Unknown Soldiers

Chapter Ten

Mäkilä was pacing back and forth beside the field kitchen. He spotted some potato peel on the ground, picked it up and tossed it into a crate. Though the sight of the potato peel had aroused his general distaste for the ‘undying barbarism’ of his present company, he was actually in an exceptionally good mood. The machine-gunners had emerged victorious from a scuffle with the Third Company over grazing land for their horses, and so had triumphantly taken control of the forest meadow in question. Mäkilä was to be thanked for this coup, as for so many other matters concerning the company’s maintenance. Sinkkonen, the Master Sergeant, had proven utterly incapable of managing things adequately. Appeals to the rule book or the customary proceedings were of no help out here. The circumstances required initiative and punch – and Sinkkonen had neither. Which was why the machine-gunners frequently found themselves suffering the consequences of his ineptitude compared to the other master sergeants, who knew better what they were about and how to hold their own. It was only Mäkilä’s staunch, hefty pressure, combined with the men’s own enterprise, that evened things out, despite the fact that Mäkilä’s inferior rank put him in something of an awkward position with the other master sergeants. ‘But we have to try something. Touching a hand to your cap’s not going to get anybody too far round here.’

The early summer evening was already on the wane. The glints of sunset flickering between the trees had already vanished from the pond’s surface, and dark shadows were stretching long from its western rim. Mäkilä would have gone to bed, but he didn’t dare. Rahikainen was leaning against the field kitchen, chatting with the guard. Angling to steal something. Mäkilä didn’t even have to wonder anymore whether Rahikainen was up to something – which was why he was still up, hanging around, for fear the guy on guard would slip up and get himself swindled.

Finally Rahikainen left, lazily making his way down the path. When Mäkilä saw him disappear around the bend, he crawled into his tent and went to bed. Rahikainen walked a little further down the path, then stopped and gave a low whistle. The answer came right away. Rahikainen followed it and after tiptoeing a little way, found Rokka perched on a rock.

‘It’s next to the field kitchen, on the pond side. Won’t be easy, but I’ll manage.’

‘Who’s on guard?’

‘Sipilä.’

‘All right, ’attl work. I’ll git to it soon as I git over there. You just make sure you’re ready when’na time comes.’

‘Careful that asshole doesn’t shoot you.’

‘Oh, I’ll be fine.’

They parted ways. Rokka pressed into the forest and Rahikainen started tiptoeing back toward the path. He crawled under cover of the bushes until he was a few yards from the field kitchen, then stopped to wait. The guard was smoking, looking at the pond glimmering between the trees. The supply guys’ tent was just a little way away, but over there everything was quiet.

A thud sounded in the forest, and the guard turned quickly, slipping his rifle off his shoulder and under his arm. A branch rustled in the trees, and the man released the safety on his gun. Then he took a few steps toward the noise and paused, listening, and Rahikainen slithered over to the field kitchen and grasped the soup vat sitting overturned beside it, then started pulling it quietly into the bushes.

Another thud came from the forest. Masking his fear in an artificially raspy voice, the guard called out, ‘Password!’

No password came, but the supply guys emerged from the tent in their underwear.

‘What’s over there?’

‘I don’t know. Something made a noise.’

‘Must be birds rustling around.’

Rahikainen had already pulled the soup vat into the bushes and left the men to wonder over the cause of the mysterious noises. He returned to their previous meeting point to wait for Rokka, who arrived promptly.

‘How’d it go?’

‘Take a look!’

‘Aw, shit, that’s swell! All we gotta do now is screw the top on and we’re all set.’

Rokka tossed the vat over his shoulder and off they went. Their tent was pitched in a little clearing in the forest, and some of the guys were lying around it. The two men stopped before they’d left the cover of the trees. Rahikainen gave a low whistle.

‘C’mon out! Coast’s clear.’

Rokka and Rahikainen’s arrival aroused lively interest. Everybody gathered around the tent, except the guy on guard. Shouts of joy burst forth as the men spotted the vat. They crowded around it, touched it and inspected its interior. Vanhala stuck his head inside and let out a yodel. ‘Ba-aaha-aahha-aa!!’

He must have enjoyed the sound of the echo, judging from the massive grin spread across his face when he removed his head.

The first section was ‘standing down’, in other words, laying a road. The company had organized their time off the line by section, and each rest period lasted one week, during which time the guys on their break would stay back somewhere by the supply crew and lay a log road extending toward the front line. It was the first day of Koskela’s section’s turn, and they had decided a long while back that when their next break came, they would make home brew. The lack of a vessel was their only concern, and since they knew there was no use in asking Mäkilä for such a thing, they had decided to steal it. Koskela had agreed to the plan, seeing as he could hardly use his position to pressure Mäkilä, under the circumstances. And anyway, even Koskela’s authority would hardly have induced Mäkilä to surrender his pot for such nefarious purposes.

Määttä and Vanhala went to fill the pot with water. Then they added a bowl of boiling water to it. Rokka took the helm, while Koskela tossed in brief, occasional words of advice. First, Rokka poured in the sugar they had collectively saved, followed by the precious yeast obtained through many tricky twists and turns. Finally, in went the pieces of bread each man had saved from his rations.

Then they screwed the lid shut and shoved the vat into a corner of the tent, covering it in coats and backpacks. The joy of anticipation gleamed in all of their eyes. Vanhala put his ear to the side of the vat. ‘Hissing already. The oppressed are rising to power in there.’

‘But we can’t just leave it sitting in here alone,’ Hietanen pointed out. ‘Somebody’s gotta stand guard. Mäkilä might suspect we took it and come and inspect the tent.’

Koskela looked like he was thinking. ‘Nobody’s really allowed to just hang around here. But doesn’t anybody have some kind of injury? Maybe somebody could go to the aid station and ask for sick leave.’

‘I got a sore throat!’ Rahikainen broke in, but Koskela replied, ‘No. It’s gotta be somebody legit, somebody they’re not going to question. Salo, you got any kind of injury you could go complain about? Wouldn’t occur to anybody to suspect you of trying to get off.’

