a little in the cockpit on the ground, start the engine, and take off themselves with the new planes.

The Fighter Wing had borrowed two Sk14 North American NA-16 training planes to let the pilots practice a little before switching to the new J20s. Going from a biplane to a monoplane was a challenge. Sk14 was the newest training plane of the Swedish Airforce, a US-designed monoplane with a radial engine. It was similar to the J20 but without a retractable landing gear, much slower, and without machine guns.

He thought of the story about Sk14 and flight instructor Per Svensson who, during a training flight with a student in the front seat, sighted a foreign plane diagonally below their own. Per dived down next to the foreign plane, which turned out to be a German reconnaissance plane! Through forceful signs, Per managed to get the German pilot to make an emergency landing at the flight school's airfield in Ljungbyhed.

Afterwards, the German pilot said that he had thought the Swedish training plane was some kind of new Swedish fighter and he had therefore not dared to do anything other than land as instructed.

He chuckled a little at the story as he slowed his plane to a halt and turned off the engine. He opened the hood and began to climb out, while a mechanic in a blue-gray overall approached him. It was a sunny but cold autumn day. Fall had arrived and winter was approaching. Most of the trees and bushes had shed their leaves.

He looked back at the year that had passed. A lot had happened. In March, the first J20 planes had arrived, but they were delivered to the second squadron. He belonged to third squadron and they received their J20 planes a little later. They had laughed heartily because first squadron got the J20 last of all. What fools they were! He chuckled again at the memory of his squadron flying J20 planes while first squadron enviously watched from their old Gladiator biplanes.

As he walked towards the low wooden barracks where he would hang up his flying gear and write his reports, he became serious again and thought about the war. The Germans had started a second offensive in Russia during the summer, and the battle of Stalingrad had been raging for over a month. In Sweden, they didn't really know that much. The news they got on the war came from the German press and German newsreels, and it was usually not very detailed. He had understood that the battle had been going on for several weeks and that things were going well for the Germans. He was glad about that because the Russians had always been a threat to Sweden. The great Soviet Union with its military buildup felt like a big threat coming from the east.

The neighboring country Finland had experienced the Russian war effort during the Winter War of 1939-1940. Orwar shuddered involuntarily. Imagine that the Soviet Union had attacked little Finland like that, without any reason!

He thought of the Swedish volunteer pilots who had stood up against the Russians in Finland. They had flown the old Gladiator biplanes. What great pilots who dared challenge Russia’s pilots in their fast I-16 fighter planes with only their old Gladiator biplanes!

He opened the door to the barracks and hung up his equipment. Inside the barracks, it was warm and cozy. A fire crackled in the black cast iron stove in the middle. Against the far wall stood an oak table with three worn wooden chairs.

He sat down there and began writing his report. Then he wrote in the plane's logbook and finally in his flight logbook. He thought to himself that with all this paperwork, they would never have time to get up and fly against the Germans! Or against the Russians, for that matter. The cold hit him when the door opened and pilot Arvid stepped in.

4

It was the evening shift. Angelika had gone to bed half an hour before his shift started in the evening. He had still been awake, and it was calm sailing, so he thought she could get some extra sleep.

The weather was still calm, and the boat was making good speed. He looked at the log and saw that it was fluctuating between five and six knots, barely six nautical miles per hour. There were many nautical miles to go.

He looked around the horizon but didn't see anything in particular. It was dark, and the sun had set several hours ago. It was autumn, and he shivered a bit in the cold. He was really looking forward to the warmth of southern latitudes! He looked around the horizon again but saw nothing but waves and darkness. No other boats were nearby as far as he could see.

They never turned on the radar; it was mostly there in case they really needed it. Out here on the Atlantic, there wasn't much risk of collision with anything else, and they kept watch all the time. Besides, the radar drew power that they had to preserve. The old solar panels did charge the batteries, but the autopilot and instruments drew power as well as lamps and other electronics.

He leaned back into his favorite position, leaning against the cream-white plastic railing. He felt really relieved and also somehow empty. They had been sailing like this for several days now.

