Unknown Soldiers

Chapter Nine

‘Come out,’ the Military Police Lieutenant commanded in a stiff, unnatural voice as he opened the sauna door. The guard standing beside it asked in a nervous rush, ‘Can I go now? You don’t need me anymore, do you?’

‘On your way.’

The guard practically sprinted away, as if afraid they might still call him back. The Lieutenant stepped back from the door, allowing the two privates to exit the sauna. They stopped just in front of the threshold and waited in silence. They saw the dim, winter morning just on the point of daybreak, and, above all, they saw the group of Military Police officers, the Lieutenant and the military judge standing off to the side. The army chaplain had left, as the men had refused to receive him.

One of the men was tall and carried himself very upright. He brushed his disheveled blond hair off his forehead. His face was strong and masculine, with a flinty toughness that was evident even in the dim light. He looked at the Lieutenant, but the latter averted his eyes, as if unable to endure that burning, penetrating gaze, which only the knowledge of imminent death can bring to a man’s eyes. The other fellow was smaller and seemed to emanate a sort of numb nervousness. He trembled silently the whole time, as if he were freezing. The blond fellow was twenty-five at most, his shorter companion already well into his thirties. Both were bare-headed and beltless, wearing their combat jackets.

The military judge read out the same sentence they’d heard the night before at the drumhead court martial. It felt strange to hear it announced so officially that they had abandoned their guard post and refused to return to it. Sure, they remembered it all right. And then they’d been brought before the court and sentenced to death. And that was it. The past eleven hours in the dark sauna had sufficed to make it clear to them what it all meant. They were finished. In truth, they were dead already, both of them. All that remained was the official confirmation. They had played out the whole execution in their minds so many times that the actual event no longer terrified them.

The older man was trying to distract himself so as to avoid thinking about the whole thing. The younger one, however, was seething with hatred for his executioners. The Military Police were the enemy, depriving him of his life. And he maintained his anger instinctively, as if he understood that it would keep his head upright and make death easier to face.

When the military judge had finished, the younger man hissed, ‘Gimme a cigarette, you motherfucking piece of shit.’

The military judge and the Lieutenant scrambled to pull out their cigarettes, racing to offer him one. The man’s swearing only seemed to increase their eagerness to serve him. The harried Lieutenant fumbled around for a light and some MP officers in the line rattled their matchboxes at him. Every one of them was eager to cater to even the smallest whim of the condemned.

The Lieutenant hesitated. Should he let the men finish their cigarettes, or get things moving right away? Dragging out the ordeal felt torturous. Better to get the thing over with as quickly as possible. He had ordered several people to be shot, of course, but they had all been either communists or enemy spies, so there was no question about shooting them. This was the first time he was executing their own soldiers.

The younger of the condemned men made his decision for him. ‘All right, butchers. Get to it. I’m getting chilly.’

The MP officers were startled by the shrill little laugh that slipped from the man’s mouth as he spoke. The other man just trembled like an aspen leaf, not saying anything, and obviously not seeing or hearing anything either.

‘Blindfolds,’ the Lieutenant said to his men. They hesitated.

‘You, go get them.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t start squabbling. I’m not dying with a rag over my eyes. I think I’ve stared down more gun barrels from the front than you have from behind, even if you are executioners.’

‘And you? Would you like one?’ the Lieutenant asked the other man.

He just shook his head. Then the younger man stepped quickly over to the sauna wall and assumed his position. His companion followed suit. The MP officers fell into line, their guns grounded.

The order rang out. Rifles rose. The older man turned his head to the side and a quiet whimper escaped his lips. But the younger man stared straight down the gun barrel with such conviction that somehow he seemed more the condemner than the condemned. Just yesterday he had been an ordinary young man, who, in a moment of thoughtless defiance, had disobeyed a lieutenant whose arrogance he hated, just like everybody else in his company. This morning, having spent eleven hours in the dark sauna with death for company, he was a grown man of great experience.

The rifles sounded in one, unified bang. The men beside the sauna wall sank into the snow. The MP officers hurried toward the bodies and gathered them up with gentle deference.

And one more incident receded into the past.

‘Attention!’