‘I do have a sore on my foot. But it’s almost dry already.’ Salo was very flattered, taking Koskela’s selection as a straightforward compliment and missing its insulting insinuation entirely.

Salo removed his boot when Koskela ordered him to show him the wound. ‘Scratch it a little. And in the morning before we set off, rub it so it gets all red. Then go ask for first aid, really earnestly.’

‘Tell ’em like this,’ Rokka instructed, ‘tell ’em it ain’t that it hurts so much, it’s just that it rubs when you put on’nat boot, see. And tell ’em that it’s been that way for a long time, but it don’t git any better so long as you have to keep movin’ it all’a time.’

The next morning Salo went to the aid station and obtained his sick leave, though only for three days. But now that this precious wound had attracted the attention of the whole section, it got so much worse that after three days Salo really did limp to the aid station and easily obtained three more days’ leave. So he was able to guard the vat, whose absence had caused a great hubbub amongst the supply crew. Even Mäkilä wouldn’t have thought to suspect that it was Koskela’s men who had taken it, mostly because it would never have dawned on him what they would do with such a vessel. Otherwise he would certainly have linked the coincidence of the vat’s disappearance with Rahikainen’s movements near the kitchen around the same time and drawn the obvious conclusions.

The life of the entire section began to revolve around the vat of home brew. When the men returned from laying the road, they hurried directly to the vat. They listened to it and tapped gently on its sides, and when they forgot about it for a moment, somebody would ask, ‘What’s hissing over there under the packs?’

‘Bubba’s in there.’

For some reason the jug of home brew had acquired the name ‘Bubba’.

‘Seems like things’ve been quiet an awfully long time. Be a damn shame if we got called up before he was done. We’d have to drink him as is.’

‘That won’t happen here. They need all the boys they got down in Crimea and Kharkov.’

‘What have the Fritzis got brewing down there, anyway?’

‘Let ’em brew whatever they want. All we’re worried about here is what’s brewin’ in Bubba.’

‘In my town, we had this one old guy, this Heikki Vastamäki, who cursed like a sailor. And one time the minister stopped in to ask for something to drink, and this Heikki, he pulls the blanket off his keg and says, “Beer brews like a bastard and grain floats like shit, but why the hell is a pastor here askin’ for it?”’

‘And once, in our town—’

‘But I was saying—’

‘Or then this one time—’

The low rumble of fire echoed from the line, ersatz coffee bubbled over the campfire and, in the corner of the tent, the home brew was hissing away.

June 4th, 1942, was a glorious summer day. The Marshal was celebrating his seventy-fifth birthday, and the event consumed the whole of public life. For those in the army, the day was remarkable because it brought with it one bottle of liquor for every five men: ‘cut cognac’ it was called.

‘But just one thing. When we start getting sloshed, we can’t make a racket. So if anybody in the group starts looking for a fight, we all take him down together, OK? What do we do to him?’

‘Butter his balls in rifle grease.’

‘OK.’

‘OK.’

‘Sh’we get things rolling with Mannerheim’s liquor?’

‘Cut cognac, heeheehee! What do you think you cut cognac with?’

Hietanen measured out the drinks into field cups, and when everybody had some, they took a group swig. Hietanen raised his cup and said, ‘So, hey, cheers! To our good luck! Better dedicate the first one to Lady Luck for sparing us so long.’

Cups turned bottoms-up and the bliss of the celebratory drinks settled over the men.

‘C’mon, that’s nothing, let’s have Bubba!’

‘What are they gonna say tomorrow when they find out where the soup vat’s been?’

‘Bah! Don’t worry about tomorrow!’

Hietanen shared the home brew around and they gulped it down, coughing and choking. No one would have dared criticize it, seeing as it had already afforded them the joy of anticipation, which made its waters sacred. It was beyond reproach. They downed another round and grew drunk with glee, more from the pleasure of knowing that they would soon be drunk than from the actual alcohol, which hadn’t had enough time to take effect.

Conversation grew livelier. A sort of radiant joy seemed to rise in each of the men. They were quick to laugh at even the most pitiful jokes, and a powerful atmosphere of camaraderie and fraternity soon reigned within the tent.

‘Aw, shit, it warms a belly to the depths!’ Rokka smiled. ‘Hey! Koskela! Why ain’t you over at the command post? They got the big shots’ liquor over there.’

‘Nothin’ as big as this jug here.’

‘You sure don’t do much drinkin’ with them other officers.’

‘Why should I? Right here’s where I come from.’

Faces here and there were already flushed pink, and Salo was off to such a rip-roaring start that he was already singing Koskela’s praises. ‘No, guys. Say what you will, but there’s not many sections got a top dog like we got.’

Koskela didn’t pay him any attention, and none of the others was quite drunk enough to start launching into public confessions just yet. They stuck to praising the home brew.

‘Stiff stuff. Starting to feel it, boys!’

They drained one cup after another, and soon the conversation turned to the various phases of the war and the friends who had fallen. ‘It’s been rough, boys. Guys dropping like flies… you remember the time we flanked the road for that shitty encirclement and the stretchers were dripping with blood? That guy was tough all right… I mean, if you wanna tell it straight, Lehto was tough as nails… guy killed himself for nothing… Yeah… sure was… sure was… Lahtinen was as good as they come… got ’im in the back of the ear… Aren’t many guys would of even started lugging that machine gun back.’

‘Lissen, Koskela,’ Rokka said, ‘you oughdda make ’em git another stripe for Määttä, now that he’s replaced Lahtinen as squad leader and all. Not that those ribbons are worth anythin’, but since that’s how it’s done and all. He’s a good fella.’

Koskela hadn’t said anything yet. Little by little he had started looking around at the others, always fixing his steady gaze upon whoever happened to be speaking. Now, weighing his words, he said, ‘I know the guy.’

Salo turned to Koskela, hands flailing. ‘But look, Koski! Maybe I ain’t the best, but I still done purty good, ain’t I?’

Koskela looked at each of them again, staring at them for a long time. Then, weighing his words as carefully as before, he said, ‘Tough crew.’