With the tension released, his thoughts began to wander. He had started to remember things he had completely forgot. It was as if his brain had started cleaning up and sorting through memory, now that he was sitting in this plastic tub bobbing on the Atlantic, where every hour was much like the other.

He thought back to when he was a child. How he played with the other kids in the area. His nice blue-purple mountain bike. He had received it as a gift from his parents for his eighth birthday.

He and his friends had cycled around on their bikes in the nearby forest with its tall spruce trees and soft woodland trails. Perfect for cycling around. Sometimes they had been out for too long and got scolded by their parents.

His parents! He hadn't thought about them in a long time. They had died in a car accident when he was twenty-three. It was a big shock and a big adjustment.

He shivered involuntarily, but not from the cold wind. His parents had been on a short car ride to Salem's church south of Stockholm and enjoyed the nice weather. On the way home, they collided with another car that was traveling at a very high speed. The driver of the other car was allegedly under the influence of drugs, according to the police investigation. Dad died instantly. Mom died at the hospital. They couldn't save her life. The drug-influenced driver survived and got three years in prison. He was released on parole after two years.

Max shook his head. It wasn't a fun memory. He thought back to his parent's car that they had been driving on the day they died. It was a new, smaller car that they had purchased as a "commuter car" for shorter distances. To run errands, buy groceries, or visit friends who lived nearby. He remembered it was small, cheap, and fuel-efficient. That's why they bought it. But in a head-on collision with a drug-impaired driver, it didn't do much good.

He wished they hadn't taken that car. They had bought the car just a few weeks earlier and wanted to go for a little drive.

He had thought about this so many times before. And so many times before he had wished they hadn't gone out to drive that Sunday or at least taken the larger car with better crash protection. Then they would have survived and got to see their grandchildren.

But that was a long time ago. He had pushed these memories far back into his brain, but they came up now as he sat out here on the Atlantic Ocean.

He looked up at the mainsail and pushed that memory away. Tried to focus on something more enjoyable.

He started thinking about his old elementary school. He had repressed those memories too. There was really nothing wrong with his middle school, but it had been somewhat turbulent at times. The biggest and toughest guys always came out on top. If you weren't as big as them, you had to stay away from trouble. Try to be invisible.

And the girls! God, how he had been checking out the girls, but it had mostly been unrequited. The only one who was really interested was Lindsey, the girl who had moved to Sweden from Great Britain. But he wasn't really interested in her, so nothing came of it.

When he looked back, he had probably really been a "nobody" at the time. And he still was, in a sense. But he was here - out on the Atlantic and heading for the South Pacific! A bit like Pippi's dad, from the Astrid Lindgren books. Pippi´s dad had been “the king of the South Pacific”. Now, what was his name? Pippi's dad? Hoptoad was the name of his boat, but what was the name of Pippi´s father? He just couldn’t recall.

It suddenly struck him that their boat didn't have a name. He laughed a little to himself. He had completely forgot about it! He had focused so much on all the things that had to be prepared and fixed on the boat that he had forgot to give her a name. For a boat like this, it was a "she," he was sure of it. Then those who wanted boats to be any gender could say what they wanted. A boat like this was a female.

He laughed again. Of course, she should be called Hoptoad! What a super idea! He had to bring it up with Angelika as soon as they changed shifts. Then it was a crazy name, not even a girl's name. But now that they were going to sail to the South Pacific, of course, the boat should be called Hoptoad. After Pippi’s father’s boat.

He felt a little happier and somewhat satisfied. Now he had actually done something useful during his watch, other than just sailing the boat.

He took a quick look around the horizon again. No boats, no obstacles. No land in sight and the waves were rolling in from the west, just as they had been doing for the past few days. They were expecting stronger winds tomorrow, but it was too early to start reefing the sails. He wasn't worried at all. If they had made it across the North Sea, they could handle anything.

5

Alva and Moa walked in the night darkness along the street two blocks away from home. The asphalt was wet, and the air was filled with that damp smell that emerged after an autumn rain.

