Unknown Soldiers

Chapter Twelve

‘Blood-thirsty souls slurping gore! Heehee…’ Vanhala was chanting his satirical verses again, though his own blood had been running rather thin for a while there. He had volunteered to go out on a patrol, or rather he had traded one of the infantry guys four shifts of guard duty in exchange for a patrol. He had returned pale-faced with a bullet in his side. Now he was back from the military hospital, but in his extended absence the others had come to realize just how important the little giggler was to them. When someone gazing out of the bunker window spotted Vanhala returning from sick leave, they all rushed out to meet him, shouting raucous welcome greetings, and Sankia Priha’s face, grown rounder with his leave, stretched wide into a hearty grin.

Honkajoki was hard at work on his perpetual-motion machine, which was always just on the point of reaching completion. Rokka had given up his ring scheme in favor of a lamp-stand manufacturing operation, and Rahikainen had stayed on as sales manager. Rokka wasn’t a shabby salesman himself, but this arrangement allowed him more time to work. Määttä was awarded another stripe, but other than that, the life of the platoon continued on uneventfully. Even their autumn ‘turn on the Millions’ came and went without any casualties.

With the start of a new year, they began to receive impassioned bits of news, courtesy of the Devil’s Mound. The fighting at Stalingrad was nearing its end, and things were not looking good – and the urging and entreaties of previous propaganda broadcasts had been replaced by a threatening, frightening confidence in certain victory. It was during this time that Honkajoki’s bow became legendary. It was their new secret weapon, in which all hopes were invested, and Honkajoki paraded from bunker to bunker lecturing about it.

‘Bottle up one of “Onega’s Waves” now so you’ll have something to remember her by when you retreat!’ the loudspeaker would declare, to Vanhala’s untold amusement. Once he’d been listening to the radio at the neighboring position when, right in the middle of the soldiers’ evening prayer service, interference crackled into the background, shrieking, ‘Blast those bridges, boys!’

The startling contrast had set Vanhala giggling for weeks.

Little by little the idea of defeat settled in. The army made no effort to fend it off, save a few senseless, small-scale charades. A few lively diversions and wood-chopping tasks were devised to keep their spirits up. The men in the trenches knew perfectly well what was coming, but they soldiered on with determined nonchalance.

Kariluoto went off to the Army Academy and returned a captain upon completion of his course. He was immune to the general lowering of spirits, his recent engagement having distracted him from any concerns about the future of the homeland. Inhabitants of the Third Company bunker became thoroughly acquainted with the virtues of a certain girl by the name of Sirkka. Like all lovers, Kariluoto naturally assumed that everyone took great interest in his happiness, and anyone who could bring himself to lend him an ear would never stop hearing about the girl. A certain telephone operator had become engaged around the same time, and so instantly became Kariluoto’s bosom buddy – in so far as a captain and a private can be bosom buddies, that is.

Lammio had already been made a captain as well. He hadn’t changed in the least – at least, not for the better; and as the situation deteriorated, he figured that the only way to combat it was to enforce tighter discipline. Koskela wasn’t promoted, for the evident reason that there were no positions above his open in the battalion, and Sarastie was reluctant to lose him to another, even if the Regiment Commander had suggested such a possibility. So, Koskela was paid in decorations, and to ease his own feelings of responsibility, Sarastie repeatedly promised him that the next company commander post to open up was his.

Koskela himself wasn’t particularly concerned about the matter. He had firmly resolved to leave the army as soon as the war was over, so he had no particular use for promotions. He lay on his bunk and took part in the quiet life of his platoon just as he always had.

The winter passed and a new summer came. Germany’s defeat became ever more apparent, and Salo alone was able to hang on to his faith. Even the events in Italy didn’t rattle him. Whispers about his steadfast devotion circulated amongst the others, and after each notice of a defeat somewhere, somebody would bait him, ‘Seems like now might be a good time to pull out those secret weapons, don’t you think?’

But Salo would just gaze over their heads into the beyond and say, ‘They’ll come. They’ll come… They’re just waitin’ for the enemy to get closer before unleashing ’em. I heard they got some eight-inchers over there behind the lines. There’ll be plenty of iron all right, once they decide to let ’er rip.’

‘Well, I’ll be darned. In that case we ain’t got nothin’na worry about!’ Rokka said – and still Salo managed to remain uncertain whether he was being mocked.

A quiet bitterness had appeared in Rokka, making itself felt now and again. He knew that the ring money he’d sent down to Kannas for the new house had all been for nothing. He wouldn’t live in that house. The firmer this conviction grew in his mind, the more resentful he became of the officers’ ongoing rivalry in kitting out their bunkers. ‘Now they’re makin’ log lounge chairs. Guess those fellas think we’re gonna be sittin’ back by the fireside ’til kingdom come.’

One afternoon in the summer of 1943, he was sitting on guard duty, carving decorations into a curly-birch table lamp-stand when a colonel suddenly took him by surprise. The ‘surprise’, in truth, was purely the product of the Colonel’s imagination, as of course Rokka had noticed him a way off and just hadn’t bothered to hide the piece of wood. The Colonel was some sort of inspector charged with taking stock of who knows what. He was on a typical inspection round, deemed necessary for whatever reason, collecting observations to compile into some kind of high management report, which would be distributed amongst the divisions, and possibly even read by somebody somewhere before being shoved into a file.

The Colonel was not particularly different from any other Finnish colonel, and dreamt up nothing more than the trusty classic, ‘Well, well, what have we here? What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Standin’ guard. And you know, a guard’s a kinda fella you shouldn’t just up and yell at… on account a he’s got great responsibilities to attend to.’ The Colonel’s tone of voice had made Rokka bristle instantly. He sat carving his lamp-stand in defiance, though not without glancing up into the periscope sharply and frequently.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Carvin’ a lamp-stand. Ain’t you got eyes? But it’s got its shape pretty good now. Gonna be a beauty that’s hard to beat.’

‘Don’t you know you’re on guard duty?’

‘Sure do. Why else’d I be out here? You can see for yourself I’m on guard duty, sittin’ here lookin’ in’na periscope! That’s what bein’ on guard duty is.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Rokka, Antero. No middle name.’

‘You’ll hear about this.’

The Colonel left. Rokka continued to sit calmly, carving and keeping watch. He didn’t say anything of the incident to the others in the bunker, and he was already beginning to think that maybe the Colonel’s threat had been empty when he didn’t hear anything more about it for two days. But at the end of the second day, Koskela received a phone call from Lammio with orders to send Rokka and his squad to clean up the area around the command post and decorate the path with some rounded stones along the sides. Koskela didn’t quite follow the whole command, as it sounded too absurd, even coming from Lammio. But he replied carefully into the phone, ‘Yup. I’ll convey the order.’

This ‘convey’ was Koskela’s way of establishing that he did not stand behind the command. And in a voice that announced as much, he repeated the order to Rokka. The latter was silent for a moment, then said perfectly calmly, ‘If anybody want’ssa go, you all feel free. I ain’t goin’.’