‘Yeah, I say so too. And no other crew better come stompin’ all over us.’ Hietanen might have been the drunkest of them all, bobbing his head as he spoke, hair falling in his eyes.

‘Hey, guys, put my share in a bottle, huh? I’m gonna go check out the villages,’ Rahikainen said.

‘On the other side of the Svir? How you figure you’ll do that?’ Hietanen asked.

‘They got convoys driving over all the time. But there’s a big encampment even closer to here where they got some ladies laying a road. The guys on leave said so. Whatta ya say, boss?’

Splotches burned red on Koskela’s cheeks. He stared silently at Rahikainen for a long time and finally said, ‘Guys come and guys go, and that’s their business. I’m not going to give you permission, but if you want to go AWOL, that’s your responsibility, not mine. Tomorrow morning we head for the line right after we eat, and if you’re not there then, you’ll get hit with ten times normal guard duty. The things we have to do, we do – otherwise, we might as well be Lulu’s chickens on the loose. Remember that, and you can go.’

‘Okey-doke! If I’m alive, I’ll be there. You betcha. Now gimme some a that home brew, huh?’

They eyeballed Rahikainen’s share and poured it into two bottles, which he wrapped in his blanket and stuck in his bag before taking off.

‘What the hell you takin’na blanket for?’

‘A man’s gotta put something down! Who’s gonna lie on the bare ground?’

When Rahikainen had gone, Rokka said, ‘Yup, I bet he makes it. That fella there’s gonna make it through this whole war without a scratch. Too slippery for even a bullet’ta catch, that one.’

‘Yeah, but Jesus, come on. Now I don’t wanna be mean or anything, but I have to say, it’s pre-tty rare that Rahikainen puts himself in the line of fire.’

‘Sure is!’ Salo chimed in, pointedly. But Sihvonen, not exactly belonging to the fleet of the fearless himself, was not eager to discuss heroism and sniffed, ‘I don’t know about that. Every man here’s been scared.’

‘Scared… scared. Everybody gets scared, some guys just know how to hide it better… There ain’t no such thing as a guy who ain’t afraid of death.’

They all raised their voices in agreement, save Rokka, who smiled and said with a wink, ‘Now, don’t talk nonsense, fellas. How could I be scared a sumpin’ I ain’t never seen? But hey, fellas, let’s play sumpin’! Lissen, Sankia Priha the Great, put on “Yokkantee!”’

Vanhala dug out his record-player. Its spring was broken, but Vanhala turned the record with his finger, which worked well enough. The rhythm was a little off, but in their current state of bliss, nobody noticed. They played ‘Yokkantee’ and ‘Army Battalyon’, records they had named according to the words they could make out the most clearly. One or two of them even took a crack at singing along, belting out garbled, vaguely Russian-sounding noises over and over again.

Eventually Vanhala got tired of turning the records and their attention drifted off in search of the next source of amusement. At one point, somebody finally remembered it was Mannerheim’s birthday, but they didn’t drink to him just then because they were saving the home brew, and by the time they poured the next round, Mannerheim was long since forgotten. But Vanhala had promised to sing in his honor, and since the others were eager to hear something, he began,

‘Goollord, boy! That’ssa rebels’ song you’re singin’!’ Rokka exclaimed, but Koskela motioned Vanhala to continue. He’d found the rhythm in his fingers and was tapping in time with Vanhala’s song, even humming along here and there. Koskela had known the song as a boy, since back before the Finnish tenant farmers had won the right to own their land, the Koskelas had been quite red indeed. Two of Koskela’s uncles had been shot at the hands of the parson’s son, a Jaeger trained in Germany, at the base of the hill by the village hospital. Thanks to his sturdy constitution, Koskela’s father himself had made it out of prison camp alive, but only barely. The Koskelas had rented their farm from the parsonage, and it was to the parson’s severe disappointment that he had one day glimpsed this phantom of a red scoundrel staggering home to claim the farm now lawfully his. Afterwards, the elder Koskela had gradually softened, and when his two younger sons fell in the Winter War, and his eldest was promoted to the rank of officer – making him nothing less than a legend in their little district – the two uncles’ graves by the hospital hill came to be noticeably better kept. The elder Koskela wasn’t particularly surprised by his son’s promotion, seeing as he himself had commanded a company in the Red Guard, and if by some stroke of luck he had managed to escape execution himself, it certainly wasn’t because he hadn’t been a hell of a rebel. Of course his son would have inherited his military gifts: his bravery and strength, his calm, steady intelligence.

Even in the parson’s estimation, an improvement of some sort had taken place over the course of a generation. So, if now, in his drunken revelry, the Koskela boy was humming the Red Guards’ March, the parson was none the wiser, and even if he were, he would certainly have forgiven him. The rebels’ anthem sounded curious indeed in the mouth of an officer, but Koskela just kept asking for more and the slap-happy Vanhala kept it coming:

There Vanhala’s song ended, as he was unable to continue, having dissolved into chortles of laughter. The lynching minions and raging chaos cracked him up especially, and he kept repeating the words over and over between fits of giggles. It was as if he could just taste the hopeless naïveté of the lyrics and wanted to suck out every last drop of their sweetness.

And so the celebrations continued until at last the home brew ran out, and they moved outside. They played Vanhala’s gramophone now and again, belting out their own bastardized renditions between songs. Koskela himself didn’t sing, but urged the others on all the more insistently for all that. He listened closely, as if there might be something remarkable in there, amidst the din. He had never really been interested in songs and such, and indeed, his expertise in such matters was rather weak. He didn’t even know the names of the songs, which was why he kept having to say things like, ‘Guys, do the one with Lotta Lundgren and the stable nags!’

A miserable melange of belches and bellowing rang out:

Echoes rang through the densely wooded grove, mingling with explosions of artillery fire in the background as the cannons boomed in the Marshal’s honor.

‘Hey lissen, Sankia Priha the Great! Play “Yokkantee!” I’ll dance. I’ll dance like Veerukka in Petroskoi… You fellas remember?’

