Unknown Soldiers

Chapter Eleven

Their bunker was situated beside a small, alder-covered hill. On the other side of the hill, there curved a trench leading to a machine-gun nest at either end. On the left, the trench continued on into a shallow communication trench connecting to the neighboring stronghold. On the right, the land dropped off into a soggy ditch, beyond which you could make out more positions. A bit further off the terrain rose, and there sat Mount Million and Mini-Million, the ‘advanced posts from hell’, the latter of which was worse. They were perched on a treeless hill, which came under enemy fire from three directions, because the line turned sharply to the right just behind the hill. The spot generated plenty of bad news, even during quiet periods. Each unit had to man it for two weeks at a time, so the hill was like an almanac by which the whole sector kept time: ‘So and so many weeks ’til it’s our turn.’

In front of the position lay a swamp, and beyond the swamp, the ‘Devil’s Mound’, complete with mud-log enemy gun-nests. The Finns had taken the hill twice, but holding it proved to require constant, heavy fighting, so they had ceded it back both times. Only the low ridge extending from the bottom of the hill had been held, and indeed that was where both of their advanced positions were now situated. It didn’t make much difference anyway, whether the line wandered this way or that at any given point, as the thing looked like it had been drawn by a nitwit to begin with. And, of course, it had been – drawn by the feuding egos of two states, both of whom had decided, ‘From here we will not retreat’.

They had squabbled over these hillsides in the autumn of 1941, tired of it, and then abandoned the mess just as it was on both sides. The positions were littered with the remains of Siberian soldiers. No one had bothered to bury them over the winter, and by the springtime nobody could bring himself to. By this time they had dried out and turned white. Nothing but hollow sockets peered from beneath their helmets.

Koskela’s platoon had reinforced their bunker with beams scrounged from a neighboring town’s tshasovna, one of those Karelian Orthodox chapels, so they didn’t have any of the bedbugs that plagued the bunkers reinforced with timber scrounged from people’s houses. It was Koskela who had seen to this, further enhancing his reputation amongst his men. ‘Son of a bitch thinks of everything.’

A masonry oven made of round stones sat between the door and the window. Bunk beds lined the walls. Koskela’s solitary bed lay below the window. The men had insisted it go there, though Koskela would have been just as content to sleep in a regular bunk. And once again, the trivial proceedings revealed a curious fact. While the men in other platoons begrudgingly addressed their officers as ‘sir’, turning the show of respect into a mockery, Koskela’s men sought to make everything a little bit better for him than it was for themselves.

The steady monotony of the positional war brought out Koskela’s quiet, solitary side even more than before. He would lie on his bed staring at the ceiling, and might remain there for hours at a time without saying a word. He had taken it upon himself to do rounds on fire-watch, half out of a sense of duty, half out of a hankering for the solitude of the night shift. He enjoyed pitter-pattering around by himself in the quiet night. His favorite task was trapping rats. He would lie motionless for a long time, holding the wire trap open beside a rat-hole, and as soon as some meddling rat would cautiously step inside, he’d pull the snare shut. Then his solitary face would light up with a wide grin as he dangled the squeaking rat before his eyes, whispering, ‘Well, whatta ya know! Hullo, gramps!’

Then he would let the rat out of the trap and say, ‘Ga home! But make sure I don’t ever catch you round here again.’

Once in a while, just as the summer night was giving way to morning, he would sit outside, looking as if he were day-dreaming. This wasn’t precisely the case, however. His attentive eyes would be following the early morning birds, and if one of the guards happened to pass by, Koskela might say, ‘Folks talk about those carefree birds up in the sky, but I’ve never seen a man work that hard for his bread.’

The men wrote letters, took turns standing guard, and made rings. Rokka and Rahikainen set up a business: Rokka did the making and Rahikainen did the selling. It was worth it for Rokka, even if he knew Rahikainen cheated a bit in the accounting. He didn’t say anything, because the amount of money wasn’t really worth it, and because he knew that, for Rahikainen, the whole appeal of doing business lay precisely in these little ruses.

Rokka had a vast supply of ring-making materials. Once, while they were watching some air combat, a Russian fighter plane had been shot down. It had fallen a little way away from their bunker, prompting Rokka to stick some pliers in his pocket, toss a hacksaw and a submachine gun over his shoulder, and take off after it.

Lucky for him, the fighter plane had fallen in no-man’s-land, and the Russians had managed to get a security squad to the site to guard the wreck. Otherwise things would have been all cleaned up before Rokka could have got there. As it was, teams of scavengers were walking away disappointed when Rokka arrived. He was certainly not planning to return empty-handed, however. He managed to talk the braver of his men into joining him, and the rest tagged along behind. The Russian patrol squad vanished when Rokka shot their leader and let loose one of his terrible howls, which frightened even his own comrades so much that the less hearty among them took to their heels.

The wreck was surrounded by a terrific hubbub. One guy was lusting after the measuring gauges, somebody else wanted the parachute silk, and a third guy was after the pilot’s mangled, blood-stained leather jacket. Most of them wanted the light metal alloy to make rings with, though.