They had been at a friend's house watching the Swedish Final of the European Song Contest - Mello. Fredrik and Lisa had hosted a Mello-party with a Pride theme. It had really been a full house with eight adults and six children of different ages. Everyone had dressed up with glitter and glamour in one way or another.

Torsten and Monika had perhaps gone a little too far. They had dressed up in leather and latex outfits. Monika had even brought a whip. Really crossing the line and tasteless. Alva thought they could have at least considered the young children.

Moa had thought Torsten and Monika were scary in their outfits, but she seemed to have quickly forgot about it when she started playing with her friend Torgil. They were almost the same age. Torgil was a year older and in first grade. Moa also went to school, but so far only in preschool.

Alva felt a little happy and giggly as they walked home. The evening had been really nice. She had had a couple of glasses of wine and talked with the other girls. One of the guys, Michael, had got a little bit too close, but he had snapped out of it when his wife Kristina suddenly stood beside him. It's like all guys become generally interested when they hear you're single.

She smiled to herself and suddenly remembered Tobbe and Hanna who had dressed up as the two old gentlemen Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets, that old TV show. Tobbe and Hanna were not particularly fond of the European Song Contest and had chosen to dress up just to poke a little fun at the whole circus. Alva thought their rubber masks looked incredibly lifelike. It would have been hard to recognize Tobbe and Hanna if she hadn't known it was them, Alva thought to herself as she started to cross the street.

"Mom!! Stop! You can't cross the road," Moa said, pulling Alva's hand.

"What?!"

"It's a red light, mom! You can't cross the road."

"Of course, my little darling, you're so right. Let's go press the button so we can cross."

Alva smiled to herself. Moa was six years old and maybe a little old-fashioned. There wasn't a car in sight. She didn't even hear a car; it was completely quiet and still.

The light turned green and they crossed, hand in hand. Moa whistled the Pippi song. Alva wondered why she was whistling that particular song. They must have watched a Pippi Langstrump movie, Torgil and she.

Alva felt a little guilty. She had actually left Moa alone for several hours after dinner when the adults watched the European Song Contest. Not that they had watched much of the song contest, it had mostly been happy faces and a lot of talking and wine.

She looked around. This was her town, Hallerbyhult, south of Linköping, some 150 kilometers southwest of Stockholm. She liked it here and thought it was a good place for her daughter Moa to grow up.

She hadn't heard from Moa's father in several years. They had met during police training, but when she told him she was pregnant, he outright said he didn't want a child. When she stood her ground, he left both her and the unborn child for good. She received child support from him through the Swedish government, but that was it. He didn't even send Christmas presents or birthday presents.

Alva thought that things had gone well anyway. She didn't think that Moa would feel worse than anyone else just because she didn't have a father nearby. Alva herself had grown up without a father. Although she might have missed him sometimes. But on the other hand. Can you really miss someone who was never there, she thought a bit thoughtfully.

They arrived at the gate and Alva punched in the code to the stairwell. Their apartment was on the third floor of the small rental building. Alva considered for a second whether they should take the stairs or the elevator before deciding on the elevator. It was late at night and she didn't want to wake the neighbors with stomping in the stairs.

"We'll take the elevator," she said to Moa.

"Can I press the button? Please?"

"Of course, my little darling. Can you reach the button?"

"Mama! I'm big now! Of course, I can reach it."

Alva looked down at Moa, who quickly pressed the button to the third floor and then stood waiting for the elevator door to close. Of course, she knew that Moa could reach the button, but it was fun to tease her a little and get her to say how big she had become. If you asked Moa herself, she was big, but in Alva's eyes, she was still her little baby, only six years old and in preschool. Moa Paula Johansson. Paula as a middle name after Alva’s grandmother.

Alva was glad that Moa had finally become old enough to start preschool. Above all, she was glad to be rid of the daycare with all the snotty little kids. She could never imagine all the bacteria and viruses that these little children spread around them. Alva had not been as sick in her entire life as she was in the first two years that Moa went to daycare. School was much better. There, the children were older and the spread of colds, stomach bugs, and flu was significantly lower.