‘Why, without our leader?’ Rahikainen exclaimed, aghast. ‘But how’re a bunch of bumblin’ privates supposed to manage all by ourselves?’

‘Decorate with stones, he said…? Heeheehee!’ Vanhala snickered, giving no indication of leaving. Susling’s vote obviously fell with Rokka, as he followed his friend unconditionally.

Koskela notified Lammio of the group’s refusal, adding stiffly that he would not personally get involved any more than his position required – in other words, issuing the command and notifying them upstream of the men’s refusal to comply. Lammio then ordered Rokka to the command post, to which Rokka replied, ‘Sure, why not? I can pay ’im a call.’

He set off, humming, stooping to pick berries along the side of the path as he went. He managed to dawdle a good couple of hours on his way to the command post, causing Lammio’s irritation to attain new and unprecedented heights by the time he arrived. He stepped easily into the bunker and, unbidden, took a seat, plonking his cap onto the table. He was carrying five sturdy straws of hay skewered with berries, which he plucked off one by one and popped into his mouth as he spoke. Before Lammio had a chance to utter a word, he burst out, ‘So! What’ssa trouble?’

Lammio turned his words over in his mind for a while before he spoke. ‘Listen, Rokka. You seem determined to incite conflict with your flagrant disregard for the disciplinary code.’

‘What’ssat? You just talk straight with me. I’m a farm boy from Kannas, see, and I don’t understand all those fancy words a yours.’

‘You act as if military discipline did not concern you at all.’

‘It don’t concern me at all.’

‘Well, it’s going to concern you now.’

‘It sure ain’t gonna concern me enough to grab a besom and start sweepin’ up after you all.’

‘Besom! Might you be so kind as to answer me in Finnish?’

‘Don’t you know what a besom is? ’Swat we call a broom over in’na East. Which word you think is right? And say, when you luck out, does that mean you got lucky or you’re shit outta luck? Gaddamn it! How is it that we got men from the East an’na West squabblin’ over these things a whole war long and we ain’t got nothin’ figgered out?’

‘I am not a specialist in regional dialects, I am the Commander of this company, and I intend to make it clear to you that there is such a thing as military discipline.’

‘Gaddamn it. And I’m supposed’da cut the grass an’ line up lil’ pebbles on’na edge a your path. What the hell were you thinkin’ when you cooked that up?’

‘You talked back to a colonel on his inspection rounds and the complaint came to me, urging me to punish you. Punishment did not seem to me appropriate to the offense, so I selected this task instead, as a means of determining whether or not you meant to comply. Should you fail to comply, then and only then will I press the matter further. I ordered your squad to come along as well because they comport themselves exactly as you do. Your example has borne fruit, congratulations. Your predecessor Corporal Lehto was just the same, and following in the footsteps of the two of you, the whole platoon has become a bastion of insolence and bravado.’

‘You really think I’m gonna obey that order?’

‘I would urge you to, I really would. You are entirely alone – there’s nothing you can do. Your insolence triumphs just so long as the army is willing to tolerate it, and its tolerance stops here.’

‘You think I’m afraid’da you?’

‘Not in the least. I grant bravery its due respect, being a brave man myself. But you have been demanding too high a price for it for a long time now. I’ve yielded to it more than I should have, more than regulations properly allow. I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses. Given your capabilities, you could be a soldier of the highest class – were you suitable otherwise. If you behaved like a proper soldier, or rather like an officer of superior rank, I could hand you a Mannerheim Cross as if it were a cigarette. It’s been awarded to lesser men than you. I am fully aware of the fact that, amongst other things, you saved this battalion from an extremely dangerous situation last winter, sparing us who knows what destruction. I am willing to grant that in terms of fighting, you are the best man I’ve seen, and I’ve seen some real daredevils, but you cannot continue on with this misguided idea that that fact excuses you from everything else.’

Rokka plucked a berry from his skewer and said, half-seriously, ‘Mannerheim Cross! Those come with a pot a dough.’

‘I already told you it’s a no-go. It would be like making a poster boy out of insubordination. Your insolence is more dangerous to this army than Honkajoki’s mockery of it, which, incidentally, I am also putting a stop to. You have an opportunity to redeem yourself by bringing your squad to carry out the task I’ve assigned.’

‘Nothin’ doin’.’

‘That means the court martial.’

‘Means a whole lot more’n ’nat. Now you lissen’na me, I been thinkin’ all this over too.’ Rokka’s easy joviality had vanished. Slowly his entire body began to shake, and though his face struggled to maintain some sort of smile, his voice was trembling with fury. ‘Now lissen here, friend. Don’t you play games with me. You think you’re gonna break me, but believe you me, you won’t – no more’n any a the others that’s tried. Lissen, you know my wife down in Kannas is pregnant and out there cuttin’na rye all by herself? And you, you bumblin’ bird-brain, you wanna play games with me, make me line up pebbles along your path? Gaddamn it! You really think you can push my patience just as far as you please, don’t you? Here I spent a year makin’ rings whose profits’re sunk in’na walls of a new house I ain’t never gonna see. And now I’m makin’ lamps so I can scrape together enough to build me another one. And you all’re settin’ up your Headquarters, usin’na gaddamn blow torch to weld decorations on’na your furniture so you can take pictures for the newspapers! “See how these fellas fixed up the Headquarters for their esteemed officers!” Sure they done it, when they been damn well ordered to! Well, I ain’t doin’ none a that. You got that? Can’t you see what’s lyin’ in wait for all of us? You think the neighbors gonna come say, “Sure, you just sit back and stay there long as you please”? Won’t be long now before we’re all in for it. Half of us ain’t gonna make it outta here alive and you clowns are raggin’ on us about discipline. You’re gonna be shootin’ your own men soon if this game goes on long enough. But I am tellin’ you now, don’t you go pullin’ me in’na that mess. I do what needs done in a war, but I don’t go in for games. You do whatever you please. You send me ’a the court martial if that’s what you want! You just better remember that fellas like me don’t die like dogs. You all shot those two fellas back there by the sauna wall, but you ain’t gonna shoot me that way. It’s gonna cost you a few of your own buddies first. You just keep that in mind. I’m outta here.’

Rokka snatched his cap, grabbed the strawful of berries that had tumbled to the ground, and left. Lammio said nothing – not that he would have had a chance to get a word in, anyway. He was a bit embarrassed, somehow or other. The sincerity of Rokka’s rage had managed to jar his consciousness at least a bit. He felt helpless for a moment. Squabbling any further felt fairly pointless after such a speech. But then he began to wonder if Rokka hadn’t been putting on an act, threatening him that way. And then he remembered how he had even thought to grab his stick of berries as he left, and Lammio became more and more convinced that he had been duped. The man was a daredevil, to be sure, but now he was just trying to wriggle off the hook by putting on a show. If he had been in earnest, he wouldn’t have remembered his berries in the midst of such an outburst.

