Unknown Soldiers

Chapter Two

A little-used road, or actually just a couple of faint tracks turning off into the forest, wound their way through the spruce grove. The men had pitched their tents beside the tracks and were now idling and milling about. They had dug out little fire pits in front of each tent, and now their mess kits hung above them, dangling from the ends of poles.

They’d pitched the tents the night before, and a strange seriousness had descended for a moment when the duty officer came through the tents announcing, ‘Keep it down. The border’s only about a mile off.’

They got used to the idea fairly quickly, but a perceptible gravity settled over them. They roamed about playing cards all day, having nothing better to do, but among them some men just sat silently, lost in thought, staring into the campfires. When they spoke, it was at half-volume, though the precaution felt slightly absurd, since the dry cracks their axes made chopping firewood carried for miles.

A good two weeks had passed since the battalion had left the burnt clearing. Stiff and dusty, they had unloaded and set up camp along the side of the road. Here, it had gradually been confirmed that this was the real deal. Magazines were loaded up, units were configured for war, and all activity was geared toward preparing for combat. Then they heard that Germany had made a ‘pre-emptive strike on Russia’, thus initiating the fighting. ‘That nutcase over there took off,’ as Lahtinen had put it, and now they were just awaiting the order to ‘hoof it after him’. The others didn’t see things as Lahtinen did, however. On the contrary – they saw things quite the other way around. Germany was tying up the Russian troops so that it would be easy for the Finns to launch an attack on the entirety of the Soviet Union. So great is the power of megalomania.

The previous evening, they had marched to this spot near the border, turned off onto the forest path and set up camp beside it.

The machine-gunners’ command tent was just beside the road. Crawling out of its door flap came the NCO battle-runner, Corporal Mielonen. ‘If anybody wants to hear the news, come on over! Afterwards some government secretary’s gonna give a speech. Tell the others, too, in case anybody wants to hear.’

The two tents belonging to the Third Platoon were situated right next to the command post, so the Captain could keep himself entertained listening to the men’s chatter. He was feeling particularly fond of Hietanen today, though he had always liked him, being an admirer of anyone energetic and direct. Hietanen’s gusto kept the men’s spirits up, and prevented them from getting too depressed – which was why Hietanen, rather than Lehto, served as deputy platoon leader. The Captain knew Lehto was a capable corporal, but he had no ability to exert a positive influence on the other men. He operated in a vacuum. An off-putting tension set him apart from everything. Hietanen’s easy spontaneity, on the other hand, tethered him to the other men, so he was perfectly positioned to influence them with his behavior. The Captain, being a good judge of character, was also aware that Hietanen would be invaluable in a combat situation.

‘I’ll come and listen to the news, but I couldn’t care less about those government secretaries. I just don’t care what those buzzards jabber on about. Can’t even do anything about the goddamn mosquitoes.’

At this the Captain laughed. ‘We need guys like that. Absolutely, absolutely. Just can’t let this baptism of fire go awry. We need this operation to succeed.’

More than once over the course of the day, the Captain had surveyed the map, which was folded at the ready beneath the celluloid map-case cover. ‘Somewhere around there. That’s where the Third Platoon will be baptized.’

They knew the enemy’s first line of defense lay just behind the border – with outposts before that. Those would have to be overcome, and then when the Second Battalion launched a frontal attack, their battalion would strike from the side and take control of the service road. There was just one dicey spot – that exposed swamp, which the Third Company would have to cross in its attack. Koskela’s platoon would back it up, with his own command post bringing up the rear. The rear! The Captain’s position irked him no end. Company commander of a bunch of machine-gunners – what was that? Director of Social Life. God damn it! Well, it wouldn’t last long. He could already sniff a battalion heading his way. Come to think of it, who was to prevent him from putting his command post even in front of the line…? Well, so it goes… Hmm… dum-dee-dum.

Mielonen’s voice rang out from somewhere near the other tents. At the same time Private Salo spoke up as well. ‘We’re comin’, we’re comin’! Come listen to the radio, boys! The news is about to come on and the Secretary’s speakin’.’

The men gradually began to gather around the command tent. The faint music wafting from it grew louder as somebody turned up the volume on the radio inside. Then the music stopped and the news began:

‘The air force of the Soviet Union has continued to bomb several counties within Finnish territory. The damage, however, has been limited. Shelling targeted at Finnish territory has continued at multiple points along the border, and in some locations our troops have repulsed minor attacks launched by enemy patrols.’

Then came the announcement from the Führer’s Headquarters: ‘Our advance on the Eastern Front continues. Several heavily armed tank formations have already penetrated…’

A crackly voice read off the names of some cities, places of which the men had but the vaguest of notions, at best. Some Churchill and some Roosevelt guy had said something that, for whatever reason, was supposed to be very important. Then it was announced that one of their own government secretaries would give a speech.

‘Who is it?’ somebody asked Mielonen in a low voice. But the latter answered, ‘I don’t know. They’ll say it soon. I don’t know any of the government officials. Somebody over there’s spoutin’ hot air.’

Mielonen was from Savo, somewhere just past Kuopio. He was a little young and self-important, but he was fairly sensible. When assembling the command group, the Captain had selected him as its leader, which further elevated Mielonen’s sense of importance. ‘The Captain and I arranged it,’ he was wont to explain. And to the queries the men directed to him, he would respond with an all-knowing air, ‘Well, obviously that’s where it should be taken. Where else?’

Even he didn’t know anything about government secretaries, though. ‘That rrriffraff?’

The speech started after the news broadcast. First there was a quiet rustling of paper, then a low whisper and a small cough.

‘My fellow Finns. Without any prior declaration of war, the armed forces of the Soviet Union have launched repeated attacks in violation of the Finnish border. Our defense forces have put down each of these attacks, but refrained from transgressing onto Soviet territory. Because of these continuing violations of our neutrality, the administration considers Finland and the Soviet Union to be in a state of war…’

More detailed information about the border violations followed, as well as a special report on the government’s response. Finally, the Secretary shifted into sentimental gear, warming the hearts of the Finnish people:

‘Great changes in the political landscape have once again presented us with a great trial. For the second time in a short while, the men of Finland are being called upon to defend their families and their homeland. We have desired nothing but peace: the peace to build this nation and to develop it toward ever greater prosperity. But our enemy’s thirst for power has not permitted us that opportunity. War is never something that we wish for, but we want even less the renunciation of our freedom and our independence. As in the darkest days of the Winter War, the people of Finland will stand united in the struggle to defend our freedom. Our army, tried and true, stands at the nation’s border, guided by the leadership of Marshal Mannerheim, and is prepared to strike back at every attack. And this time, we are not alone. The great German army has already dealt devastating blows upon our common enemy. Our faith in ultimate victory is unshakeable. So, trusting in the justice of our position, we enter into battle in the name of all we hold sacred, and all we hold dear…’

‘Hey, guys! They’re bringing out the cannons…’

From behind a bend in the road they could hear the snorting of horses and voices urging them on: ‘C’mon now. Whatta ya nibblin’ at… Git!’