Their time was cut short, as the Russians sent out a sturdier squad, compelling the ‘freebooters’ to make a hasty exit. By rights of leadership, Rokka was permitted to take his pick of the loot. With the triple-blade, fighter-plane propeller over his shoulder, he returned to the bunker crowing far and wide, ‘Don’t think those wartime shortages are gonna pose much threat to my raw material supply! But goollord, how we ran! What with those Russkis on our tail, we had’da press our tongues to the bit like a team a sled hounds. I wouldn’na managed to git this fella out if he hadn’na already come loose on his way down.’

As a result of the excursion, all of the men from the neighboring battalion who had gone with Rokka ended up assigned to the next patrol. The ‘patrol volunteers’, as the command put it.

Hietanen and Määttä were the most avid card-players in the group. Hietanen routinely lost his entire daily allowance, and when it ran out, he would explode into a long, post-game fury. ‘Jesus! Why am I so goddamn stupid? What was I thinking pulling that last card? I’m sticking to fifteen from now on.’

Then he did an extra round of guard duty for fifty marks, and when he’d managed to lose those, he scratched his head and said, ‘No. Goddamn it, I’m pulling nineteen. Might shoot it all to hell but I’m sick of being stingy.’

And so the others always knew where they could find Hietanen at any given time, and that evening Hietanen wrote in his stiff handwriting, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth and following his flourishes, ‘…send meat, bread and butter. And send a little cash, too, so I can pay for my cigarettes. Sincerely, Urho.’

He never played with the money he got from home. ‘But it’s not worth trying to save this petty cash. It’s not like I’m out here for the money.’

Rokka rubbed a darning needle along the ring’s surface, polishing it up with a few final touches. He raised the ring up to the window, checking it in the light, and then said to Koskela, lying on the bed, ‘Lammio’s clear forgotten’na come git that propeller a mine. He says it belongs to the government. Gaddamn it, if I go fetch the booty fair and square, it belongs to me. You think he knows what kind a whippin’ he’d git if he came ’n’ took that piece a metal from me?’

‘He won’t take anything,’ Koskela said, rather awkwardly. He found all of the squabbling between the men and the officers bothersome.

‘I don’t believe it. Lissen, you don’t hear how that fella bangs on and on about discipline. The sharper fellas can’t stand goin’na war themselves, so they send fellas like him out to do it. And they start returnin’ everythin’na discipline. ’Fyask me this whole business’s gone to hell. Nothin’ssa way it oughdda be any more. The men don’t know what’s comin’ and they start seein’ everythin’ like it was a joke. Pretty soon they ain’t even gonna care who wins any more. And those clowns think they’re makin’ things better by keepin’ everbody in lock step. I can’t even figger out if they believe it themselves or not. It’s hard’da imagine grown men actin’ that unreasonable… Keep the men in lock step! Gaddamn it! They spend all their time buildin’ fancy chimneys for their command post and makin’ a contest outta whose’s the best. Ain’t nothin’ gonna come outta that. I’ve started’da wonder ’bout some a that stuff those fellas do.’

Rokka polished the ring quietly for a little while and then said suddenly to Koskela, ‘You think we’re gonna lose this war?’

Koskela stared at the ceiling for a long time and finally said, ‘They’re pressing on pretty well down south.’

‘Ain’t that that worries me. They’re actin’na way a bumblebee does when he’s caught in a spiderweb. More he tears in, more tangled up he gits. Last year I thought they was gonna make it all right, but come fall I already guessed there wasn’t a chance in hell a that. Don’t take a whole lotta wits to figger out what’s goin’ on. If they’d a struck then maybe, but come winter ain’t nothin’ gonna be possible anymore.’

‘Yeah, you might be right.’ You could tell from the tone of Koskela’s voice that he’d given the matter some thought and didn’t think Rokka’s conclusion at all implausible.

Rokka, for his part, cast the matter aside and said, returning to his former carefree self, ‘Well, anyhow, this ain’t the time to worry ’bout none a that here. Would you believe I sent six thousand marks to the missus, all from these here rings?’

‘Why not?’

‘Hey, all you heroes out there! Mess tins’s boilin’.’

They had built a grate to set atop the stove to make coffee. There were a few mess tins full of boiling water on it now, and the men wandered inside to stir in packets of coffee substitute.

‘Million’s still takin’ it hard from those six-inchers,’ Rahikainen announced, sitting on his bed, which was pasted with a series of pictures cut out of Signal magazine: ‘Sabine before her bath’, ‘Sabine bathing’ and ‘Sabine after her bath’.

‘Must not get much sun down there,’ Hietanen said.

‘We ain’t gonna git much round here, neither, if you all don’t quit stirrin’ up a ruckus out there on guard duty. Sankia Priha the Great, you better quit hollerin’ at them the whole time, hear?’

‘Heeheehee!’

Koskela got up and went to the window, having spotted a few strange men heading down the path to their bunker. ‘So here are the delayed reinforcements.’

The door opened and four men stepped inside. Koskela’s men stared in wonder at the private who entered first.

He was a man of towering height, in his thirties, with big, earnest eyes staring out of his long, horse-like face. The real cause of their astonishment, however, was the bow and arrow dangling from the man’s shoulder. He snapped stiffly to attention and, without moving a muscle, addressed Koskela in earnest, gravely respectful tones.