Lammio got in touch with Sarastie and stated his case. Sarastie hesitated at first, but when Lammio pressed him, embellishing the story as necessary, the Major finally concurred that Rokka should be brought before the battalion for an official inquiry the following day. Sarastie was aware of Rokka’s reputation – both the good side and the bad. He hesitated for a long time. Lammio’s reasoning was valid. The man was famous for his bravado – the incident with the Colonel was hardly an isolated event – and his insubordination had made him a legend within the ranks, inspiring the men’s admiration. He set a dangerous example. But was opposing that example any less dangerous? The man was also the best soldier in the battalion when it came to personal combat capability. That, too, had become legendary. And then to send the guy out to hoe some swamp for a couple of weeks? Maybe knock him down in rank as well? What kind of reaction was that going to provoke amongst the men?

Sarastie regretted that Lammio had ever been brought into the matter. It was really a little over the top, trying to force the man into submission by slamming him into such a demeaning assignment.

But Sarastie also felt that his own authority had been compromised – so, he concurred. Inspectors couldn’t be going around reporting such things about his battalion.

II

This incident took place during their ‘turn on the Millions’. This time their lot fell to the stronghold on the right, ‘Mini-Million’ – the worst one. In terms of the terrain, the two posts were actually the same position, but the men distinguished them from one another because they were manned by separate infantry units. They were situated on the same rise. ‘Mini-Million’ was on a downward-facing slope on the right side of the ridge, which tapered off into the narrow bay of a neighboring lake. They manned the area up to the head of the lake, and after that they maintained contact with the guys at the next position with the help of a messenger patrol squad. The enemy positions were about a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards off. The terrain rose behind them, and the Millions were under direct fire from that slope, while being simultaneously under fire from the right, as well as from the back, where the lake’s inlet curved around them. It was precisely this crossfire that made the positions so dangerous. The fortifications had been poorly constructed, due to their proximity to the enemy. Amongst other things, there was no barbed-wire fencing at all, and the shallow trenches, lacking any structural reinforcement, were continually collapsing under the constant shelling. On occasion it could be quiet even here, but for the most part things tended to be lively on one side or the other, more so than at any of the other positions.

After his visit to the command post, Rokka was quiet and irritable all afternoon. He offered no explanation of the incident other than saying, ‘What’s to know? Fella asked the only stuff those clowns can think to ask…’

It happened that he had the graveyard shift that night, from midnight to two a.m. He relieved Vanhala and made sure the hand grenades and submachine gun were all in place. He could hear the infantry guard coughing off to the left. The machine-gun nest was on the far right, thirty yards from the lake, and the messenger patrol guys kept in contact from there.

The August night was almost dark because of the heavy cloud cover. A gentle wind rustled the grass in the foreground, and Rokka kept sharp watch, listening attentively. After he’d been on duty half an hour, he took the flare gun from the niche cut into the trench wall and shot off a flare. He hadn’t heard anything special, but it amused him to shoot the flares. The bluish light would flicker for a moment in the air, giving Rokka a chance to inspect each rise in the terrain. Nothing but grenade craters, a few bodies and the gun-nests looming further off. Rokka ducked his head, knowing that his flares would bring about two outcomes. First, the enemy would shoot off a few rounds, and after that the guy on guard duty in the neighboring position would get restless and shoot off his own flare. The perfect regularity of the sequence made Rokka smile. He was of a mind to answer the submachine-gun fire, but he restrained himself, as it would prompt more fire in return, as he also knew from experience. It would make the enemy hit the positions with some direct cannon fire, in other words.

A rustling sounded from the communication trench and Rokka took the submachine gun under his arm and turned toward the noise. He suspected the messenger patrol from the neighboring position must be approaching. The men suddenly popped up right in front of him, before he had even been able to distinguish them from the darkness. Rokka kept his submachine gun at the ready the whole time.

‘Who’ssere?’

‘Just us. Home team… Oh! Sankia Priha’s off duty already.’

The men had come to know Vanhala by his nickname. They knew Rokka as well, and lingered for a moment to chat. Rokka was rather taciturn at the moment, however, so the men returned quickly to their position.

After the men left, Rokka thought for a moment about his old plan to blow up the enemy gun-nests. He had looked out many times, even laying out the route of how he would crawl over. He wouldn’t have started considering the gamble if it hadn’t been for the idea he’d hatched that the stunt might earn him a leave. But this time the whole scheme seemed like a waste.

‘They’ll slap me in’na can for sure. That’ll be it for my leave. Bastards do that and I’m finished. I ain’t doin’na damn thing after that. And when I ain’t even done nothin’! Gaddamn it they ask stupid questions, and in that awful tone of voice, like I was some kinda criminal…’

Rokka was fretting over the affair, as he knew perfectly well how much trouble it might cause him. But he was also resolutely decided that he was not going to back down. ‘Even if they up and shoot me, damn it. Anyway, I ain’t wastin’ any more time thinkin’ about this nonsense. There we are!’

Rokka reinforced his mind’s movements by dropping his shoulders, as if to slough off the burdensome, bothersome weight of the whole issue. He slipped naturally into just the right means of eluding these useless worries and wonderings.

He hunkered back down to his previous vigilance on guard duty. Actually, Rokka always lived in the ‘here and now’. All that existed for him was the night, the rustling grass, the voices carrying over from the enemy side, and the odd shot that would ring out now and again. Lammio and military discipline were distant, unrelated trifles that had nothing to do with his guard duties.

A blast exploded with a flash of light. For one second, a red flame illuminated the curve of the trench. Not until after the explosion did he hear the boom of the launch.

Rokka quickly ducked down into the shelter in the trench wall. Another shell exploded about a dozen yards off. Shrapnel sailed through the air and dropped onto the parapet. The barrage continued intermittently for about five minutes. Rokka scrambled out of his shelter and shot a flare, but then hurried immediately to the neighboring gun-nest. The terrain in the foreground was empty, but the cannon fire was picking up speed. Then a short pause ensued, followed by a few shells.

When the firing had stopped, Rokka held his breath and listened for a long time, but no unusual noises followed. Soon he was restored to his previous calm and stood quietly at his post. Then he heard the tiniest of rustles coming from behind the communication trench. A clod of dirt fell onto the floor of the trench.

Rokka held his submachine gun under his arm ready to shoot and took a few steps from the gunner’s nest toward the communication trench. He suspected the patrol squad was back again, but the uncertainty of the clamoring gave him pause. Normally the men didn’t bother much about trying to be quiet.

Rokka was no more than a yard from the bend in the trench when the rustling sounded again directly behind it.

‘Who’ssere? Password!’

A towering figure appeared before Rokka, and a great deal happened in the space of the next few seconds. Rokka was about to shoot right away, but the thought of the patrol squad that had just been there cost him a precious tenth of a second. The impression still fresh in his mind, he hesitated for an instant rather than following his initial instinct, and in that same instant the barrel of his gun was pushed to the side. In a flash Rokka grasped what was happening and, in the blink of an eye, began moving without hesitation. They were going to take him prisoner. Rokka quickly loosened his grip on his submachine gun, giving up the struggle over it and instead pulling the same trick that had just been pulled on him. He shoved the hand holding the pistol aside. The pistol went off as Rokka howled, ‘Help! Sound the alarm! Enemy in’na trench!’