The first cannon came into view. It was a three-incher, pulled by a team of frothy, sweaty horses. The guys on horseback were slapping their animals, trying to coax them up the slope, and the cannon was lurching so badly on the miserable road that all the baggage tied to it kept rolling all over the place.

The men transporting the cannons were reservists, many of whom were old men. They tried to help the horses along by pushing the cannons, but the horses’ speed was such that they actually just ended up pulling the men. Rushing along at the rear was one small, older reservist. Streams of sweat had drawn stripes down his dust-covered face, his visor sat askew between one eye and his ear, and his belt was sagging under the weight of his heavy bags of ammunition. His shirt had bunched up over his belt, and the couple of buttons he’d left open revealed a thick, flannel undershirt bearing the mark ‘Int. 40’. His trousers were too long for him, and because he didn’t have any boots – only leather shoes – he had tucked the bottoms of the legs into his socks. So the ankles of his socks, which were held up with safety-pins, were a bit overstuffed. When the team of horses picked up the pace at the base of the hill, he stumbled after them in a desperate half-run, too fixated on his hopeless pursuit to so much as glance around him.

The evening sunlight filtered through the spruce trees onto the road, striking the swarms of insects hovering above it and dispersing as the cannons drove through. Even in the somber darkness of the spruce grove, the summer evening’s calm beauty was palpable. The moss glistened green in the falling light, and the metal cannons flashed in the shafts of sun that filtered through the branches.

Wheels rattled, horses snorted, men shouted and the Secretary spoke:

‘…courageous men of Finland. We were born free, we have lived in freedom, and we will stand with our heads held high against anyone who desires to wrest that freedom from us. Our path is clear, and we know it well. The great deeds of our fathers have paved the way that lies before us; that is the precious legacy they have left us.’

The old reservist ran panting behind his cannon. The machine-gunners standing on the side of the road had ceased listening to the Secretary, and were staring in wonder at the cannons instead. There was something grand in their approach – in spite of the desperate old man, who aroused pity in many of them.

‘They really shouldn’t be sending guys like that out here,’ somebody muttered. But Private Salo had fallen completely under the spell of the three-incher, which in truth was something of a vintage model. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as manfully he shoved his hands in his pockets, boasting, ‘Take a look at those guns, boys. Won’t take long to clear out the neighbors when these babies start to blow.’

The developments on the Eastern Front had shaken up Lahtinen’s righteous convictions somewhat. He looked uneasy when the others questioned him on such topics, and he now sheathed even his critiques in a mantle of goodwill. He still tried to rein in the others when their zealousness verged on the excessive, though. And so, in response to Salo’s speech, he said, ‘Humph. Herrings are a little slim for a Christmas dinner. Rumor has it they’ve got some of that stuff over on the other side, too. I mean, if we can push back the neighbors that easy, well, swell. But I’m afraid anything we send over’s gonna come right back at us. And how.’

‘I dunno what kinda weapons they got. But it don’t look like they got much down there at Bialystok. Seems like they’re havin’ a purty rough time, but I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.’

‘Yeah, well, of course it’s like that when somebody blindsides you… look, I’m just saying you oughtta cool it… it’s like you’re asking for it… and things aren’t always going quite the way they say they are…’

‘I dunno. I heard they had to tie our Ostrobothnian boys to the trees to keep them from heading over here before they was supposed to… Our neighbors are gonna see what you get for picking a fight with somebody smaller than you. Just like in the Winter War.’

The argument was cut short by a rumbling starting up a little way off.

‘They’re driving to the positions over there. Things are gonna get cookin’, boys.’

They glanced around at one another, trying to avoid eye contact. Then they returned to the campfires in silence. The card players were still at it. ‘Lintu’s dealing. Can we bet cigarettes? I’m out of cash. Yeah, that’s fine. Ach! One over, goddamn it.’

Everything was in order, but some men were still fiddling around needlessly with their equipment. Silence didn’t really suit them just then, as it was too easy to fill up with the fantastic visions they were trying not to think about. Half-unconsciously, the men were mentally preparing themselves for what was to come. They stayed up late that night. Bits of information trickled in from here and there, always compounding their sense of gravity. Some reserve regiments had set up camp along the side of the main road. Somebody knew about the massive amount of artillery that was standing at the ready in the depots. Some group had sent a patrol across the border and returned two men short.

‘Let ’em do what they want. I’m gettin’ some sleep.’ Hietanen pulled his coat up around his ears and the others followed suit.

‘Wake up, guys! It’s started!’

A nervous excitement stirred in the tent. The men grabbed whichever belts and caps their hands touched first. Everybody was rushing to get out, and some guys even had their packs on already.

They heard a few isolated cannon blasts off to the right, where the main road was. A dull thud boomed somewhere behind the border, and a few moments later a shell went off. The men listened in silence. The night forest was quiet, save for the occasional twitter of an early bird high in a spruce tree. The pale, summer night gave the men’s faces a blue-white cast. Even their breathing was quiet and cautious. Finally, somebody broke the silence, whispering, ‘Cannon fire.’

‘Cannons.’

‘Headed for the road.’

‘Aim’s pretty far off still. Can’t even hear the whistle.’

‘If it turns just a little, though, it’ll be right here.’

The last remark was ill-considered. Some of the men stirred restlessly. Several fumbled with their shovels. Ensign Koskela emerged from the command tent. The soldier who carried the first machine gun’s ammunition, Private Riitaoja, approached him anxiously. His eyes darted furtively about as he mumbled quietly to Koskela, ‘Ensign, sir. If they turn, are they gonna strike?’

Koskela reflected for a moment before responding to the question posed by this boy from central Finland. He didn’t quite grasp what he was getting at, however, as he then asked, ‘Turn what?’

‘The c-c-c-cannons. They’re shooting toward the road. But if they turn, will they strike?’

‘Oh! No, no. They’re just shooting toward the road to stir things up. They won’t shoot randomly into the forest.’

Riitaoja broke into a childish smile. The sudden release of tension in his body was so great that his very eyes danced, and he said lightly, ‘Yessir, Ensign, sir! That’s what I was thinking, too. They wouldn’t shoot into the forest. They don’t even know we’re here. They think we’re just rabbits or something.’

Koskela’s presence dispelled the others’ nervousness too.

‘The cannons are already singing out there!’ Hietanen smiled to Koskela, and Vanhala sniggered to himself, ‘Singing… heehee! Cannons sing. But bullets just ring. Heehee!’

