“STAY STILL!” Linda exclaimed, her voice sharp as Jonathan and Ming struggled to hold Nikolaj down on the makeshift operating table.

“I SAID DRINK UP!” Linda yelled again, her frustration evident as she pressed the bottle of vodka back to Nikolaj’s lips. The strong alcohol, intended as a crude painkiller, did little to dull the agony as Linda worked to locate the ruptured artery. The shrapnel that had embedded itself in Nikolaj hadn’t caused a large wound, making it difficult for Linda to find the damaged artery. Desperate to stop the bleeding, she made a deeper incision, her hands steady despite the chaos around her.

Nikolaj writhed in pain, his body tensing and jerking with each cut Linda made. The vodka burned down his throat, but it wasn’t nearly enough to numb the pain. Sweat poured down his face, mingling with the blood as he tried to hold on.

Jonathan, watching the brutal scene unfold, felt his stomach churn. His face had gone pale, and he was barely holding it together as he tightened his grip on Nikolaj’s shoulders. The sight of Linda cutting deeper into Nikolaj’s flesh was almost too much. In a moment of desperation, he snatched the bottle from Nikolaj and took a long, unsteady swig himself, hoping the alcohol would steady his nerves.

As Linda worked on Nikolaj, his groans filled the room, underscoring the tension that was building outside. The early morning light crept in, highlighting the vehicles that had pulled up at 6 a.m.—a move that hadn’t gone unnoticed. The heads of the cooperatives were already agitated, and the atmosphere was charged with unease

As the sun rose, people scrambled to unload the crates, hauling them into the mansion as quickly as they could. But the real storm wasn’t in the sky; it was in the heated argument between Przemek, Milan, and Sofia on one side, and the cooperative leaders, with Sven on the other. Voices were raised, frustrations boiling over as they clashed over what had unfolded.

The crates, heavy with valuable supplies, were hurriedly stashed inside, but the escalating argument was impossible to ignore. Tensions ran high as Przemek, Milan, and Sofia stood their ground against the cooperative heads and Sven, the conflict threatening to spill over at any moment.

Things escalated quickly—Amir and Milan, their anger getting the best of them, nearly came to blows. Sven had to step in, physically separating the two before things got out of hand. He looked around, realizing the crowd had gathered, their eyes fixed on the brewing conflict.

"Let’s take this inside," Sven said, his usual calm tone barely cutting through the din. No one seemed to hear him as the argument continued to spiral.

"Inside!" he yelled again, his voice suddenly rising to a level of authority none of them had heard before. The unexpected outburst brought the room to a standstill.

Without another word, everyone began moving toward the mansion’s library in tense, uncomfortable silence. The group filed in, each person carrying their frustrations and unspoken words, the weight of the situation pressing down on them as they gathered in the dimly lit room.

“Milan, in your infinite stupidity or greed, we’re sitting here now,” Sven said, his voice cold and sharp as everyone in the room stared at him. The tension was palpable, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all.

“Now, let’s not dwell on the past. The reality is we’re sitting on anti-tank weapons, and Lysekil might find out it was us who took out their men,” Sven continued, his tone measured but laced with urgency.

“They shot first, and besides, they don’t know it’s us. Little chance unless someone goes and tells them,” Milan retorted, his bravado clear in his voice. But his words hung in the air, quickly crushed by Sven’s icy stare, which silenced any further argument.

“It’s on us,” Sofia said, her voice steady but filled with the weight of their actions. “We got all of us into this mess. Whatever can be said, we were the ones shooting. Not Oksjö.” She glanced around the room, knowing the truth of her words wouldn’t be easy to swallow.

“I understand,” Sven replied, his tone calm but firm. “But that’s not how it works. We’re all connected in this, whether we like it or not.”

Przemek, frustration etched on his face, shifted awkwardly in the wooden chair, his rifle resting across his lap. “Banish us if you want, put the blame on us. Hell, tell Lysekil we went north or something,” he muttered, the desperation clear in his voice. He was trying to find a way out, any way to protect the others from the fallout of their actions.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Sven said, waving off Przemek’s suggestion as he turned and walked over to a table where a map was spread out. He carefully set it down, smoothing the edges before gesturing for everyone to gather around. “Amir, why don’t you fill them in,” he added, taking a seat and folding his arms, signaling that the conversation was far from over.

Amir, who had managed to regain his composure after nearly losing it outside, stepped forward to take the lead. His voice was steady, but the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him.

“Well, Lysekil forced our hand either way,” Amir began, glancing around at the tense faces in the room. “They’re cutting off gasoline shipments as of last night. Just after you left, some panicked courier from Norrköping arrived with the news.” His tone was nearly defeated, the implications of this new development settling over them like a dark cloud.

