“Ah, I thought I recognized your name. I was a newly promoted major when your Ranger unit parachuted onto the Tofta Range. That was a fun exercise if I recall.” Lindqvist’s eyes crinkled slightly at the memory. It was one of the few times Mercer could remember when his Ranger company had found themselves mauled in an exercise.
With a motion for Mercer to follow him, he led them past the soldiers standing in formation waiting to receive them. “You Rangers gave us a hell of a run for our money that day, Captain. Come, let us put the past behind us and discuss the present. We have much to plan for.”
The convoy rolled through Visby’s medieval walls forty minutes later, GAZ Tigers and Mercedes G-Wagons navigating streets built for horses, not vehicles. Mercer rode with Lindqvist in the lead vehicle as the colonel drove dangerously close to the edges of buildings and the occasional parked car. The airport was just north of Visby. The P18 or Gotland Regiment was located six miles southwest of Visby, near the Tofta firing range. This area hugged the western shore of the island and was where the majority of the military barracks and activity on Gotland took place. As they exited the city into the countryside, the colonel broke the silence.
“Captain, when does your main force arrive?” Lindqvist asked, his eyes on the road.
“Week from Thursday. Hundred and twenty personnel, plus equipment,” Mercer replied, keeping his tone neutral. “Our heavy gear follows by ship in the coming weeks.”
“Hmm, OK. And the Patriot batteries?”
“Ah, well, I can’t speak to Task Force Sentinel’s timeline. We’re just the security element.”
Lindqvist grunted. “One company to protect Patriot batteries that can engage targets three hundred kilometers away. That’s an interesting allocation.”
Mercer had had the same thoughts when he’d been given the orders. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought they were a little light in providing security for what was obviously a strategic asset and thereby a target.
“We make the most of what we have. Besides, paratroopers work best in small teams,” Mercer offered in response. “My understanding is our battalion headquarters along with Alpha and Charlie Companies are located at Berga Naval Base, with Delta Company situated at Muskö Naval Base. If we need a QRF force, Alpha Company is it. I think we’ll be fine with your people and won’t need them.”
“Hmm, we’ll see,” Lindqvist responded as he turned onto a forest road. “Do you know where the rest of the 173rd is going?”
“Latvia, near the Adazi military base just northeast of Riga,” Mercer replied. He then asked, “Just between us, Colonel, what do you think of this EDEP exercise in a few weeks? You think the Russians and Chinese are preparing for war or just trying to scare us?”
The colonel was quiet for a moment. “That’s hard to say, Captain. The Russian and Chinese economies are starting to benefit from this economic pact they have formed. It’s hard to believe they would want to risk all of it for a war I don’t think they are yet ready to fight, let alone win.”
“Yeah, that’s my thinking too. It’s hard to tell sometimes with all the saber-rattling. You would think after their thumping in Ukraine, they would take some time to maybe learn from their mistake and not try something as foolish as invading their neighbor again,” Mercer replied as their vehicle turned onto another road leading into a forested area.
A few minutes later, the Gotland Regiment’s headquarters building came into sight, seeming to materialize from the pine trees surrounding them. Mercer smiled as he took the sight in, observing how the buildings had been designed to blend in with the terrain around them. As they drove closer, he soon spotted strategically placed berms, suggesting hardened positions and defensive works beneath them. It was clear the Swedes were preparing their positions for whatever might come of this exercise, leaving nothing to chance.
Pulling up to the front of the building marked “Headquarters, P18 Gotland Regiment,” Mercer followed Colonel Lindqvist inside. Maps covered nearly every wall of the first room he’d walked into, some of them rendered in topographical detail, with defensive sectors marked in neat Swedish script and English next to it. The half dozen officers near a conference room table turned to greet him. Mercer recognized the looks. Professionals assessing the Americans who’d just arrived in their backyard.
Colonel Lindqvist motioned for Mercer and his people to take a seat as he walked toward the front of the room. “Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Captain Mercer,” he announced loudly in English. “Captain Mercer is the commanding officer of Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Airborne Infantry. They are the security element for the Patriot and HIMAR batteries that should start to arrive in the coming weeks. Let’s go ahead and do some introductions. Captain Lindholm, why don’t you lead off for us.”