‘Of course they’re making a racket over there,’ Koskela said. ‘The guys drove the trucks up too close. Just asking for a nosebleed for no reason. OK, departure’s in half an hour. We go with the Third Company. And one more thing. Strap two ammo boxes together with a belt. That way you can wear them around your neck. So your hands don’t go numb holding ’em, I mean.’

Koskela fell silent, but the men sensed, correctly, that he hadn’t quite finished. He cleared his throat for a moment, then swallowed before beginning again. ‘So. I, uh, guess I should explain a few things. I mean, since I’ve been out there before. There’s not really much to it, but you want to stay calm. Hurry when the moment comes, but otherwise rushing around just makes for a lot of dumb dickheads, like they say. Getting yourself all worked up won’t help, but that doesn’t mean you should rush in and hand ’em everything you’ve got, either. They’ll be happy to take it the moment you let ’em. Aim for the belt buckles, that’s the best way to settle things. Just remember, they’re no different from other people. They bow to bullets, just like everybody else.’

Private Sihvonen, who hailed from the same part of North Karelia as Rahikainen – but managed to be his living antithesis – said, gesticulating nervously, ‘Stay calm, stay calm. Rushing around makes for dumb dickheads. That’s for sure. Best to stay calm.’

‘OK. Tents down and into the vehicles.’

They collapsed the tents, rolled them up and carried them off to the carts. The supply train was sitting a little way off, and Mäkilä was roaming about in the dim light, taking one last inventory before departure. The men bringing the tents asked him when the next mealtime would be, to which Mäkilä responded, ‘All in good time. We’re just on the normal schedule, there are no extra portions.’

Master Sergeant Korsumäki was also up and, to the men’s bewildered surprise, the old man, who’d always been so withdrawn before, now chimed in kindly, ‘Maybe we could spare a little bread for these boys to stick in their pockets.’

Mäkilä gave one rye cracker to each of the men who’d carried the tents, advising them the whole time not to tell the others. ‘Right, sure, why not? Because I can’t make bread out of pine cones, that’s why not!’

The men concealed their booty in their pockets: one half of a dried-out rye roll the size of your palm. They were hungry, but they had the future to consider too.

In unusually short order, everybody was ready for departure. The machine-gun teams kept hoisting the guns and gun mounts up on their shoulders, as if they needed to get used to their weight, having the first shift. The scouts and ammunition carriers belted up the cartridge boxes according to Koskela’s instructions. Each of the machine-gun leaders carried a back-up gun barrel, a box of ammunition and a water container. And so the pack animals were ready to set out on their journey across hundreds of miles. The journey would be shorter for some, of course, but nobody wasted a moment’s thought on that.

The infantry companies set off, each one followed by a platoon of machine-gunners. The First and Second Platoons vanished into the dark spruce grove as commands sounded low beneath the clatter of their gear.

Koskela’s whisper cut through the rustling march of the Third Platoon. ‘Double file. To the road.’

Once the group had settled into formation, a message rippled down the line from one man to the next: ‘Head out.’

The infantry company they were trailing hollered furtive greetings in their direction, hissing at half-volume, ‘Welcome to Camp Finland! We’re a little low on wheat, but chaff we have in spades.’

They passed the artillery battery they’d seen on its way out earlier that evening and saw that the cannons were now fully manned. The men kept their voices low, shielding their cigarettes with their hands. A bit further down the road, they turned off into a dark spruce forest. The cannon fire they’d heard to the south had already died down, but somehow silence felt even more oppressive.

They advanced slowly. They made several stops along the way, and the men breathed heavily, listening anxiously to the silence of the night and the pounding of their own hearts.

‘Ha… alt.’

The company got itself into formation. The submachine-gunners situated themselves as scouts twenty paces or so out in front, and the machine-gunners split up into squads, holding further back at about the same distance. Then the Company Commander’s battle-runner arrived with an announcement. ‘Border directly ahead. Silence imperative. First Platoon’s got a patrol out on the border. Don’t shoot without asking the password.’

‘What was it again?’

‘Striker. Lightning.’

‘Quiet! You don’t want those assholes to hear you!’

The murmurs fell silent. A few of the men started smoking – the ones who still had cigarettes, that is. For several days now they’d been suffering from a serious tobacco shortage, as the cigarette rations hadn’t been distributed, so you couldn’t get cigarettes anywhere.

Rahikainen had some, thanks to his swaggering escapades back at the canteen. He’d already made a pretty penny out of his bread rolls, and now he was vending cigarettes by the piece at outrageous prices. Many of the men were living on their meager army wages, so the luxury of buying was restricted to the wealthy. When one of these lucky souls tossed away a tiny cigarette butt, others would pounce on it immediately and stuff it into a cigarette-holder, blowing on their singed fingers. You could still get something out of it, if you smoked it in the grubby holder.

One guy tried to buy on credit, promising to settle up on the next payday, but Rahikainen wasn’t interested. ‘Who knows who’ll still be here by the time the next payday rolls around? Who’s gonna be responsible for settlin’ up then?’

‘Me.’ Koskela cleared his throat and said rather hurriedly, ‘I haven’t got any money either, but if something happens, you can take my binoculars. They belong to me, not the army, and you could easily sell them to make up the difference. You won’t have any trouble finding a buyer around here, that’s for sure.’

‘Well, I believe that… yeah, sure… I didn’t mean… I mean, it’s not about the money.’ Rahikainen sounded half-ashamed, half-hurt, but in any case he shared the cigarettes.

Every one of them had taken note of the fact that Koskela had broken rank in his exchange with Rahikainen, getting involved as if the two men were equals, rather than private and officer. And from then on, Koskela interacted with all of them that way. At first the men found it strange, and many of them struggled to treat him the same way in return. None of them ever really managed to pull it off convincingly. It was a rare phenomenon in this regiment of conscripts, in which the officers were constantly trying to maintain their so-called status, even in wartime. Of course, many officers did maintain their superior status across all units, though it was hardly by means of pretentious standoffishness that they commanded the men’s respect. The marked gesture on Koskela’s part was not without effect, however. Just his presence was enough to calm his men’s nerves, as he seemed somehow closer to them. He was the one they trusted to resolve all the questions the future promised to pose.

They heard low voices and the dry sputtering of engines coming from somewhere behind them. It was Kaarna, shadowed by Mielonen, close on his heels.

‘All right, all right. Quiet down, boys. We’re going to get the rabbit. We’ve already got him surrounded. Where’s Autio?’

‘Over by the Second Platoon.’

‘Right, right, sure, sure. Hietanen, what kind of troops do we have here?

‘The finest machine-gunners in the nation, Captain, sir.’

‘Right, right, that’s the way, that’s the way.’