When they stood in front of the apartment door, Alva took out the keys and unlocked it as quietly as she could. It was a quiet building, and she didn't want to disturb the neighbors.

One had to be grateful for having a good apartment, but she had also chosen it carefully. As a police officer, she knew exactly which areas and even apartment buildings were troublesome.

She sighed a little. She hadn't actually thought about being a cop all evening. Thanks for that, Fredrik and Lisa, she thought. An entire evening without boring thoughts.

Three months ago, Alva had been involved in an operation with a deadly outcome. It had started as a routine assignment, an emergency response to a case of spousal abuse.

When they arrived at the apartment, a man had opened the door but refused to let them in. When her colleague Mårten tried to force his way in, a shot was fired. The man at the door had a pistol hidden in the inner pocket of his coat. Alva had thrown herself behind the door while pulling out her service weapon, a SIG Sauer.

When the man stepped around the door towards her with a gun in front of him, she fired two shots without thinking. The man died instantly.

Her colleague Mårten died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The bullet from the man's gun had hit Mårten's main artery, and it was too late to do anything.

It turned out that the man had hidden hashish in the apartment. Mårten died because of two and a half kilos of hashish.

She tried to shake off the memories as she ushered Moa towards the bathroom door to brush her teeth. Alva had been suspended from her normal duties for several months because an internal investigation of the shooting had to be conducted. Now she sat in the police station in Linköping during the day, doing paperwork and helping with everything.

She was unhappy because she wanted to be out patrolling and helping society and the public. That was why she had chosen to become a cop. If she had wanted to be an office rat, she might as well have taken a job as an accountant, which she had studied in high school.

She started brushing her teeth while pointing to Moa's room so that Moa would understand that she should go to bed.

"I'll be there in a moment," said Alva with her mouth full of toothpaste foam, spraying it all around the bathroom.

Moa started laughing but stopped immediately when Alva looked a little sternly at her, to mark that now it was the end of the evening and it was time for bed. Moa went with slow dragging steps towards her room, while Alva laughed to herself at the sight.

She saw herself in the mirror and saw the small dimples and the black hair in contrast to the bathroom's white tiled walls. Alva wanted to brush her teeth before putting Moa to bed so she wouldn't have to brush her teeth later when Moa was asleep. Instead, Alva could just take off her clothes and slip into her own bed.

She had replaced the wide bed with a regular ninety-bed. Instead, she had room for a desk and chair, plus an extra dresser for clothes and other odds and ends. She had originally had a wide bed in the hope of maybe meeting a new guy.

When she finished police training, she was pregnant with Moa and had no desire to meet anyone new. Gradually, she began actively searching for a new guy. It was partly her mother Gertrud's fault, she thought. Mom had nagged her to try and get a new guy.

Mom really shouldn’t have a say on that subject. Dad left us for another woman when Alva was four years old. She had only met Dad a few times as a child. He had come to her graduation from elementary school and high school. But he had never come to any of her birthdays, and she had never celebrated Christmas with his new family.

When she got older, Mom said she thought it was Dad's new wife who stopped it. That the new wife probably didn't want anything to do with Dad Niklas's old family. Maybe that was the case, Alva thought as she slid into Moa's bed to read her bedtime story.

Alva was careful to read bedtime stories to Moa to get her interested in reading. It was important for Moa to do well in school.

At the same time, Alva herself was not a bookworm. She had had mediocre grades and barely made it into the economics program. However, getting into the police program later on was no problem. The grade requirements were low, and there was nothing wrong with her physical fitness. She had trained a lot and once had participated in the Taekwondo national championships.

Moa fell asleep almost immediately, and after waiting a few minutes, Alva slipped out of the room and gently closed the door. She went to the kitchen and took a glass of water.

She laughed a little when she thought of Michael, whom she had met at the party earlier tonight. What did he think of? For starters, he was shorter than her, and he was both overweight and untrained. He probably had some sort of executive job that made him think he was invincible. Poor Kristina, his wife! Alva laughed a little again.