‘Is this the bunker belonging to Lieutenant Koskela?’

‘It is.’

‘Lieutenant, sir! Might I have a word?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Koskela replied, amused.

‘Are you yourself Lieutenant Koskela, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lieutenant, sir! Private Honkajoki A, A 1: the first A designates my first name, Aarne; the second A and the one, my fitness grade. Reinforcement reporting for duty in the Lieutenant’s platoon. Prior service in the Fiftieth Infantry Regiment, Second Company, machine-gunner treated for injury in the military hospital and reassigned here by the Personnel Replenishment Center. Hereby reporting for active military duty, firmly prepared to sacrifice my own blood, as well as that which I have received via the military hospital’s blood transfusion service, in the fight for our homeland and the freedom of our people.’

The man remained standing stiffly at attention until Koskela issued the permission to be seated he had been waiting for.

‘Well, welcome. There’s some beds over there. Two guys stay here and two guys go join the other section. You can decide amongst yourselves who goes where.’

Vanhala hesitated a moment, then hissed to Koskela, ‘Keep archer-man here.’

Vanhala was afraid of losing out if horse-face didn’t stay, having sensed immediately that an arsenal of pranks lay behind the man’s peculiar front. It wasn’t like Koskela to dictate anything he didn’t have to, though, so he let the men decide their assignments amongst themselves. The three others were new recruits fresh out of boot camp, eager to join the other section so as to get out of the bunker with the officer whose presence intimidated them. So, it naturally worked out that Honkajoki stayed, finally designating one of the new recruits to remain with him – a boy who shyly whispered that his name was ‘Hauhia’.

The men selected beds for themselves and began settling into the bunker. Honkajoki placed his bow carefully in the gun rack, and Rokka asked him, ‘Ain’t got much faith in those weapons next to yours, huh?’

Honkajoki replied politely, his full attention fixed upon Rokka, ‘In light of the rapid development of weaponry and technical equipment that is currently in use in this great war, I find that from the point of view of the nation’s defense, the adoption of new weapons is essential.’

Everyone’s attention fixed upon this curious crusader, and Koskela asked him, ‘Whereabouts you from?’

‘Lieutenant, sir! My mother brought me into this world in Lauttakylä, but I was still a babe-in-arms when my parents relocated to Hämeenlinna, where I grew into a young man. I then grew into manhood all across Finland, as I led a very mobile life, which I might mention in passing is a reflection of my peripatetic nature. Which is to say, I have a solid dose of the explorer and the researcher in me. In truth, I am a scholar.’

‘What kinda work you done?’ Hietanen asked in turn. Honkajoki turned politely toward him and answered in the same stylized tones with which he had addressed Koskela, ‘Sergeant, sir! I have earned my livelihood in forestry. More precisely, in pine-cone collection. That is merely how I’ve earned my living, however. As I mentioned, I am a scholar. My interest lies in creating new inventions, and my most immediate objective is the creation of a perpetual-motion machine.’

‘Don’t you know nobody can come up with that kinda thing?’ Hietanen said half-seriously, as he was always something of a hard-liner when it came to anything related to the spiritual or supernatural.

‘Indeed, I am thoroughly acquainted with all the difficulties associated with this invention, but I do not permit them to discourage me… Aha, perhaps I’ll take a brief respite. Incidentally, how are the guard duties organized here, if I might be permitted to inquire?’

‘Both machine guns are guarded at night, just one during the day,’ Koskela said. ‘You can each do a shift with one of the other guys so you have a chance to figure out the lie of the land and see how everything works around here. Might be good for Hauhia to do two shifts that way, maybe even three. Rokka, take this fellow along next time it’s your turn and show him the ropes. And Hauhia, try to remember everything he tells you – somehow things look a lot more harmless than they actually are around here. What’s your age class?’

‘1922, Lieutenant, sir!’ Hauhia snapped to attention as he responded, and Koskela said, ‘OK. That’ll be just fine. And you can drop the “sir”. We don’t stand on ceremony around here. We’re all pretty informal, so just make yourselves at ease. This only applies to me, of course. With the other officers it’s a different story.’

‘Understood, Lieutenant, sir!’ Hauhia stiffened to something like attention even though he was seated, the fear of superior officers having already developed into a reflex.

Honkajoki lay down and went to sleep. The others ceased to marvel at his peculiar conduct, figuring that the man belonged to that class of guys who come out of the woodwork in a long war, ready to engage in any senseless shenanigans that will help them and others pass the time. The man had already assumed this role so thoroughly that he no longer even knew how else to behave.

Hauhia, on the other hand, didn’t sleep. He would have been happy to set off immediately on guard duty with Vanhala, but Rokka said, ‘Come with me. Sankia Priha baits the neighbors too much. ’Fyou head out there cold with him, some sharp shot’ll nab you real quick.’

‘Have you lost many men?’ Hauhia ventured timidly. Rokka looked at him for a moment as if weighing his words, and meanwhile Rahikainen cut in, ‘Rare day we don’t have somebody bite the dust.’