It was an old question, to which there was only one answer. Kaarna habitually held his own company to be just a cut above the rest. He didn’t really care whether this belief corresponded to reality or not – he was just aware of what healthy self-confidence can do. He knew, of course, that machine guns were dwindling in significance, at least in offensive combat operations, but he encouraged his men to take pride in their weapons anyway. Also, the man was like a rock when it came to defending his company. Officers from other companies had best refrain from coming to him with any complaints about his men. Some cadet had tried it once, when somebody or other failed to salute. Kaarna replied coldly that his men certainly never failed to salute, therefore the cadet must be mistaken. ‘On top of which, it seems that the cadet’s own stance demonstrates rather poor form. Why don’t you go practice it a couple more times?’

The man in question was duly punished, but the cadet made sure to give Kaarna a wide berth after that.

All these kinds of things that Kaarna did stuck in the minds of his men, so even now his words brought smiles to their all-too-grim faces. ‘A man who bears the unbounded admiration of his men’ is the phrase often applied to some officer or other. It has a slightly nauseating ring, besides which it’s false, since no cradle yet has rocked such an officer as could inspire the unbounded admiration of a Finnish private. But Kaarna’s relationship to his men was exceptional. ‘Won’t find another one quite like that son of a bitch. Real bird of prey,’ the men would say. The relationship was anything but equal, however. There was no question who was calling the shots. It was just Kaarna’s direct, fair and absolutely straightforward manner that made an impression on the men.

There were smiles on their faces as they watched him leave, heading off in search of the Third Company commander, Lieutenant Autio.

‘You’ll see, boys. Wherever it is that things get cracking, that man’s command post won’t be far off,’ somebody said, and the others murmured in agreement. Kaarna and Mielonen set off, one after the other, with Mielonen issuing instructions regarding their direction, which he presumed to have a better sense of than the Captain. Their conversations generally consisted of a string of little disputes, as Mielonen did not hesitate to issue commands and voice his opinions, even on questions of strategy. The Captain was happy to let the Corporal do this, though he would never have taken it from a major. He squabbled with Mielonen to pass the time and did as he liked, regardless, though he had nothing against Mielonen’s suggestions. The Corporal was a sensible fellow, which was something. The Captain didn’t trust Mielonen’s sense of direction, though, and said, ‘No-o-o, Mielonen. Follow the eye of experience. The Russkis are over there.’

‘I don’t think so. Not so far from the front. The command post, I mean.’

Kaarna and Mielonen’s murmuring faded away and silence reigned, until suddenly it was shattered.

‘Holy Christ!’

‘Everybody down!’

The leafy undergrowth rustled and weapons clanged as the men frantically dropped to the ground. Behind them, as if just behind their ears, there came a series of deafening artillery explosions. Ba-boom. Boom. Boom.

A sharp, piercing whistle soared over the treetops, and the men clung to the ground with their eyes opened wide. Then more explosions came, more randomly now, and again the air was filled with hissing. Somewhere far behind the border they could hear faint thuds.

Koskela, who was sitting on a mound of grass, called out, ‘Get up, guys! It’s our own guns. And try to keep those boxes from rattling so goddamn much.’

They clambered to their feet, grateful that the embarrassment was communal. Only Lehto hadn’t moved a muscle. He was just sitting right where he had been, a thin, slightly contemptuous smile on his face. Soon Hietanen pulled himself together as well, as did another machine-gun leader, Private Määttä, a shortish guy from the northern town of Kainuu, not far from the eastern border.

Vanhala had sunk down to the ground rather languidly, following the others’ lead. And now, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile all the while, he was the last to rise. ‘The booming voice of authority! Heehee,’ he whispered to his neighbor. He didn’t even blush this time, though it certainly took some daring to start cracking jokes when the others were taking the incident so seriously.

Riitaoja, on the other hand, was slow to recover, and Sihvonen blustered, ‘Of course. It’s our own guns. Getting all jumpy over that! Clear as day that that was our guns. Stupid to get all worked up.’ He himself was the one who had plunged to the ground with the most terrific clatter, however.

The battery fell silent, but the men’s uneasiness was slow to recede. The leader of the rifle platoon in front of them was pacing back and forth restlessly in front of his men. He was speaking to them in an offhand sort of way, but you could tell from the stiffness in his voice and the unevenness of his breath that his heart was racing. He strode over to Koskela and said, with a contrived gruffness, ‘Well, Koski, let’s pull out all the stops! Autio promised me two of your guns.’

‘We’ll see when we get there,’ Koskela replied briefly, and the Ensign returned to his men, making a personal note that Koskela was not the man to turn to when you wanted someone to chat with. The machine-gunners were somewhat acquainted with this blond-haired, slightly precocious ensign as well. Kariluoto, they’d heard his name was. Back in the burnt clearing he’d comported himself with a bit too much machismo, and the men’s sharp instincts made it impossible for them to take him seriously. The Ensign was happy to curse like a sailor, but it was painfully obvious that it was all just some sort of misguided idea of manliness. Coarseness didn’t suit the well-spoken, high-born fellow in the least. No wonder the other men grunted rather contemptuously, ‘Talks about the goods almost as if he’d had a feel himself.’

They waited quietly for half an hour, until, finally, rippling down the line from the right, the command came: ‘Move out!’

Their gray shadows moved silently through the dusky forest toward the border. The submachine-gunners stole out in front. They stared unblinking through the trees, hearts racing and hands gripping their weapons so tightly their knuckles went white. Before them lay the border: an open stretch hacked out of the forest with a double barbed-wire fence running down the length of it. They kicked down the fence amidst an ear-splitting screech of metal. Then they slipped through the gaps, save for Hietanen, who got carried away and started kicking at one of the fence posts, snarling, ‘Oh for Chrissakes! Open the roads, open the goddamn roads all the way to the skies!’

‘For God’s sake, keep it down,’ Koskela warned, and Hietanen abandoned his effort, but not without muttering, ‘All these goddamn posts here, in the middle of the woods! I wouldn’t stand for it.’

They proceeded cautiously. They expected gunfire from behind every tree, every shrub. But nothing came. Not even when they crossed a small, open meadow, which they assumed the enemy must be waiting behind. The meadow widened on the left, where it met up with a small, open field that had a gray house sitting near its edge. The border ran right beside the house, which was on the Finnish side, and several men appeared to be standing around it. They recognized them as guys from the Second Battalion, the one that was supposed to advance toward the road.