She walked into her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes, and slid under the covers. She thought back to the first few years when Moa was just a couple of years old. How Alva used to leave Moa with her mom Gertrud so that she herself could go out on dates.

She had tried those dating apps and got many interested parties. Unfortunately, it only got worse and worse. Some men became interested just because she was a police officer. Many of those who contacted her turned out to already have families and be married. Dating for them was an exciting secret hobby they indulged in when their wives were taking care of the kids at home.

Alva, for her part, wasn't exactly young anymore. Thirty-seven years old with a six-year-old daughter. Not the most attractive profile on the dating site. Except for guys with perverse tendencies who dreamt of a dominant female police officer who would handcuff them.

She laughed a little. The world was full of crazies. She had seen it, if nothing else, during her years as a police officer. It was impossible to find any good guys anymore. "All the good ones are gone," as her classmate Nilla had said before she went to the US as an au pair straight after high school. Nilla had stayed there and married an American.

Alva had visited her a few times in between as a ski guide in the Alps. It was the old life in Alva's youth when nothing was important and nothing lasted particularly long. "Happy days did not last forever," she thought. No, she had to realize that she would remain alone for the rest of her life. Just like her mom. And grandma.

But Grandma had met someone in her old age. That was at least what her mom had claimed after Grandma had died. Mom had inherited the place down in Småland, after Grandma, who in turn must have inherited or received that place from someone.

Alva opened her eyes and looked up at the white ceiling. Now she felt guilty. She had forgot that she had promised to help her mom go through grandma's things. She wondered what had happened to it. Maybe Mom had gone through the things herself? Or just put them in boxes in a storage room? She had to ask Mom the next time they met.

Mom had moved south to Småland, to the countryside, to that farm she had inherited. They didn't see each other as much anymore, but they visited each other as often as possible.

Alva realized she had to stop thinking and sleep instead. She pulled the fluffy down comforter over herself while lying a little on her side, to drift off to sleep.

6

It was a brilliant autumn day. The sun shone with the clear light that is only there during Swedish autumn, and the contours of the flat landscape around them shone brightly against the clear blue sky. Visibility was good, and when they had climbed a few hundred meters, he could see far out to sea, south of the coast of southern Sweden. There was a weak southerly wind, and they had taken off against the wind and flown out over the Baltic Sea. He knew that the city of Malmö lay under the right wing, but he could hardly see anything of the city because the wing obstructed his view. A few stray clouds passed by as they climbed.

They had just started on a patrol mission. They were going to fly north along the coasts of Skåne and Halland and then back to Bulltofta airfield just outside of Malmö. He was flying as the number two in a pair. Flying in pairs was a new tactic that the Germans had introduced, and the Swedish Air Force had copied it during the war.

Previously, they flew in tight V-formation, much like birds in a flock. The Germans had discovered that it was better to fly fewer planes in a formation and with the airplanes farther apart. This allowed them to search for the enemy instead of constantly having to keep an eye on their closest neighbors in the V-formation.

A pair consisted of two planes, number one and number two. Number one was the leader. If the enemy attacked, it was the job of number two to protect the leader from hostile planes. On a routine mission like this patrol, his task as number two was more to assist the leader in scanning the sky, sea, and land for anything unusual to report.

They passed the coast between Trelleborg and Skanör-Falsterbo and turned west. Orwar saw the long sandy beaches below. It was deserted, with only the occasional stroller but no bathers. It was far too late in the year for that; summer had passed several months ago.

They passed Skanör-Falsterbo and turned north towards the Öresund strait. They had reached their flight altitude of two thousand meters and were now flying level.

To the left, he saw Copenhagen slanting downwards. If they continued straight north, their route would pass over the Danish island of Saltholm, which was armed with German anti-aircraft guns. It was really a strange feeling to sit up here in an airplane and, by moving the stick a bit, decide whether he would be in Sweden or in German-controlled Denmark a few minutes later.

The pair leader corrected their course, and their two planes turned towards Malmö, following a course where they would always be above Swedish territorial waters. It would be a long and probably boring flight, but that was how it was during the Swedish neutrality watch.

