Claesson nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Colonel. Given today’s announcements, it’s clear Gotland is no longer merely symbolic — it’s a potential front line. I’ll raise this immediately with the Americans and General Calder at NATO. In the meantime, we must prepare as if Bravo Company is all we’ll have. Beyond the American presence, what else will you need to hold the island effectively? Would a targeted call-up of local reservists suffice, or do we need immediate mainland reinforcements?”
Lindqvist replied without hesitation. “General, given the scale of what’s happening in Kaliningrad, targeted reservist call-ups would help. It would minimize strain elsewhere in the country, allowing us to strengthen island security without weakening the mainland. But even then, we can’t rely solely on reservists and Home Guard units to defend the critical infrastructure at Visby, the countryside, and the air base without creating dangerous gaps.”
Captain Joran Lindholm, commander of the island’s Leopard 2 tank platoon, leaned forward, interjecting calmly, “Sir, we’ve already begun positioning armor just north of the airport — hidden from public view but close enough to rapidly respond. I’ve consulted with our American counterparts; we’re all in agreement about dispersing Patriot and HIMARS batteries into hardened, camouflaged sites. No co-location. No proximity to civilian population centers.”
Next to him, Major Mikael Stenqvist affirmed, “Fallback positions for both US and Swedish missile systems are already under preparation. If missiles start flying, we’ll need more dedicated transport assets to ensure rapid repositioning.”
Across the table, Captain Elin Boström, liaison from the Eastern Air Defense Command, adjusted the overlay on her tablet, her voice professional yet tense.
“Our fighters will maintain continuous air patrol coverage over Gotland and the surrounding Baltic Sea, fully coordinated with NATO’s air policing operations. NATO’s asked us specifically for increased coastal patrol craft presence and additional SHORAD coverage around the Patriot and HIMARS reload points, as well as ISR units operating near Tofta.”
She looked directly at Claesson. “With your approval, we can redeploy an additional RBS 70 team to the southern ridge and a mobile IRIS-T launcher near Slite. That would fill the blind zones effectively without overtly militarizing the entire island.”
Captain Bertil Sonevang, representing the Gotland Home Guard, folded his arms firmly. His tone was calm yet resolute. “General, our troops are already actively patrolling the woods, cliffs, and coastlines quietly but effectively. If saboteurs arrive, we’ll find them quickly. However, clear operational boundaries must be established with NATO personnel. We’ll coordinate with them, but under no circumstance will the Home Guard be subordinated directly to foreign command structures. Islanders will not tolerate Gotland becoming a permanent NATO forward operating base.”
Claesson raised his hand reassuringly. “I fully understand your concerns, Lieutenant. That’s exactly the careful line we must navigate. NATO’s presence here is necessary, but optics and islander sentiment matter greatly. Colonel Lindqvist, I trust you’ll handle coordination personally with the incoming American commander at Tofta. Captain Boström, maintain tight airspace coordination with NATO’s Joint Force Air Component. And, Captain Sonevang, I authorize immediate mobilization of two reservist platoons at your discretion.”
The general then gestured back toward the interactive map, emphasizing the northern and western regions of Visby. “Make sure launcher sites are positioned north and west of the city, carefully concealed, far from residential areas. No convoys through the city center. NATO uniforms should only appear in town at our invitation or in clearly approved circumstances.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Task Force Sentinel isn’t simply here to reinforce us; it’s a strategic trip wire. With the situation in Kaliningrad unfolding rapidly, Gotland is directly in the crosshairs. Gentlemen, let’s ensure we remain ready without becoming reckless.”
Each officer exchanged solemn, determined nods, fully grasping the gravity of the task before them.
The wind coming off the Baltic was crisp but tolerable, a reminder that spring hadn’t quite made up its mind. The small ferry pitched gently as it glided across the narrow sound separating Gotland from Fårö, its deck empty but for a few cars and a solitary van. A gull screeched overhead.
Mikko Rautio stood at the railing, hands stuffed into the pockets of his waxed canvas coat, eyes scanning the northern coastline as it emerged — windswept, sparse, and quiet.
“Perfect light,” he murmured in Finnish, lifting his phone to snap a few reference shots of the approaching shoreline. “Soft shadows. The raukar will look incredible once the fog lifts.”
Sanna, seated behind the car’s windshield with her tablet balanced on her knees, looked up from the outline she’d been refining.
“Chapter five,” she called out. “The jarl’s longship makes landfall here. Midsummer storm. The cliffs feel like teeth as they approach.”
Mikko smiled faintly. “That’s good. We should hike out to Langhammars at dusk — catch the rocks under the low sun.”
From anyone listening, it was ordinary enough. Writers in their element. A couple escaping to the silence of the islands for historical inspiration. That was the point.
But Mikko had already logged the position of the new relay antenna near Fårösund on the way up from Visby. And the coastal defense radar near Bungenäs, barely visible through the pines, had been rotating on a tighter interval than usual. Noted. Time-stamped. Logged.
As the ferry ramp clanked down onto the short stretch of dock, Sanna slid her sunglasses on and adjusted her scarf.
“I messaged Eva — the Airbnb host. She left the keys in the box by the porch, like last time. The house sits just beyond Ryssnas,” she said casually. “She mentioned something about the historical society hosting a local exhibit in Visby next month. Might be worth supporting. Good visibility for the channel.”
“Perfect,” Mikko replied. “We’ll offer to contribute. Maybe a special episode on the Brotherhood of Raukar.”
“Or a short AI-animated sequence,” she added, tapping her stylus. “Something eerie. The land gods never left.”
The roads of Fårö were as they remembered — narrow, edged with early spring frost, and lined with scrub pine and open rock. The farther north they drove, the fewer cars they saw. When they passed a Home Guard checkpoint near a coastal trailhead, Mikko offered a friendly wave. The soldier didn’t stop them — just logged the license plate like always.
By the time they pulled into the gravel driveway of their Airbnb — a weathered timber cottage tucked into the woods just west of Norsta Auren — the sun had pushed through the cloud layer.
The porch creaked beneath their boots. Mikko opened the lockbox and retrieved the key with a practiced hand. Inside, the cottage smelled faintly of smoke and cedar. A welcome basket sat on the kitchen table — locally made crackers, a jar of juniper honey, and a handwritten note:
Welcome back, Sanna & Mikko! Hope your writing goes well. Let me know if you need anything. Weather should hold through the weekend. Eva.
Sanna smiled. “She thinks we’re writing the sequel to Daughters of the Iron Wind. We may need to actually write it now.”
Mikko dropped their bag by the door and peered out the window toward the trail leading north.
“We’ll give them something worth filming,” he said quietly. Then, louder, “Let’s take the drone out tomorrow. Sunrise over the cliffs?”