The man was already upon him as he yelled. Rokka’s plight was desperate in the extreme. The man wrestling him was at least as tall and powerful as he was, and his first move had revealed him to be both quick and determined. And Rokka glimpsed another one behind him. Luckily, the trench was so narrow that the men behind couldn’t get around right away and so had to stay behind the man fighting with him. Rokka knew that as long as he remained in this position, he couldn’t be struck or shot, as the man acted as a shield protecting him. The pistol went off again, but again missed, as the man’s wrist was stuck fast between Rokka’s arm and his side. The pistol was within Rokka’s reach, but if he let go of the man’s hand, he was done for. The enemy squad must also have realized by now that the operation had misfired, so they would no longer have any interest in keeping Rokka alive and would just try to get themselves out as quickly as possible.

‘Guard! Help!’

A submachine gun started shooting into the air about twenty yards off, and Rokka could see over the shoulder of his opponent that it had attracted the attention of the man behind him. But there were even more men beyond him. Both wrestlers grunted, teeth clenched, and the Russian hoarsely tried to say something to his friends, but Rokka’s forehead happened to be pushed up against his mouth at just that moment. Rokka was trying to whack his head into the man’s face, but he couldn’t manage to get any force into the blow.

It was clear to Rokka that he was going to have to try something soon. The situation couldn’t continue this way for long. The man standing behind had already raised his submachine gun into the air to strike Rokka, despite his friend’s head.

Rokka let go of the man and seized just his right hand, the one holding the pistol. It shot a third round as Rokka wrenched it away. The man threw a punch at him from the left, but struck only his shoulder. Rokka couldn’t shoot, as the pistol was backwards in his hand, but in the fierce rage of self-preservation, he funneled all of his might into a blow directed at the man’s head. The back of the pistol cracked against his face, and in the same moment Rokka grabbed him and shoved him on top of the man behind him. When that man then shot his submachine gun, the muzzle flash of the barrel nearly singed Rokka’s eyebrows. The recoil was enough to knock the man over, however, giving Rokka enough time to turn his own pistol around in his hand and, in the same blink of an eye, finish off the third man in line. Rokka yelled instructions to the neighboring guard, ordering him to shoot down the communication trench. ‘I’m in’na nooka the nest! Don’t worry ’bout me, just shoot!’

But the guard couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Nor would he have been able to shoot, as there were still a couple of bends in the trench between him and the men. He still hadn’t managed to get any closer, as the struggle had lasted only a few seconds.

The second Russian was scrambling to his feet, but no sooner had his head reached Rokka’s knee than the latter’s boot struck, sending him sinking back to the trench floor. Rokka was filled with the wild rage of desperation. He acted with all of his might, but directed each movement carefully, for his rage was not the blind rage of panic. He did not hesitate for the briefest moment; rather, he was immediately aware of everything. In pushing the man from his lap onto the man behind, he knew that he would then be in danger from the ones behind him, because they would be free to shoot. That was why he had not shot the fallen man, but the third. The trench leading to the guard’s nest was empty now, but Rokka fully suspected that more men awaited him just beyond the turn in the trench. He couldn’t escape, as that would require climbing up onto the parapet, and that would certainly be the end of him. He couldn’t just stand there and wait either, though, because as soon as the men behind the bend deduced that their buddies were dead, they would surely send a hand grenade sailing over the corner of the trench. It was a matter of seconds once again, so Rokka didn’t grab his own pistol, which was a few steps behind him, but seized the weapon of the man he’d kicked onto the trench floor instead. He made sure the job was done by giving the man another kick in passing as he jumped over him.

A soldier loomed behind the bend in the communication trench, and for just a fraction of a second he was unsure whether the man coming toward him was a fleeing countryman or an enemy. He hesitated for the same reason Rokka just had. But his luck was worse, and he died, letting out a panicked scream and falling to the ground. Rokka heard a trampling noise behind him, from which he deduced that the rest of the pack had come to the obvious conclusion about their failed mission. Because if it didn’t succeed right away, all was lost. A close-combat situation in the trench would only mean bad news for them.

The neighboring guard also dashed into view round the bend in the trench and was just about to shoot when Rokka howled, ‘Don’t shoot, gaddamn it!’

‘Where are they?’

‘Gone… Lissen, you take care a those two fellas, one of ’em’s at death’s door for sure. But the other one I just kicked with m’boot. Don’t kill ’im. I’m takin’ ’im prisoner.’

Rokka chased after the fleeing men, fearing the messenger patrol squad might run into them in the trench. But the men made it out in time. Nothing but reeds rustled along the lake’s edge as they disappeared, and Rokka saw them off with a few farewell rounds. Just then, one of the men from the messenger patrol yelled from the edge of the lake, ‘Password!’

‘Aw, damn it. What was it? It’s Antti Rokka here… Hang on, I got it! Karelian…’

‘Bear.’

The patrol guys asked what was going on, and Rokka ordered them to stay and guard the water’s edge for a little while. ‘Lil’ bastards came from over there. Gaddamn it! Fellas ain’t dumb, that’s for sure. Ain’t their fault if I’m not headin’ back with ’em.’

By the time Rokka returned to the guard’s nest, the whole position was manned, the infantry guard having sounded the alarm. Rokka was already entirely calm by then. He was perfectly aware of all the nuances of this incident, and affected a lighthearted joviality even greater than he actually felt. To Koskela’s query he answered offhandedly, ‘Well, we had ourselves a wrestlin’ match, see. Finland v Soviet Union. I scored us a clear win. Might’ta broken a couple a rules, but then, fellas did gang up on me.’

‘Clear win… heehee! Looks like that win was hard-won. Just died, heehee. Face all bashed in… heehee!’

Rokka looked panicked. ‘Naw, damn it! ’Sother one still alive? All he got was a boot in’na head.’

Rokka calmed down once he heard that the man was still living. He was sitting in the trench spitting blood, Rokka’s boot having knocked out one of his teeth.

‘We’re takin’ care a this fella here from now on! I need ’im. Lissen, Koskela, don’t you say nothin’ about this here wrangle. And you, Lieutenant, don’t you report nothin’ either. We’ll give ’em a lil’ surprise tomorrow. They promised leave to any fella gits a prisoner. I’m deliverin’ mine personally to the command post tomorrow.’

Koskela, who was aware of Rokka’s scheduled interrogation, could guess why Rokka needed the man. The lieutenant from the infantry platoon also promised not to send a report before Rokka himself had delivered the prisoner. He didn’t know anything about the disciplinary issue, but when Koskela asked, he conceded, even if it wasn’t exactly allowed.

They took the prisoner into the bunker and threw the other bodies up over the banks of the trench. They inspected their Russian prisoner more closely in the bunker. The man’s lips were badly swollen, so you couldn’t tell much from his face, save that he was a churlish, fearless man somewhere in his thirties. He looked them fiercely in the eye, clearly prepared to face down anything, even death, if need be. The man wasn’t wearing his shoulder insignia, but his general tenor gave them reason to wonder whether he might be an officer. Rokka fetched him some water and the man washed the dirt from his face. ‘Lissen, you take this rag and soak it in’na cold water. Then stick it on your mouth. Look… Right there, I think.’