‘Don’t lissen’na him. He’s full of it. Just tryin’na scare you. We don’t even man Mount Million for another two months yet. But don’t you go out alone, hear! You keep that in mind.’

‘I have been in an air raid,’ Hauhia said, but added hastily, ‘Though of course that’s nothing compared to a real war.’

‘Ain’t no war more real than that,’ Rokka said smiling, and Hauhia fell silent, thinking Rokka was smiling at his childishness. He looked around at the bunker and the men inside it. He would have asked many questions, had he dared. He was intimidated by Rokka and Hietanen, not to mention Koskela. The fear of NCOs that the training center had drilled into him was still strong in his mind, and he watched and listened nervously as Susling said to Koskela, ‘Toss me that paper.’

‘Here, grab it.’

Rokka shoved his ring-making materials under the bed and said, ‘Awwright, boy. C’mon! Papa’s gonna show you how we fight a war.’

‘Which weapons?’

‘They got ’em out there, don’t worry.’

They climbed out of the bunker into the connecting trench, and Rokka led Hauhia behind a small turn in the trench, where there was a pole.

‘This here’s the toilet.’

‘Are those pamphlets?’

‘Yup. Neighbors’s even provided us with toilet paper.’ Rokka showed him the pamphlets, in which Finnish soldiers were encouraged to kill their officers and switch over to the Red Army.

‘You see what’s written on’na other side? If a fella’s got this note with him and he surrenders, they’re obliged’da keep him alive. So keep that in mind. Take it with you when’na time comes.’

Then they continued on their way.

‘Over there’s the second team’s machine gun. We only guard that one at night. These here’re the gunners’ nests. Their guard’s over there. Hey! See anythin’?’

The guard glanced up from his novel to look in the trench mirror, then replied, ‘Nope.’

Rokka explained to Hauhia, ‘Now, don’t you read on duty, even if that fella Ukkola is. So now, git this in your body head to tail: your head don’t ever come up above the level’la the trench. Just about everybody we’ve lost round here’s somebody who lifted his head up just a second too long. You needa look out, you use the periscope.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Sure sure. You don’t realize they just saw you.’ Rokka yanked Hauhia away from the slit in the trench the machine gun fired through. ‘I ain’t jokin’ with you here. Every word counts. Whoever’s over there may’ve just caught sight of you through his binoculars. It’s a nice summer night and all, but don’t you go driftin’ off to dreamland for all that. Death’s not the type to marvel over the scenery, see. Seems like it’s about time for a cigarette break. You smoke?’

‘Yes. But they didn’t give us anything when we left but the cigarette ration.’

‘I’ll give you some. I can give you a whole pack when we git back to the bunker. Would you lissen’na that loudspeaker?’

‘Men of Finland. Kill your fascist officers and come join us.’ The loud, crackling voice emanated from the Devil’s Mound.

‘Fascists got knocked off a while ago. Now we’re on to the communists!’ Vanhala’s voice rang out from the other side of the trench.

‘Men of Finland. Come get bread!’

‘Why don’t you come get some butter to put on your bread? Heeheehee.’

‘He pulls that stuff all’a time,’ Rokka said half-angrily, though he was also amused by Vanhala’s constant baiting. Ukkola smiled too, and said over his shoulder, ‘He’s even rigged up a new telegraph signal. Two shots spaced out, then three right in a row. Tap… tap… tap tap tap. And then they answer. Some crackpot over there just like him, naturally.’

‘Hitler’s black bandits have lost countless men and all kinds of technology. Working soldiers of Finland! You are spilling your blood while the Germans are raping your wives and sisters.’

‘Uh-huh, and even the younger mothers are getting more than their fill. Heeheehee.’

Papapapapapapapapa.

The alders rustled and Hauhia threw himself to the floor of the trench.

‘Did they hit anything?’ he asked, panicked.

‘Russki vintovka, hutoi vintovka, heeheehee.’

‘There you heard it. Let’s go git that nutcase outta here!’

Vanhala was watching the Devil’s Mound through the periscope. The periscope was made out of two mirrors and a tube made of wooden boards. So many men had been killed by enemy snipers that now the men were forbidden from aiming without it. They had also been ordered to wear a helmet, but in keeping with tradition they had conducted an ‘experiment’ that left the helmet shot through with holes, so now it lay rusted on the side of the trench.

‘Quit shoutin’, gaddamn it!’ Rokka said, when they finally reached Vanhala.

‘The neighbors started it… heehee.’

‘And they can put a stop to it, too. Now shove it, gaddamn it! What you doin’ with that file?’

‘I was just filing a notch across the head of this bullet. Makes a nice long whistle when it blows.’ Vanhala set off, laughing as he went. He was particularly amused at the raped wives and sisters and, giggling, he dreamt up lines in his head, ‘Evil German soldiers rape valiant, hearty Nordic women.’

Rokka surveyed the foreground in the mirror and ordered Hauhia to take aim. ‘That’s how you gotta check every time. There’re fourteen bodies out there. Memorize where they are so you don’t forget. If the enemy comes out sometime, you don’t wanna mix up the dead and the livin’.’

‘When did they die?’