The battalion, assembled in the snowy forest clearing, stiffened to attention. Major Sarastie took out a sheet of paper and began to read. The men listened, a bit perplexed. They already knew what had happened. What was the point of reading it out? Two men had been executed because they had abandoned their guard post and refused to return to it. As soon as they’d heard that the sentence had been carried out, the men had gone after the MP officers who’d done the executing. They didn’t catch them, though – luckily, seeing as they were probably the least guilty of the parties responsible for the crime.

When the Major had finished reading his memo, he added, ‘So! This sentence was carried out as a reminder to the insubordinates out there that you do not joke with the army. I hope, and I trust, that in this battalion, such a reminder is not necessary. However, should the need arise, the Code of Military Justice will be brought to bear to the fullest extent of the law.’

Only now did the men understand why the notice was being read to them. They were being threatened. An attack on the Svir River had provoked a surprisingly strong resurgence of enemy activity, and the opponent they presumed to have been struck down now appeared quite capable of counter-attack. Sarastie’s battalion had been tasked with carrying out the counter-strike. It was merely as a precautionary measure, in other words – to foster the necessary spirit and morale amongst his men – that the Commander had decided to read his memo just before departure.

Beneath the clear winter sky, the crackling, crashing and booming was constant. The battalion pushed on toward the enemy’s service road to force it out of a village they’d retaken over a month ago. The two armies had been tied up in a bloody scuffle over the village for a long time, but the enemy wasn’t giving up its prey. And now, they meant to take it. Sarastie’s battalion had received strict orders to cut off the service road and keep it closed.

The barrage was concentrated further back to their left, on the bald peak of Kalju Hill. After three bloody, failed offensives, the remnants of a Jaeger Border Patrol battalion had finally managed to gain a firm foothold on the hill. Its slopes were littered with bodies, as the enemy had had no means of withdrawing and the fighting had grown exceptionally fierce. The Jaegers had managed to keep their spirits up through all three failed attempts, and when the fourth brought them to the hill, the Siberians fell in their foxholes without a single man surrendering. Now the enemy artillery was firing back with a vengeance, and the Jaegers were crouched out there amidst the bodies, apathetic and terrified, in the middle of the mayhem.

This hill, which had been sleeping peacefully since time immemorial, had suddenly become an item of utmost importance. A thin, blue-veined hand had pointed it out on a map: ‘Taking that hill is an absolute prerequisite to retaking the village. It controls the surrounding swampland for a one-mile radius, and in any case we won’t be able to cut in very far without it because it would be too hard to get supplies out to the men in front, and they could easily end up isolated.’

This ‘prerequisite’ having been fulfilled, Sarastie’s battalion had started its advance.

Lahtinen, Määttä and Salo were pulling a supply sled through the deep snowdrifts. Sihvonen was following behind with the brake cable, trying to help them along by pushing with a ski pole. They had been attached to a covering rifle platoon, but were lagging behind on account of the sled. It was so heavily loaded down that it sank through the snowdrifts and dragged against the ground. At first the men had tried to advance on skis, but the weight of the load kept making them slide backwards, so they’d loaded their skis onto the sled and proceeded on foot. Streams of sweat poured down their bodies, despite the freezing temperatures. Panting and cursing, they followed the ski tracks of the platoon out in front of them. Heads buzzing with exhaustion, they could make out the clatter of combat, but the crashing was so faint and confused that they had no way of knowing where their own soldiers were versus those of the enemy.

Salo proceeded out in front, frequently on all fours, as the weight of the sled kept threatening to force him over onto his back. Määttä pulled silently, but powerfully, keeping an eye out for lumps and hollows in the snow so as to keep the sled moving as efficiently as possible. Lahtinen pulled with the whole weight of his towering body, and whenever the sled got caught on a rock or a tree stump, he would lurch against it, yanking his rope in a furious surge of determination and swearing grimly, ‘God… damn… it.’

They took little breaks in between, sitting on the sled and catching their breath. Lahtinen panted, ‘God damn it! Come on, bullet, come and kill me! Of all the shit jobs! And meanwhile the fat cat sits back in his rocker, counting up his profits from black market grain. Hell, if somebody just turned up here, somebody who wasn’t all mixed up in this shit already, I mean, you know what he’d say? A guy who doesn’t necessarily know the ways of the world or anything, but just knows the sensible, necessary stuff, I mean? He’d be downright flabbergasted. Grown men dragging a goddamn toboggan back and forth through the forest!’

