Note for future parts, no not include: The Great War (1914-1918) was a devastating conflict in the European and Asian Continents that set the stage for extremist ideologies in the wake of Monarchism that would cause World War Two (1939-1945). In the universe of the Lights Above Narvik, though, a different outcome was achieved, where Germany and France entered a stalemate after Lenin took power in Russia a year early. Due to neither side having a clear advantage in the attempt at peace, Britain forced an armistice at the current lines, allowing both sides to recuperate. Germany, however, held the upper hand, and launched a surprise offensive into France, taking Paris in 1920, forcing the French to surrender due to a lack of British reinforcements. Now, in 1924, Germany and Britain are in a Cold War, with proxy wars taking place in nations such as Austria, Turkey, Russia, Tanzania, and Scandinavia, where our story takes place.
Lights Above Narvik is a trilogy of short stories, centering around an alternate inter-war Europe as proxy-wars interfere in the lives of ordinary people. Of good people.
Boxes aren’t always known to be the most comfortable places to rest, much less spend a whole week in. Nevertheless, a steel box, officially named the SS Shetland, floated across the North Sea carrying about 600 people. Its steam stacks billowed with evaporated water hot enough to turn a man into a sausage. Its deck was made with old-splintering plywood, and its hull was made of riveted and machined steel. Its older parts were original and properly milled, but they had been covered with rust from years of use. Below deck was, simply put, the room deck. From the front to the back, it is just long strips of rooms. Light seeped in from the stairs to the entrance of the hallway, but the further back it went, the less the lights worked and the less the moonlight reached. In the furthest reaches of the starboard hallway, where it was too dark to read it, a corroded metal plaque read "35," signifying the number of the door it hung upon. Inside said room, about half a dozen bunks, split into three groups, lined the walls with a few drawers for storage. Large bags littered the room, hanging from nailed-in hooks or from the bedposts.
In the bottom bunk of the second group, a man lay on a paper-thin mattress. Bruised from the bed supports pressing on him, he tossed and turned in his sleep. There was a book he had to his side, and his left hand was covered in pencil graphite. With a jolt, the man awoke; a large gasp was followed by his bumping against the frame of the bunk above him. He groaned, clutching the top of his swelling head. With the darkness, he couldn’t see anything, not even his own nose. He began to grope around the bed for his coat. He pulled it to him after feeling its distinct soft interior and felt around for the collar so he could put on the coat. He got up, greatly lowering his head to avoid hitting the bunk above himself. He slid his coat on, book in hand, and crept out of the room with a heaviness in his step despite his lean frame. As he stepped into the dim light of the hallway, his book was illuminated, revealing his name scribbled in the top corner of the worn cover: Jake L. Seward.
Jake took short, slow steps as he made his way down the corridor. He rubbed his eyes as he stepped up to the metal door, quickly turning the lock open and pulling the heavy door open. Jake’s weight went from opening the door to trying to close it from the cold wind flooding in. After a minute, the door shut, and Jake now stood on the freezing deck of the Shetland. He looked around, deciding to take a walk once he had determined that nobody was above deck. He began to take a couple laps around the back of the ship just to clear his mind. It was nearly meditation for him, and he could walk around the ship with his eyes closed. In fact, it was around the point of his third lap that he was.
What he did not expect, however, was a door sitting wide open in front of him. Jake stumbled back and fell flat on his back, holding his nose.