‘Last fall. We weren’t in this sector then. There ain’t nothin’ but bones and maggots underneath those rags by now. See those bunkers over there on’na mound? They’re aimin’ from over there too. If you’re lucky, you can spot a helmet sometimes. I’d like to git me one a those sniper rifles with telescopic sights and start takin’na real crack at ’em. At the beginnin’ I used’da try for ’em, but then I started this ring business and I ain’t had time for it. I’m tryin’na send a bit a money to help out the missus, see. She’s tryin’na rebuild stuff down in Kannas. But don’t you try takin’ any shots at ’em for a lil’ while yet. You gotta be pretty sharp to nab those fellas. And you gotta stick your own neck out, see.’

Rokka continued to lecture and instruct for the entirety of the two-hour shift. ‘If they come out, then you pull on this cord here. It rings a bell back in’na bunker. And if anythin’ happens, just don’t panic. Aim sharp and keep steady. Knock off a couple a rounds straight away at the start, that’ll quiet down the others and slow ’em down.’

‘What is it like, shooting people?’

‘Dunno. I only shot enemies.’

‘Aren’t enemies people?’ Hauhia asked, smiling. Rokka’s playful, careless reply struck him as funny.

‘No, they ain’t. Or anyway I dunno. The fellas up top say they ain’t. Dunno what else they could be, but lissen, don’t you go squabblin’ with your conscience over all that. Or at least put it off ’til later. Fellas ’cross the way’ll be happy to commit that sin if you don’t wanna. I don’t worry ’bout that kind a stuff. The higher-ups doin’na commandin’ can worry ’bout that. They’re the ones’s responsible. Antti Rokka shoots and makes rings. And that’s what you’re gonna do too!’

‘I’m not pitying them,’ Hauhia said with contrived manliness, though no sooner had the words left his mouth than he was ashamed of them. For no other reason than that he feared Rokka might take him for a braggart. Hauhia had fallen under Rokka’s spell immediately. He considered himself quite lucky to have been retained in the first section. To his mind, Rokka was the concrete realization of everything he had heard and read about soldiers on the front. Soon he would be just like that himself. Hauhia was under the illusion that war makes a man courageous. Reflecting for a minute, he asked, ‘They say you get used to being afraid. Is that true?’

‘Git used’da bein’ afraid! Don’t you dare. Fear’s bad company, hear? You shake him off quick and make sure he stays off.’

The ground shook as a six-incher aimed straight at Million went off. Hauhia clung to the trench floor, face-down, until Rokka ordered him to get up. Embarrassed, he explained that he couldn’t tell which blasts were harmless and which ones weren’t. But to his astonishment he heard Rokka saying gravely and sympathetically, ‘Lissen, there ain’t no such thing as a harmless blast. They’re all dangerous. You git down whenever you hear one. Ain’t no shame in’nat.’

Two hours later, Rahikainen came to relieve them. The other machine gun was already being guarded now as well. Määttä had brought Honkajoki along and was showing him around and acquainting him with the foreground. Honkajoki had his bow over his shoulder and his arrows in a woven birch-bark quiver. Määttä wasn’t sure there was any point in explaining things to this man, as he seemed somehow dubious. Maybe they had better not leave him alone on guard duty at all.

‘I have indeed grown accustomed to the duties of the sentinel over the course of my military career. But has Corporal Määttä heard the story of the unfortunate guard?’

‘One in particular? Day before yesterday some poor sucker got a shell on the head over at Million.’

‘An unfortunate incident indeed. But I was referring to the guard on Finnish Public Radio. Has Corporal Määttä not heard his laments? I am overcome by a feeling of unspeakable despair every time I hear his wistful voice, “I stand on guard alone, oooout here in the lonely night.” I do not understand how it is deemed permissible to keep one man continuously on guard. No one ever comes to relieve him. A truly startling state of affairs.’

‘Yeah, it’s uh, just that we don’t have a radio.’

‘Excellent. I will be spared many painful moments. But might the Corporal be aware of any good juniper groves in this vicinity? I believe I need a new reinforcement to ensure the pliancy of my personal weapon.’

‘Some over on that hill.’

‘Thank you. Perhaps I’ll procure a spare as well. The battle for our nation’s survival may well grow heated.’

Määttä watched the man out of the corner of his eye. He was reassured to see that, regardless of his odd babbling, Honkajoki did at least scan the terrain in the mirror with a sharp and vigilant eye.

Rokka took Hauhia along for one more shift that night, and the next afternoon the boy was permitted to do a shift on his own. In the morning he asked Koskela for permission to go and visit his friends from the training center over in the neighboring position.

‘Go ahead. But take the communication trench and keep your head down.’

‘Yes, sir, Lieutenant.’

Hauhia still couldn’t quite manage casual conversation with Koskela. He set off in his excitement to tell his buddies about everything he’d seen and experienced. Koskela, for his part, just kept staring at the ceiling, wondering how anybody could be so excited about war.