Then they saw a skittish horse start jumping about, and several men began chasing after it, trying to get it under control. One company from the Second Battalion, it seems, had decided to take tea before the departure, but because they were running late, the driver had driven the field kitchen all the way up to the border to save time. The Battalion Commander, his nervousness further exacerbated by the delay their gathering had caused, arrived on the scene, bellowing, ‘Good Lord, man! Get that kitchen the hell out of here! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’

The man panicked and started tugging at his horse, which promptly bolted off completely. With the men’s help, he finally captured the horse and led it away. The men from the First Battalion, who watched from behind the clearing, would never have thought to connect the scene they’d witnessed with the rumor that circulated later, according to which the Second Battalion had sent their field kitchen to spearhead their advance across the border, just for the hell of it. The rumor snowballed and spread widely. The Battalion Commander came to be known as ‘Madcap Karl’ and the story stuck to him. Young officers who had been sufficiently far off from the scene of the event said, ‘That’s just Karl’s way. That’s him through and through.’ Many of them had never seen Karl himself, but they spoke of him as if they were close personal acquaintances. Before long, one of these officers’ mothers was telling her friends how her son and some Madcap Karl, along with several officers, had been the first to drive across the border with a field kitchen. The enemy had mistaken the contraption for a tank and hightailed it out of there without firing a shot.

In reality, Karl was angry as a bear with a bullet in his back as he ordered the kitchen to be driven back from the front lines. The men couldn’t seem to get themselves properly organized into squads. The companies blundered about in utter chaos and, in his disgruntled exasperation, Karl mixed up the chain of command and started issuing orders directly to the platoons instead of to the company commanders.

The First Battalion was waiting with bated breath. The sun had risen and the men were sprawled out on the damp grass, warming themselves in its rays. The mosquitoes buzzed and an airplane drone came from somewhere further off, but besides that it was perfectly silent.

Finally, the men saw the others moving away from the little house. They prepared to set out themselves, but no orders came. Then, suddenly, they went stiff, listening and looking at one another. A string of submachine-gun shots rang out on their left. The sudden staccato was quickly followed by the clatter of more weapons. The rattle of light machine guns echoed through the forest, and then a machine gun hammered out a long string of shots. The men listened, silent.

‘The whole belt in one go,’ somebody observed.

‘Whole belt.’

‘Some guy’s already going cold over there.’

For the first time they heard the ricochet of a stray bullet: Voo… phiew.

‘Somebody over there’s taking a beating.’

‘Why are we staying here?’ Sihvonen exclaimed. ‘They might still turn this way.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Koskela replied calmly, brushing the mosquitoes from his face with an alder branch. ‘There’s nothing over there but some outpost – at most. You’ll get your chance to smell burnt gunpowder, don’t worry.’

The firing died down, and they waited. Then they started off, but the shooting started up again on the left, and they stopped again.

‘This is pointless,’ somebody said. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong. This is war. In a few days you’ll understand,’ Koskela said.

By five o’clock in the afternoon they had advanced a mile or so. The firing on their left was continuous now. The Second Battalion, they realized, must have reached the enemy positions.

The swamp lay in front of them. Behind it rose a wooded ridge. A few dwarf pines trees grew in the swamp, and the men tried to peek between them to the edge of the forest opposite. They couldn’t make out anything significant, but they knew the enemy was over there, regardless. The term ‘enemy’ is a bit misleading, actually, as none of them bore any particular enmity toward anybody just then. They were too nervous for that.

The Third Company commander, Lieutenant Autio, came up to Ensign Kariluoto’s platoon from behind. Autio was a regular officer – a calm, young fellow with a resolute face, generally reputed to be a good leader. Kariluoto was trying to keep calm, despite the fact that he couldn’t understand anything Autio was saying.

‘The artillery will send a bombardment out in front of the Second Battalion. Mortars, too. As soon as it’s over, we go in – don’t wait for a separate command. Do not let up at any point, as you want to make it in one go. Under no circumstances is anyone to lie down under fire. Koskela, you set up both your machine guns for support if the advance gets stuck, but only then. We want to escape notice as long as possible. They know we’re around, of course, but we should try to take them by surprise, regardless. I’ll be directly behind the Second Platoon. Anything unclear?’

‘No… I’ve got it. Just keep your fingers crossed.’

Autio left, and Kariluoto reviewed mixed-up bits of his instructions in his head. ‘No one lies down under fire… take them by surprise…’

Koskela was speaking to his own men. ‘Keep close behind the guys in front of you, and if the line stops, get into position immediately. And remember, you can’t hesitate in opening fire. And don’t all bunch up behind the guns. There should just be one guy shooting and one guy helping him.’

‘Got it… Yup, we’ve got it.’ They all nodded their heads, though none of them had the faintest idea what this ‘opening fire’ actually entailed. They all knew how to shoot a gun, but nobody knew how he would hold up in the face of one. For the first time in their lives, they would be put to the test. Loading a belt and pulling a trigger were simple enough, but facing down death was harder – and that was the thought that was writhing about in their minds, making their earnest faces twist into vaguely comical contortions.

They heard the opening shots ring out from behind the border. It was the same artillery battery that had frightened them during the night, accompanied now by even deeper booms from further behind. Vicious whistles pierced the air and then the ground shook with the jarring force of the explosions. In between you could hear the weak coughs of bursting hand grenades.

When the barrage fell silent, an intense clanging of infantry fire started up, and a long, sustained cry rose up from the din.

‘Second Battalion’s attacking,’ somebody whispered low, his voice choking with nervousness.

Ensign Kariluoto was lying crouched behind a grass-covered mound. Gasping for breath, he repeated over and over again the line that had been hammered into his head: ‘What greater honor… what greater honor…’ He didn’t dare finish the phrase: ‘than dying in battle’, so he just kept repeating the opening over and over again.

The platoon beside them set off. Kariluoto rose and called out stiffly, ‘Fourth Platoon, advance!’

He forced himself to start moving forward and the men followed. They hadn’t got very far when they began to hear whistling plinks and rustles in the dwarf pines.

Piew, piew… piewpiew.

Angry little gusts sent them diving to the ground. Kariluoto ran a few steps further on, then ducked behind a small rise in the swampland. Breathlessly he yelled, ‘Advance! Don’t stop… No one is to lie down under fire… take them by surprise…’

No one got up, and even Kariluoto stayed where he was, his will shaken. It was as if he’d been paralyzed. He grasped from his surroundings that the entire company was under fire, and that his platoon was lying under cover in the uneven terrain. A petrifying thought wound its way insidiously through his consciousness: I can’t do it… I can’t get my men to advance… I’ve done exactly what Autio said not to…

‘Machine guns into position.’ Koskela was on his knees behind a pine, pistol in hand. The men lay further back. Not until they heard Koskela’s command did they set up the machine guns. Seeing that Koskela was kneeling, Lehto rose up onto his knees as well and, a tightness in his voice, ordered, ‘Move it, guys. Load the belts. Fast.’

Once Koskela saw that the guns were ready to go, he called out, ‘Shoot for their nuts!’

‘Shoot for their nuts!’ Hietanen repeated, and Lehto and Lahtinen joined in, ‘Shoot for their nuts!’ The guy shooting Lehto’s team’s gun, Private Kaukonen, called out nervously after them, ‘Shoot for their nuts!’ and pulled the trigger. Lahtinen’s gun was already hacking away. Määttä was shooting it, calmly and deliberately, his face utterly blank.