Hietanen dug Vera’s pin out of his wallet and started swinging his head back and forth as he hollered, ‘I I I I remember!!!!!!!! Hahaa… Do I remember!!! The pin of the Soviet Socialist Republics… Take a look, boys… I remember all kinds of things… Hahaa!’

Vanhala played and Rokka danced, attempting a rather peculiar rendition of Vera’s spinning, but demonstrating marvelous virtuosity in doing so. Hietanen spread his arms out and shouted, ‘Hahaa! Listen, everybody! Big shot here’s giving a speech! I am the defender of our homeland. We didn’t want anything at all ’cept to build our houses and saunas in peace. And build up this country… Hahaa… Hink hank hoonaa… Niemi’s big bull climbed the Santaranta hill, his big ol’ balls a-dangling… Blessed are the airheads, for they will never drown…’

Rokka spun faster and faster. ‘Yokkantee an’ Yokkantee… Aw shucks, that’s swell! Suslin’s on leave… gonna bring me back a package from the missus… Yokkantee an’ Yokkantee… Looka here, Hietanen, watch me dance…’

Hietanen was completely gone. He staggered about with his arms stretched wide, shouting, ‘Look, boys! I’m an airplane!’

He swerved around back and forth, vrum-vrumming his lips. ‘Look out, boys, Messerschmitt coming in!’

At that point Vanhala’s gramophone went silent and its operator, bubbling with delight, joined in the airborne antics. ‘I-16 swooping down on the left, engine’s howling at max rotational speed, pow pow pow! Vicious air combat… Warriors of the skies in the thick of battle, pow pow pow pow pow… The last knights of war, pow pow pow pow!’

They veered around each other, arms extended, vrumming and pow-pow-ing, and in between Vanhala would shout, ‘Heroes of the great blue skies… with their engines roaring, eyes sharp, hands firm, and hearts steeled, our fearless aviators take on enemy predators… pow pow pow pow pow pow pow…’

Hietanen tripped on an alder stump and crashed down. And there he remained, unable to get up. Vanhala swooped round in an elegant whoosh, engine roaring, and yelled, ‘Pull the parachute! The plane’s going down! Heeheehee…’

‘Plane’s going down! Whoa, I’m dizzy… Everything’s spinning like my head’s turning round,’ Hietanen slurred, pawing at the grass as he tried to grasp it in his hands. Vanhala yelled into his ear, ‘You’re in tailspin! Jump! There’s no way you can turn it around…’

But Hietanen’s plane was falling with ferocious speed, spinning and whirling through its descent. No longer in a position to leap, its pilot fell with his plane into a fog and then, complete darkness. Vanhala left him there, disappointed that their battle had been cut short.

Somewhere off to the side, Määttä, Salo and Sihvonen were sitting around on a rather large boulder. Salo was lecturing the others gravely, his hair flopping in his eyes, ‘In our county the will-o’-the-wisp is real bright…’

Sihvonen turned his head away and swatted his hand as if fending off mosquitoes, ‘Oh please, come off it…’

‘Well, I think it’s true. Old people’s seen it. There’s even crossed swords over the spot where it appeared.’

‘Oh, stop it… Lapland witch tales. Maybe way up north they have some of those wonders.’

‘But who here’s from way up north, then?’ Määttä asked. ‘I mean, where I’m from’s so far up, we brew our coffee over the northern lights.’

Määttä had been totally silent the whole time, and even the home brew didn’t appear to have had much effect on him. Now he stared at the rock and proposed, ‘Now that there’s a rock. What do you say we lift it?’

‘I don’t think so… that one’s not comin’ up.’

Määttä circled the rock, contemplated it in silence, then grabbed hold of the corners that offered the best grip. The rock was almost as big as the man himself, but lo and behold, up it came, a few inches or so. Määttä straightened himself up, clapped the dirt off his hands, and said, ‘Didn’t I say it’d come up?’

Sihvonen estimated that his odds were just about nil, but Salo took hold of the rock and gave it a yank. The rock didn’t budge, but Salo suddenly grabbed his back with both hands. ‘I pulled something in my back. Shit! If the damn thing hadn’t turned like that, I think I’d a gotten it up.’

‘You just lifted it the wrong way if you put your back out,’ Määttä said, gazing at the rock with an air of calm superiority. But Salo was still holding his back, his face contorted with pain. Maybe he actually had sprained his back. Hadn’t his foot started to hurt too, after he mentioned it?

Rokka had stopped dancing. Vanhala was playing Stalin’s speeches to himself and Koskela had started off toward the command post.

‘Koskela! Where you goin’?’ Rokka called after him.

‘Jerusalem!’ Koskela was groping his way uncertainly along the path, beltless and hatless, the front of his combat jacket undone.

‘You goin’na the command post?’

‘I am going to the Führer’s Headquarters.’

They inquired no further, gleaning from Koskela’s evasive replies that he wasn’t about to tolerate other people’s meddling in his affairs.

He set off decidedly, though not without a swerve off the path here and there. Stiff and unflinching, his blue eyes stared into the grove of alders. Between hiccups. Then he stopped and belted out, ‘O, crash! Lake Oooonega’s waaaters…’

A group of the battalion’s officers had gathered in the machine-gunners’ headquarters to celebrate. It was more comfortable there, since it was located furthest away from the front line. It certainly wasn’t the renown of Lammio’s hospitality that had prompted their selection. Kariluoto was there, as well, having been promoted to lieutenant in Petroskoi. He’d left his company in the care of a platoon leader and set off to join the party. He’d been downing drinks with great gusto and was already spouting off about the task of being an officer. ‘The only way to influence a Finn is by example. And then you have to spark his ambition. A private feels his subordination in relation to his superior, and that feeling has to be directed so as to persuade him to carry out acts that will make him feel he’s rising up to the level of his superior. But above all, no weakness… lock it up inside of you, whatever it is. On the outside – like a rock.’

