When war came to Denmark in 1940, the government surrendered almost immediately and without much
of a fight. But that did not mean the Danish people were ready to turn in their weapons
and become good little Nazis. They fought back. This is the story of the
Danish Resistance and of those who fought to the last to preserve their freedom.
When the Second World War began in September 1939, Denmark declared neutrality. Over 1.5 million
Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe, and SS troops marched into Poland, and the Danish government knew
that if a similar-sized force was turned on them, they had no hope of holding the
line. While relatively well equipped, the entire Royal Danish Army comprised around
14,500 soldiers, and pancake-flat Denmark has very little terrain suited for defence.
Acknowledging Denmark’s proximity to Germany and Hitler’s expansionist mindset,
the Danish Parliament decided that a last-ditch fight to hold the border
would do nothing except anger the invaders and get good Danes killed.
On April 9th 1940, the Wehrmacht invaded as part of Operation Weserübung—the joint
operation to capture both Denmark and Norway. In the east, Luftwaffe ME-110s annihilated the
Danish air force on the ground while, in the north, German Fallshirmjaeger made the first
airborne attack in history, capturing Storstrøm Bridge and Masnedø fortress.
German infantry made amphibious landings around the capital,
Copenhagen. Within hours, Denmark ceased all resistance and surrendered. By the end of the day,
all Danish forces had been disarmed. It was the shortest German military operation of the war.
From the outside, it looked like Denmark had simply given up the ghost,
but this couldn’t have been further from the truth. The quick surrender was, in reality,
a clever ploy to win German trust—and it worked!
The Danish Parliament knew that Danes featured near the top of the Nazi racial hierarchy.
They played this to their advantage, convincing the Germans they were willing partners
rather than a conquered people. Hitler was fooled and effectively let the Danes govern themselves.
Denmark’s politicians put aside their differences and united.
With support from the King, they managed to block most Nazi policy at the legislative level,
saving thousands from the Holocaust. In return, they agreed to officially curtail free press,
which people quickly circumvented by publishing unoffical newspapers. Similarly,
German demands to legislate the death penalty for anti-Nazi agitation and sabotage were shot down.
In return for cooperation, the Nazis in Berlin let Denmark remain a so-called “Special Case.”
But wheels were turning behind the scenes. The Danes
hadn’t yet given up and weren’t about to let their country go without a fight.
The first sparks of resistance came from the demobilised Royal Danish Army. Before
surrendering, soldiers buried secret weapons caches in multiple locations
across the country. Danish mariners voyaging overseas joined the Allied merchant fleet,
and over 1,000 gave their lives aboard Danish freighters during the Battle of the Atlantic.
Closer to home, the Danish intelligence service set up a clandestine headquarters in Stockholm
in neutral Sweden. This was used as a base for Danish intelligence operatives to smuggle
documents and intel out of occupied territory to the British. Sometimes, Danish agents went too,
disappearing from German offices and later reappearing in the ranks of SOE.
After the liberation of Denmark in 1945, Field marshal Montgomery stated that the
intelligence Britain received from the Danes had been “second to none.”
But there were also those who chose violence. In 1942, five veterans of the Finnish Winter War
formed a resistance group called Holgar Danske, named after the folk hero Ogier the Dane. Each of
the men had served in the Danish volunteer brigade and knew the essentials of guerilla warfare.
They contacted old comrades and patriots and together built a resistance network
numbering over 300 members. Two of these members became infamous across Denmark—and Germany—as
a cunning assassination team. They were known as the Flame and the Lemon.
Jørgen Haagen Schmith joined Holgar Danske in 1943, the year Danish resistance began ramping
up. He didn’t look like a caricature of bravado, but instead was described by Gunnar Dyrberg,
the leader of the resistance, as “a dark-haired, well-built man of middle height … [who] looked
like any ordinary family man of thirty-four.” Schmith's ordinary appearance likely helped
him avoid suspicion, which helped him survive at the top of the Gestapo’s most-wanted list.
In July, Schmith participated in a firebombing attack on a Citroen garage
commandeered for German military use. Inside the building were six
German cars and an armoured vehicle—all of which were destroyed in the ensuing blaze. News of
the successful attack quickly spread through Danish underground newspapers, boosting the
morale of Denmark’s resistance fighters. They called the man behind the attack “Citron” or,
in English, “Lemon,” in honour of his feat. Now furnished with a Nomme de Guerre,
the Lemon teamed up with another notable renegade and got on with the real business:
The Lemon’s partner in crime was Bent Faurschou Hviid, better known as “Flammen” or “Flame”
for his shock of bright red hair. He was just as volatile as his name suggested.