The weapon shook in Kaukonen’s hands and he watched, through eyes stinging with sweat, how the sight skipped along the rim of the forest as the belt jerked in rapidly from the feeder. His nostrils felt as though they were burning with the nauseating stench of grease and gunpowder.

Their own fire kept them from hearing the crackling amidst the pines. Nicks in the trees already shone white where the bark had been torn off.

Suddenly a shell from some kind of direct-fire weapon exploded into a tree, and a low, inaugural blast sounded from the opposite edge of the forest.

‘Anti-tank gun. Shit!’ Koskela crouched to the ground. He wondered for just a moment if he should take over command of the platoon, but decided against it. He could imagine the panic the young ensign was in, and he knew he’d have to conquer it himself.

The machine-gun belt ran out. Vanhala, who was feeding the gun, yelled back, ‘Ammo! Hurry!’

Riitaoja, lying under cover beside the boxes of ammunition, didn’t move a muscle. His eyes were terribly round, and his face twisted into a strangely contorted grin at Vanhala’s shout.

‘Give me a belt!’ Lehto called out as well, but Riitaoja scarcely noticed. Lehto bounded over, tossed Vanhala a belt and, seething with rage, hissed at Riitaoja, ‘You shit-eating pansy. I’m going to beat you into this swamp.’

Riitaoja blinked his eyes in terror, but said nothing. Trembling, he crouched into his hollow and Lehto crawled back to the gun.

‘Let him be,’ Koskela said, having observed Riitaoja’s terror. Lehto grunted back offhandedly, ‘I guess everybody here’s scared, but you’d think he could lift a finger.’

As if determined to prove he was everything Riitaoja was not, Lehto rose to his knees and began shooting at the forest’s edge. Randomly, like everybody else, since none of them had caught so much as a glimpse of the enemy.

Two men approached the swamp – Kaarna and Mielonen. Mielonen was walking several steps behind, saying, ‘Captain, sir. They’re using the anti-tank rrrifle.’

‘No. It’s a tank.’

‘You think?’

‘Yes, yes, of course. You could tell from the sound of it.’

‘Rrreally? A tank on rrroads like this?’

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s not impossible.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’

‘Sure, sure, you can never be too sure, but anyway it’s a tank. But hey! Looks like we’re going to get a bumper crop of berries this year. What with all these blossoms.’

They made it to the swamp and Kaarna pounced immediately. ‘What’s going on here? What’s this? Look here, you boys have made a mess of this whole thing. Ay-ay-ay! Boys, boys, this isn’t how you fight a war. Noo-oo-oo. Fighting like this isn’t going to get you anywhere. Now, we’re going to pull ourselves together and cross this little swamp. The others are already at the enemy positions.’

The men raised their heads. Kariluoto’s head, on the other hand, sank even lower. The bitterness of shame had completely paralyzed him. Kaarna stepped right beside him and said in a collegial tone, ‘Give it another go, Ensign. They’ll take off all right.’

Then the Captain took a deep breath. He stepped forward, straight as a ramrod. Only a slight shudder flickered across his cheekbones as he stepped forward, turned slightly to the side, like a man facing into a blizzard. His voice cracked as he bellowed, ‘Cut them down, Kaleva!’

A blast went off. The men realized Kaarna and Mielonen had collapsed to the ground. Mielonen rose immediately, however, and bounded over to the Captain, who was lying motionless, his body strangely contorted. Mielonen knelt beside him and yelled, his voice trembling, ‘First aid, first aid… hurry… he’s losing blood… Captain, tell me if I hurt you… Here, it’ll be better if I turn you this way.’

Carefully he rolled the Captain onto his back, and the men saw that one of his legs was twisting unnaturally to the side. The direct-fire gun had struck him squarely in the hip. His ripped trouser-leg held the limb in a little, but aside from that it was completely torn off. Mielonen was beside himself, repeating, ‘They got my arm, too… I’m hurt… medics… where are those bastards hiding?’

A couple of medics arrived and tried with trembling hands to help Mielonen bind the Captain’s wounds. It was hopeless, however.

‘Let’s get him to the aid station… his hand’s still moving… he’s alive.’

Kaarna looked at Mielonen. His eyes were cloudy, but there was no lack of consciousness in his gaze. Mielonen couldn’t understand what the Captain meant, as he whispered, stammering, ‘O-oul-ld. An… old… man… already…’ Then, with an unexpected sharpness, he said, ‘Say what you will… it’s a tank all right… motherfucker… sure is.’

His hand twitched for a moment, then his mouth hung open and his eyes rolled upwards. Mielonen understood that the end had come. They lifted the body onto the stretcher and Mielonen covered it with his overcoat. The arduous journey to the rear began.

The realization that the Captain had collapsed stunned Kariluoto. A lump formed in his throat and tears welled up in his eyes. He felt strangled by a sense of irrevocable defeat. ‘Advance, advance,’ he commanded himself, but his body refused to obey. The school refrain pounded through his panicked consciousness, ‘Black and defamed be for ever the name… of the troops who in battle enraged… watch their elders fall before them…’

His hands mangled the stems of the wild hemlock. He heard the medics’ yelling and tried to get up. Images rose up from somewhere in the dark recesses of his soul. His mother and father, bragging about him to their friends. Buddies he’d celebrated with when the war broke out. Finland would have her due… And then he remembered Sirkka. The thought nearly broke him.

Not ten seconds had passed since Kaarna’s death. Now Kariluoto got up and heard his own unbridled scream, ‘Cut them down, Kaleva! Advance! Shoot for their nuts. Charge!’

He saw Koskela running beside him, yelling, ‘C’mon guys, keep in contact!’

Private Ukkola was running on the other side, screaming like a madman with his gun tucked under his arm and his mouth foaming. ‘Ahhh-ahh! Baaa-staaards!’

A wild rage for victory flooded through Kariluoto. He emptied his pistol into the edge of the swamp, wishing in his fury that he could get into hand-to-hand combat. He hadn’t even noticed that the fire coming from the opposite edge of the forest had stopped. Nor did he look back when one of the guys with the light machine guns wobbled to his knees, hands grasping his stomach, screaming, ‘Help! Help me!’

The cry was drowned out by the men’s shouts and the clanging of the submachine guns. Hietanen followed close on Koskela’s heels, yelling, ‘Let the bastards have it, boys!’

The machine-gunners were panting heavily, staggering under the weight of their heavy equipment. Vanhala kept repeating, breathlessly, ‘Let ’em have it! Let ’em have it!’ as he struggled forward with the gun stand on his shoulder. Riitaoja, however, just cowered in his hollow, gaping at everything and grasping nothing.

