The song for this chapter: 'Denmark 1943' by Fred Small... which I totally ripped a line or two from.
Chapter 6: Light and Salvation
The lone figure stood at the shores of Øresund facing northeast, shivering against a thin wind blowing ever cooler as the night yawned on. Denmark could only hope the breeze would destroy any footprints he left on the shore as he submerged himself, fully clothed beneath the waves. A missing boat could only arouse suspicion.
Centuries of civilizing had effaced his mind of the short swim over to Sweden; the water's icy embrace tore into him like a thousand pins and needles. In spite of it, the young man stole through the vast blackness of the strait, never seen, never heard.
Mostly, he remained under the waves, surfacing only when compelled to draw a fresh breath. More than once, he lingered at the surface under a sky jeweled with stars to keep his bearings and blink the salt from his eyes. He swam as far and as fast as he could, carelessly at first, but he evened out his pace the closer he came to Sweden's maritime minefield.
At which point, Denmark whipped his flattened hair from his eyes and bobbed at the surface in order to gain an innate and intimate knowledge to where each mine sat in case he had no light source on the return trip. Solid, rounded chunks of metal sailed past him under the ghost moon. Denmark drew a breath and held it each time he passed one. The fear of setting one off rendered him numb long before the frostbite set in.
He could not have been gladder to reach land. Briefly and uselessly, he wrung his shirt of excess water and then, like a whipcrack, he sprinted, sucking in more frigid air that chilled him anew from the inside out. He ran harder and faster than he ever thought possible and in that critical moment learned it was possible to keep going even when he couldn't. When there was nothing left in his body to give.
Denmark rubbed his sopping limbs briskly in a vain attempt to restore some life into them and had equal luck quieting his chattering teeth. When he finally reached Sweden's house, he abandoned all subtlety and pounded on the front door until he received an irritated answer.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sweden hissed. "It is the middle of the goddamn night! I'm shocked Finland didn't snipe you from-"
"Shut up." Denmark panted.
Sweden ignored him. "And you're soaking. What did you do, swim here?"
Denmark massaged his hands with renewed vigor and tried to keep his voice from cracking. "I need your help with something. I need it right now and I'm not taking no for an answer."
Then Sweden ushered him inside and provided him a towel, warm blanket, and some hot water while Denmark wept bitter tears as the weight of the situation seeped into him. "Sweden… you don't… I can't… the barbed wire… the crematorium… not with me… I can't…" He curled around the mug and sobbed.
"Denmark!"
Sweden's voice soothed him even though he snapped, brought him back from the brink.
"Denmark, are you listening to me?"
Denmark nodded into the blanket.
"Good. I can't help if I don't know what's going on. Take your time and speak."
Time? What time?
He took a few deep breaths and stopped himself short of hyperventilating. As usual, Sweden was right. There was a long night ahead and it wouldn't do if he exhausted himself in a panic attack before it all began. He took another swallow and tried again. "Nazi Germany's after the other Danes. He's going to kill them in the morning." He stopped to observe a wall clock. The ticking clapped like thunder. "They need somewhere safe to go… and you're neutral."
"I'd say we need more people like you, but know I'd regret that in a second." Sweden's eyes shone with respect. So that's what America must feel.
"So you'll help?" Denmark immediately felt warm and energized even while being damp and tired.
Sweden rushed to a drawer and tossed him a tiny gold key. "In the basement there's a flint and a torch. Find it and pack up some water while I get dressed. I'm not going to leave you to stand alone. Not this time."
So they all carried the heavy cross of regret.
They reconvened at the dock near an innocuous trawler boat. Diesel powered and seaworthy, it would do the job. Sweden stood statuesque at the wheel and Denmark lit the torch and kept watch at the bow. A fireball holding a dancing flame.
"You know where to find them?" Sweden asked. "I believe I should wait with the boat while send them my way."
When they dropped anchor in the warzone, Denmark for a chance found himself grateful for the wailing sirens. In the distance, bombs illuminated the land like sickly fireworks. The wind never let up. The chaos would keep him awake.
He started with Jylland- the farmer closest to Nazi Germany's fortress, most likely to be seized first. The other took immediate notice and charged him. In retrospect, Denmark wouldn't blame him. He barged in after midnight screaming at him to get out of his house and travel northward to the coast. It did sound ridiculous that after years of Nazi Germany's occupation suddenly this very night he earmarked them all for the grave. When he laughed in Denmark's face and turned to leave, Denmark danced in his path determined to annoy the other into taking his word. To his immense relief, Jylland eventually did.
All Denmark became aware of was the acute passing of time and the growing tally of the number of countrymen he told and the dwindling he had yet to tell. By warning Jylland alone, he doubled his voice.
He biked over to Fyn and hoped to use a gentler approach with her. First, he knocked at the door. When that failed, he tried the window. When that failed, he smashed it and she screamed at the intruder. So that's what an invasion tasted like from the other end. When they both calmed down and Denmark reintroduced himself, she too agreed to go. Tripled.
Gunshots blasted from somewhere far too near.
