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(This is a teaser for my first TL, now in the works. I am putting this up to see if you think I should keep working on it, and also to encourage myself to sit down on my lazy ass to write it. Coming up with further updates may take some time.)




The Lords of the North - A TL.



Prologue - The Last Convoy

Somewhere on the Archipelago Sea, December 1939.

"Led by the armed icebreakers Sisu and Tarmo, the large convoy of ships moved slowly west through the ice and an unforeseen snowstorm. Through the gloom, the icebreakers were followed by the two cruisers Ilmarinen and Lemminkäinen and a diverse collection of armed freighters and passenger vessels from various decades, packed to the gills with soldiers and refugees. Bringing up the rear were the three WWI vintage Turunmaa-class gunboats and two S-class torpedo boats, the AA crews of the 20 mm Madsens scanning the skies in an arc stretching from the south to the northeast. The rough weather was - it seemed - keeping away the enemy aircraft. One passenger ship, the Bore II, had already been lost in an enemy raid near Naantali even before the convoy sailed. The men would rather not think about the casualties caused by the sinking of the ship full of refugees.

On the bridge of the Lemminkäinen, Captain Eero Rahola tried to set an example for the men by maintaining a calm, professional facadé. Inside, he was being torn apart. On the face of it, this convoy was not very different to previous such operations during the war. Bigger than usual it was, certainly. Most remaining ships of the Coastal Fleet had been gathered for this effort. Some hours previously, the Lemminkäinen's task force, "Louhi", had met with the second group of ships that had set sail from Hanko, "Sampo", and united as this convoy Rahola was now in effect commanding - even he was in no way the ranking officer among the personnel on the ships. One of the ships had no less than four higher officers on it, though from what the Rahola was hearing, not one was actually in what one could call combat shape anymore, having raided the liquer cabinet in the ship's galley. Their conduct was a disgrace, it lowered morale and verged on dereliction of duty. In truth, though, Rahola would have very much liked to do the same himself. It was not easy losing a war - losing your home, your country and the whole of your army and navy at the same time was more than some men could bear.

The thing about this convoy was that after it, there would no more. Already the men had started to call it The Last Convoy, with tones suggesting the capital letters in the words. God willing, the ships would reach Mariehamn and Stockholm. They would not be coming back, not unless something extraordinary happened. The Swedish blue and yellow now flew over the Åland Islands, and that was one of the biggest guarantees that the men and women of the Last Convoy would yet get to keep their lives and freedom. Rahola had no qualms about being, in all likelihood, interned by the Swedish. It would, by God, beat the Communist prison camps anyday. In fact the Captain had the creeping suspicion that in the Swedish camp he would end up the food and accommodation might well trump anything the Finnish Navy had offered him during these lasts months of war.

In the center of the convoy, shielded by the no-nonsense warships, was a vessel of a whole different construction. Despite its camouflage paint and the AA weapons sprouting from its deck, this ship was obviously originally civilian. The Suometar, a 70-metre luxury yacht built by the Crichton Vulcan shipyards in Turku was an even more important target to the enemy than were the troop carriers or the warships protecting them. Ordered by the Finnish Government in 1934, the ship had been a focal point of several high-profile state visits and negotiations. It was a ship fit for a king. Officially, Rahola's main orders were to escort this ship safely to Stockholm. Unofficially, well, only Rahola and a few of his superiors knew the truth about the evacuation.

After 10 am., the weather started to clear. It made navigation easier, but also brought with it the possibility of air raids. And sure enough, at 10.25 two of the gunboats and one freighter almost simultaniously reported a large group of planes approaching the convoy from the southeast. Rahola ordered the men on all ships to battle stations; after a general alarm, the ships were ordered to spread out, if possible, to present the enemy a tougher target. Soon, the AA guns on the bigger ships started up. Apart from the main guns, both the Ilmarinen and the Lemminkäinen had four 105 mm Bofors guns, the most modern ones in this motley fleet of ships. The auxiliary ships were mostly decked out with near-obsolete Obuhovs and the ubiquitous Madsens: if someone would bring down a enemy bomber, it would likely be one of the gun crews of the two cruisers. With his binoculars, Rahola counted 20, no, 26 twin-engine Soviet bombers. Then all hell broke loose. The bombers were on top of the convoy and all guns on the ships were now firing. "All ships, evasive action!", Rahola ordered. "Maintain calm!", he exhorted the men on the bridge.