They found the enemy positions deserted. Kariluoto spotted just one brown uniform darting behind the bushes. Lahtinen caught up with the firing line in time to take a shot at him, but missed. The men were panting. Several of them threw themselves to the ground, and somebody called out frantically, ‘Ensign, sir, Jaakko was hit… Ensign, sir, Jaakko Vuorela’s still back there.’

‘Two men from the group go back and help,’ Kariluoto called out. ‘All the others, keep on advancing. Don’t stop. The road’s straight ahead. We press on until we reach it.’

His wild rage had subsided and exhilaration now surged up in its place. He strode forward briskly, upright, urging his men onward. Before them lay the road – the same one they had turned off into the forest that morning. Everything was quiet to their left, but to the right they still heard intense firing in the First Company’s sector. An engine rumbled above the din. A tank tread lay imprinted on the road, and in the forest they could see sheets of moss that had been uprooted by a turning vehicle.

They paused on the road. The clamor on the right died down as the enemy turned into the forest to circumvent the First Company’s roadblock. Only now did they have time to think about what had happened.

‘We lost the Captain and Mielonen.’

‘Not Mielonen. I saw him run to help the Captain.’

‘Whew, that was something! Machine gun’s still red hot. Feel!’

‘Not a single Russki down,’ Hietanen said. ‘Not one. I watched while we were shooting.’

Koskela used his shirtsleeve to wipe off the sweaty leather band inside his cap, then said, staring at the ground, ‘They got Kaarna with a tank… The man just went and got himself killed.’

At the time, the men weren’t able to understand Koskela’s reckoning, and his face quickly resumed its usual reserve, but he remained silent all evening, staring vaguely at nothing in particular.

‘They didn’t say the Captain wouldn’t make it,’ one guy whispered, his voice low, but somebody else dismissed the idea as impossible. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Looked pretty clear from the way his leg was hanging off.’

Ensign Kariluoto was pacing back and forth along the road. He couldn’t keep still. His blond hair was blowing about wildly above his beaming face, as he’d taken off his cap and tucked it under his belt. It was as if this surge of self-confidence within him demanded that he be bareheaded. A cap would have interfered, somehow, with the roaring winds of victory ringing in his ears, unheard by the others. Lieutenant Autio came up on his left, and Kariluoto rushed over to meet him.

‘Good job, boys. That was a solid start,’ Autio said, though it sounded more like an obligatory greeting than actual praise, as Autio was not one to get overly emotional. ‘So, how’d it feel?’

‘Quite all right, once we got going. I didn’t think there was any way I’d get them moving at first… But Kaarna…’

‘I heard.’

Autio’s expression remained unchanged. He had already been through the Winter War, and so had quite a bit of experience.

‘I wasn’t aware that the tank was there, or I would have given you the anti-tank rifle. But in any case, many thanks. You’re off to a good start. Any casualties?

‘Vuorela. Light machine-gunner. I sent two men back to help, when the medics took Kaarna.’

It was not until he was talking with Autio that Kariluoto remembered the first part of the attack. His face flushed, and he diverted his gaze. But as soon as Autio started talking about the tank, Kariluoto seized on the notion. It was that damn tank! Hell… what was a man supposed to do with his bare hands up against that? Then Kariluoto’s spirits began to rise, and his shame lifted. He was so happy to be liberated of its weight that he started singing Kaarna’s praises to Autio.

‘He was too good a man to die. Far too good for death, that man.’

‘True,’ Autio kicked at a rock. ‘Though no one life is any more valuable than any other, really. But that one went too cheap, it’s true. Well, you’ll get used to that… Lammio will take over as company commander, of course.’

Autio turned to leave, then said, ‘The Third Battalion will take the lead as soon as the terrain’s been scoured. We’ll camp here. The tents and the kitchens are right behind the Third Battalion.’

Kariluoto returned to his men. ‘If only they hadn’t had that damn tank!’

His spirits perked up again. He forgot about the fact that they had all taken the tank for an anti-tank gun; he just took refuge in the fact that there was nothing anyone could do with his bare hands up against a tank. And, after a couple of minutes, he was firmly convinced that this was the sole reason he had taken cover in the swamp: because you can’t fight a tank without any anti-tank guns.

Once again, he was the vigorous ensign who had drilled his men back in the burnt clearing. He even thought of Sirkka, and felt a powerful wave of masculinity pervade his being. Sirkka was sacred to him. Kariluoto’s relationship with the girl had begun with such refinement that, indeed, there was nothing to stand in the way of their potential union. And at this very moment, that question, too, was settled. He would marry her, and when he did, it would be as captain of the army of the Greater Finland – if not as major! He would enroll at the Army Academy at the first opportunity. Yes, that’s how it would be. No law school for him.

Kariluoto could already see himself as a young career officer. He was still quite childish, in a way, full of fantasies he would have been embarrassed to acknowledge as his own.

He took a couple of boxes of cigarettes out of his map case and called out cheerfully, ‘Come and get a smoke! Cigarettes for every man with a mouth to smoke ’em in. Bursche, come, pass ’em round.’ (This word ‘Bursche’ had emerged directly from his thoughts about the Army Academy. Some legacy from the ‘Iron-fisted German army’, with its high command and lowly gophers, called ‘Burschen’. The word in itself wasn’t so bad, as it basically just meant ‘boy’, but the class-ridden mentality wrapped up in it certainly was. So much so that now, even this pure-minded youth appeared to have been infected by it. There was an antidote to prevent the spread of this particular affliction, however – war.)

A peculiar traveling party was approaching the swamp. Two men were carrying a third, who was bound with three belts to a birch trunk that somebody had sawed off with his hand-knife. A fourth man tottered along behind, staggering beneath the weight of his baggage. The last was Riitaoja. The man bound to the pole was Vuorela, and the two men carrying him were the ones who had been sent back to help.

‘How’d it go?’

Between gasps, the guy in front managed to choke out, ‘Jaakko’s done for.’

They hadn’t even been able to bind his wound, because Vuorela, who’d been shot in the stomach, had writhed so violently in his death throes. The two of them had nearly broken down in tears of despair as they tried to calm him, but Vuorela hadn’t even been able to recognize them. Then they had prepared the birch pole and bound him to it. They had come across Riitaoja on their way through the swamp and made him carry their packs.

Riitaoja’s absence had been noticed, but no one had gone out to search for him, because somebody had seen him lying unharmed in his little nook back at the edge of the swamp.

The men lowered their burden to the ground. With all his recent emotions still stirred up in his mind, Kariluoto said, rather too ceremoniously, ‘Well, men, Vuorela is the first to go. Are any of you from the same area?’

‘Other side of the same county, but I didn’t know him as a civilian. He was from somewhere out in the country.’