Over at the neighboring position, Hauhia hardly let his buddies get a word in edgewise. It did not cross his mind that all of his stories might be old news to them by now. ‘Our position’s in a fucking dangerous spot. You can’t raise your head at all! But the boss is solid. He just lies on his back on his bed, wiggling his big toe in between the others. They think guys like us are all babies, but they did gimme some smokes. If it’d been up to me I’d have gone on guard duty by myself right away, but they wouldn’t let me. They said they were sure I’d be fine, but they’re under orders not to let guys go out alone the first time. Our machine gun is fucking amazing. It even has an accelerator. At least seven hundred rounds a minute, if not more.’

‘We’ve got the same kind.’

‘Yeah, but I heard our machine gun has knocked off the most. We’ve got this corporal. Might even get a Mannerheim Cross soon. Guy from Kannas.’

‘We’ve got some pretty tough guys over here too.’

‘But there’s this one guy at our post who’s a real daredevil. Just yesterday he yelled over at the neighbors, even though it made them pepper the area so damn hard the whole forest was shaking.’

The new arrivals made their coffee substitute and drank it together. The owner of the mess kit admired the new soot that had accumulated on its side. Almost like the combat vets’ tins.

They whispered amongst themselves in a corner of the bunker, conscious of the childishness of their conversation. Hauhia had more to brag about because he was on his own – and so without anyone to rein in his imagination.

‘All right, bums.’ (Hauhia was from the country, but he had made friends with the ‘Helsinki crowd’ while at the training center.) ‘When are we gonna get leave? The older guys’ll rotate out first, of course, but we’re next in line.’

‘Thank goodness machine-gunners don’t have to go out on patrols.’

‘You can volunteer. But it’s not required.’

‘Don’t think I’ll be volunteering.’

‘I don’t know. Might be nice to go see what’s going on. That Rokka guy said something about taking me with him if he went out sometime. That’s the corporal I was just talking about. But hey, I’ve gotta be back on guard duty at two. Come by our bunker round four, when I get off duty. Take the communication trench, but remember, don’t raise your head. Lead poisoning is fucking dangerous. Bring some sugar with you, we can make some coffee. I’ll let Koskela know, the boss I mean. And you don’t have to be all official in front of him. That kind of stuff makes him laugh. I was really casual with him right away.’

‘Oh we don’t do any of that official stuff. This morning I was sitting in front of the bunker when the commander for this whole stronghold arrived. And I just pretended I didn’t even notice him.’

‘Don’t forget to come. You’ll even get to see some Russki-rot. There’s fourteen of them. Almost reached our positions. Must have been in a pretty tight spot at some point.’

‘There’s dead guys here too. The neighbors even took this spot and held it for a couple of hours. The guys said they used hand grenades to get it back. Even the bunker was so covered in bodies that there wasn’t even space to put your foot down.’

‘Our position’s never been taken. The guys load up all the barrels to stop them in their tracks before they get there. But we’re headed up to Million pretty soon. Guys get killed up there all the time. Well, see you later.’

Hauhia hadn’t even noticed that he was already sort of aping Rokka’s gestures and tone of voice. Once he was back at his bunker, he kept glancing restlessly at the time. He was annoyed with himself for having told his friends about what friendly terms he was on with Koskela. And now when they came… He tried to address Koskela casually a couple of times, so he’d be more used to it, but the words evaporated in his mouth every time. Finally, timidly, he began, ‘Have you been the leader of this platoon for a long time, Lieutenant, si—?’

‘Since peacetime,’ Koskela said flatly.

‘You must be a regular commissioned officer, then.’

‘Overtime. Means I’m a reserve officer in a regular officer’s job.’

‘Were you in the army already in the Winter War, si—?’

‘Yup.’

‘As a platoon leader?’

‘Yup, there too. I was a squad leader first, then a platoon leader. But I dropped back to company commander by the end.’

‘What do you mean “dropped back”, si—? Ahem… ahem,’ Hauhia coughed awkwardly.

‘Well, by that time the company didn’t have more than sixteen men left in the ranks. My platoon had at least thirty to start out with.’

‘Did you destr—, ahem, bust up any tanks?’

‘A couple that had been buried underground in Lemetti. But Hietanen over there’s the one that blew up a KV.’

‘Oh yeah? You knock it out with a satchel charge?’ (Hauhia was already as comfortable with Hietanen as he was with his friends.)

‘Mine. Look, don’t believe all that stuff guys tell you about fighting tanks. Most of the folks talking about that stuff never seen a tank in their lives. I was such a panicked wreck when I threw that mine, even I hardly know what happened. And I guess I was shaking a good ten minutes afterwards too – so much I couldn’t even get a cigarette to stay in my mouth. Even now I sometimes have these dreams that I’m watching that tank track moving underneath its fender just about to drive right over me. Then I wake up in this horrible sweat… I just hope I never see another contraption like that as long as I live.’

Koskela looked up from the Karelian News and said, ‘You can head out there by yourself now. But if you’re not feeling too sure yet, you can just say so. You don’t have to go alone. I can come along, or Hietanen here, if you want.’

‘No… no, I can manage.’