The bombs fell. The Captain sighed in relief when he saw several of the planes dropping their bomb load over 200 meters to the port side of the nearest ship. Some bombs came very close, however, and the Lemminkäinen rocked ever so lightly when it was sprayed with water thrown up by the bomb exploding in the cold water. Then the Soviet planes had passed - no ship had been hit so far. While about half of the bombers turned back towards their bases, in all likelihood in Estonia, those still with some bombs left turned back for another run. "Sir," one of the communications officers, Lieutenant Schild said, "the gunboats report another flight of planes coming in from the east". Damn, though Rahola, there goes the hope this would not turn any more ugly.

Now the cruiser's crew could see the second flight too. It was coming in fast at the same time as the first Soviet bombers closed up on the convoy. Now, the bombs were closer. Rahola grabbed a handrail as the ship rocked more with several explosions, unnecessarily close to his liking. "Captain", said Lieutenant Commander Voionmaa, the captain of the Lemminkäinen, "the Hämeenmaa has received a direct hit. She is starting to sink. The captain is ordering the men to abandon ship". The second flight of planes was close. Despite the bad news from the Hämeenmaa, the Captain's face lit up with a wry smile: these were Finnish fighters, and they were engaging the now fleeing bombers. Rahola spied the sleek features of the Fiat CR.60: this is why they came in unannounced. The Italian fighters had been dispatched to Finland uncomplete, without radios, and thus they could not keep in contact with his convoy. It was pure luck this flight of six planes had happened to arrive now it was needed: according to everything Rahola knew, what was left of the Air Force was also withdrawing from Finland, bound for the neutral airfields in Sweden. Sure enough, after chasing off the bombers (one was downed) and saluting the lead ship with their wings, the fighters sped off towards west.

Boats were lowered from several ships to save as many men of the sinking Hämeenmaa as possible. Later, it would be known that about half of her crew had been lost in the icy waters of the Archipelago Sea. The S2 had received bad damage to its superstructure, but could limp on; several other ships reported casualties due to shrapnel. All in all, though, the convoy was in shape to continue its voyage. In a few hours, the ships would reach what were now Swedish territorial waters. The Soviet government had raged and fumed about the Ålands handover, but it was still unlikely Moscow would go as far as declare war to the Swedish over the issue. They had Finland - it was a matter of days now - and the "Democratic Government", under Gylling, already sat in Viipuri. Soon it would move on to Helsinki to announce the completion of its "Second Finnish Revolution"."


...

"In Umeå in Northern Sweden, another Finnish convoy reached port. It was smaller and much more unassuming than the Last Convoy, consisting of an old auxiliary icebreaker and armed civilian vessels. These ships too were jam-packed with refugees fleeing from the losing country. One ship, the passenger liner Karleby, was emptier than most. There was a knock to the door of one of the biggest cabins. After receiving an answer, the Navy Lieutenant opened the door in and saluted. "Sire, I am sorry to disturb you, but we have reached port." The old man sitting in his leather chair turned his gaze to the young Lieutenant, who later recounted to me how infinitely tired and old his sovereign had seemed at that very moment, like carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Yes, Åström, thank you. Rouse Mäkinen, if you please. We'll need some time before we are ready to disembark." A half an hour later, the old man left the ship with his family, surrounded by a honour guard of naval officers and Royal Guards. Stepping on Swedish soil, Charles the First, the King of Finland, had become an exile."


Vilho Heinämies: The Royal Finnish Navy at War, Stockholm, 1942.

(filler)
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