Rokka tended to the man, who accepted his assistance, even if he didn’t seem exactly grateful for it. He inspected Rokka closely, however. His interest may have been piqued by the insane fury with which Rokka had defended himself. Maybe he was regretting that his team had ended up attacking a man too tough for them. Koskela’s men also suspected that this prisoner was more valuable than the ordinary sort, as they generally didn’t select just anyone to take prisoner.

They sent for the fellow over in the neighboring position who spoke Russian – the same guy from Salmi who had written the messages on the rat-collars – and started listening to the prisoner. He refused to say anything at first. Then, finally, he offered up Private Baranov as his name, but the interpreter also suspected he was lying about his rank, and said so. The man fell silent again, but eventually identified himself as Captain Baranov. He had probably reached the conclusion that there was no point in keeping his rank a secret, and that it might actually be better to let it be known, which was indeed the case. The men immediately began to treat him with greater deference, and if the disclosure meant that they were going to require him, as a captain, to disclose more information than they would have asked of a private, well then, so much greater was his opportunity to lie.

Finally, he also admitted to being the leader of the kidnapping mission. But as soon as the interpreter started asking questions about things over on the Russian side, the man fell silent, saying only that he had been sent on this mission and knew nothing whatsoever of his own side’s state of affairs. Of his own squad he offered more information. The man whom Rokka had killed with the back of the pistol had been an NCO specially trained for the task. He was the one who was supposed to capture the prisoner. The failure, the Captain explained, resulted from the fact that Rokka had heard them coming and so had managed to turn around.

‘Lissen, that ain’t why it failed. You tell ’im straight out it was ’cause Antti Rokka here happen’na be standin’ guard. But you tell ’im they did one hell of a job plannin’ that trick. You tell ’im I know their whole plan. They been spendin’ lots a nights watchin’ how our patrol squad comes ’n’ goes, plottin’ their whole operation off a that. First they set the cannons goin’ so the guards would take cover. And meanwhile the fellas crawl along through the reeds… He’s still wet from it too. Then they thought, the guard’ll think it’ssa patrol squad comin’. That’s what I thought, anyway. I’d thought about takin’ that same route myself, cuttin’ through the reeds over to their side. That’s why I thought it might be them. You remember, Koskela, how I said we oughdda put more guard posts along the shore? You’re a right sensible fella, that’s for sure. I’m gonna make you a cuppa tea. Then in’na mornin’ when there ain’t nobody sleepin’ no more, I’m gonna play you “Yokkantee”. Then you and me’s gonna head over to the command post together. Fellas’ll git’ta do their official inquiry on us both!’

Rokka was happy as a clam. He hummed along as he boiled his water for tea, and, drinking it with his prisoner, chatted on about the merits of the world, none of which his companion understood in the least. Then Rokka ordered his prisoner into the bunk to sleep. The man went to the bunk, but he didn’t sleep. Rokka, on the other hand, dropped off as before – instantly, without so much as rolling over onto his side. The guy on fire-watch kept an eye on the prisoner, and all the weapons were removed from his reach. They were perfectly aware that he was not the type of man to let even the slightest opportunity pass him by.

III

Rokka awoke the next morning in splendid spirits, though his prisoner’s mood was even more dour. He drank the tea Rokka gave him, but the playing of ‘Yokkantee’ he endured only because he had ears through which he had to. Rokka, on the other hand, threw in a couple of spins as he danced along, at which even Baranov’s scowling eyes betrayed the tiniest trace of a smile.

‘Lissen now, you cheer up, hear! We’ll head off to prison together. We won’t have no worries there. We’ll make lamp-stands. I’ll teach you how. You might’ta tried’da knock me down with the butt a your submachine gun, but you got a boot in’na face for it too.’

Rokka had been ordered to appear at the command post at nine o’clock, and a few minutes before nine he turned up with his prisoner in tow. Lammio was there, as well as some ensign who had been given the task of taking the minutes. Rokka’s case was so important that Sarastie himself had chosen to attend the interrogation.

Sarastie’s bunker was rather modest, as he didn’t share the front-line architectural aspirations of the other officers. Rokka stepped inside, bringing Baranov with him, and in place of the standard military greeting, declared with a natural chipperness, ‘Mornin’! Here I am! Koskela mentioned somethin’ about me bein’ called over here.’

The officers’ moods underwent a small revolution. They had just been engaged in a stone-faced, ‘scientific’ discussion about the importance of discipline at the current time, as morale was sinking very low. And into this general atmosphere now popped the much-discussed problem child, with his ‘Mornin’!’ greetings and – on top of that – a prisoner, about whom they had received no information whatsoever.

‘Whaa— Who is this?’

‘This fella here? Why, he’s the Baranov boy!’

Sarastie was quick enough to realize that Rokka was up to something, but suspected it would be revealed to him soon enough. The Major couldn’t help laughing as he gazed at Rokka. The latter stole a glance at the officers as if weighing the impact of his entrance. Otherwise he was entirely nonchalant, as if there was nothing exceptional in the least about the situation.

‘The Baranov boy,’ Sarastie repeated. ‘May I ask why you brought him here?’

‘I took ’im prisoner last night, then I thought that if we were doin’ this here inquiry, we might git his over with at the same time. I heard you might be threatenin’ me with some kinda prison sentence, so I thought maybe the two of us here could go together. Two birds with one stone like.’

The prisoner was so important that the officers paid no attention to Rokka’s jibe and just asked how the prisoner had been taken.

‘Fellas came to take me off to Russia! But I told ’em that it wasn’t gonna work that way, on accoun’ta I gotta go to this court martial, see. Three of ’em died in the scuffle, but I held onto this fella here. Good lookin’ guy like he is. I done spoiled ’im a little with that kick in the jaw, but he’ll git over that all right. Baranov here’s a big fish. He’s a cap’n.’

Sarastie was increasingly interested. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Sotti questioned him over in’na bunker already. He’s from Salmi, see, so he knows Russian. Oh, he’s a cap’n all right. He was chief a the commando.’

Rokka explained the incident in greater detail, and Sarastie phoned Koskela. Putting down the receiver, he looked at Rokka for a moment, considering him carefully, and then asked with a smile, ‘What kind of man are you, anyway?’

‘Who, me? Don’t you know me? I’m Antti Rokka. Farmer from Kannas. These days, poster boy for Tikkakoski Tommy Guns.’

The ensign assigned to take the minutes endeavored to keep a straight face, as he didn’t dare laugh before a major, but seeing that Sarastie himself had lost it, the Ensign burst into laughter as well. Only the two captains, Lammio and Baranov, remained straight-faced. Rokka himself was quite earnest, though slyly, vigilantly keeping tabs on the situation. He had evidently decided to relish the ordeal as much as possible, hopefully getting out of the threat of the court martial without being humiliated, and maybe even doing some humiliating himself.

‘How did you manage this? Really.’

‘I shot, hit, head-butted and kicked, that’s how. They were some tough fellas, lemme tell you. I almost didn’t make it to this here inquiry for the court martial.’