Lahtinen paused for a moment to control his temper, which he then proceeded to vent in the form of a dialogue between himself and this rational creature of his imagining. ‘He’d take a look at these shovels and crowbars and ask, “Are you going to build a road or dig the foundations for a house?” And what am I supposed to say? What could I say but, Ye-ahh… not exactly… we need these to bury ourselves in the ground so we don’t get killed. Then the little pain in the ass would wonder, “What’s that extraordinary contraption you have there? What do you do with that?”… Huh-huh. What do you do with it? You’ll see… Mmhm. I gotta fight out here even if I don’t know what the hell I’ve got to fight for. My life, I guess, but I’m pretty sure I could do a better job of hanging on to that somewhere else. I haven’t got any homeland and I left religion back in confirmation classes. I got something resembling a place to live, but it’s the company that owns it. Fight to protect your parents, the chaplain says! Well, hell, I’ve only got a mom, and if some Russki thinks he can do something with that old bag then by all means, he can have her… Well, hell! Let’s get to it. God damn these tree stumps! Tugging at you like little beggar boys… Would it kill ’em to chop ’em a little lower?’

The journey continued. Lahtinen’s anger was channeled into the hauling effort. Though he did yell at Salo, who had let his rope go noticeably slack, ‘You pull, too, God damn it! You haven’t even broken a sweat!’

Salo’s rope tightened and over their huffing and puffing came the very sensible response, ‘I ain’t tryin’ to break a sweat. Just tryin’ to get this sled to move.’

They started to hear intense firing out in front of them on the left, and suspected that the battalion had reached the enemy service road. They were just about ready to drop with exhaustion when they finally caught up with the platoon, which had already fanned out into formation. Lahtinen decided by himself that the machine gun should be positioned right in the middle of the platoon, in a cluster of trees jutting out of the forest. He recognized immediately that it was the best spot. On the whole, he was a good machine-gun leader, as he knew how to organize things so the weapon would be useful.

The area they needed to cover was extensive, and the Ensign leading the rifle platoon was apprehensive about the mission. His platoon was supposed to cover the flank of the advancing formation, so it absolutely had to hold its position – and it was very likely that the enemy would do everything it could to keep its service road open. The Ensign trudged through the snow to the machine gun and said, ‘That’s right. This is the best spot.’

His position of responsibility had made him feel a bit isolated, so he continued chatting, sociably, ‘We may be able to get through without any resistance, but if they come at us, you start shooting full blast.’

Lahtinen was still pissed off about his recent exertion and snarled irritably, ‘Of course we shoot! You think we’re gonna sit here sucking our thumbs while they mow us down?’

The Ensign, baffled at Lahtinen’s outburst, continued on his way.

The cold grew worse. The horizon receded into a bleak, cold red as the winter sun sank down behind it. The snowdrifts between the trees began to take on a blue sheen. Darkness fell over the dense forest, making its dead silence feel even deeper.

Lahtinen was on his knees behind the machine gun, keeping constant watch over the immediate terrain. The others were a bit further back, gathering around a pitiful excuse for a campfire. Sometimes the freezing temperature caused crackles up in the branches, and occasionally you could hear the low clink of metal as the guards moved the bolts on their guns to keep them operable. They could hear firing off to their left. A light machine gun sent a couple of rounds echoing through the icy forest several times over. The artillery fire had died down. All they heard was an occasional string of booms from the artillery battery and the whistling of shells overhead.

Lahtinen’s boots were frozen – as was his snowsuit, which rustled whenever he bent over. A louse bit his neck, but he didn’t bother to scratch it, as he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand out of the warmth of his mitten.

The snow crust crackled in the forest. Lahtinen went rigid and listened closely. Then the sound came back. Somebody was trudging cautiously through the snowdrifts with carefully weighted steps.

Lahtinen’s heart started to thump. He sank down slowly onto his stomach and slipped his hands up into the grips. The sound continued, growing louder. Soon it was accompanied by the rustling of several legs, followed by the clanging of metal.

