“Exactly,” Annika replied, pleased. “It’s almost like saying Voldemort.” She laughed at her own joke before continuing. “And here’s the worst part, Klara: no one’s saying anything officially. Just rumors, whispers from busybodies like me. But if those cables go down — poof — no banking, no internet, not even landlines. We’d be blind and deaf overnight, cut off from the outside world.”
Klara sipped her tea, warm and sharp on her tongue. “I had no idea. It sounds like we would be very vulnerable if that happened,” she murmured, then added, “Ugh, I can’t even imagine the confusion something like that would cause, especially with all the extra visitors coming this spring for the Baltic Wings Festival I’ve been organizing. Makes me wonder if the government is doing enough to keep the peace. We’re a small country, we just want to be left alone.”
Annika gave her a look — part question, part concern. “Well, I don’t know about the government. I’m just a simple shopkeeper. But did I hear that right, you’re still going through with that birding festival?”
“Of course,” Klara said lightly. “If we cancel every time someone sneezes in Moscow or Beijing, we’ll never get anything done. Besides, it might be good for morale. People need something to focus on… something that feels
Annika nodded. “True, you’re not wrong. Just… keep your eyes open, dear.”
Klara smiled. “Always.”
As Annika moved off to help another customer, Klara leaned back, letting the tea and tension settle. The cable attack had nearly succeeded — barely stopped in time. But the narrative was already morphing into local myth: rumors, half-truths, and strategic uncertainty.
Now, all she had to do was find ways to keep stoking the right fires at the right times. As she sipped her tea, her mind began to plot ideas, scenarios working themselves over in her head.
The secure conference room on the second floor of the headquarters building was steeped in history, having served the American Army since 1945 and the German Army dating back to 1936. Sitting at the polished mahogany table brought back memories of Jim Batista’s time in uniform, before his retirement, back when he had been a warrant officer. He set his ceramic mug down on the table. The bitter liquid had done little to cut through the jet lag gnawing at his bones. Outside the windowless room, a light snow dusted the Swabian hills surrounding Vaihingen, a suburb of Stuttgart where US European Command was headquartered. Inside the room, it was anything but cold as the temperature rose with the pressure of events.
“Gentlemen, let’s dispense with the pleasantries,” Batista said, his Utah accent sharpening each word. “We have a Chinese spy ship burned to the waterline off Gotland, eleven dead, and NATO ports cataloged like a targeting package. All this while Moscow and Beijing prep for the largest military exercise since the 1984 REFORGER. I’m a student of history, so tell me how we’re not looking at 2022 all over again.”
General Nathaniel Calder, dual-hatted as both EUCOM Commander and SACEUR, leaned forward in his chair. The Spartan coin he habitually carried clicked against the table as he set it down. At fifty-eight, Calder still looked like he could run a 5K before breakfast — and often did, much to his staff’s exhaustion.
“Jim, the parallels aren’t lost on any of us,” Calder said, his Colorado drawl carrying the weight of command. “But there’s a difference between preparation and provocation. We start flooding the Baltics with armor, we might just give Goryunov the excuse he’s looking for.”
Secretary of Defense T. J. Varnell shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming a pattern on his tablet. The former tech magnate turned Pentagon chief might have traded the casual look of Silicon Valley for tailored suits, but his mind still worked in algorithms and decision trees.
“With respect, General, when has restraint ever deterred Russian aggression?” Varnell’s California-neutral accent carried an edge. “Georgia, Crimea, Donbas — each time we showed restraint, they took it as weakness.”
Lieutenant General Mark “Bear” Sheridan, Deputy EUCOM Commander, rubbed the bear claw pendant in his hand like a fidget — a nervous tic his staff knew meant he was deep in thought. The Alaskan’s massive frame dwarfed his chair, making him appear even larger than he was.
“The Swedes are spooked,” Sheridan said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Can’t say I blame them. That Chinese ship was mapping their infrastructure like they were planning an invasion. Hell, they had thermite grenades. That’s not intelligence gathering, that’s sabotage prep in case they got caught.”