Sarastie turned to the Ensign. ‘Take the prisoner out and send for the interpreter. That man is valuable. We’ve been after him a long time.’

The Ensign and Baranov left. Rokka called after them, ‘I don’t think you’re gonna git much outta that fella. He’s tough as nails. I sure seen that all right. Good thing I heard those fellas comin’! Who knows what might’ta happened with this here court martial if I hadn’t? That’s the way it is with these things in wartime, see, just dunno what’s gonna come at you one hour later. Everythin’s always gittin’ mixed up with the regulations and such. Downright irritatin’, ain’t it? But whadda you gonna do?’ Rokka lifted his hands and shrugged his shoulders, as if to lament the whole state of affairs.

Sarastie thought for a moment. He was having some difficulty reaching a decision on the issue, as it aroused too many conflicting impulses within him. He couldn’t help marveling at this man and being amused by his sly, calculating glances. The Major had already gleaned what Rokka was up to. He could actually see the situation with greater clarity than Rokka himself. The Major knew that Rokka had backed him into a corner. In Sarastie’s mind, the case had broader implications than it did in Rokka’s reckoning. Rokka experienced it as an isolated event, but the Major saw the conflict of opposing principles within it. And Sarastie was hardly without his own personal motivations, either. He felt personally insulted, even if he would have insisted that this feeling was exclusively derived from his conviction that discipline had to be maintained no matter what.

‘Tell me seriously, what makes military discipline so onerous to you that you feel obliged to oppose it at every turn?’

‘I don’t know a damn thing about military discipline. Never had any need for sumpin’ like that. And I ain’t opposin’ anythin’ but this here order sayin’ I’m supposed’da go put rocks along somebody’s walkway. I already told Lammio here all I gotta say about it. This fella here’s the cause of all this!’ (Rokka pointed his finger at Lammio.) ‘He’s been pickin’ on me ever since I turned up! It’s always sumpin’. But he ain’t never said anythin’ to me that wasn’t downright trivial. It ain’t never anythin’ important. It’s always just some stupid whim a his. I’ll tell you all one more time. I was happy to come fight this war. I wanted’da go back to Kannas. And it just so happens that I’m the kinda fella ain’t none of you ever gonna equal. And I’m tellin’ you, you put any other fella out there last night and he’d a been a goner. What more do you want from me, gaddamn it? It’s not that I’m tired a curtsyin’ to you all, it’s just that it ain’t no use out here, so I don’t do it. Lissen, I ain’t out here because a you. I got a wife and kids and you want me to jump like a dog whenever you say hup? What for? It ain’t gonna change nothin’! Look, I done figgered out we’re gonna lose this war. And the closer it gits, the stupider the shit you clowns come up with. You send me to the court martial, but believe me, you sure ain’t gonna see me kowtowin’ to them bosses. We’re half a million fellas out here. And you think that’s why we’re here? So that there’s always somebody standin’ in front a you with his heels together blabberin’ “Yessir, Yessir…”?’

Rokka fell silent and began staring out of the window, as if to underline the fact that anything said from here on out made no difference whatsoever. Sarastie sought to invest his voice with severity as he said gravely, ‘No, that is not why. But this act you refer to as “kowtowing” is an external sign of discipline, and its absence signals an absence of discipline. And an absence of discipline means that those half a million men out here are powerless to carry out the task they have been brought here to perform, namely, the defense of Finland. And you might keep in mind that they are not all like you. There are countless other pig-headed Joe Blows out there who possess only your faults. And that claim of yours, that the war has been lost, is not true. No war is won without setbacks. Because of their lack of expertise, men in the ranks have a tendency to come to conclusions on matters whose significance they do not understand. Nothing decisive has happened yet.’

Rokka heaved his shoulders and laughed with cutting bitterness. ‘Don’t understand! When you throw hundreds of thousands of men into a encirclement to die, there ain’t much to understand, that kinda sign speaks for itself. You think we’d a done that if there was anythin’ else we could’da done? It’s done. I known that a long time now. But about arrangin’ those pebbles.’

Lammio had been silent the whole time, but now he asked the Major for permission to speak. The request was entirely unnecessary, but Lammio wanted to emphasize his own willingness to comply with convention. ‘Tell me, Rokka, where do you propose to find a company commander who would tolerate as much as I have tolerated from you? Be reasonable.’

‘He he. Reasonable. As if your game had some kind a reason! Lissen, you ain’t planned things out too carefully when you started this here brouhaha. You just gone and followed your whims without any real basis at all. Don’t you start throwin’ that stuff at me! You, flatterin’ yourself about how brave you are and all those ideals you think you’re defendin’… Git that ensign a yours! Let ’im take this all down for the record. Gaddamn it, I have had enough! My patience’s got its breakin’ point too.’

Lammio looked to Sarastie, awaiting his decision. The Major rose and said deliberately, straightening himself up, ‘The battalion can operate very well without you. No man is indispensable in a war, no matter who he is. I am granting you a pardon. More precisely, I am granting you a pardon indefinitely. Not because I think we have any obligation to pardon you, but for other reasons. And my proposal is this. You will not breathe one word of this to anyone, nor will you swagger around puffed up over how we’ve decided to settle it. And from now on, you will follow the rules just like everyone else. Now, if you go singing this in the streets, then it becomes a question of authority, and if that happens, I will set the mill to grind. I hope you understand the opportunity before you – not only for your sake, but also for my own and that of the army. I do not personally have any need to break you, but should the occasion arise in which it becomes necessary, that, too, can be arranged.’

Sarastie drew a deep breath and threw back his shoulders. Mobilizing the towering stature of his body, he felt assured of his own might, affirmed by the very fact that he could afford to grant such a pardon. He flexed his muscles beneath his jacket and expelled any feeling of defeat from his heaving chest, and so was free to grant forgiveness from on high.

Lammio did not need to engage in any body–soul affirming exercises. The issue was no longer his responsibility, and besides, it seemed to him that Rokka had been humiliated, even if he would have supported a movement by the Major to set the mill in motion immediately.

Rokka, for his part, was pleased with the whole arrangement, though he wasn’t about to sign off without conditions. ‘I already said I do what needs done in’na war. But lissen, you tell Lammio here to leave me alone. If he don’t quit those games a his, there won’t be no end to our squabblin’, that’s for damn sure.’

‘You are granted no special exemptions from the disciplinary code. As I said, your behavior will determine how your case is handled henceforth. Dismissed!’

Rokka left. No sooner had he made it out of the door than he was back to bargain. ‘Hey! I just remembered. We’re promised a leave in exchange for a prisoner. So I’m due fourteen extra days. ’Specially seein’ as I got me a cap’n.’

The Major shook his head in wonder at the man’s audacity. Rokka acted as if everything that had just happened hadn’t occurred at all. ‘Well, you’ll get it. No denying it belongs to you. Stick the request first in the pile. To be honest, I only regret that you’ve made it impossible for us to grant you a Mannerheim Cross.’

‘Well, that’s sumpin’ too, but it ain’t no humdinger after all, fifty thousand marks. I nearly made that much offa rings and lamp-stands.’

