Greenland has become a potential battleground. Thirty-nine European soldiers joined the 150-strong Danish troops stationed on the island on Thursday to spend two days there training. The point is to show the American some chops without provoking response potentially leading to irreparable damage.
European soldiers stepping off a Danish C-130J in Nuuk on January 15th looked more like a hiking party than a liberation force. France sent 15 chasseurs alpins in white camouflage. Germany dispatched 13 reconnaissance specialists aboard an A400M, maps and sensors in hand. Sweden added three officers; Norway two; Finland another two; the Netherlands and Britain one each. Fewer than 40 foreigners joined about 150 Danish troops already stationed with Joint Arctic Command. Guns stayed holstered. Cameras clicked.
Yet the symbolism rang loud. The advance party opened Operation Arctic Endurance, a Danish-led manoeuvre that could swell into the low-thousands before winter ends. It landed one day after a fractious Washington meeting where US officials again pressed Copenhagen to give them a free hand on the island. President Donald Trump then doubled down, saying he was “going to do something on Greenland, whether they like it or not”.
A Danish rebuff
Denmark’s defence minister, Troels Lund Poulsen, met the first aircraft on the tarmac. “But it is clear that we now will be able to plan for a larger and more permanent presence throughout 2026 and that is crucial to show that security in the Arctic is not only for the Kingdom of Denmark, it is for all of NATO,” he declared. Nuuk’s tiny terminal cheered, though one local shopkeeper, Mads Petersen, muttered: “I don’t hope it is the new normal.”
Mr Poulsen’s ministry has revealed only snippets of the build-up. The offshore-patrol vessel HDMS Knud Rasmussen cruises the capital’s fjord. Engineers have surveyed Kangerlussuaq air base for extra allied transport. Planners talk of a French company-strength rotation, Danish infantry companies, unmanned-aerial detachments and perhaps a Dutch corvette by March. Arctic Endurance’s phase one—reconnaissance and site surveys—runs until January 18th. Later stages will drill cold-weather infantry tactics, air-defence and anti-submarine warfare in the Denmark Strait.
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Paris leads the European cheer. President Emmanuel Macron said France and the European Union must be “unyielding in upholding territorial sovereignty,” promising more land, air and naval assets. Stockholm’s prime minister, Ulf Kristersson, insists the Nordics can “move fast when friends call”. In Brussels officials note, privately, that every participant belongs to NATO but the alliance’s flag is nowhere to be seen—a neat way to stiffen Danish spines without handing Mr Trump a treaty-violation pretext.
American disdain
The White House plays down the tableau. Spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt told journalists: “I don’t think troops in Europe impact the president’s decision-making process, nor does it impact his goal of the acquisition of Greenland at all.” Mr Trump’s admirers argue that a mineral-rich, ice-retreating island half the size of India is too valuable to leave in what they view as Danish neglect. His detractors see a vanity land-grab that could shatter NATO if pushed to force.
I’m going to do something on Greenland, whether they like it or not. — US President Donald Trump
Russia, sniffing advantage, calls the fuss a myth. The foreign ministry dismissed talk of a Chinese-Russian pincer in the High North as hysteria. Still, it warned that Moscow would answer any attempt to curb its Arctic interests. Danish radar tracks show few Russian hulls near Greenland. Threat perception rests more on geography: whoever controls the island’s air and sea lanes can bottle up northern fleets or, conversely, screen them into the Atlantic.
A fragile shield
Europe’s response, so far, is pocket-sized. Mountain infantry may master muskeg marches, but 40 men cannot repel an amphibious brigade. The value lies elsewhere. First, the deployment proves that Denmark is not alone. Second, shared drills tighten Arctic know-how across the continent. Third, the allied airlift on display—C-130Js and A400Ms—signals the ability to pour in battalions within days. As Marc Jacobsen of the Royal Danish Defence College notes, the exercise both deters rash action and answers Washington’s jibes about Danish slackness.
Greenland’s cabinet treads a tightrope. Foreign minister Vivian Motzfeldt backs deeper NATO co-operation but rejects annexation. Premier Jens-Frederik Nielsen told a Copenhagen audience: “We choose the Greenland we know today, as part of the Kingdom of Denmark.” His words drew a standing ovation and a discreet clap from European diplomats keen to keep the quarrel transatlantic.
Washington applies leverage elsewhere. A bipartisan flock of eleven senators and representatives arrives in Copenhagen on January 17th. They will meet Denmark’s prime minister, Mette Frederiksen, and Mr Nielsen. Denmark and the United States have set up a working group to soothe tempers, yet insiders expect hard bargaining over basing rights, rare-earth licences and surveillance corridors.
An uncertain thaw
The military maths suggests a long game. Turning Nuuk into a permanent hub would demand new quays, fuel farms and heated shelters—investments counted in the hundreds of millions of euros. Europe’s defence budgets already strain under Ukrainian commitments and Indo-Pacific distractions. But the same budgets now contain Arctic line-items that scarcely existed two years ago.
For Mr Trump the calendar beckons. America votes again in November 2028. If he wants Greenland before then, he must act while the island’s runways remain thin and Europe’s contribution stays symbolic. That reality animates Mr Poulsen’s hurry. Each extra corvette, each reinforced hangar narrows the window for a coup de main and raises the political cost of bluster.
We choose the Greenland we know today, as part of the Kingdom of Denmark. — Jens-Frederik Nielsen, Greenland’s prime minister
Local attitudes remain mixed. Greenlanders welcome jobs and air links yet shun foreign uniforms. Tourism operators fear that war-game noise will spook cruise lines. Environmentalists worry about diesel spills on fragile tundra. The Danish government wagers that a bigger allied umbrella, coupled with careful consultation, will calm those nerves. It may be right—but only if the umbrella opens fast.
Unity at stake
The stakes reach beyond one icy landmass. Allow a NATO member’s territory to be hived off, and every alliance guarantee looks shakier; resist, and Washington’s wrath could fracture transatlantic unity. Arctic Endurance tries to walk that line: strong enough to matter, discreet enough to avoid provocation.
The chasseurs alpins (an elite, highly specialized mountain infantry unit of the French Army, trained for combat in extreme weather and rugged terrain) snow tramp across frozen ridges. What follows will test whether Europe can still defend a frontier without lighting a fuse. In the meantime, jokes cracked about Arctic Endurance being as much as Europe can muster vis-à-vis immediate military threat ring perilously spot-on.
