Operation Rädda Danmark was a Swedish contingency plan developed during the final phase of the Second World War — with staff work reportedly dating back to earlier wartime scenarios — that envisaged an amphibious landing on Denmark’s Zealand and Bornholm. The operation, discussed as a response to worst-case conditions in 1945 and linked in some accounts to a tentative date of 18 May 1945, could have involved up to 60,000 troops. Its stated purpose was to prevent chaos in the last days of Nazi occupation and to stop Denmark from becoming a battlefield between retreating German forces and the advancing Red Army.
The plan, described in a new book by Swedish officer and author Marcus Törner, was never carried out. Nazi Germany capitulated in early May 1945, and Denmark was liberated without the scenario Swedish planners feared. But the documents behind Operation Rädda Danmark shed light on how fragile the security balance was around the Øresund at the end of the Second World War — and on how Sweden’s neutrality was paired with serious military contingency planning.
Why Sweden considered landing troops in Denmark
By early 1945, Denmark was still occupied, and thousands of German troops remained stationed in the country. In Copenhagen, Danish authorities and parts of the resistance feared that the German withdrawal could turn violent — or that fighting could spill over if Soviet forces pushed further west.
Swedish planners framed the idea as a stabilisation operation rather than a conquest. The stated rationale was to help secure Denmark’s transition from occupation to liberation, reduce the risk of large-scale bloodshed, and prevent the Øresund region from being destabilised at a moment when the European war was entering its final, most unpredictable phase.
That logic also reflected a broader Nordic concern: even when the end of the war was in sight, local military decisions and misunderstandings could still trigger escalation. Denmark’s geography — controlling access between the Baltic Sea and the North Sea — made the country strategically sensitive not only to Sweden, but also to the Soviet Union, Britain and the United States.
The scale of the planned landings on Zealand and Bornholm
Operation Rädda Danmark was reportedly split into two linked components: one focused on Zealand (with Copenhagen as the strategic centre of gravity) and a second aimed at Bornholm, the Danish island in the Baltic.
The plan described an operation far larger than a symbolic “guard force”. Swedish preparations included a first landing wave that would have hit the Danish coast near Helsingør, across the strait from the Swedish region of Skåne. Swedish troops would then have tried to secure key transport corridors and prevent sabotage or clashes in and around Copenhagen.
The numbers associated with the plan underline how serious the scenario planning was. Swedish staff work reportedly involved up to 60,000 soldiers, around 6,000 vehicles, and more than 1,000 transport vessels for an operation that would have required careful coordination between the army, navy and coastal artillery.
Even if those figures represented a maximal version of the plan — the upper edge of what Sweden believed it could mobilise if the worst-case scenario materialised — the scale suggests Swedish decision-makers were looking beyond diplomacy and preparing for a military option in Denmark.
Neutrality at stake and the politics of “saving” Denmark
A Swedish landing in Denmark in 1945 would have collided with a central pillar of Sweden’s modern identity: neutrality. Sweden was not occupied during the war, and its leaders worked to keep the country out of direct conflict — a policy that included both concessions and pressure from great powers.
Carrying out an amphibious operation on Danish territory would have been a public break with decades of neutrality signalling. It could also have created unpredictable consequences for Sweden’s relations with Britain and the United States, which had their own liberation plans for Denmark, and with the Soviet Union, whose westward advance was shaping the post-war map.
Historians who have previously discussed the existence of Swedish attack plans argue that the mere fact a plan existed does not mean it was close to execution. Military organisations routinely develop scenarios, including ones they hope never to use. In this reading, Operation Rädda Danmark was an insurance policy: a way to avoid being unprepared if Denmark’s liberation turned into a violent collapse.
What happened instead: Soviet bombing and occupation of Bornholm
While Denmark was liberated in early May 1945, Bornholm followed a different trajectory. In the final days of the European war, Soviet aircraft bombed the island’s main towns, Rønne and Nexø, after German forces refused to surrender to the Soviets. Soviet troops then landed on Bornholm on 9 May 1945, and the island remained under Soviet control until April 1946.
Bornholm’s experience illustrates the kind of scenario Swedish planners feared: that the war’s end would not be synchronised across the region, leaving pockets where local decisions could create a new occupation — even after Germany’s capitulation.
At the same time, Bornholm also shows why Swedish planners may have seen speed and coordination as essential. Once a great power established a military presence, reversing it depended on diplomacy and broader post-war bargaining — not only local goodwill.
How historians assess Operation Rädda Danmark today
Operation Rädda Danmark sits at the intersection of military planning, Nordic neighbour relations and the transition from world war to Cold War. Some accounts based on official documents suggest Swedish staff work on such scenarios began as early as 1942, even if the plan gained urgency only in 1945. For Denmark, the story is not about an imminent Swedish invasion, but about the uncertainty of liberation: in 1945, Denmark’s future was not just shaped by German collapse, but by how the victorious powers would divide influence.
For Sweden, the plan highlights the practical side of neutrality. Neutrality was not only a diplomatic stance — it was also maintained through deterrence, mobilisation capacity and the ability to respond quickly if the war moved closer to Swedish shores.
The new wave of attention created by Törner’s book is likely to trigger more debate in Sweden and Denmark about how to interpret late-war decision-making. One key question is whether the documents show a primarily humanitarian “rescue” logic, or whether Sweden also sought to shape the regional order by ensuring that liberation did not happen under Soviet terms.
What is clear is that, in the spring of 1945, the Baltic and Øresund region remained a place where the end of the war could still have arrived with violence — and where Nordic governments prepared for outcomes they hoped to avoid.
