‘We lost the Captain and Mielonen.’
‘Not Mielonen. I saw him run to help the Captain.’
‘Whew, that was something! Machine gun’s still red hot. Feel!’
‘Not a single Russki down,’ Hietanen said. ‘Not one. I watched while we were shooting.’
Koskela used his shirtsleeve to wipe off the sweaty leather band inside his cap, then said, staring at the ground, ‘They got Kaarna with a tank … The man just went and got himself killed.’
At the time, the men weren’t able to understand Koskela’s reckoning, and his face quickly resumed its usual reserve, but he remained silent all evening, staring vaguely at nothing in particular.
‘They didn’t say the Captain wouldn’t make it,’ one guy whispered, his voice low, but somebody else dismissed the idea as impossible. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Looked pretty clear from the way his leg was hanging off.’
Ensign Kariluoto was pacing back and forth along the road. He couldn’t keep still. His blond hair was blowing about wildly above his beaming face, as he’d taken off his cap and tucked it under his belt. It was as if this surge of self-confidence within him demanded that he be bareheaded. A cap would have interfered, somehow, with the roaring winds of victory ringing in his ears, unheard by the others. Lieutenant Autio came up on his left, and Kariluoto rushed over to meet him.
‘Good job, boys. That was a solid start,’ Autio said, though it sounded more like an obligatory greeting than actual praise, as Autio was not one to get overly emotional. ‘So, how’d it feel?’
‘Quite all right, once we got going. I didn’t think there was any way I’d get them moving at first … But Kaarna …’
‘I heard.’
Autio’s expression remained unchanged. He had already been through the Winter War, and so had quite a bit of experience.
‘I wasn’t aware that the tank was there, or I would have given you the anti-tank rifle. But in any case, many thanks. You’re off to a good start. Any casualties?
‘Vuorela. Light machine-gunner. I sent two men back to help, when the medics took Kaarna.’
It was not until he was talking with Autio that Kariluoto remembered the first part of the attack. His face flushed, and he diverted his gaze. But as soon as Autio started talking about the tank, Kariluoto seized on the notion. It was that damn tank! Hell … what was a man supposed to do with his bare hands up against that? Then Kariluoto’s spirits began to rise, and his shame lifted. He was so happy to be liberated of its weight that he started singing Kaarna’s praises to Autio.
‘He was too good a man to die. Far too good for death, that man.’
‘True,’ Autio kicked at a rock. ‘Though no one life is any more valuable than any other, really. But that one went too cheap, it’s true. Well, you’ll get used to that … Lammio will take over as company commander, of course.’
Autio turned to leave, then said, ‘The Third Battalion will take the lead as soon as the terrain’s been scoured. We’ll camp here. The tents and the kitchens are right behind the Third Battalion.’
V
Kariluoto returned to his men. ‘If only they hadn’t had that damn tank!’
His spirits perked up again. He forgot about the fact that they had all taken the tank for an anti-tank gun; he just took refuge in the fact that there was nothing anyone could do with his bare hands up against a tank. And, after a couple of minutes, he was firmly convinced that this was the sole reason he had taken cover in the swamp: because you can’t fight a tank without any anti-tank guns.
Once again, he was the vigorous ensign who had drilled his men back in the burnt clearing. He even thought of Sirkka, and felt a powerful wave of masculinity pervade his being. Sirkka was sacred to him. Kariluoto’s relationship with the girl had begun with such refinement that, indeed, there was nothing to stand in the way of their potential union. And at this very moment, that question, too, was settled. He would marry her, and when he did, it would be as captain of the army of the Greater Finland – if not as major! He would enroll at the Army Academy at the first opportunity. Yes, that’s how it would be. No law school for him.
Kariluoto could already see himself as a young career officer. He was still quite childish, in a way, full of fantasies he would have been embarrassed to acknowledge as his own.
