A younger captain stepped forward. “Afternoon, Captain. I’m Captain Joran Lindholm. I command a tank platoon. We’re the heavy armor for the regiment. Do your soldiers have experience working with or coordinating operations with armor?”
“We do. We’ve worked with Bradleys and Abrams at Grafenwoehr and participated in the last NATO exercise in Romania last summer,” Mercer replied confidently. “I’m aware your unit operates the Leopards. We’re used to working with them as well. They aren’t too much different.”
“Yeah, perhaps. But our terrain is difficult.” Lindholm gestured to the map. “Gotland, as you can see, is forests and farmland. We have some open areas for maneuver, but not many. One thing we do have plenty of is places for infiltrators to hide.”
Mercer sensed someone walking up behind him. He turned to hear First Sergeant Tanner comment, “Infiltrators, you say? Sounds like what we used to deal with in Afghanistan. Except you all have better roads.”
That drew a few laughs, breaking the ice and the tension.
A major with an intelligence insignia on his collar leaned forward. “I’m Major Stenqvist, the regiment’s S2. What would you say is your biggest threat you need to be ready to handle?”
Mercer knew he’d be asked a question like this and had prepared for it. “That’s a good question, Major Stenqvist. I’d say we have a couple of viable threats we need to watch for — the first being Spetsnaz infiltration. They could come in the form of tourists, or if an attack is underway, they could come via airborne or even a seaborne assault. Second, and more likely, drone swarms. Say this Russian-Chinese EDEP exercise turns kinetic. They’ll likely try to saturate our defenses with drones before sending cruise missiles,” Mercer explained, then softened his tone. “Major, this is your home. My men and I are not to occupy Gotland or garrison it for months or years. We’re here to help defend it until whatever this exercise is passes and we can all go home.”
Stenqvist smiled, nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope you are right, Captain. And if this defense needs to become an offense, what then?”
“Well, we do what paratroopers do best. We adapt, and we punch the ChiComs and Ruskies in the face and stomp on them until they say uncle,” Mercer replied, which elicited a few more laughs and some brash boasting about who would kick the enemy the hardest.
The site reconnaissance began at dawn the next day. Three Swedish liaison officers joined Mercer’s team — Captain Elin Boström from Air Defense, Lieutenant Nils Sandberg from Logistics, and a grizzled Home Guard officer who introduced himself simply as Bertil. His rank and name tape read Captain Sonevang. Mercer recognized him as the 32nd Battalion commander of the Gotland Home Guard. His unit functioned similar to how a National Guard unit would back in the States.
“Shouldn’t we address you as captain, sir?” Sergeant First Class Dan Holloway asked the older man.
“No, it’s OK. On Gotland, most of us Home Guard don’t really bother much with professional ranks. We have them because we are told we must, but we are generally on a first-name basis. Around here, everyone knows me as Bertil, but you can call me captain if you must,” the older man replied, his rugged and weathered face turning into a grin. “You see, I have been teaching history on this island for thirty-two years. I have students, now adults who send their children to my classes,” he laughed, explaining how he was as much a fixture of the island as the trees around them. “That is why everyone knows me as Bertil, not captain.”
Their convoy wound north from Visby, past limestone farmsteads and wind-twisted pines. Every few kilometers, Bertil pointed out local details, which roads flooded in spring, where cell coverage died, which farmers were “reliable” versus “talkative” when it came to developing credible sources and informants.
Mercer was studying his tablet’s tactical overlay when he said, “The airport is obvious for us to locate the Patriot radar at. But where else should we consider setting our other radars up, and the launchers?”
Bertil held a hand out for Mercer’s tablet. Taking the device in hand, he looked it over, then pointed to something. “You are right to point out the obviousness of the airport. This point here, the Grönt Centrum near Romakloster, would be a good location for you to set up the radar, command trailer and power unit for the Patriot battery and that Leonidas device you were telling us about. It is not a good idea to concentrate too many of your critical units around the airport. It is best to disperse them away from the population centers. The Centrum is centrally located on the island, and it has good lines of sight across many of the inland approaches toward Visby from the Baltic coast.”
While they were speaking, Boström pulled over near a forested ridge. “Here, Captain Mercer. This is Gråtmon Hill. It has good elevation and natural concealment.”