‘Don’t doubt that at all. I’m just afraid you don’t quite realize how dangerous it is out there in the quiet. Just don’t raise your head! Only look out through the mirror. And don’t take any unnecessary shots. Do not shoot, even if you see something – unless they’re actually making a run at us. Keep an eye on the nearby surroundings, too, they’re pretty crafty in snatching prisoners. Once they came up on a guy from behind and seized him in broad daylight. But if something happens, don’t panic. Just shoot immediately, don’t hesitate and stay calm. Striking first is half the game. And don’t rely on the fact that the infantry guy on guard is keeping watch. He’s probably thinking the same thing about you. Maybe I’ll go with you.’

‘I’ll be fine!’ Hauhia burst out, and then he left a few minutes early, as opposed to the old guys who always tried to shave a few minutes off their turns in the changeover.

‘Remember what I told you, now!’ Rokka called after him.

‘Can’t do more than that,’ Koskela said. ‘Guy’s been given all the advice there is.’

Hauhia went to relieve Vanhala from his post. He bounded eagerly over to his station and gave a Rokka-like shout, knowingly using Vanhala’s nickname: ‘All right, Sankia Priha, off with you!’

‘I hereby hand over responsibility for the front. There’s some infantry guy’s rifle in the shelter, but don’t use it unless you have to. Bastards’ll make you into a hero real quick. You just stay here real quiet and grow into one of Finland’s terrifying deep-forest warriors.’

Hauhia turned the mirror. He looked at the outlines of the gun-nests set against the smoky afternoon sky. All was calm, drowsy and still. Even the faint, far-off rumble of cannon fire over toward Bulaeva didn’t seem to disrupt the sleepy atmosphere of the front. An unbroken silence reigned. Even the dark bodies lying out in front of their positions seemed to have hardened into place ages ago, melting into the general stillness.

When he’d had his fill of looking around, Hauhia dug out some paper from his shirt pocket and started writing on top of a cigarette crate. He felt slightly guilty doing so, but tried to mitigate his guilt by glancing up at the mirror every time he’d written two or three words.

Each time he checked the bodies and counted them, afraid there would be too many. Some living guy might have crawled in amongst them and might be lying in wait, ready to pounce. Hauhia had heard of things like that happening.

Suddenly a shell went off on Mount Million, and Hauhia dropped for cover, then remembered the previous evening and straightened himself up right away. A dozen or so shells went off in the space of half a minute.

Hauhia stopped writing and started looking at the machine gun. It, too, was mute and still. But to Hauhia, the dead object seemed mute precisely because in his mind, it was capable of speech. It was like a story locked in steel. Hauhia imagined this story in his head, mostly false and unfounded, like the stories the Information Bureau fed to people who couldn’t tell the difference. He hadn’t seen the faces unnaturally distorted with anxiety behind it, nor heard the hoarse, panicked screams and commands, the nervous swearing and cursing, nor Kaukonen’s moan as he died with his face pressed into these handles. He knew nothing of the dark, rainy autumn night when it had lain beside the muddy path, the night that Lehto and Riitaoja had died.

‘Good-looking gun. I wonder if there’s water in the jacket? Be nice to rattle off a few rounds.’ Hauhia looked through the periscope and gave an exclamation of surprise. A helmet was moving in one of the nests. Now it was still. Hauhia seized the rifle from the shelter, repeating to himself in justification, ‘I won’t shoot it, but just in case.’

He looked out again. The helmet was still there. For a while the urge to hunt and the fear of disobedience battled it out in his mind. Then he stepped into one of the machine-gunners’ nests and carefully raised his head. ‘Immediately… before he has a chance… I’ll stick these twigs in front… they won’t be able to see from way over there…’

He set a juniper branch in the nest’s open slit, stuck in the gun and, hands trembling with excitement, tried to focus the helmet in the sight. He retained consciousness just long enough to feel the sharp blow strike his head and see stars fade into view before he thudded to the trench floor and blacked out.

Vanhala’s gramophone was now equipped with a new spring and some Finnish records its owner had brought back with him from his leave. Their favorite, ‘Life in the Trenches’, was spinning round at the moment and Rahikainen was lying on his bunk singing along.

Rahikainen had a good voice, and he could even hit the high notes with no greater strain than a slightly furrowed brow. Vanhala was cracking up at the song’s wistful, naïve lyrics, and at the sight of wily Rahikainen crooning with such heartfelt devotion.

Rahikainen suddenly interrupted his song. Revealing that it occupied his thoughts only marginally, and that he was in fact preoccupied with more important questions, he said, ‘No, I gotta start exportin’ over to the neighbors’ sectors. This market’s gettin’ too saturated. How many you got finished over there?’

‘This fella here makes eight. Whadda I engrave on here? “1942”? “Svir, 1942”? Lissen, Rahikainen, we can cook up a new model. Then they’ll keep sellin’ here in our sector. Fellas’ll buy more if it’s sumpin’ new.’

‘How about the Coat of Arms with the Lion of Finland?’

‘Picture from the five-mark coin? Price’s gotta go up five marks then.’

‘They’ll go for it. Long as you do a nice job.’

Rokka was just hurrying to get down to work, when the cow bell hanging from the ceiling began to ring. The wire coming from the guard post was moving.

Koskela rose. ‘What’s that boy up to?’

‘Alarm.’