Slanting downwards to the right, he saw workers building new gun emplacements along the shoreline south of Malmö. A concrete truck was driving there. They were probably going to build a hardened shelter.

The beach looked really inviting with all its sand, but he knew it was autumn and both the water and air were cold. The people looked like little ants down there. He could see everything clearly from up here. That's why they didn't fly at higher altitudes. At this altitude, they could still see what was happening on the ground, but they flew at just enough altitude to see far off towards the horizon. It was a suitable patrol altitude.

But it was too low altitude if they clashed with hostile fighter planes. However, they did not expect to engage in an aerial battle. Sweden was neutral and the Germans were fully occupied on the Eastern front against the Soviet Union and against the British in the West.

Only Great Britain remained fighting against Germany in Europe. Sweden and Switzerland were neutral. The other European countries were either under fascist rule, allied with Germany, or occupied by Germany.

Even Finland was allied with Germany and now fighting with Germany against the Soviet Union. He guessed that the Finns were simply really angry and wanted to take back the parts of Finland that the Soviet Union had occupied during the Winter War. What a name, by the way - the Winter War. It sounded like a cozy, romantic war when it was in fact a brutal attack on a small neutral country by its big, mean neighbor in the East.

They had passed Malmö and the flat agricultural landscape of Skåne was visible on the starboard side. He smiled to himself as he thought ‘starboard’. There were many new concepts and technical terms that one had to learn as a pilot. Many of them came from seafaring, like starboard and port. In the same way, the position lights of airplanes had the same color system as that of ships with green for the right side and red for the left side. Or green for starboard and red for port.

Their fighter plane had position lights, but they were rarely used as they mostly flew in daylight. Occasionally, they needed to use the position lights when flying at dawn and dusk, but that was an exception. Sweden did not have any fighter planes for night flying at all.

Sweden also did not have radar like the English and the Germans. The only way the Swedish air defense could find and aim at hostile bombers at night was with giant searchlights. That was how they had done during the First World War and it hadn’t changed since. They only had searchlights around larger cities, and furthermore, Sweden did not have particularly many anti-aircraft guns. An enemy could therefore bomb Sweden at night without much resistance. If they wanted to.

His thoughts fluttered back and forth. They had passed Landskrona and ahead of them was the narrow strait between Helsingborg and Helsingør. They would fly over Swedish territory to avoid getting too close to Danish airspace and to avoid an unnecessary confrontation with the Germans.

He looked left and saw Denmark lying there in the clear autumn air. When looking right, it was still the Skåne agricultural landscape. Boring, flat landscape, he thought to himself. He caught himself missing the forests of Småland, where he had grown up. He had not felt that way before, but now he felt homesick. Or maybe it was just the boredom of sitting here flying a long patrol mission where nothing happened.

Underneath their airplanes, the small island of Ven passed by. They were once again approaching the Skåne coast as they turned inward to pass east of Helsingborg. They preferred not to fly directly over a city but rather have uninhabited land underneath them in case they needed to make an emergency landing somewhere.

Ljungbyhed lay diagonally to the right, and he looked a little more carefully to see if there were any training planes in the air. It was a perfect day for flying, so they should be up in the air training. But it was too far away; he couldn't even see the slightest glint from a cockpit canopy.

On the Danish side of the strait, it was calm. The Germans didn't care about Swedish combat planes and had their radars pointed towards the North Sea and potential bombing raids from the British. The English bombers flew in over the North Sea on their bombing missions against Germany, but exactly where they flew in over the coast varied. Often it was somewhere along the Dutch coast, but if the target was far away in eastern Germany, they could fly in over the Danish coast. Sometimes they even took the route over neutral Sweden to avoid the German night fighters.

Now their two Swedish fighter planes were flying out over open water heading towards Falkenberg, where they would turn back towards Malmö and Bulltofta. It was really the naval aviators' task to patrol the coast. They were better equipped and had planes with floats, planes that could land on water if needed. He always felt uneasy flying over open water. Nowhere to land beneath him, only the sea. The glide ratio of a fighter plane like this was not like that of a glider. It would be difficult to glide all the way to the mainland from this low altitude. All he could do was hope that the Italian engine wouldn't break down.

