Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 649: The Uncertainty of Neutrality

The morning air was crisp with frost when the Allied delegation stepped off their private aircraft at Copenhagen’s Kastrup airfield.

An entourage of Danish Royal Guards waited with stoic silence. Not a band. Not a parade. Just ceremony stripped to its most efficient parts. Polite. Minimal. Unimpressed.

At the head of the delegation stood Ambassador Charles Montgomery-Hughes of Britain, flanked by his American counterpart, Special Envoy Harold Wexler, and Rear Admiral Jean-Luc Chareau of the French Navy.

Behind them, aides whispered over briefing folders as they stepped into the waiting motorcade.

“Rather cold for a royal welcome,” Wexler muttered.

“It’s Denmark,” Chareau replied with a shrug. “They were never ones for theatre.”

“They’ll need more than politeness if they want to keep their ports open once this all begins,” Montgomery-Hughes said under his breath.

—

The royal audience chamber had been reconfigured for a roundtable discussion. No long diplomatic tables, no clear hierarchy. A quiet message in the layout itself.

King Christian X entered with deliberate grace, Crown Prince Frederick at his side, and the Foreign Ministers of Norway and Sweden seated already.

Finland’s envoy arrived last, deliberately late, but not disrespectfully so.

Montgomery-Hughes was the first to speak.

“Your Majesties, Ministers… forgive our urgency, but circumstances demand clarity. The winds across the Channel have shifted. If the Reich marches west, we must know where the North stands.”

Christian’s expression didn’t change. Frederick’s hands were folded neatly in his lap.

“Britain has always prized our neutrality,” the King said evenly. “Surely you understand its value even now.”

Wexler leaned in. “Neutrality has its place. But when tyranny knocks, silence becomes complicity. The United States asks not for arms, only assurances.”

“You ask for economic sabotage,” the Finnish envoy replied coolly. “For embargoes that will drag our shipping economies into a war before a single shot is fired.”

“Surely you see what Germany is becoming,” Chareau added, tone almost pleading.

“They’ll pull the world into fire again.”

Sweden’s Foreign Minister raised an eyebrow. “France fears fire now? That is new.”

A silence fell across the table. Frederick broke it.

“Denmark will not break its existing treaties. We will not sever trade with Berlin. Nor with Washington. Nor London. We are not tools to be pointed. Our ports remain open.”

“Even if Germany invades Belgium?” Montgomery-Hughes snapped.

Frederick didn’t blink. In fact, his lips curled into cruel mockery as he sipped from his tea cup.

“It’s funny you should say that, if memory serves correctly it was the French who invaded Belgium in 1914, and the Germans who came to their defense. Is this how Paris had decided to frame the recent joint military exercises in Flanders?”

Wexler sat back, visibly processing the weight of that statement.

“You speak like the Reich has already bought you,” Chareau accused.

“No,” Christian said with quiet finality. “But they treated us as equals.”

Another silence.

Montgomery-Hughes narrowed his eyes. “You’re uniting then. The Nordics. As a bloc.”

“We are reaffirming a principle,” the Swedish minister answered. “Peace is not passive. Sometimes, it is enforced by clarity.”

“And if war comes to your doorstep?”

Frederick stood. “Then we will defend our doorstep. But we will not pick up your rifles to fight your ghosts.”

He looked directly at Wexler.

“And you may tell Washington: American cargo ships will continue docking here. As will German ones. As will any who come in peace.”

“And if we impose sanctions?”

“Then you will lose access to the last stable shipping zone in northern Europe. And your enemies will not.”

—

Outside, as the envoys departed in tense silence, the frost had begun to melt under the pale Danish sun. The air was still cold. But it no longer bit.

Wexler lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

“They’ve made their choice.”

Montgomery-Hughes adjusted his gloves.

“No. They’ve made sure we have no good ones left.”

The silence on the balcony had teeth.

Wexler, ever the optimist, raised a hand. “That’s not necessarily true,” he said carefully. “Across the Pacific and Atlantic, we might yet find rifles for our cause.”

Chareau scoffed. “And what? Smuggle them through Norwegian ports? Hope Siam doesn’t fold like the rest?”

“They haven’t folded,” Wexler countered. “Thailand’s just cautious. Strategic. They’ve been modernizing rapidly. There’s a window, small, maybe, but open.”

Montgomery-Hughes leaned back in his chair.

“You think Bangkok will choose Washington over Berlin? When the Kaiser’s rail lines are already being surveyed from Hanoi to Rangoon?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Wexler replied. “The Philippines are on the edge of independence. They’re restless. Indonesia’s ripe to ignite if we give the right assurances. Even Australia and New Zealand are starting to question the wisdom of neutrality. There’s discontent brewing. All we have to do is tap it.”

Chareau’s eyes narrowed. “Tap it? Like you tapped Mexico during the last war? How long did that war last for? Wasn’t it the Germans who solved it for you in the end?”

Wexler’s jaw twitched. “This is different….”

The British ambassador set his glass down, the clink deliberate. “That’s the point, Harold. We’re not playing against fractured Europe anymore. We’re playing against something… whole. Something designed.”

Silence returned.

It was Chareau who broke it.

“Even if we spark rebellion in the Indies, or rally the ANZACs, it takes time. Ships. Troops. And Berlin will not wait. They’re locking up trade routes faster than we can draft counteroffers.”