Lammio was sitting at the table in his best uniform, decorations splayed across his chest. Pale-faced, he was nodding off in a drunken stupor. Some young ensign was lying on his back on Lammio’s bed, saying, ‘Oh my drunken brothers. Helsinki is in my heart, and in my sight… oh that happy city of delight…’

Kariluoto remembered Sirkka. ‘Hush… shhh, Jokke. Don’t get me all revved up… I remember… I remember… That time I danced that tango of yours. Taa daa didadaa dida dida dida dii daaa dididaa…’

Kariluoto looked rather amusing sitting on the bed demonstrating his tango moves. ‘Sirkka’s tango. Taa daa dii di… ta dida daa daa diidi…’

A slim ensign with spectacles was sitting on Mielonen’s bed, the latter having been driven outside by the party. Interrupting Kariluoto’s wistful tango, he suddenly burst out singing, ‘Die Fahne hoch…’

The ‘Horst Wessel Song’ made Lammio come to. He rose, swerving as he attempted to straighten himself up, then shouted behind the door, ‘Bursche!’

The orderly stepped inside and stiffened to attention.

‘Fill the glasses.’

‘Yes, sir, Lieutenant!’ The orderly poured the drinks and disappeared. Lammio raised his glass and said, ‘And now, a drink to the officers. Gentlemen, our task is clear. We are the backbone of the army. On our shoulders Finland will rise, or fall. Gentlemen, unswerving we follow, wherever Mannerheim’s sword may lead.’

‘Zum Kampfe stehn wir alle schon bereit,’ sang Spectacles, and the glasses clinked.

‘Backbone,’ Mielonen muttered behind the door. ‘In that case, we got a weak link in your spot, my friend.’

Even the calm and eager-to-please Mielonen was beginning to feel that he had had enough. It wasn’t until the advance had stalled, setting them in the deadlock of a positional war, that it had really become clear what it meant to be Lammio’s battle-runner. The crowning glory was the Lieutenant’s mongrel mutt, which he was obliged to refer to not as ‘it’ but as ‘him’. Mielonen had actually conspired with the orderlies to tie ‘him’ to a twenty-pound rock and launch both into the pond, but the next day Lammio had put in a phone call to one of his buddies higher up in the division and requested a new pup. They decided not to repeat the stunt, since they knew that while one incident might escape notice, systematic dog drownings were likely to arouse Lammio’s suspicions.

Mielonen rose as he saw Koskela approaching and walked down the steps to open the door. He was rather stunned when Koskela, contrary to all Mielonen’s prior experience with the man, growled in a voice looking for a fight, ‘Who the hell are you, the goddamn doorman?’

‘I’m Corporal Mielonen, Lieutenant, sir,’ Mielonen said, rather bewildered. The contrast of Koskela’s outburst with the tact and discretion he had always demonstrated before made it all the more upsetting. Then Mielonen noticed Koskela’s hazy, dilated eyes, realized what was going on, and stepped away from the door as Koskela said, ‘Well, if that’s who you are then don’t go falling over yourself to open doors like you were a doorman.’

‘Yes, sir. I mean no, sir, Lieutenant, sir.’ Mielonen was so confused that he kept calling Koskela ‘sir’, despite the fact that they had been on casual terms for quite some time now.

Koskela stepped inside. Hair rumpled, buttons undone and slightly unsteady, he lurched to the center of the room and said, ‘Zrastooi.’

The others didn’t appear to take much notice of Koskela’s arrival, nor his curious Russian greeting, but Kariluoto lit up at the sight of him, calling out, ‘Well hello, old man! Where have you been? Why didn’t you come along with the group? Hey, orderlies! Let’s have a glass for my boy Koski here. Here, take a swig from mine – there’s some first aid for you.’

Koskela drained Kariluoto’s glass and took a seat on the bench. He stared at each man in turn, one after the other, without saying a word. The orderly came round to fill the glasses, then disappeared.

Ensign Spectacles started in again on his interrupted solo, ‘Die Strasse frei den braunen Bataillonen…’

Koskela started staring at the singing officer. At first, the man just kept on singing, but soon the strange fixity of Koskela’s gaze began to make him uncomfortable. Assurance fell from his voice and even the melody turned tail as he struggled to remain self-possessed in the face of this unflinching stare. Finally, he was forced to stop singing entirely.

Suddenly Koskela said, ‘Siberia bolshoi taiga.’

‘What’s that?’ the Ensign asked uncertainly, his voice strained.

Koskela didn’t answer him, instead saying in the same husky voice, ‘Dobra hoo-ya.’

Now the Ensign was entirely unnerved and flew into a rage because of it. ‘Who is speaking Russki here?’

‘Koskela the Finn. Eats iron and shits chains.’

Kariluoto realized that Koskela was looking for a fight, and offered him a drink to distract him, but Koskela shoved his hand aside and started to count out insistently, ‘Odin dva tri pyat… Odin dva tri pyat…’

‘Have you got something against me?’ Spectacles asked, growing ever more furious. But Koskela just continued on in his curious tongue, ‘Union sovyet sosialist… tis… list… k republeek… Holodna karasho maatreeoshka dee-yay-vushka krashnee-soldier komsomolski homoravitsha bulayeva Svir… Dada dai dada! Dada dai dada…’

It finally dawned on Spectacles that it was the foreign language of his song that had prompted Koskela’s carrying on. ‘I can speak Finnish too,’ he said. ‘And you might do well to stick to it yourself.’

‘Guh… gun… gunners… Dada dai dada! Dada dai… dada. Martti Kitunen, Hunter of Bears… dum-dee-dum dee-dum-do Jack Frost blows the windows…’ Koskela sang. The tempo mounted and Koskela hissed the words through clenched teeth, ‘Father Christmas in his snow frock, tousled hair, snow-cape and gray sock—’

On this last syllable he suddenly rose and punched the Ensign, who had also risen and was standing beside the bed. The officer was knocked unconscious and collapsed onto the floor, his spectacles sailing off into the corner.

The others rushed to contain Koskela. Even Lammio tried to grab hold of him, but was sent flying into a wall like a cast-off glove. Just then Koskela took hold of the heavy bench and swung it up into the air, saying, ‘Stay back, damn it. Or I’ll shift to second gear.’