They didn't really trust these Italian machines. The mechanics complained about the quality. Sometimes it was impossible to exchange parts between planes or between engines. The tolerance on the various parts was so poor that they just didn't fit.

The Italians explained that the fighter planes were built for wartime use. It was not intended for these planes to last more than about twenty hours in the air; after that, they would be either shot down or strafed on the ground. In the Swedish Air Force, however, the planes were to fly thousands of flight hours in neutrality surveillance.

During a flight like this, one had time to think quite a bit. Routine flight. Sea, sea, and boring Skåne farmland. He saw farmers harvesting the last of the fields. He guessed it was potatoes; it was that time of year.

He thought about his parents back home on the farm in Småland. ‘I wonder if they got all the potatoes up? Had they managed to harvest the hay before the autumn rains?’ He realized he had to write to them; it had been a long time. He thought about his mother. She was the one who wrote to him; his father only cared about the farm.

He started to think of his brother Oskar. It hit him like a punch in the face. He hadn't thought of him in a long time. Oskar. They hadn't heard from him in several years. They didn't know where he was or if he was even still alive. Oskar had left the farm and headed towards Spain and the civil war. It was five years ago now, in 1937, when Oskar left. He didn't tell anyone, not even Orwar.

Father had gone mad. It was Oskar who was supposed to take over the farm, he was the oldest. Oskar left a short letter saying that he was leaving out into the world. Not a word about going to the Spanish war. They found out later when he sent them letters from Spain.

Orwar shook his head. His path in life was better. First, the draft to the Air Force as a conscripted mechanic. They were usually called "hangar sweepers," but he knew better. He had been selected because he was good at fixing mechanical things on the farm. Things that Oskar had never been interested in.

It was really unfair. It was Orwar who knew the most about farming and the machines needed. Oskar had never cared. But it was Oskar who would inherit the farm. That's how it had always been. The eldest son inherited the farm.

He wondered what Oskar was doing now. He shook his head a little, there was no point in wondering. Oskar was probably dead. Many had died in the war in Spain, and they hadn’t heard anything more from Oskar. He was probably dead.

The two fighter planes had arrived in the skies close to the city of Falkenberg and were now turning south on a homebound course. The sun shone directly into the cabin of his plane and suddenly it became really hot. He caught himself being inattentive. He flew on pure routine but had not kept a good lookout.

He had always been good at flying. That's how he was accepted as a conscripted pilot or "silver wing pilot". He learned to fly gliders at the airforce base during his draft. That way it was easier to be accepted for training as a conscripted pilot.

The Swedish Airforce was in desperate need of pilots and with his background as a flight mechanic and glider pilot, he was accepted straight away. He passed the training at Ljungbyhed Flight School without any remarks and was then placed as a Corporal in a fighter squadron. First at Fighter Wing F8 Barkarby in Stockholm for what was called basic flight training. There he learned to fly the Gloster Gladiator, which came in handy when he was later stationed at the Fighter Wing F10 Bulltofta where he was now.

He saw that flight leader Arvid had chosen to fly just west of Helsingborg, out over the Sound. Orwar followed in his usual position to the left and slightly lower than Arvid's plane. They flew over water again, and it felt like they were almost flying inside of the border of Denmark.

Orwar felt discomfort but at the same time excitement. Why did Arvid choose this route back? This was a bit too close to the Danish border. Unnecessary to challenge fate.

He looked around but saw no German planes. No German boats either for that matter. It was probably close enough for German air defense to reach them from Helsingör. If the Germans wanted to. He hoped that the Germans weren't trigger-happy today. The Ven straight was laid out south of the two fighter planes under the dazzling sun. They must really be close to the border between Swedish and German territorial waters.

Suddenly he saw two German fighter planes! Two German Messerschmitts! Right in front of and above them with the planes and machine guns aimed straight at the two Swedish fighter planes. One of the Messerschmitt planes had targeted Arvid's plane and the other flew straight towards Orwar.