Chaos set in. They yanked their boots onto their feet, grabbed their weapons from the rack and, thus equipped, ran for the trench. Honkajoki seized his bow and arrow, but he did at least take along a real gun as well. Vanhala remembered Rahikainen’s song and giggled as he climbed the stairs, ‘To the bullets’ refrain! Heehee. As chaos rages, heehee!’

The bunker was empty. In their hurry, no one had thought to stop the gramophone, so ‘Life in the Trenches’, having played to the end, was now scraping out, ‘eeeyaow, eeeyaow, eeeyaow’.

As soon as the men were outside, they quickly gathered that there was no attack underway, since the infantry platoon hadn’t been called to alert. So it was just something concerning their guard. As they advanced toward the guard post, they suspected that the inexperienced Hauhia had panicked, and so sounded the alarm. Things became more complicated, however, when they saw that the guard post was empty.

‘Something’s up over there,’ Koskela said, dreading what it might be.

The face of the guard approaching them in the trench told all. The man looked earnest and rather pale, though his voice was brusque as he said, ‘Better send up a new guard and cross the old one off the ration list.’

‘Sniper?’

‘Yeah. That gun was over there on the parapet. I guess he meant to shoot it, but the bullet never left the barrel. A helmet popped up across the way, but it was so absurdly high it must have just been bait. Then there came a bang and I suspected he’d raised his head up to peek so I came over. Then I sounded your guys’ alarm.’

‘Goddamn it! What did the lil’ monkey do that for? And after I just spent four hours tellin’ him about that exact thing! If he’d a lived, I’d be givin’ that boy a swift kick in’na rear.’

‘Shouldn’t have been out here alone yet.’

‘Yeah, though nobody can say that he didn’t know,’ Koskela said.

‘None of us got half as much advice as he did.’

‘No, we didn’t.’

And so they ceded responsibility to fate.

Hauhia lay crumpled on the trench floor. In the middle of his brow, perfectly centered between his eyes, there was a small, blue hole. The point of entry had not a single drop of blood along its edges, but the back of the boy’s head had been partially blown off. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight in itself, but even so, somehow or other the boy’s accidental death felt more horrible than the others that had occurred amongst them. Most of the men were only a couple of years older than Hauhia, but even so, he somehow seemed like a child to them, and that made his fate even more upsetting.

Rahikainen took over for the rest of the guard shift and the others carried the body to the bunker. They set it in the front entryway and wrapped it in tent tarps. Koskela notified Lammio and Kariluoto of the incident and requested a heavy barrage on the Devil’s Mound. Artillery fire had not previously been allowed without permission from the Commander, save to counter an enemy attack, and in order to obtain permission Koskela told Sarastie that he had seen a lot of movement up on the hill. Sarastie wondered why the Artillery Commander hadn’t notified him of the commotion, but he trusted Koskela so unconditionally that he granted permission. The men, too, were amazed at how naturally lying came to Koskela.

‘Let the damned pigs squeal a little while,’ Koskela said as he lay down on his bunk. ‘The kitchen cart can take the boy back.’

They waited awhile, and soon the bunker windows began to rattle with the pressure of the first blasts a couple of miles off.

‘It’s the big gun over in Itävaara.’

‘Could be Korvenkylä.’

‘Nope. When’na fellas fire from Korvenkylä they hit to the right a that pine there. Lissen’na the rumble.’

Even quiet Susling said bitterly, ‘Just git ’em good this time.’

For once they really did hate the enemy. Practically a crime, beating that kid to the punch. In any case, whatever the reason, Hauhia’s death was a much more powerful agent in stirring their fighting spirit than the Military Police’s execution of those two men by the sauna wall.

The barrage was still underway when Hauhia’s friends arrived at the bunker. They had seen the body wrapped in tent tarps in the entryway, but in their state of anxiety at the explosions, they hadn’t looked at it very closely. There were four of them, two infantry guys and the two replacements. Frightened, they scuttled quickly into the bunker, sugar cubes and rye crispbreads in their pockets. The first fellow stood at attention and said, ‘Lieutenant, sir! We’re here to see Private Hauhia. We were all in the same group.’

Rokka polished a ring. The others lay silent. Nobody wanted to be the one to tell the boys what had happened, so the task fell to Koskela.

‘The unfortunate fact of the matter is that we’ve lost Hauhia. Sniper got him. Body’s back there in the entryway.’

The boys tried to retreat behind one another’s backs, embarrassed to be seen by this officer. The ones furthest back hesitatingly made movements to leave. Then Koskela added, ‘Look, we have to take lessons from one another. Your own experience sometimes comes too late. Now, believe me when I tell you guys that games and reality are never far apart out here. They’re all mixed up together.’

‘Yes sir, Lieutenant.’

‘Can we see him?’

‘If you want. But make sure you wrap him back up properly.’

The boys didn’t linger in the entryway long. They felt the same way the others had felt looking at Vuorela one year before. Glassy eyes, twisted gums, contorted, yellowed skin.

That evening Vanhala thought he’d put on the gramophone, but Koskela said, clearing his throat, ‘Maybe not today, OK? We’ll put it on again tomorrow.’

He had taken Hauhia’s half-written letter, thinking it might be better that it not end up in the hands of his family.