‘Koski, calm down,’ Kariluoto urged, but Koskela no longer recognized him. The ensign lying on Lammio’s bed seized Koskela’s arm from behind and got him to drop the bench. Then the others were able to get a hold of him. Spectacles came to and started spitting the blood out of his mouth. Lammio called for Mielonen, who came inside with the orderlies on his heels.

‘Tie this man up… Tie him up!’

They managed to get Koskela face-down. Five, maybe six men were lying on top of him, but he still wriggled around like a bear beneath the pile of them. At last they got three belts around him, and Koskela was helpless. Nevertheless, he clenched his teeth and growled, ‘I’m not giving up, damn it! Damn it, I’m not giving up.’

Then they carried him off to his tent with a sizeable brigade in tow. Kariluoto walked beside him, chatting to try to calm him down, until finally Koskela asked, ‘Who’re you?’

‘Why, I’m Kariluoto! Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, your old friend.’

Koskela lit up. ‘Well, hello there! So long, boys… Where we going?’

‘To lie down. You’re tired.’

‘Tired… Old Lady Koskela’s boy never gets tired… Then Antti of the Isotalo’s came by… singing all the way from Härmä da-dye…’

The casualty rate in the tent was rather high as well. Only Rokka and Vanhala were still up. Määttä had actually taken the initiative to go to bed, but the others had just dropped out on the field, as it were.

Vanhala was playing Stalin’s speeches and Rokka was telling tales of yore. ‘Looka here… I keep this lil’ almanac with me all a time, see. And then one time I go back home with the missus to her parents’ place and here I am flippin’ through this almanac here so her ol’ man asks, “Anythin’ in’nat book a yours ’bout the fishin’ for t’marra?” ’Nen I read, “Fish’s swimmin’ this time a year an’na pickins’s good”. And shucks! Next mornin’na ol’ man comes back with a whole heap of ’em, and he says Tommo went out and bought all kinds a books, too, but no good ever came a any a those. Shoulda seen how the ol’ man was worked up! But then’na next day he asks me again and I read him the same bit, but he doesn’t catch a damn fish all day. So then he gits all sore ’bout the whole thing and won’t open his mouth for three days. And then there’s the missus, who’s still sore ’bout it ’cause I put one over on her ol’ man.’

Vanhala’s head was nodding off as he turned the record, but he laughed nonetheless and said, ‘The missus got sore… the missus always get sore.’

‘My missus never stays sore long. You know, Sankia Priha the Great, you know what you do with a missus when she gits all riled up at you?’

‘Give ’er a good whack ’cross the backside, heeheehee.’

‘Stop that. I spinn’er round in a polka and I’ll be darned if that don’t set things right. But hey! What the hell is’sat? What’ssat they’re draggin’? Those fellas gone and killed Koskela?’

They went to meet the traveling party and Rokka growled from a good way off, ‘What the hell’d you folks do you gotta drag a fella back like that? What’ssa matter, boy? Somebody take a crack at you?’

‘Well, hullo, sharp-shot. Who took a crack?’

They lowered Koskela to the ground and Kariluoto whispered to Rokka, ‘Try to get him to go to bed. He got carried away and we had to tie him up.’

Rokka loosened Koskela’s bindings and led him over to his tent. Koskela put up no resistance. He had no idea what was going on around him, and just babbled as he stumbled along, leaning on Rokka’s arm. ‘Hullo, you old Taipale vet. Let’s sing Lundgren… da da da off with the stable naaags…’

Koskela dropped off to sleep as soon as he hit the tent. Rokka tossed a coat over him and came back outside.

Lammio was trying to play sober, and failing miserably, though the ruckus had dispelled his drunken haze quite a bit. He looked around at the men lying about here and there, a few of whom had vomited up the rice porridge consumed in honor of the occasion. ‘Lovely… Very attractive… Well, that clears that up. The whole platoon’s in the same state. What have you been drinking here?’

‘Home brew. Bubba had such stuff in’nim that me and Vanhala here’s the only ones left standin’! We’d offer our guests some, ’ceptin’nat we’re all out, see…’

‘You are responsible for the section until Koskela and Hietanen have sobered up. And what do you suppose would happen if we were called to alert now?’

‘Well, shucks, me and Vanhala here’d go set up a machine gun and empty some belts over there, and there, and there, and there. We’d send such a hail a bullets in each direction as would settle that alarm right then and there, don’t you worry. Lissen, you better not have any more to drink now, hear? Otherwise I’m gonna end up bein’ company commander. Not that I couldn’t do it, a course, it just wouldn’t be quite right, see.’

At that, Lammio could say nothing, so the officers made their exit. The whole festive mood had been spoiled, and Lammio even started enumerating Koskela’s less favorable qualities for the others’ benefit. ‘It is not always the case that personal courage makes a man suitable for the rank of officer. When they asked me about possible candidates for officer training, I thought of Rokka and Hietanen, but I decided against it. And this kind of thing proves that I was right to do so. As good a man as Koskela may be, he lacks the sense of tradition and the true spirit of a real officer. He doesn’t fit into civilized circles – which is why he buddies up with his men and then vents his resentment in a drunken outburst. There is no other possible explanation. I wouldn’t have believed it of a man so calm and restrained.’

Kariluoto hiccuped. His spirits had suddenly plummeted. Everything Lammio was saying made him feel so sick that he somewhat uncomfortably started speaking up in Koskela’s defense. ‘Sure, but he was totally drunk. Home brew can make anyone like that, for no reason at all.’

He remembered the shots whistling from the bunker, and how Koskela had crawled toward it, loaded down with satchel charges on both sides. And he knew that it was he, and not Koskela, who had received all the credit for that breakthrough. But it wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything he could to make sure everyone knew what Koskela had done. Kariluoto could feel himself growing sober, and in his numbed state he was suddenly ashamed of the whole drunken evening and everything he might have said over the course of it. Goodness, how far away all of this was from the center of things, from that point upon which the reality of all these events turned! Kariluoto didn’t return to Lammio’s quarters, but turned off toward his own command post without a further word of explanation.

Rokka and Vanhala dragged their compatriots into the tent for the night. They brewed a pot of ersatz coffee and drank it between themselves.