Rokka finally left for good. He hummed and whistled as he set out, happily swinging his head from side to side. After he’d gone a little way he noticed a rabbit by the side of the road, just bounding out of sight. In the blink of an eye, Rokka was after it, crashing through the thicket as he chased the creature out into the middle of it. The rabbit couldn’t run at full speed yet, being only about half-grown, so Rokka was able to keep right on its heels. ‘Don’t run away! I wanna take you to live with us in’na bunker! I ain’t gonna hurt you…’

Not understanding Rokka’s promises, the rabbit just sped up, and after running about a quarter of a mile, Rokka decided it was no use. Huffing and puffing, he returned to the path, shaking his head at the rabbit’s escape. ‘Well, I guess we woulda hadda scrounge up grass for the little fella. And seein’ as I’m headed off on leave…’

His breath had evened out by the time he reached the bunker. ‘Damn near caught us a rabbit on my way back! We could a had a pet.’

‘What did they say?’

‘’Bout what?’

‘The prisoner and everything.’

‘Oh, they didn’t say nothin’. I’m takin’ off on leave. I got me a leave!’

Only to Koskela did Rokka report what had happened at the command post. Lammio was quite restrained from then on, and said nothing further about the incident – nor about a Mannerheim Cross, for that matter.

IV

Italy fell definitively over the course of the autumn. The most recalcitrant men in the battalion were rounded up and ordered to carry out drills designed to re-establish discipline. Honkajoki was amongst them, as Lammio had started following the man’s intrigues ever more closely and decided that he posed a menace to morale. Some captain was assigned to oversee the close-formation drills, but he could see from day one that he’d been given a hopeless task. What, for example, was he supposed to do with this tall hulk of a man who stood in the ranks with a bow over his shoulder and responded affirmatively, in the most courteous of terms, to everything he said, then systematically performed every single movement incorrectly? And what could he do with that thug named Viirilä, whom he had difficulty even looking at? And crowning it all was the knowledge that Viirilä, like a surprising number of these delinquents, represented the cream of the crop within the battalion.

The general rule was that men were released from the exercise when they knew how to execute the drills properly. Or rather, when they decided to execute them properly, as there was no question they all knew how. But the Captain ended up having to relax this rule rather generously, as otherwise the drills would have drilled right on into eternity. The last men remaining were Honkajoki and Viirilä. They sat beside one another with equal measures of indifference. Honkajoki had traded his bow for a gun at the Captain’s demand, but that was indeed the only concession the Captain managed to get out of him.

Some sergeant was giving orders and the Captain was supervising.

‘About face, fall out!’

The men turned and ran backwards in accordance with the command. Honkajoki headed headlong into a sizeable spruce, and then, chest pressed up against it, continued running in place until finally he pretended to notice the tree, backed up slightly, and steered himself around it. Viirilä bolted out at a fierce clip, trampling a juniper grove on the way.

‘Halt! Fall in!’ the Sergeant called out. Honkajoki stopped and ran back to attention in front of the Sergeant. But Viirilä pretended not to hear, and just kept barreling on.

‘Stop! The command was to fall in!’ the Sergeant yelled.

Viirilä stopped, swung his head like a horse chewing on a bit, and let loose a long whinny. Then he shot off, running, stopped again, and started pawing at the ground, snorting through his lips like a skittish horse. Then he kicked and neighed, ‘I-I-I-eeew.’ He then resumed his startling speed once more, ran up to the Sergeant, and stopped beside Honkajoki.

‘What is this? Cut the horseplay!’ the Captain said in affectedly stern tones, which nonetheless betrayed his hopeless exhaustion.

Viirilä didn’t respond, he just pawed at the ground, glancing at Honkajoki.

‘Stop it!’

‘I-I-I-eeeew!’ the horse kicked and whinnied.

‘Continue with the drill,’ the Captain said to the Sergeant, seeking some exit from the hopeless situation.

Viirilä gave up his horse impersonation and executed the drills so astonishingly well for a while that the Captain had already resolved to excuse him from the drill when Viirilä, turning the wrong way, started inventing his own gun routines, which were so ludicrous that the Sergeant lost it entirely and the Captain had to turn away to conceal his laughter.

After devoting a week to the two of them, the Captain admitted defeat and quietly put an end to the discipline refresher courses.

The drills did not improve Honkajoki’s ways. Whenever he wasn’t working on his perpetual-motion-machine, which is to say fitting together some whittled pieces of wood, he roamed about as a self-appointed ‘enlightenment officer’. For two years now he had managed to keep his perpetual-motion-machine project going, and whenever he thought it had receded to the point of being forgotten, and thus that it might attract attention again, he trotted it out.

Vanhala tagged along for many of Honkajoki’s charades, but he was promoted to corporal even so, on account of his soldierly accomplishments. These had been honed even further one day when Vanhala, standing guard, had singlehandedly fended off an invading enemy patrol before the others had even managed to get into position. The stripe provided Vanhala with quiet delight for a long time, as it was such an easy target for poking fun.

At the beginning of that winter, Hietanen was wounded in the thigh by a shard from some shell, but the wound was so slight that he was only away at the hospital a month or so. He was the same spirited Urho-boy as before, but a gravity and manly maturity had begun to appear in him, little by little. In part, this was due to the deteriorating situation, but it was also on account of the very natural fact that they had all advanced in age somewhat over the course of the years. Hietanen served as platoon leader whenever Koskela was away on leave, or off filling in for some company commander who was away on leave. He and Määttä were just as devoted to their card games as ever, and the same ruckus would fill the bunker until Hietanen had lost all his pay.

Of all of them, Susling was probably most affected by the unfortunate end the war was clearly approaching. For him, as for Rokka, it meant a concrete loss, but while these developments made Rokka ever tenser, in Susling they seemed to bring on a paralysing depression. Even Rokka wasn’t able to keep his friend’s spirits up, though he never stopped trying. In this matter alone, Susling was unable to place his unbounded faith in Rokka’s thoughts and moods as he usually did.

Around Christmas time, the German battleship Scharnhorst sank in the Arctic Sea.

‘Buttons are poppin’ off one by one, boys.’

‘Must have been stitched on with matches from the start, heehee…’

Honkajoki popped into one of the neighboring bunkers with his bow.

‘May peace be with you.’

‘How’s it goin’, archer-man?’

‘Thank you for inquiring. A frost warning has been announced.’

‘No Eastern frost nor Northern freeze shall stay us in our course!’

‘Let us hope, indeed, let us hope. But one is obliged to recognize that at the present moment, felt boots and quilted coats would be of capital assistance.’

A private was sitting on one of the bunks, his eyes burning with the ‘holy’ gaze of the believer. And, despite the risk posed by the Lieutenant lying on another bunk, he said, ‘Sure, make fun if you want, but we need warm clothes around here.’

The Private was actually something of a lone wolf, much as Lahtinen had been, and it was significant, somehow or other, that he now dared to make such comments.