Though not particularly religious, Denmark thought it seemed an excellent time to pray. As a single point of light amidst the sea of darkness, he proved an easy target. From thereon, he traveled the back roads and waded in canals. As the moon climbed high in the sky, the seconds continued ticking ever louder though he wore no watch. He warned passerby and warned them to warn others and then…
And then a flashlight trailed him like a sniper beam. It was all over. With no further reason to slink around like a frightened rabbit, Denmark held the torch aloft and charged towards the light. All he could picture was Nazi Germany on the rooftop waiting for that perfect shot. The person grabbed him and kept him still while he squirmed like a trapped animal. All things told that was the truth of the matter.
"Denmark, it's just me!" Sweden said. The effect was instantaneous and Denmark breathed shallowly. His legs gave out but he didn't sit down. If he sat down, he'd never get back up.
"Why aren't you at the boat!" He demanded.
Sweden pulled out a canteen, took a sip, and offered it to Denmark. "I only have one of your territories so far- Jylland."
"Just one? Just one!" Denmark shouted. His mood took an exponential drop and he began to cry. His tears stung more than the seawater. "Just one… Sweden, I'm afraid."
"It's okay. Even heroes get afraid. What's scaring you?"
Him? A hero? That was for guys like America and Superman. He lowered the torch and puzzled it over. Nazi Germany certainly, their steadily decreasing timetable, the night, the noise… what wasn't there to be afraid of? He sniffled.
"How aren't you scared?" He finally asked.
"I am. I'm afraid you're wearing down. I'm also afraid if I don't get Jylland across the sound now, you'll have put in all this effort and not saved at least one."
Denmark shook off his fatigue and sadness as he got his second wind. Like Superman, he'd push through and help because it was the right thing to do.
"Good. Take him back… then come here for more. Yeah!"
"Well done! That's thinking like a hero! I cannot wait to brag to Norway and then tell him to follow your example." Sweden chuckled and clapped him on the back, then turned to go.
Meanwhile, Denmark trudged on as the dangerous news spread and woke up the country. He took back to the main roads and heard more voices tearing through the blackness. He saved Bornholm as his final stop that night.
Denmark found him lounging on his porch, awakened by the commotion, and went to explain the situation a third time.
"I heard." Bornholm said.
Good! Word reached the entirety of his land up and down. And they were all listening.
"Then to the boat with you." Denmark said in no uncertain terms.
"I'm not going with Sweden."
"Why not?"
The territory offered no satisfactory explanation as the moon crawled its way to the opposite side of the horizon, so Denmark stopped him cold.
"Fine! Whatever! Go to my house and hide in a closet or something! Just hurry!"
"If I see Nazi Germany on the way, I'll be sure to spit in his face." Then he saluted and too, stole away to safety.
Denmark saw one of Nazi Germany's flags billowing in tandem with his own on the Schalburg Corps headquarters. He fantasized about setting it ablaze, but something else brought him back to the moment- a crying, high-pitched, more despairing than the other voices populating the din. He ran in that general direction. He passed through the streets of Copenhagen and was accosted by Fyn.
She had gotten lost in the confusion. Perhaps Denmark could graciously direct her to Sweden's boat?
His heart sank when he showed her to the agreed upon location and Sweden was absent. Sunup was well on its way so he offered her a ride straight across the Øresund himself. He sped as fast as his little fishing boat could go.
Halfway there, a flare but ten meters away demanded his attention. Sweden! He steered toward him and they transferred Fyn to the other boat.
"That's the last territory. Everyone's safe." Denmark said dizzily. The rush wore off swiftly and there was no hope for a third wind.
"Not everyone. What about you?" Sweden shouted. The flame danced over his friend's face, casting it in a ghostly shadow that left only the whites of his eyes visible.
"Someone's got to stay back and distract him, right? I don't think he'll do that much to me. Model state, remember?"
Denmark waved them away and sailed back home just in time for the ordinary miracle of sunrise. Thanks to him, thousands more experienced the spectacular display from a nearby shore. He returned to no hero's welcome, for there was no one left to greet him. He only had that small voice whispering 'I did it. I am Superman!'
The adrenaline had been covering it, but by the time he pulled up to the dock exhaustion overcame him and he wanted nothing more than to lie in the boat and allow the waves to rock him to sleep. Experience taught him that was the quickest route to frostbite, though, so he hurried inside.
That was the only time, past and future, he would recall enjoying the sound of silence. Outside in the air, the fields, there was nothing. Glorious nothing! Before he took to bed while the wee hours of dawn filtered in, Denmark beelined to his cellar for one of four beer bottles left. Alcohol had become a distant luxury and the remnants of his supply had to last indefinitely. Tonight though, beer would make a fantastic night even better and that much more memorable.
Denmark draped over his sofa and flipped off the cap with a bottle opener stored on an end table for such a purpose. He savored that familiar hiss that accompanied the uncapping of a fresh longneck.
It was stuff he brewed sloppily in the midst of the war that would supposedly end all wars with inferior, leftover barley that would be relegated as animal feed under any other circumstance. Therefore, it didn't surprise him that the brew tasted flat and sour. But beer was beer and beer was meant to be enjoyed. No celebration was complete without it.
Denmark made a toast to life and downed half the bottle in one go. He set the rest of it on the table flanking the sofa and frowned at his unnaturally blue fingers. With that, he grabbed a blanket from behind him, snuggled under it, and fell asleep.