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Solemn Duty

Written by David W. Dove

Lieutenant Claus Brockman scraped his boots against the edge of the wooden walkway, trying to remove the mud that had accumulated there. It was early May and that meant spring had finally come to Falun, Sweden, and spring meant that the streets were a sticky mess.

He looked down at his uniform trousers with despair; mud was splattered up past his knees. For this duty he was supposed to look his best, but there was no way that could happen now. He tugged on the tail and sleeves of his jacket to make it as presentable as possible and patted his pocket to make sure the package he was delivering was still secure.

He pushed open the door of the shop and stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him. As he paused for a moment to soak in the warmth of the general store, an older man at the counter looked up to greet him.

The man eyed Claus's uniform suspiciously. "Yes, how may I help you?"

Claus removed his hat before answering the man. "Excuse me, sir, is your name Erik Svedberg?"

"Yes, that is my name."

Claus felt a rush of relief; he had been tracking down this place for almost a year and a half. Perhaps he had finally found the man he was looking for. "Herr Svedberg, I am Lieutenant Claus Brockman of the United States of Europe Navy. Do you have a son named Bjorn?"

The man stiffened at the question and answered warily. "Yes, I have a son by that name, but I have not seen him for almost three years. Why do you ask?"

Claus tried to calm his nerves for what he had to say. "Herr Svedberg, I have news of your son, very sad news. Sir, it is my duty to inform you that Bjorn was killed while fighting against the forces of Denmark."

The blood drained from the man's face as the news registered. "Bjorn is dead?"

A scream of anguish came from the back of the shop and a woman rushed into the room, throwing herself into the man's arms. The man held the woman tightly as she sobbed against his shoulder.

Claus stood in silence, allowing the couple their grief. After a couple of minutes, the man looked up, as if remembering Claus was standing there. "I am sorry, Lieutenant . . . ?"

"Brockman, sir, Claus Brockman," Claus quickly answered.

"Lieutenant Brockman, please forgive my manners." He pointed to the woman next to him. "This is my wife, Helena, Bjorn's mother."

Claus bowed slightly. "Madam."

The man gestured to a small table and chairs in the back of the room. "Please, have a seat."

Claus took one of the seats as the man and woman joined him. The woman was sobbing gently, her face buried in a handkerchief. The man took a few moments to compose himself and then began speaking. "Please, I again ask you to forgive me. You see, nearly three years ago, my son parted under unpleasant circumstances. I have not seen him since that awful day." The man paused as he was overcome with grief and regret, tears flowing down his face. "My last words to my son were words of anger."

Claus felt uncomfortable hearing the man's story. "I am sorry; I did not mean to bring up bad memories."

The man shook his head. "No, that is in the past and not your concern. You said that my son died in battle."

Claus nodded. "Yes, let me start again." He took a moment to organize his thoughts. "On October 7^th, in 1633, the city of Wismar was threatened by an invading Danish fleet. A small group of U.S.E. forces was gathered to repel the fleet. Although they were greatly outnumbered, the group was successful; they destroyed some of the invading fleet's ships and repelled the invaders. Regretfully, several men were killed that day, including Bjorn, whose boat was destroyed in the battle."

The man sat in silence for a few moments as he digested the news before speaking. "My son was at Wismar, where that German boy died in the flying machine."

Claus nodded. "Yes, sir. Your son was one of only a handful of men who faced the Danish fleet. Because of them, the city remained safe."

The man nodded in understanding. "My son died honorably then, he fought bravely?"

"I believe he did, sir." Claus reached into his jacket and pulled out the package he carried. He opened it, took out an envelope, and handed it to the man. "Sir, this is a letter from Bjorn's commander. I believe it contains more details on your son's last days."

The woman had regained her composure. "Did you know my son, Lieutenant? Were you there that day?"

"No, madam," Claus answered. "I never met your son and I joined the navy a few months after Wismar." He reached into the package and pulled out two small boxes and two sheets of paper. "I also brought something for you. As a result of your son's final actions, the navy has awarded him decorations."

The man was obviously confused. "Decorations?"

Claus opened one of the small boxes to confirm its contents and then handed it to the man.

The man looked at the box and its contents. Inside he found a medal, a heart shaped metal medallion suspended from a purple ribbon. He looked up at Claus.

Claus picked up the certificate and read. "This is to certify that the Prime Minister of the United States of Europe has awarded the Purple Heart (Posthumously) to Gunner's Mate Bjorn Svedberg, for fatal wounds received in action at Wismar on 7 October 1633. Signed John C. Simpson, Admiral, United States of Europe Navy."

Claus then handed the man another box. The man pulled out another medal; this one a silver star suspended from a red, white, and blue ribbon.

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