“What, so no gasoline?” Inge spoke up, her voice cutting through the silence and reminding everyone of her presence.

Amir’s frustration flared. “For a teacher, you don’t know much about history,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Now, let me talk.”

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “They didn’t even bother to explain. Just radioed it in late at night, like it was an afterthought. And the few men Lysekil had in Norrköping? They left that same night. The courier made it clear how fast they wanted to get out. I give it a week before they proclaim they have in their leadership some far descendant of the king and claim ownership of what’s left of Sweden.”

Everyone in the room stared at Amir, the gravity of his words hanging in the air. Przemek and Sofia exchanged a brief but knowing glance, a silent agreement that they believed what Amir was saying.

“Summer is starting, the lunatics have been keeping their heads down, If they want to attack now’s the time. Though I don’t suppose they expect any real resistance.” Amir continued, his voice steady. “They’ve got a lot of men and a few armored vehicles—CV90s, we believe.”

Przemek leaned forward, his expression serious. “Any way to confirm that?”

Amir shook his head. “We’ll have to find out. For now, we need to make contingency plans. And we need to establish a line of communication with those useless fish salesmen in Norrköping.”

“It’s 7 a.m.,” Sven said, breaking the silence. “I suggest we clean up the mess from last night and reconvene this afternoon at 1pm for a more in-depth discussion. Everyone okay with that?”

“Oh, we’re back to voting now?” Inge murmured quietly, her skepticism clear.

Sven shot her a level look. “Inge, why don’t you and I stay behind and go over this again?” he suggested, his tone firm but not unkind. “We need to make sure everyone’s on the same page.”

The makeshift infirmary was quiet in the early morning light. Sofia stood beside Nikolaj and Ming, her voice gentle but concerned. "Any idea when you’ll be able to walk on it again?" she asked.

"A few weeks, if I’m lucky," Nikolaj replied. "By some miracle, the shrapnel missed the bone. Linda's going to pump me full of antibiotics and see how it goes." He reached for the vodka bottle, but Ming quickly took it from his hand, placing it out of reach.

"Sven pissed?" Ming asked, her tone sharp.

Sofia sighed. "He’s not happy. We’ve got a lot on our plates in the next few weeks. But you focus on getting better, Nikolaj. We’re going to need every man we can get. I’ll fill you in this afternoon."

She offered Ming a small smile, noticing that the earlier tension had softened. Ming still seemed angry, but at least she had calmed down since Nikolaj was first brought in, wounded.

As Sofia turned to leave, Ming followed her outside. Once the door closed behind them, Ming pulled Sofia into a tight embrace. "Thank you," Ming whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.

Sofia felt the subtle tremors in Ming's body as she held on, her grip growing more intense. Ming's head rested against Sofia’s chest, and Sofia could feel the warm dampness of silent tears soaking into her shirt.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Sofia instinctively tightened her hold, pulling Ming closer, offering comfort through her presence. She gently caressed Ming's hair, smoothing it down with tender strokes, her touch soft and reassuring.

Ming slowly released her grip, wiping her face as she stepped back. She gave Sofia a small, grateful smile, whispered a quiet thank you, and then turned to walk back into the infirmary.

"Cholera!" Przemek cursed under his breath as he struggled to pull off his sneaker. He had traded his boots for more comfortable footwear before heading to wash up, but even with the change, his body ached all over.

"You're getting old!" Sofia teased, toweling off her damp hair. It was already ten, but they could grab a few hours of sleep before the day’s duties resumed. The oatmeal they had eaten earlier felt like a luxury after the chaos they’d endured, but the true reward was the chance to crawl back into bed after such a restless night.

Przemek didn’t answer as he continued to remove his clothes before joining Sofia in the bed, his body enveloping hers as he put his head on her chest.

“So why don’t we like them again?” Nikolaj asked, lifting the metal curtain with a grunt.

“What? You want to join your old colleagues?” Przemek replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he helped pry open the storage container, a task made more difficult by his assault rifle slinging on him. Even if that part of Trollhättan was considered secure none of them took any risk.

Nikolaj rolled his eyes. “I never said that. Just curious.”

Przemek paused, his expression darkening slightly. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Yeah, but satisfaction brought it back,” Nikolaj shot back, letting the curtain clatter upwards as they finally got it open.

“First of all, they nearly killed us like a week ago. Sure, they didn’t know who we were, but it really shows you who we’re dealing with right now,” Przemek said as he stepped into the storage container. He swept his flashlight over the stacked boxes, squinting at the faded labels.