He took a couple of boxes of cigarettes out of his map case and called out cheerfully, ‘Come and get a smoke! Cigarettes for every man with a mouth to smoke ’em in. Bursche, come, pass ’em round.’ (This word ‘Bursche’ had emerged directly from his thoughts about the Army Academy. Some legacy from the ‘Iron-fisted German army’, with its high command and lowly gophers, called ‘Burschen’. The word in itself wasn’t so bad, as it basically just meant ‘boy’, but the class-ridden mentality wrapped up in it certainly was. So much so that now, even this pure-minded youth appeared to have been infected by it. There was an antidote to prevent the spread of this particular affliction, however – war.)
A peculiar traveling party was approaching the swamp. Two men were carrying a third, who was bound with three belts to a birch trunk that somebody had sawed off with his hand-knife. A fourth man tottered along behind, staggering beneath the weight of his baggage. The last was Riitaoja. The man bound to the pole was Vuorela, and the two men carrying him were the ones who had been sent back to help.
‘How’d it go?’
Between gasps, the guy in front managed to choke out, ‘Jaakko’s done for.’
They hadn’t even been able to bind his wound, because Vuorela, who’d been shot in the stomach, had writhed so violently in his death throes. The two of them had nearly broken down in tears of despair as they tried to calm him, but Vuorela hadn’t even been able to recognize them. Then they had prepared the birch pole and bound him to it. They had come across Riitaoja on their way through the swamp and made him carry their packs.
Riitaoja’s absence had been noticed, but no one had gone out to search for him, because somebody had seen him lying unharmed in his little nook back at the edge of the swamp.
The men lowered their burden to the ground. With all his recent emotions still stirred up in his mind, Kariluoto said, rather too ceremoniously, ‘Well, men, Vuorela is the first to go. Are any of you from the same area?’
‘Other side of the same county, but I didn’t know him as a civilian. He was from somewhere out in the country.’
‘Very well, I’ll write … One ought to say a few words, I think.’ Kariluoto’s sentiment was sincere, even if his phrases were all lifted from something he’d read. The men looked at the body in a state of anguish. Vuorela’s shirt was stained with blood around his stomach. The wet swamp had washed the leather soles of his shoes clean, and it made the men slightly sick to see his ankles tied together with a belt around the pole. There was a second belt around the center of his body, and a third around his neck. The worst was his face. His dirty, suntanned skin gleamed with a yellowish hue. His gums were contorted into a gruesome smile. A few of the men felt sick and turned away.
‘Take him to the side of the road.’
They were relieved when Vuorela had been carried away. Now the machine-gunners’ attention turned to Riitaoja. He was standing awkwardly off to the side, grinning with embarrassment. Nobody had the heart to say anything, save Lehto, who gave him the evil eye and snorted at him in contempt.
Somewhere, at the back of their minds, they were all dimly aware that Riitaoja’s terror had not been an isolated phenomenon by any means – fear was just exceptionally visible in his case. Even the call to attack, that rang so handsomely in their memories now,
had aroused only terror in them then, followed by the rage they had summoned to suppress it. Nobody felt like boasting. And besides, tomorrow would bring a new day. They had heard rumors of some ‘bunker line’, which was supposedly just a little way out in front of where they were. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. Tents and potato soup were on their way, and there was plenty of time before the morning.
VI
‘Hey, there’s one guy curled up over here, at least.’
‘Where?’
‘Here, in the bushes. It’s an officer. Got badges on his lapels.’
They gathered around to look. A Russian lieutenant lay face-down in the juniper bushes. His body was strangely contorted, just as Vuorela’s had been, but the sight didn’t affect them the same way. They were just curious.
‘Look! The guy dragged himself a long way. Still got mud under his nails.’
‘Doesn’t seem like those guys do much looking out for one another. Leaving him here to crawl back by himself.’
‘Guy was tough. Dragged himself ten yards just with his arms.’
They looked on solemnly until Rahikainen tapped his gun barrel on the dead man’s helmet and said, ‘Yoo-hoo! ’Scuse me, ’sit cold down there in Russki hell?’