The Flame was Holgar Danske’s executioner. He was an expert assassin and utilised a
variety of weapons from a personal armoury of captured German pistols and ammunition,
STEN submachine guns airdropped by British SOE, military rifles cached from the invasion,
improvised petrol bombs, and grenades. When he and the Lemon made a hit,
Lemon would drive while Flame executed their target. The two men worked excellently together,
managing to kill no less than 22 German officials and Danish collaborators.
They also undertook their fair share of sabotage and intelligence-gathering missions.
By August 1943, it was becoming clear the Danes weren’t really collaborating with the Germans.
German intelligence was aware of major leaks, prominent Danish collaborators had
been assassinated, sabotage was becoming a major issue for the Wehrmacht, and the Gestapo was run
off its feet trying to deal with the Resistance. The Germans declared martial law on August 29th,
taking governance into their own hands. German police appeared on the streets and remained
there until the eventual Allied liberation in 1945. Flame and Lemon could no longer operate
with impunity. From then on, they were constantly hunted.
On September 9th 1944, the Lemon was carrying out another hit with fellow resistance fighter
Helmer Bomhoff. Disguised as policemen and driving a stolen police car, the pair drove
through central Copenhagen towards St. Hans Square. By sheer misfortune, they donned their
disguises the same day the Gestapo decided to arrest Copenhagen’s entire Danish police force.
The car was stopped at a German roadblock, and the men were ordered out while the vehicle
was searched. Both immediately knew the game was up, as they had a briefcase
inside the car containing pistols and an incriminatingly large number of grenades.
A whisper passed between the two men,
then the Lemon made a break for it. He jumped onto some nearby bins and tried to shimmy up a wall,
but was shot in the back by a Danish Nazi. In the confusion, his comrade Bomhoff simply walked away.
By chance, a resistance member working for the Copenhagen ambulance service witnessed the escape
attempt and called for an ambulance. It arrived quickly, and the wounded Lemon was loaded into
the back. An armed guard got in too. However, the ambulance crew were also resistance members
and, recognising one of their own, helped fabricate yet another distraction.
Informing the guard that the Lemon was about to die, they pulled over to fetch water. The Lemon
then drew a pistol hidden in his boot and shot the distracted guard several times through the head,
killing him. The Lemon was later taken to a safe house and cared for by a resistance nurse.
He was bedridden for over a month, but his ordeal wasn’t over yet.
On October 14th, German secret police came to the safe house to arrest its owner.
Hearing their shouts from outside, the Lemon believed he had been betrayed.
Still injured and unable to run, he decided to go down fighting.
Hidden in the house was the Flame’s personal stash, with enough weapons and ammunition to arm
an entire fire team. The Lemon greeted his Gestapo guests by emptying a pistol magazine through the
door, killing one of them. He then relocated to a dressing room with an unrestricted field of fire.
Germans burst into the house but were immediately repulsed by automatic fire. They pulled back,
and an eyewitness saw a small group of wounded men
hobbling out together before a grenade flew through a window
and blew them to pieces. Outmatched, the Gestapo called in the Wehrmacht to force the Lemon out.
200 soldiers from the Jaegersborg Barracks
surrounded the house and subjected it to constant small-arms fire.
They set fires around the house and punched through the walls with high-calibre weapons.
But every time they tried to force an entry, they came right back out, dragging casualties.
The Lemon held out for more than three hours before the flames began to consume the building.
With no alternative, the crazed Dane charged through the door while spitting automatic
fire from a STEN gun. German rounds tore into him, and the Lemon fell.
Not long after the Lemon’s last stand, Gestapo agents located the Flame’s hideout.
Moments before they could reach him, however, he swallowed a cyanide pill
and died. The Flame and the Lemon gave up no secrets.
During the siege, the Lemon killed eleven soldiers and wounded another four.
While wounded, he held his position in the house longer than the entire
Royal Danish Army had held back the initial German invasion.
THAT was the story of the Lemon, the Flame, and of the Danish resistance during the Second World War.
But what do YOU think? Do YOU think they made the right choice in working with the enemy?
How do YOU think the Lemon managed to hold out for so long?
Do YOU know any stories of resistance from Denmark? Let us know in the comments!