“Yeah, well, we’ve shot a lot of people over this year. You and I both,” Nikolaj retorted, following him into the container. “Hell, you nearly shot me the first time we met.”

“True,” Przemek conceded with a wry smile. “But we were still on the same side, at least.”

“The guys are a bunch of fascists. I knew the guy in charge when I was in Mali. Shittiest company commander I’ve ever had to work with,” Amir chimed in as he entered the storage room. “Kept me and the other special forces guys on a leash and loved telling us how to do our jobs.”

Nikolaj raised an eyebrow. “So, you’ve got personal history with these guys?”

“Personal and unpleasant,” Amir confirmed, shifting a crate aside to make space. “I wouldn’t trust them any further than I could throw them. And given the way they left us hanging, I’m not about to start now.”

“Left you hanging?” Przemek asked, his voice edged with curiosity as he sifted through one of the boxes, pulling out a tangled mess of cables and equipment.

“Box is too small to be in it,” Amir said with a hint of sarcasm. “You’re looking for diving gear, not some Funko Pops.”

Przemek grunted in acknowledgment but didn’t let up. “So, what happened in Kristianstad?”

Amir paused for a moment, his frustration evident as he tossed another box aside, narrowly missing Nikolaj.

“Back in Kristianstad,” Amir said, picking up his explanation where he left off, “we needed their help more times than I can count. And every time, they just left us hanging. Like when Linda got kidnapped—they killed two men who were with her. And when we were starving, they didn’t even send us any rations. We were ready to swear allegiance just to get some support, but no. The guy didn’t even bother sending a single box of food.”

He threw another box behind him with a sharp motion, his anger palpable. “We were left to fend for ourselves, while they were off doing who knows what. It was like they couldn’t care less about us.”

“Now that we and they’ve got it made,” Amir said, his frustration evident. “They’ve got plenty of men and weapons, and with the chaos unfolding, the lunatics are doing god knows what. And they think they can just swoop in and claim everything for themselves. The guy’s a piece of work—no other way to put it. Screw him and his men. They were the first to go AWOL while Nikolaj and I were stuck following that last order from high command: ‘Hold until relieved.’ Well, we never got relieved.”

“‘Hold until relieved,’ ha!” Nikolaj laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They told you that too?”

“They did,” Amir replied, his frustration still palpable. “I wasn’t a grunt like you, not stuck guarding some 7-Eleven from looters. They sent me and my team to the prime minister’s villa to wait for his daughter to show up. Great use of resources, right? It would’ve been a cakewalk if it wasn’t in the middle of central Östermalm.”

Nikolaj raised an eyebrow. “Did she ever show up?”

“In body not in soul. Took three of my colleagues to restrain her but she was too far gone. When we learned there wasn’t a helicopter coming we had to put her down before getting the fuck out of dodge.” Amir said as he grabbed a picture frame. It featured him and a woman smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower. Przemek and Nikolaj exchanged glances, unsure of who she was.

Nikolaj glanced at the photo and then at Amir. “So, who’s the woman?”

Amir looked at the picture, a faint smile crossing his face before his expression hardened again. “She’s the one who kicked me out and put all my stuff in storage while I was in deployed in Estonia.”

“Got it,” Przemek replied, maneuvering a large box into the hallway. It contained the diving equipment they had been searching for. Amir moved towards it. “Light the box Nikolaj” he asked while opening it and inspecting its equipment.

First, he removed the top layer of packing material, revealing a set of wetsuits and a dry suit neatly folded and stacked. He inspected each one quickly but carefully, checking for any signs of damage or wear. Satisfied, he set them aside and continued.

Next, Amir pulled out a series of oxygen tanks, their metal surfaces gleaming under the flickering light of the storage container. He examined each tank’s gauge and valve, making sure they were all in working order. His fingers brushed over the labels, confirming the pressure levels. A faint hiss from one of the tanks made him pause, but he quickly tightened the valve, ensuring no leaks.

He moved on to the diving masks and fins, laying them out on the ground and inspecting them for any cracks or defects. He tested the seals on the masks, making sure they were airtight. The fins were in good shape, and he gave them a quick check to ensure the straps were intact.

Finally, Amir went through the smaller accessories—regulators, snorkels, and various clips and straps. He examined each item with a keen eye, making sure nothing was missing and everything was in proper working condition. He paused occasionally to double-check the inventory list he had jotted down earlier, ensuring nothing was overlooked.

As he finished his inspection, Amir gave a nod of satisfaction. The equipment was all there and in good shape, ready for use. He closed the box and turned to Przemek and Nikolaj, who had been waiting nearby.