Vanhala looked around at the others, but so few of them were smiling that he choked down his laughter.
Rahikainen stooped down and started cutting off the Lieutenant’s badges. ‘These babies are mine.’
‘Give me one, too.’
‘I don’t think so! There aren’t enough on this little stooge to pass ’em round to everybody. That’ll hafta wait until we knock off some of the big cheeses.’
The others were a bit dismayed, but the red badges had already disappeared into Rahikainen’s wallet. ‘You let me know whose bullet brought this guy down, and I’ll hand over the booty. Otherwise, you can just lay off.’
No heir apparent appeared, so Rahikainen kept the badges. But the men had overcome their initial tentativeness. One guy took the belt – a fine, new officer’s belt. They turned the man’s pockets inside out and found a leather bag containing a toothbrush, a set of nail files and a flask of cologne.
Hietanen gamely flicked the cologne onto their dirty sweaters, making them all shriek with laughter like little kids. One guy swung his hips from side to side, puckered his lips and called out, ‘Get in line, boys! Two hundred marks a pop!’
Another fellow used his filthy hands to splash cologne on his face. ‘Discover this distinctive perfume! All the biggest stars are wearing Mouson Lavendel!’
They divvied up all the nail files too, though admittedly their fingernails were the least of their concerns. The dirt mostly came off on its own if you let it get thick enough.
‘Here’s his wallet.’
‘It’s got an ID. With a photo. And there’s his birth date. Born in ’16. Four years older than we are.’
‘Hey look, rubles!’
‘Those are chervonets. They’re worth ten rubles each.’
‘But what’s it say there, huh? On the copper coin? Koneek, koneek. Why, that’s just chicken scratch. Who can read that?’
‘It means kopek.’
‘Whatever you say, pal. Still looks like chicken scratch.’
Troops were marching by along the road. It was the Third Battalion, heading out to relieve the First Company on the front line.
‘Have a good rest, guys, so we don’t leave you in the dust tomorrow!’ somebody shouted from the ranks.
‘You just make sure you don’t end up heading back this way.’
There were silent men too. Somebody mumbled anxiously, ‘How far are their positions from here?’
‘Keep moving! You’ll get there, don’t worry.’
They left the dead man in the bushes. And there he remained, Lieutenant Boris Braskanov, born Vologda, 6 May 1916: face-down, with neither belt nor badge of rank, and his pockets inside out.
The supply vehicles arrived. The men got their tents and food. The machine-gunners gathered together again, inquiring about one another’s losses. The First Platoon had lost one man, but the others had escaped without casualties. Kaarna’s death touched many of them, and they all considered it a great loss. If for no other reason than it meant that Lammio would probably be their new commander.
They exchanged impressions as they ate. Lahtinen was a little irritable, but somehow or other even he was interested. He trotted out his old position with an air of consternation. ‘Looks like we won’t exactly be parading to the Urals, after all. I mean, the air’s pretty thick with lead, that’s all I’m sayin’. Be interesting to see just how long we hold out.’
Then a deep-seated amusement rose in his voice as he added, ‘But man, the thing that made me laugh – damndest thing of all was when our neighbor went and hightailed it into those juniper bushes like a scared rabbit! I chased after him and took a shot at him, but I didn’t manage to get him – what with this shitty excuse for a gun.’
Ensign Kariluoto wrote three letters that night. But first he raked over the day’s events with the other platoon leaders … Then I bawled out … come on, boys! C’mon, you bastards … thought my days were over for a moment there … good guy, that son of a bitch … fearless guy. I threw this hand grenade … the MG commander … fierce old guy, good God. Luostarinen, from the First Company … two officers on day one.