Wexler nodded grimly. “Still. It’s not hopeless.”

“Not hopeless,” Montgomery-Hughes repeated, voice low. “But running out of hands to play.”

The fire crackled. Outside, a bell tower struck eleven.

“The Tsar’s still alive,” Wexler offered weakly. “Alexei may be young, but he’s a rational actor.”

“Rational enough to remember who saved his crown,” Chareau snapped. “The Reich put him on the throne. They paid for his coronation. They built his rails, rearmed his navy, and married his cousins.”

“He’s not stupid,” Wexler said. “He knows entanglement with Germany leaves him a vassal.”

“Their joint technological agreements state otherwise… Alexei is no fool, he gains nothing from shifting sides. He’s married to a Lioness of Tyrol for Christ’s sake.” Chareau muttered.

Montgomery-Hughes stood slowly, gathering his coat. “We need to pivot. Africa. South America. The Pacific. Wherever the Reich has not already planted its flag or bought the silence of kings.”

“And what of Denmark?” Wexler asked, softer now. “We lost them tonight.”

The British ambassador glanced toward the windows, where distant lanterns still flickered in the palace courtyard.

“We didn’t lose them. They were never ours. We were just too blind to see it.”

He paused at the door, adjusting his scarf.

“Send word to Ottawa. To Canberra. To Delhi, if anyone still listens. The world may be shrinking… but we only need one breach. One wedge. One reason for Berlin to overextend.”

Chareau joined him. “And if they don’t?”

Montgomery-Hughes didn’t turn. “Then we bleed. And pray the Americans will be enough to bail us out this time.”

They left, coats drawn tight, boots echoing on the marble. Wexler lingered for a moment, eyes on the flickering fire, before pulling a notepad from his coat and jotting down his thoughts.

—

The soft hiss of rain on the palace windows was the only sound accompanying the flicker of the fireplace.

Sophie von Hohenberg sat near the hearth, brushing her long hair in silence.

The glow caught the soft curve of her cheek and the silver of her hairpins.

On the balcony, silhouetted against the dark sky, Josef von Zehntner leaned forward with both hands on the railing, his brow furrowed.

“You heard it too,” Sophie said without looking up.

Josef didn’t answer immediately.

“Voices in the corridor. Boots, not slippers,” she added, setting down the brush. “Christian is coming.”

Sure enough, moments later, a discreet knock came at the door.

Josef stepped back into the room, nodding once at the guards to let their guest enter.

King Christian X of Denmark, tall even without his ceremonial uniform, stepped through the doorway with a troubled look and no retinue.

“My apologies,” the king said quietly, glancing toward Sophie. “For the hour.”

“You are welcome, always,” Sophie said, rising. “But I suspect this is not a social call.”

The king gave a tired nod. His eyes turned to Josef.

“They’ve taken the news poorly.”

Josef moved to pour them each a small glass of wine, offering one silently to the monarch.

“Which one?”

“All of them,” Christian answered. “The Brit was the first to speak, the American feigned surprise, and the Frenchman looked ready to storm out. But none of them raised their voice. That’s what troubles me.”

“They expected it,” Josef replied. “They just hoped you’d blink.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.”

Christian sipped once, then held the glass between his fingers. “Montgomery-Hughes said something ominous. Called our stance… shortsighted.”

“That sounds like a British way of saying ’we’ll remember this.’”

“Precisely,” the king said. “I fear they won’t take neutrality for an answer.”

Josef met his gaze squarely. “Then let them test that answer.”

He stepped forward, tone calm but firm.

“As I said last night, and I say again now: if the Allies attempt to breach the North, to arm the Baltic, to strangle trade, to exploit your sovereignty, German steel will meet them. And Russian might will flank them.”

Christian looked unconvinced. “But will they come in time?”

“They’re already here in spirit. A single wireless call from Copenhagen, and regiments will be moving by dawn. You are not alone.”

The king sighed, running a hand through his short, greying hair. “Your father always was a man of certainty. You speak much like him.”

Josef smirked faintly. “He taught me to speak only when the decision was already made.”

At that, Sophie rose and placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm.

“And he doesn’t make idle threats. Nor do the legions that stand behind him.”

Christian turned toward the fire. “I never thought I’d see the day when Denmark’s peace would rest on the weight of Prussian promises and Romanov resolve.”

“And yet here we are,” Josef said quietly. “The world turned upside down.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the flicker of firelight casting three shadows onto the parquet floor.

At last, the king set his glass down. “I’ll inform the Council. We won’t bend.”

“Good,” Josef said. “That’s all Berlin needs to hear.”

“And what of Moscow?” Christian asked, pausing at the door.

Josef’s reply came without hesitation.

“They’re watching closely. They understand winter starts in the North. If war comes, it will not spare the fjords or the isles. And they won’t wait for it to reach their borders.”

Christian nodded once more, then left, his footsteps fading into the marble halls beyond.

As the door shut, Sophie let out a long breath. “He’s right to be nervous.”

“So am I,” Josef murmured, pouring a second glass of wine.

“But you sounded so certain.”

“I was,” he said, sipping slowly. “Now I’m just committed.”

Sophie smiled faintly. “That’s how your father would have put it.”

Josef didn’t respond. He walked back to the balcony, wine in hand, and stared out into the rainy darkness, where the sea glinted like steel.