“Hallo? Hva er det?”, a Norwegian voice called. “Erm, unnskyld, beklager!” Jake responded with horrid Norwegian pronunciation. The man to whom the voice belonged stepped out from behind the door, looking down at Jake, who was still groaning on the floor. “ Pardon? ‘unnskyld… beklager’? Pick one, man.” The man smiled and offered his hand to Jake. Jake accepted, getting quickly pulled up by the unexpectedly strong man. “All you’re doing is saying ‘I’m sorry, I apologize!’ to a door, no?” Jake gave the man an unamused look, which was responded to with a giggle. The giggle progressively turned into a rolling laugh. The man began to tear up, putting his hand on an annoyed Jake’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re funny," he goes, “You want some bread?” Interest piqued. Jake lowered his hand from his nose after confirming he wasn’t bleeding. He tilted his head up so that he would be looking down on the man who was of equal height. “Bread?” Jake inquisitively responded. “Of course!” The man leaned back on the door, looking into the room. “Johann! Bring a couple slices out!” Jake raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t the ship staffed with Norwegian cooks? I’ve never met a Norwegian named Johann before.”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “That’s because you’ve never met a Norwegian…“, he said, followed by an awkward pause, "but no, he’s not Norwegian. He’s a friend of mine who helps me bake from time to time. I met him again on the ship the other night, so he’s helping me get rid of some excess ingredients so they don’t go to waste since we’re dumping in Narvik. To answer your question, he’s a German.” Jake clenched his jaw as if he recoiled at the word ‘German’, shutting his eyes and slightly bowing his head. He shook his head and looked back up. Suddenly, Johann was approaching the door, tray in hand. It was an artisanal bread, made with ingredients from the Netherlands. “I would have saved the starter for my bakery back in Narvik, but the port contacted us and stated that no fungi are permitted off the ship, that includes baking yeast," the man said as he reached to the tray. “Thank you, Johann.” When they were standing next to each other, Jake realized that the two looked like polar opposites. Johann was tall, lean, and vascular, like a soldier would have during the war. In noting his appearance, Jake saw an image of a bayonet plunging through the man’s chest. He blinked it away as soon as he saw it. The resemblance was uncanny, really. He had short, dirty blonde hair that was messily steeped to the side, and his face was thin with defined features. His clothes were fitted, yet seemed to fall loose on his body.
The baker man, while the same height, had a larger and rounder face. His black hair was long and kept in Dutch braids, and his beard was kept in its own braid. His clothes were loose on his large body, and his build was strong and stocky, while having a peculiar rotundness to his frame. The man gestured to Jake with his free hand, “Johann, I want you to meet..." The man looked back at Jake expectantly. “Jake. Jake Seward.” Johann tried his best to gesticulate a hello but only shook the bread around. “Johann Von Bernstadt.” He smiled warmly and bowed his head slightly. ”Yeah, definitely not Norwegian," Jake started, eyeing the baker man, “I mean, aren’t Norwegian names supposed to be cool or something? Imagine being Nordic and being named something regular like Ferdinand or Joshua while your neighbor’s named Alvilde or something.” He chuckled and looked back at the two. Johann had lowered his head to try and stop himself from laughing, while the baker man was the one with the unamused face. “Huh? What’s your name?” Jake asked.
The baker man licked his lip and took a deep breath while staring into Jake’s soul. “Ferdinand Joshua Parsån.” Johann burst out cackling, grabbing a piece of bread and tossing it to Jake, who almost didn’t catch it simply because of how dumbfounded he was. Johann kept throwing himself about with every laugh, turning around and taking steps that looked as if he was tripping a whole lot. He placed the tray down and fell onto the frame of the door. All Jake had to say for himself was "Huh?" with a surprised look on his face. This response got Ferdinand, too, for his angry demeanor quickly broke in favor of the same roaring laugh he had earlier. Seeing Ferdinand laugh only made Jake realize that he was the physical embodiment of a fictional Viking of fiction.
“Hey, Thor, what’s all this?" a voice boomed from behind Jake. He almost twisted his head while turning around, literally scared out of his boots. Johann waved at the man with a simple “Hello, Nathan.” Nathan shot the man a nasty glare before quickly resuming his interaction with Jake and Ferdinand. Ferdinand was wheezing before he could finally breathe again, stepping over to the new man and putting his hand on his shoulder. Still wheezing, all he could mutter out was a "Jake," quickly starting from nothing and ending somehow even less. He started again after a deep, deep breath. “Jake! This is Nathan!” Nathan was confused as to what was going on, and clearly uncomfortable. He was visibly youthful; someone could mistake him for a teenager. He wore a standard-issue British greatcoat, a newer model compared to the one that Jake was given back during the Great War, which was the next subject of discussion. Nathan’s eyes had a sparkle in them as he approached, his attitude now completely comfortable with the group. “Oh, wow, is it real?" he said excitedly, pointing at the greatcoat.
