Although Henrik had crafted every part of today’s plan, now he had nothing to do.
He hauled a crate to the timber shed and passed men who had the appearance of working without actually doing so. Biding time.
Up in Frederik Ahlefeldt’s office, the shop steward was demanding Far remove the sabotage guards, who had increased in number since the sabotage raid.
As Anker, Henrik had sent that steward.
He readjusted his hands on the rough wooden crate. Tension bristled in the air, contrasting with the baby blue skies and cotton ball clouds.
An armed guard eyed him, and Henrik ignored him with his best dull-eyed look. What would the guards do when the shop steward blew his whistle and the workers walked out? And they would indeed walk out.
In ordinary times, Far wasn’t known for meeting labor demands. With Far in the resistance, he might favor a strike. The repairs from the raid had taken an astonishingly long time, and a strike would further delay production.
Henrik set down his crate, loaded a handcart with lumber, and pushed it back the way he’d come.
The past month, strikes and riots had spread in the provinces, from Odense to Aalborg to Esbjerg. It was time to bring strikes to Copenhagen.
Sabotage was rising and was also rising in the public esteem. Instead of protesting the previous day’s destruction of the Forum, most people cheered it.
Over dinner, Else’s eyes had glowed as she reported the outpouring of patriotism, although her words sounded subdued, probably in deference to Fru Riber’s abhorrence of destruction and lawbreaking.
Henrik grinned as he rolled the handcart over the rails for the crane. Only a few more days until he could see Else at Lyd-af-Lys, could hold her and kiss her. But he longed most to exchange thoughts and stories without hindrance.
At the boardinghouse, his role of Hemming became more difficult each day, and Else seemed to struggle to pretend nothing had changed.
Henrik pushed the cart to where Koppel and his crew actively did nothing.
The shipyard noise shifted. Engines shut down and tools clanked to the ground, the shift rippling away from the office building. The whistle must have been blown.
Koppel motioned to the exit. “Let’s go.”
The crew followed Koppel, and Henrik brought up the rear. As one, workers marched toward the main gate, the only sound the thud of work boots on pavement.
As he moved with the silent mass of men, Henrik stayed alert for trouble.
At the main gate, he found it.
Flanking the gate stood four guards, including the man Henrik and Skov had captured, and they pointed machine pistols at the workers.
“You can’t leave,” a guard yelled.
Hoots and hollers and jostling spread through the crowd.
Lars Koppel pushed his way forward. He’d be the voice of reason, but only if he were heard.
“Silence!” Henrik yelled. “Let Koppel speak.”
Men stared at him and fell silent.
“Excuse me, boys.” Koppel’s voice carried both strength and understanding. “Your job is to prevent sabotage. We aren’t committing sabotage. We’re going on strike, which is legal.”
A guard thrust his pistol toward Koppel. “It shouldn’t be.”
“But it is.” Koppel raised his hands in a calming manner. “What are you going to do, son? Shoot me? Shoot the others? How many will you kill before you’re overpowered?”
A rumble ran through the crowd, and Henrik joined in with enough menace to make the guards see they would indeed be overpowered.
The two guards on Henrik’s side of the gate glanced at each other with stark eyes, and two guns drifted lower.