‘Very well, I’ll write… One ought to say a few words, I think.’ Kariluoto’s sentiment was sincere, even if his phrases were all lifted from something he’d read. The men looked at the body in a state of anguish. Vuorela’s shirt was stained with blood around his stomach. The wet swamp had washed the leather soles of his shoes clean, and it made the men slightly sick to see his ankles tied together with a belt around the pole. There was a second belt around the center of his body, and a third around his neck. The worst was his face. His dirty, suntanned skin gleamed with a yellowish hue. His gums were contorted into a gruesome smile. A few of the men felt sick and turned away.

‘Take him to the side of the road.’

They were relieved when Vuorela had been carried away. Now the machine-gunners’ attention turned to Riitaoja. He was standing awkwardly off to the side, grinning with embarrassment. Nobody had the heart to say anything, save Lehto, who gave him the evil eye and snorted at him in contempt.

Somewhere, at the back of their minds, they were all dimly aware that Riitaoja’s terror had not been an isolated phenomenon by any means – fear was just exceptionally visible in his case. Even the call to attack, that rang so handsomely in their memories now, had aroused only terror in them then, followed by the rage they had summoned to suppress it. Nobody felt like boasting. And besides, tomorrow would bring a new day. They had heard rumors of some ‘bunker line’, which was supposedly just a little way out in front of where they were. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. Tents and potato soup were on their way, and there was plenty of time before the morning.

‘Hey, there’s one guy curled up over here, at least.’

‘Where?’

‘Here, in the bushes. It’s an officer. Got badges on his lapels.’

They gathered around to look. A Russian lieutenant lay face-down in the juniper bushes. His body was strangely contorted, just as Vuorela’s had been, but the sight didn’t affect them the same way. They were just curious.

‘Look! The guy dragged himself a long way. Still got mud under his nails.’

‘Doesn’t seem like those guys do much looking out for one another. Leaving him here to crawl back by himself.’

‘Guy was tough. Dragged himself ten yards just with his arms.’

They looked on solemnly until Rahikainen tapped his gun barrel on the dead man’s helmet and said, ‘Yoo-hoo! ’Scuse me, ’sit cold down there in Russki hell?’

Vanhala looked around at the others, but so few of them were smiling that he choked down his laughter.

Rahikainen stooped down and started cutting off the Lieutenant’s badges. ‘These babies are mine.’

‘Give me one, too.’

‘I don’t think so! There aren’t enough on this little stooge to pass ’em round to everybody. That’ll hafta wait until we knock off some of the big cheeses.’

The others were a bit dismayed, but the red badges had already disappeared into Rahikainen’s wallet. ‘You let me know whose bullet brought this guy down, and I’ll hand over the booty. Otherwise, you can just lay off.’

No heir apparent appeared, so Rahikainen kept the badges. But the men had overcome their initial tentativeness. One guy took the belt – a fine, new officer’s belt. They turned the man’s pockets inside out and found a leather bag containing a toothbrush, a set of nail files and a flask of cologne.

Hietanen gamely flicked the cologne onto their dirty sweaters, making them all shriek with laughter like little kids. One guy swung his hips from side to side, puckered his lips and called out, ‘Get in line, boys! Two hundred marks a pop!’

Another fellow used his filthy hands to splash cologne on his face. ‘Discover this distinctive perfume! All the biggest stars are wearing Mouson Lavendel!’

They divvied up all the nail files too, though admittedly their fingernails were the least of their concerns. The dirt mostly came off on its own if you let it get thick enough.

‘Here’s his wallet.’

‘It’s got an ID. With a photo. And there’s his birth date. Born in ’16. Four years older than we are.’

‘Hey look, rubles!’

‘Those are chervonets. They’re worth ten rubles each.’

‘But what’s it say there, huh? On the copper coin? Koneek, koneek. Why, that’s just chicken scratch. Who can read that?’

‘It means kopek.’

‘Whatever you say, pal. Still looks like chicken scratch.’

Troops were marching by along the road. It was the Third Battalion, heading out to relieve the First Company on the front line.

‘Have a good rest, guys, so we don’t leave you in the dust tomorrow!’ somebody shouted from the ranks.

‘You just make sure you don’t end up heading back this way.’

There were silent men too. Somebody mumbled anxiously, ‘How far are their positions from here?’

‘Keep moving! You’ll get there, don’t worry.’

They left the dead man in the bushes. And there he remained, Lieutenant Boris Braskanov, born Vologda, 6 May 1916: face-down, with neither belt nor badge of rank, and his pockets inside out.

The supply vehicles arrived. The men got their tents and food. The machine-gunners gathered together again, inquiring about one another’s losses. The First Platoon had lost one man, but the others had escaped without casualties. Kaarna’s death touched many of them, and they all considered it a great loss. If for no other reason than it meant that Lammio would probably be their new commander.

They exchanged impressions as they ate. Lahtinen was a little irritable, but somehow or other even he was interested. He trotted out his old position with an air of consternation. ‘Looks like we won’t exactly be parading to the Urals, after all. I mean, the air’s pretty thick with lead, that’s all I’m sayin’. Be interesting to see just how long we hold out.’

Then a deep-seated amusement rose in his voice as he added, ‘But man, the thing that made me laugh – damndest thing of all was when our neighbor went and hightailed it into those juniper bushes like a scared rabbit! I chased after him and took a shot at him, but I didn’t manage to get him – what with this shitty excuse for a gun.’

Ensign Kariluoto wrote three letters that night. But first he raked over the day’s events with the other platoon leaders… Then I bawled out… come on, boys! C’mon, you bastards… thought my days were over for a moment there… good guy, that son of a bitch… fearless guy. I threw this hand grenade… the MG commander… fierce old guy, good God. Luostarinen, from the First Company… two officers on day one.

Kariluoto then wrote to Vuorela’s family:

To his own mother and father, he wrote:

But in reality, Kariluoto was bowled over with emotion, baptism of fire or not. He and his family had always lived in an atmosphere of high patriotism, but even so, his letters had never risen to quite such ceremonious heights before.

He wrote to Sirkka:

Vanhala was on night-watch guarding the camp. He circulated around, glancing at the tents, the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. ‘Yoo-hoo! ’Scuse me, ’sit cold down there in Russki hell?’

Rahikainen’s words had made him laugh, and now that he was alone, he laughed with abandon, not having to worry about what the others might think. He listened unflinchingly as an artillery battery opened fire, sending shells howling over the encampment. A terrified face popped out from one of the tent flaps, but relaxed when the man caught sight of Vanhala’s smile.

The sun had set. A low mist rose from the swamp and darkness fell over the spruce grove. The booming of cannons came frequently from the north and the south. Somewhere a pistol shot pierced through the air, and a slow-firing Russian machine gun hammered back in response.

A horse-cart drove down the road. It was coming from the front lines, carrying four bodies wrapped in tent tarps. The First Company’s dead.