Jake raised an eyebrow, taking a foot back. "Yeah, it’s real.” Nathan took a full step forward to accommodate for the distance that Jake tried to create. “Jeez, is it yours? Where did you serve? Which division are you from?“. As Nathan went on, his questions got faster, but Jake stopped paying attention after the third one. “- asyourkillcountyourrationslikeyourrifle-“ “Shut it." Jake waved his hand just above his shoulder, right in front of the kid’s face. “You don’t care, kid. Neither do I. If you must know, I served in 1917 during the second battle of Amiens. You already know how many of us were lost, so I’d prefer not to talk about it. You haven’t the slightest idea whose blood has been washed away from this piece of clothing.” Jake tugged at his own coat while meeting the boy’s eyes. “I killed. I was killed. My friends were killed. End of Story.” Jake leaned back onto the wall, looking at Nathan.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press so hard. It’s just that I’m going to intercept German forces in Russia. I just wanted to know what your experience in the early war was like.”
Jake bit the inside of his cheek in a moment of thought. “We’re nothing, Nathan. If we die, we mean nothing. We live; we still mean nothing. We’re useless dogs. All I can promise is hunger and fear.”
“T-That’s not true. We all know you’re a hero-”
“Shut. It. I lost myself once, the hero in me. I’d do it again just by remembering those times. That was part of a man who died, I already said. If you’re so desperate for someone to talk war with, find someone else who served some backyard job. Maybe a cook or someone—no offense," he directed to Ferdinand and partially to Johann. Nathan’s eyes seemed awfully dry all the sudden, as he was suddenly unable to blink. “But you’re a-”
Jake snapped, almost yelling at the boy. “GET LOST, KID!” Within a split second, the distance between the two was comfortable for Jake to not feel pressured anymore, and he immediately began to feel uncomfortable with his actions. Nathan had jumped so hard at Jake’s outburst that he had nearly tripped over himself. Ferdinand stared at Jake before walking to try and talk to Nathan, while Johann appeared saddened but unsurprised by the situation. The minute Ferdinand laid a hand on Nathan, he slapped the hand away, taking several steps back, simply staring at him. Johann took a step forward. “Listen, Natha-“ "you filthy kraut! How many times do I have to tell you? Not a word out, ‘ya bloody mouth!” Nathan turned and walked off, tears welling in his eyes as he pulled his beanie down to his eyes.
Jake took a shaky deep breath, apologizing to the now silent Ferdinand. He brought the bread to his mouth, taking his first bite. “It’s good bread.“ Ferdinand walked over to the railing, looking to the dark North Sea. No response. “Thanks, Johann.” Johann simply nodded his head and gave a faint but not fake smile. Jake lifted up his book, opening it. He had forgotten that he had taken it up with him and why, but he did, and it was up there now. He flipped through the countless sketches of scenery on the ship and from the ocean and other locations. The mountains of southern Norway; the cityscape of Holland. Johann looked at the book.
“Are you an artist?” Jake responded, “By hobby, yes. By trade, I’m a cartographer. I’m mapping a safe course from Northern Norway via Narvik to the Finnish supply hub in Murmansk, by commission of the King, naturally.” Johann placed the tray down once more and stepped out of the kitchen. “Really? I have to go to Murmansk too. I've got work to do in the area as a military advisor to the militia.” Jake disregarded the idea at first, but after taking a moment, he accepted. “Sure. The trip will be easier. But fair warning, we’ll be zig-zagging plenty; I need to for my maps of the mountains.” Johann lightly clapped his hands together and quickly pulled them apart, holding them wide open on either side of his body, as if he had just done something major. “Sounds like a plan. I have two months to get there anyway. I get off the ship early, so meet me at Ferdiand’s bakery. It’ll be the only one open. Can’t miss it.” Ferdinand looked back at the two at the mention of his family bakery, pretending to be uninterested. Jake pushed himself off the wall and closed the book. “Yeah, sounds like a plan. See you then."
He shook Johann’s hand and walked off. After turning the corner, Jake decided to take one last lap before going back to sleep. It was slow, but felt brisk with the wind blowing against him. As he approached the stern of the ship, the very front, he saw lights out in the distance. He wasn’t sure what, but Jake knew something would be different about this trip. It was almost as if it were in the air—the sweet Nordic air that passed through him as the ship approached Narvik, a city placed right on the frontier of the battle against the Germans.
To be continued...
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