Mosquitoes swarmed in the beams of sunlight streaming from the evening sky, and from high in the treetops of a nearby spruce came the hollow call of a cuckoo.

They awoke the next morning to the rustle of Rahikainen’s return. Rumpled heads began to rise along the edges of the tent, eyes red and squinting, tongues wriggling about in their dry, sticky mouths. Hietanen looked around, spotted the empty vat and said, ‘Well! Never taken part in a war operation like that one before!’

‘You ended in a tailspin, heeheehee!’

‘I can’t remember a damn thing. But hey, let’s put on some coffee. I need something anyway. My mouth tastes like a cat took a crap in it.’

Koskela got up too. He wrinkled his forehead in concentration, but evidently the effort yielded no insight into the festivities of the previous evening, as he subsequently asked, ‘So, uh, how did everything go yesterday?’

Rokka laughed. ‘Went pretty good for everybody else! It’s just you they had’da take prisoner over there at the headquarters.’

‘Did I go over there too?’

‘Sure did. Fellas carried you back. Bound hand and foot.’

‘What for?’

‘You started a fight over there.’

‘Mm. Mhm… I see…’ Koskela ran his fingers through his hair, gave a grunt and fumbled idly with his backpack. Then his face resumed its customary, expressionless mien, and he asked, ‘Well, did they say anything about it? Did anybody get hurt?’

‘Naw, nothin’na worry ’bout over there. I hear the Second Company’s ensign was spittin’ blood, but it probably done that fella good.’

‘OK. Well, if that’s the worst that happened, it doesn’t matter much. Better take that vat back to Mäkilä. And start getting all this equipment into piles. We’re leaving right after we eat.’

Vanhala looked on inquisitively as Rahikainen lay down to sleep, and when it looked as though he might doze off without any confession at all, Vanhala finally asked, ‘So, you roll out your blanket?’

Rahikainen had been waiting for somebody to grant his return due attention, and now, smiling mysteriously, as if to make the whole thing more significant, he said, ‘Boys, I’m sleeping from now until it’s time to eat. Don’t wake me up before then! Oh, and I gave the other bottle to the guy standing guard, he traded me some Swedish crackers.’

Rahikainen pulled his blanket up over his head and fell asleep. The others started boiling up the coffee, reminiscing with rather half-hearted smiles about the previous day. Then, in the middle of everything, up rose the tent flap and in crawled Mäkilä.

‘Well, hello! C’mon in!’ Rokka called out. Mäkilä didn’t reply. His eyes went directly to the soup vat and stayed there as he cleared his throat.

‘You lookin’ for sumpin’?’ Rokka asked, looking at Mäkilä out of the corner of his eye.

‘Chuh. Who stole it?’

‘Nobody stole it,’ Hietanen said. ‘The guys found it over there next to the path.’

‘Chuh. Right next to the field kitchen. Chuh.’ Mäkilä inspected the vat. He refused to look anybody in the eye, and just kept coughing to himself, looking cross.

‘It’s dented.’

‘Well, I’ll be darned. So it is. But lissen here, don’t you worry. We’ll fix ’er right up. Sankia Priha the Great, gimme that piece a wood there.’

Rokka took the piece of wood and started banging the pot back into shape, as Mäkilä watched out of the corner of his eye, as if he were thinking, ‘Bang away! It’s not going to make it any better. It’s ruined.’

Koskela wondered for a long while whether he should say something. He felt it was his responsibility to offer some sort of explanation, but then, what was there to explain, really? Finally he asked, ‘You, uh, didn’t need it while it was missing, did you?’

Even Koskela was not going to be spared this time, regardless of his rank, position and whatever virtues he might possess. In Mäkilä’s scales, none of these carried much weight beside the offenses of drunkenness and theft on the front. He muttered angrily over his shoulder, ‘Chuh! Course not… Don’t need anything to transport food in if all you fellows need is beer.’

Koskela couldn’t help smiling as Mäkilä silently hoisted the vat onto his back and set off, dripping with disapproval. Hietanen chased after him, pleading, ‘Hey, gimme a few of those salted herring from the kitchen, wouldja? I need salt something awful.’

Mäkilä marched out in front, fuming silently, his vat bobbing about on his back. Hietanen lumbered along behind him, pulling at his waistband with one hand and scratching his head with the other. He kept up his campaign, undaunted by Mäkilä’s outraged silence. ‘Come on, you can spare a couple of herring. I’ll pay you back swell for ’em sometime, somehow or other. You oughtta at least help out an old friend.’

No answer. The vat just bobbed on, and Hietanen shifted into sentimental gear. ‘C’mon, wasn’t I the one who whispered you the answers about the moving parts of a machine gun back in NCO training? And I always let you off easy when it was my turn to be drill leader. You could at least pay me back for that with two or three herring. Or even five, really.’

There was some truth in Hietanen’s pitch. He was talking around the issue discreetly, though, as whispering in class was hardly a remarkable event. In actuality, Hietanen’s help had been of a more profound nature. Quiet and devout, Mäkilä had frequently fallen prey to the rowdier boys’ shenanigans, and a sharp command from the brawny, broad-shouldered Hietanen had shut up his tormentors more than once. It was for this reason that Mäkilä conceded to open his mouth. ‘That was a long time ago. And why should I go get you a salted herring for your hangover? I’m not a doctor. If you don’t feel good, go to the field hospital!’

‘C’mon, gimme a couple!’

‘Why don’t you go drink some more of your beer? That’ll get rid of your hangover.’

‘Well, there isn’t any left!’

‘Go steal another pot from somewhere and make it!’

‘You gonna be sore about that stupid pot till the cows come home?’

At that Mäkilä finally blew his top. ‘Stupid pot? What does one little pot matter? If I didn’t fight tooth and nail to hold onto stuff around here, you lot would take everything! I have to feed and clothe one hundred and fifty men with my bare hands. I’ve got one guy sitting all starched and spiffy in the office dugout, ordering people around, but as soon as anybody comes round sniffing for something, it’s heels together and aye aye, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Without so much as a thought of holding his ground! I’d take a foxhole out there on the front lines over this job any day! If I just sat around here sucking my thumb, everything would disappear in one fell swoop. First you get drunk, then you make a racket, then you start fighting, and now you come chasing after me for salted herring! But just let things heat up again, and then everybody’s got Our Father on the tip of his tongue.’