“Everything’s here,” Amir said, his voice carrying a mix of relief and focus. “We’re all set. Let’s get this stuff out and move on before we run into any more trouble.”

“You sure you’ll be able to handle it?” Nikolaj asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Przemek shot Nikolaj a look, as if to say that questioning an ex-special forces operative like Amir wasn’t exactly wise.

Amir chuckled, his confidence unshaken. “Come on, man. They trained me to blow up Russian destroyers while they were docked in Murmansk. A ferry is going to be a walk in the park. What I’m more concerned about is whether your girlfriend and Sven manage to get the explosives.”

The metal curtain of the police station garage creaked open slowly. Jonathan crouched slightly as he stepped through, his rifle was slung on his chest as a signal that he meant no harm. Do his left hand rested on his pistol holstered on his belt.

The dimly lit parking area revealed a table awkwardly set in the middle of the space, surrounded by four chairs—one occupied by a man who seemed to be in charge, and two more chairs across from him. The two men seated there wore jackets and had a disheveled look about them, their jittery movements and slightly wide eyes suggesting they were accustomed to a certain high. The scene struck Jonathan as darkly humorous.

“What, no meeting room upstairs? What’s with the cloak-and-dagger routine?” he asked, scanning the room. His gaze settled on the single door leading to the stairs, the only other possible point of entry.

The man seated centrally gave a sardonic smile. “We’re painting the walls. The fumes, you understand.”

“Right,” Jonathan replied, then turned away and gave a sharp whistle, his fingers making a crisp, clear sound.

At his signal, Sven, Ming, Peter, and two more armed men from the Oksjo home guard entered with deliberate strides. Sven carried a briefcase, its contents clearly intended for their current needs. As he approached, the briefcase was opened to reveal the last batch of homemade antibiotics and iodine—the items the man had requested.

“That’s not a kilo,” one of the men said, his voice edged with impatience. He pulled out a plastic bag containing a white powder that Jonathan recognized immediately.

Jonathan met his gaze steadily. “What’s the issue?”

The man scrutinized the bag, his face a battleground of skepticism and frustration. “This isn’t the amount we agreed on. I was expecting more.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal spoon, its surface glinting coldly under the light.

Sven's gaze was sharp, a blend of anger and disappointment etched deeply into his features. He clenched his jaw, struggling to maintain composure. “How about you try to make iodine. See how that goes.” His voice was taut with controlled rage, an edge that cut through the room’s tense silence.

Before the man could muster a response, Jonathan swiftly grabbed the plastic bag from his hand. With a practiced motion, he dipped a finger into the contents, bringing it to his nose and taking a deep sniff. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“What, you guys can whip up the good stuff like this, but your chemists can’t produce iodine?” Jonathan said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Hell, I’m starting to think you don’t cook anything at all—just raided the evidence room when you moved in here.”

Sven shot Jonathan a stern, almost paternal look, as if he was about to drag him outside for a scolding.

The two men blinked in surprise, their tension easing slightly as they realized Jonathan wasn’t just some outsider—he shared the same hobbies as them.

They both started laughing as Nikolaj passed the bag back to them.

“We gave you two artillery shells a few days ago did we not. All we asked was for both you to work your magic and turn it into what we asked.” Sven said, trying to turn the conversation back on its track.

“Don’t!” the man yelled, slamming his fist on the table. The sudden outburst sent a jolt of tension through the room, and Jonathan had to fight the instinct to reach for his rifle.

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain, so why should we?” the other man added, trying to calm his brother down.

“That’s fair,” Ming interjected, reminding everyone of her presence. Her calm demeanor cut through the tension. “How can we make it up to you?”

The first man’s gaze shifted to Ming, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I don’t know if you’ve got a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t like what I have in mind.”

Ming’s expression hardened as she locked eyes with him, her patience wearing thin. “How about we cut the bullshit?” she snapped. “You’ve got coke—so much of it in your system that you probably smell it when you piss. We’ve got trucks and connections to Lysekil and Norrkoping. Wouldn’t you prefer to move that product instead of playing games?”. Sven and Jonathan exchanged a glance, both wearing the same thoughtful expression as the man across from them.

“If you give us that,” Ming continued, her tone measured and confident, “we’ll meet again once we’re done to discuss it more in depth.”

“Hey, kid!” one of the men shouted just as Jonathan was about to leave the garage.

Before Jonathan could react, the man tossed him the bag of snow. Jonathan, already holding the container with the time-fused explosive, fumbled awkwardly as he tried to catch the plastic bag mid-air. He barely managed to grab it before the metal curtain began to descend, the clang of it closing echoing through the dimly lit space.