Honkajoki seized upon the issue. ‘My brother-in-arms’ comment was clearly intended in an exclusively literal sense. In that regard, I am quite agreed. But in so far as you may have been extrapolating from these items of clothing to consider their significance within the broader framework of world events, then in the name of freedom of information I must forbid myself from pursuing the inquiry any further.’

‘How’s the perpetual-motion machine coming along?’

‘It has reached a very critical phase. I am waiting for one point of obscurity to clear up. Everything else has been worked out, but one small issue remains unresolved. That is, I have not been able to eliminate the difficulties presented by friction and the gravitational pull of the celestial bodies. In the void, which presents none of the difficulties of gravitational forces, I would be able to set it in eternal motion, but under the given conditions I must pursue another solution.’

The men didn’t understand a word of Honkajoki’s speech, but its comically distinguished intonations made them laugh. The Lieutenant, on the other hand, was put off by Honkajoki’s prattle and turned irritably away.

After droning on for half an hour, Honkajoki prepared to leave, but before he did so, he removed his cap and clasped his hands, saying, ‘Because it has already grown late, perhaps I shall stay here and dedicate an evening prayer to this humble abode. Shield us from the enemy’s ploys, and above all its snipers and direct-fire cannons. The daily rations could also stand to be a bit more generous, should You still have any untapped stores You might call upon to fulfill Your children’s needs. Grant us at least tolerable weather, that our shifts on guard in the name of Your cause may be slightly more entertaining. Moonlight would be most welcome, indeed, as it alleviates our anxiety and aids us in the conservation of our limited flare supply. Protect all the patrols, guards, seafarers and drivers, but do not trouble Yourself unduly over the men in artillery. Protect the Chief Commanders and the Chiefs of Staff, and the less consequential bosses as well, provided You have the time. Protect the Commander of the Army Corps, the Division Commander, the Regiment Commander, Battalion Commander, and, most especially, the machine-gunners’ Company Commander. Finally, individually and as one, protect these Distinguished Officers of Finland, that they not bang their heads into the pines of Karelia a second time. Amen.’

Had Honkajoki caught a glimpse of the Lieutenant’s face as he left the bunker, he would have known immediately what had promped the summons he received the following day, ordering him to Lammio’s bunker.

Now, Honkajoki was no Rokka, and the difference was evident in the unmasked fury and disgust on Lammio’s face as the solemn man stepped before him to attention, his bow over his shoulder, announcing, ‘Captain, sir. Private Honkajoki reporting for duty.’

‘I can see that. Just what kind of enlightenment officer do you think you are?’

‘Captain, sir. In these challenging times no support to morale is to be sniffed at.’

‘You’re cultivating defeatism. Are you working for the enemy?’

‘Captain, sir. My honor as a soldier prevents me from answering such an inquiry…’

‘Your honor! I’ll give you the honor of a court martial summons if these disparaging speeches about the army and its management don’t stop. Do you have any idea what this nation’s security rests upon?’

‘Captain, sir. It resides upon the noble shoulders of Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim, Marshal of Finland.’

‘Precisely. His and those of his army. And you are a parasite within that army. The flea that thrives only in filth.’ (The image wasn’t Lammio’s invention, but rather that of the Battalion Commander.)

‘Captain, sir. In my understanding, the flea is not the cause of filth, but merely a symptom. Or perhaps I have misunderstood the Captain’s suggestion.’

‘Don’t get smart with me. Are you a communist?’

‘I am an inventor. My original occupation was, indeed, in pine cone collection, but I hold the pursuit of knowledge to be my principal vocation in life.’

‘Are you insane?’

‘Captain, sir. Such questions can never be resolved by the very person of whom such a condition is suspected. It falls to those around him to determine his case.’

‘Very well. I have determined that your mockery will cease. I am giving you a serious warning. The army has plenty of means for disposing of unwanted entities. This subversive activity will end. We cannot afford to admit the enemy within our ranks, even clad in the gray uniform of the Finnish army, which incidentally is far too respectable to be worn by the likes of you.’

‘Captain, sir. For a very long time indeed I sought with the keenest of interest to divest myself of it, but the disappointment of this desire over my long experience certainly justifies my suspicion that the esteemed Captain’s suggestion cannot be in earnest. Which is, indeed, regrettable. I shall let it pass, however, and request your permission to put forth my own understanding of the present circumstances.’

‘Wouldn’t that be something.’

‘In so far as the enemy’s advance is concerned, I would consider the situation merely temporary. Communism will collapse under the weight of its own impossibility – underground forces are already at work to that end. The final conditions of peace will be dictated by Finland. Our position as a superpower affords us that prerogative. I have never considered communism to be a significant factor in any way. To begin with, the grain transfer system within the kolkhozes has been robbing farmers for twenty years. They’ve even been stripped of seed grain. And in the second place, a more important point. As soon as the people return to the land claimed by the Red Army, revolution will ensue. The government will lose all control, because the Germans will have removed all the barbed wire.’

‘Get out!’

‘Yes, sir, Captain. But I would caution you against a certain other actor. In my opinion, the greatest threat we now face is that of the Yellow Peril.’

‘Out! Out!’

‘As you wish, Captain, sir.’

V

The skeletons sheathed in their chiffon of decay emerged from the snow for a third time. Water trickled through the trenches, and guards gazed through strained eyes at periscope mirrors. The calm only deepened, though the snipers still struck their targets now and then, and enemy patrols increased.

A feeling of great resolution hovered in the spring air, however. The men endeavored one more time to rally their hopes of salvation. ‘Rommel’s striking back against the invasion!’ And then: ‘The tank wedge is pressing east again.’

‘If they could just drive them back to the sea, we might have a different game on our hands.’

‘It’s not gonna happen, guys,’ Hietanen said. He was perhaps the most pessimistic of all of them, surprising as that was to the others. Another change had appeared in Hietanen as well. The boisterous fellow would sometimes stare blankly off into space. Such moments were rare, certainly, and Hietanen’s lively, wayward spirit was quick to return, but he saw something in those moments. Maybe it was just that, in any case, the future was going to bring heavy fighting and more men were going to die. Him too, probably.

Koskela had been more prepared than the others from the outset, so nothing much changed in him. The same was true of Rahikainen. His business ventures had ended, though, as nobody was buying lamp-stands anymore.

‘We could make coffins,’ Rahikainen suggested slightly bitterly to Rokka, but the latter brushed him off, ‘Naw, we ain’t doin’nat. They can bury you just fine without.’

‘The gravedigger always gets the last laugh. Heeheehee!’

Once when Kariluoto was making his rounds on the Millions, a shard from a shell blast got him in the shoulders and put him in the hospital. Koskela served as the Third Company’s interim commander and Hietanen filled in as platoon leader.

By the end of May, the battalion had set up a smashing canteen for themselves, whose grand opening they celebrated with a round of entertainment and saccharine-juice. They were planning a movie theater for the regiment’s sector, which was to be a state-of-the-art example of its kind. Another round of wood-chopping tasks were doled out as well, and Hietanen was forced to wage a real psychological war with his men before he was able to get anyone chopping.

They hadn’t even all started when the command came that they were to cease.