Hietanen was both irritated and extremely amused by this yoked creature in front of him with a vat bobbing about on his back. He knew which teat to tug to get the milk he wanted, though, so in a voice of pure seriousness and sympathy, he declared, ‘Well, look, you took the words right outta my mouth. I don’t lead that kind of sinful life at all. You sure got a tough gig, don’t I know it. Never a moment’s peace for you. You gotta watch this stuff like a hawk day and night. Look, I wouldn’t a taken the vat, but the other guys took it. What was I supposed to do, tell you? That would have put me on the outs with my own gang. Sure, I guess you can understand that. But come on now, gimme a couple of herring!’

Mäkilä didn’t reply, but Hietanen’s hopes rose, as he suspected this silence boded well for him. Mäkilä dilly-dallied in the kitchen, fiddling around over here, and then over there, while Hietanen sat on a rock, waiting impatiently. He wasn’t sure if he should keep pushing or not, as it could be that Mäkilä was stalling deliberately and that a renewed request would make him change his mind. Finally, Mäkilä went to the little dugout-like hole where he stored the rations. He returned a moment later with one miserable, measly herring dangling from his hand.

It was rare that Mäkilä gave handouts, so to him this occasion felt downright momentous. There was even a sort of chummy warmth in his voice as he said, ‘Make sure nobody sees you eat it. Otherwise I’ll have the whole lot of them after me. And don’t come asking for anything else for a little while.’

‘Cheers.’ Hietanen was annoyed at first. But then, he had to laugh at this pathetic little herring that looked as though it had died of starvation. He could imagine how very great the gift was in Mäkilä’s estimation though, so he tried to keep a straight face as he said, ‘Well, gee, this’ll last me a good half a year! Thanks so much, really, thanks a ton.’

Mäkilä stalled, fiddling awkwardly for a moment. He blushed with embarrassment, and after clearing his throat for a good while, said, ‘It’s not right for you to drink like that. We’re about to set out again. At four o’clock this morning they hit a dugout dead on over at the third emplacement. Couple of boys gone and three taken to the field hospital in pretty weak condition. Chuh… send-offs can be pretty quick. What condition will our souls be in when the time comes?’

Hietanen was not fond of having people fret over his soul. He personally had never been too concerned about what kind of shape it was in. Somehow or other it seemed to him that since the government had sent him out here, it would probably look after him if he died and make sure its fallen soldier’s sins weren’t taken too strictly into account. The government had ministers to straighten things out with God, after all. Hietanen’s discretion and debt of gratitude prevented him from letting Mäkilä see any of his irritation, however. So he said solemnly, ‘Yee-eah… Don’t have to tell me. Folks definitely get to thinking about that stuff when things get rough. When the lead’s really coming down. But people are funny, soon as it’s over, they just start singing all kinds of things and swearing like sailors. But hey, look, I gotta run. And thanks again, thanks a ton!’

Hietanen tossed the herring into his mouth as he left. He didn’t have the heart to chew it, so he just gulped down the sad little runt Mäkilä had enlisted to save his soul.

The section departed as soon as they’d eaten. Lammio remained out of sight, managing things with Koskela via Mielonen, who acted as go-between. As far as Koskela was concerned, the whole spat was forgotten. He tossed his pack onto his back with his usual nonchalance and said, ‘Well, onwards, huh?’

Vanhala put on a Savo dialect – which cracked him up and which he did not refrain from using frequently – and commanded himself, ‘Rrrrrrifles over your shoulder and forward, march!’

He heaved his gun over his shoulder in accordance with his own command and started off, grinning to himself. The others’ glumness at having to depart prevented them from enjoying his antics, though.

Their spirits had reached a new low. Out in front of them there was a dugout and a trench. Other than that, life was pretty unremarkable. Things had been very quiet leading up to the spring. In April they had put down a significant enemy attack, though admittedly it had looked like a pretty close call at one point. The enemy had cut in deep from the side, but finally they managed to push them back and hold on to their critical bridgehead on the south side of the Svir.

The arrival of summer did brighten their spirits somewhat. Even Koskela looked into the dense forests running beside the log road and thought, ‘Wouldn’t the cows have a field day here?’

Sturdy grass had emerged from the damp soil. It was warm. It made you want to just sit on the grass and let the sun shine on you.

The men marched behind Koskela in silence. Only their heads bobbed slightly whenever a boom sounded out in front of them.

‘Headed for Mount Million,’ somebody said. ‘Bet those fellows’re making a run for their foxholes.’

Rokka glanced around. Nothing but solemn faces and steady shoulders swinging in unison. ‘What’s troublin’ you fellas? I was thinkin’ I might clear the air with a lil’ singin’. I’ve tried just ’bout everythin’, see, but makin’ up a song’s sumpin’ I ain’t never tried my hand at yet. Whadda ya say, fellas?’

Rokka’s shoulders began to sway as he improvised, ‘Mmbada go we gadda go we gadda go…’

Vanhala scuttled over to Rokka as if he were a magnet. ‘If you have a heart within you, gay or weary, come join into Singing Finland’s Song, heehee!’

Hietanen perked up as well. ‘Hey, guys! I know. Let’s make a kinda rat-trap that’ll catch ’em alive. We can write some whoppers on scraps of paper and stick ’em round the rats’ necks and set ’em loose. Then when the guys from the next dugout meet up with ’em, they can listen to what the little monsters have to say by reading the tags.’

‘Hang on, boys, I got it!’ Rahikainen said. ‘There’s that guy from Salmi in the Second Company knows Russian. If we have him write in Russian, then we can send the letters ’cross the way.’

‘Let’s make ’em good and dirty, heeheehee.’

‘Yeah, yeah. They’ll be able to see us just round this bend. Let’s turn off into the forest.’