Kariluoto then wrote to Vuorela’s family:
… for this news has surely reached you by now. Allow me to share the burden of your heavy grief. I wish you to know that he was one of my finest men; and it is a great blow to me, as well, that he should be the first to go. Our nation’s lot is hard; and so our sacrifices are very great. But even so – we must endure. I say this so that you will have the consolation of knowing, even in your grief, that our suffering is a sacrifice to the highest and most honorable of human causes: the freedom of our land and our people. And now, as the chains of Karelia are breaking, and Finland stands before a new dawn, may you hear, even in your grief, your son’s proud voice rising from the fray, ‘O, dear Finlandia …’
To his own mother and father, he wrote:
… I am proud of my mission. I have decided once and for all that I will pursue a career as an officer. Just now, every other career looks meaningless to me. Soon, we will see Karelia free once more. And from her deepest despair, Finland will rise up to fulfill her manifest destiny. Today, in one short instant, I experienced so much. I understood definitively, today, that my life belongs not to me, but to Finland. I do not deceive myself; I know it will not be easy, but I see a straight road lying out clearly before me, and I will strive with everything I have to see it to the end. I acquired a deep debt today to a certain Jaeger captain, who showed me how to keep on to the end with one’s head held high. The sight of him showed me the standard that we must all strive to meet. After such a baptism of fire, one hardly uses grand phrases, but as I said: I know my duty now, and already everything is much easier …
But in reality, Kariluoto was bowled over with emotion, baptism of fire or not. He and his family had always lived in an atmosphere of high patriotism, but even so, his letters had never risen to quite such ceremonious heights before.
He wrote to Sirkka:
… today I feel I can speak of something that might be difficult at other times. I think you know what I mean. I confess, I did not have the courage to bring it up the last time I saw you. Today, my timidity makes me smile. What children we all are before we are forced to take honest stock of ourselves! So I speak, even if I
am not entirely sure of your answer, whatever it may be. As difficult as your refusal would be, I will strive to fulfill my duty, regardless. Today I stand indebted before all those who have already fulfilled theirs …
Vanhala was on night-watch guarding the camp. He circulated around, glancing at the tents, the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. ‘Yoo-hoo! ’Scuse me, ’sit cold down there in Russki hell?’
Rahikainen’s words had made him laugh, and now that he was alone, he laughed with abandon, not having to worry about what the others might think. He listened unflinchingly as an artillery battery opened fire, sending shells howling over the encampment. A terrified face popped out from one of the tent flaps, but relaxed when the man caught sight of Vanhala’s smile.
The sun had set. A low mist rose from the swamp and darkness fell over the spruce grove. The booming of cannons came frequently from the north and the south. Somewhere a pistol shot pierced through the air, and a slow-firing Russian machine gun hammered back in response.
A horse-cart drove down the road. It was coming from the front lines, carrying four bodies wrapped in tent tarps. The First Company’s dead.
Chapter Three
I
The men sat on the roadside and waited, chewing on the bread they’d saved. Gunshots rang out now and again from the front lines. Airplane engines rumbled in the distance, paused, then started up again, accelerating into a querulous whine, occasionally punctuated by the chatter of machine guns.
‘Air combat,’ somebody said, trying to make out the planes overhead.
‘Let ’em fight,’ somebody else said dismissively, with the unimpressed air of the combat veteran. Vanhala sniggered to himself and then finally burst out, ‘Our boys – battling sons of the air!’
Ensign Kariluoto was pacing back and forth along the road. He had posted his letters straight away the previous evening, so he couldn’t get them back this morning, unfortunately. Steadied by a good night’s sleep, he suspected that the letters might have been a little too grandiose, and he would have liked to have revised them, had the mail not been picked up already. For the moment, however, he had forgotten all about them. He joked boisterously with his men, determined to put any jitters about the upcoming combat out of his mind. He was overplaying it and it showed – but anyway, it helped. Thinking about their next attack had made him restless again. He wasn’t entirely sure that the humiliations of the previous day wouldn’t repeat themselves. What if his moment of personal conquest had just been a one-off? But no. No, no, that would not happen again. Never again.