Page 37 of The Broken Dawn

"Gentlemen." Major Bergström's voice cut through the chatter. "Take your seats."

The cadets scrambled to attention. Jakob found himself scanning the room automatically, the empty seat beside him a reminder of Harald's continued absence. Three days now. Three days of facing Christian's increasingly venomous looks alone.

As if summoned by the thought, Christian strode in, flanked by his usual entourage. His gaze swept the room, cold and assessing, before settling on Jakob with a slight curl of his lip.

"Today," Major Bergström began, "we will be examining the most significant tactical development of the modern era—what the Germans are calling Blitzkrieg." He unrolled a large map of Poland, red arrows slashing across its surface. "Lightning war. The coordinated use of mechanized forces, armor, and air power to achieve rapid, decisive victory."

The room leaned forward as one. Even Jakob couldn't help being drawn in by the professor's breakdown of the German advance—the Luftwaffe striking first to destroy Polish air forces on the ground, armored divisions punching through defensive lines while infantry followed to secure territory.

"The speed is unprecedented," Bergström continued. "And I should note that as of midnight last night, Britain, France, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa have formally declared war on Germany."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the classroom. Jakob felt something cold settle in his chest. The Great War had started with similar declarations, and sixteen million people had died before it ended.

"Sir," Erik Stensson raised his hand, his usual arrogance tempered by genuine curiosity. "Does this mean Sweden will join the Allies?"

"That's a political question, Cadet Stensson, not a tactical one." Bergström's tone was clipped. "Sweden's official position remains neutral, as it was during the Great War. Our concern today is understanding this new form of warfare."

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Christian's voice carried from the back of the room. "The Germans have revolutionized warfare. The Poles never stood a chance."

"There's nothing brilliant about bombing civilians, Vasa," Jakob said, the words out before he could stop them.

The room went silent. Christian's eyes narrowed.

"The discussion of civilian casualties is not within the scope of this class, Cadet Eliasberg," Bergstrom said carefully. "We're analyzing military tactics, not ethics."

"With respect, sir," Jakob straightened in his seat. "If we separate tactics from their human consequences, we're not studying warfare—we're just playing with toy soldiers."

Several cadets shifted uncomfortably. Christian's laugh cut through the tension.

"Always so sentimental, Eliasberg. This is why charity students shouldn't be in advanced courses. They lack the proper perspective."

"And what perspective is that?" Jakob turned to face him directly. "The one that only sees people as abstractions?"

"Enough." Bergstrom's voice cracked like a whip. "This is a tactics classroom, not a debating society. Cadet Lieutenant Vasa, Cadet Eliasberg—you will both remain after class."

The lecture continued, but Jakob barely heard it. His mind kept returning to the news reports he'd read that morning—Polish towns in flames, refugees streaming eastward. How many of them were Jewish, like his family had been in Russia? How long before they faced worse than displacement?

When class ended, Jakob remained seated as the other cadets filed out. Erik paused at his desk, surprising Jakob with a slight nod that might almost have been respectful before following the others. Christian approached Bergström's desk with easy confidence, as if being held after class was merely an inconvenience.

"Gentlemen," Bergstrom said once the room had emptied, "I understand tensions are high given recent events, but I expect professional conduct in my classroom."

"Of course, sir," Christian said smoothly. "Though I must say, Eliasberg's emotional outbursts are becoming disruptive."

"It wasn't an outburst," Jakob said quietly. "It was a legitimate question about the scope of tactical analysis."

Bergstrom studied them both. "Cadet Eliasberg, while I appreciate intellectual curiosity, there are appropriate channels for such discussions. Cadet Vasa, I would remind you that all cadets at this academy have earned their place, regardless of their background."

Christian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, sir. Some just have more to prove than others."

Bergstrom sighed. "You're both dismissed. And gentlemen—I suggest you find a way to work together. The world is changing rapidly, and Sweden's officer corps cannot afford internal divisions."

Outside in the corridor, Christian caught Jakob's arm, his grip just tight enough to hurt.

"You're only here because my cousin finds you amusing," he said, voice low. "But Harald isn't here now, is he? Called back to the palace for matters of actual importance."

Jakob pulled his arm free. "Is there a point to this conversation, Vasa?"

Christian's smile widened. "Just that you should be careful. When Sweden inevitably recognizes which way the wind is blowing in Europe, certain... elements... will need to be removed from positions of influence. Including this academy."