‘Hey,’ Lahtinen whispered to the infantry guy lying a little way off. ‘Enemy’s moving. Straight ahead.’

The man raised his head and whispered in a suffocated breath, choking with anxiety, ‘Yeah, I hear.’

Then he passed the word, ‘Alert. Neighbors ahead.’

Safeties clicked. The alert rippled down the line.

Lahtinen stared through the trees at the clearing and suddenly started. There was a man in a white snowsuit standing with a gun under his arm, scanning his surroundings. It was as if he had appeared like a ghost, and Lahtinen had no idea when he had arrived. Then another one appeared behind the juniper bushes, and the first beckoned to him with his hand. Lahtinen released the safety on the gun and set the thumb of his frozen mitten on the trigger. The man’s upper body rose above the sight.

Lahtinen breathed anxiously. Straining with tension, he waited for more enemy soldiers to come into view. He was only afraid that the infantry guys would start in too early with their rifles, as the men within eyeshot were clearly scouts, which meant that there were even more enemy soldiers not far behind. At the same time, he was in the grips of the perpetual fear of the machine-gunner: would the weapon work? The freezing temperatures had made some of its moving parts go stiff.

A bang sounded beside him, and Lahtinen nearly exploded with curses, but then he pressed the trigger. A great wave of relief rolled through him as the gun obediently began hammering out rounds. The man in front dropped into a heap like a collapsible pocket-knife. The fellow behind him tottered for a moment, as if deciding which way to fall, before dropping down on his side.

‘Positions!’ Lahtinen cried out hoarsely to the group of men behind him. There was no sense in whispering anymore. A few shots rang out from the forest, but the enemy was nowhere to be seen. Then the firing ceased and all they could hear was crunching snow.

Määttä, Salo and Sihvonen tossed some snow on their feeble campfire and hurried to the machine gun. Behind them, the guys from the infantry platoon did the same.

‘What’s over there?’ Sihvonen asked, when they had reached Lahtinen. The latter was scanning the ground out in front of him and didn’t respond. The machine gun gave off a sizzling noise. The hot grease hissed against the metal, which even in the midst of all the excitement reminded Lahtinen of an old omen his mother had always talked about when their stove made that sizzling noise. Supposedly it was a sign of death.

Maybe Lahtinen’s fear manifested itself in his recollection of this sinister omen. Nevertheless, he refused to wallow in the fear the memory brought on and turned to Sihvonen with a blank stare, replying with his usual crotchetiness, ‘Well, whatta ya think? Now who could possibly be over there? Who might be shooting from that direction, now, you tell me.’

Sihvonen shut up, hurt at Lahtinen’s cutting reply. They scanned the terrain carefully, but didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of the enemy. Only the crackling of the snow led them to the conclusion that the enemy must be regrouping for an attack.

The Ensign showed up on their right just as his deputy platoon leader turned up on the left. The Ensign endeavored to keep his voice calm and businesslike, but was unable to conceal his anxiety as he said, ‘There’s even more rustling over on the right. I think we’re up against some stiff opposition. This isn’t a question of a few scouts.’

The deputy didn’t even try to mask his uneasiness, but declared grimly, ‘Nope, definitely not a question of scouts. The forest’s rustling way past our furthest positions, and someone’s giving orders over there in front of the fourth squad.’

‘Can’t you stretch out the line?’

‘How the hell am I supposed to stretch out the line when the men can barely shout to one another as it is?’

The Ensign lost his temper and snapped, ‘You’ve got to spread it out! Put a light machine gun at the head. And tell the leader of the fourth squad to keep a special eye out on his flank…’

‘I’ve already put a light machine gun out there. But it’s not going to be much help. Its shooting range is fifty yards.’

The Ensign didn’t say anything. He’d been dreading a situation like this the whole time they’d been at war. Death on one side, and Major Sarastie’s withering glance on the other, accompanied by the emphatically declarative question, ‘And so you had to turn tail. Well, what the hell have they got over there?’

Then some sympathetic friend would feel awkwardly obliged to console him, ‘That kind of thing can happen to anyone.’

The Ensign lived in perpetual fear of finding himself in a situation in which everything would rest on his shoulders alone. Would he be man enough to hold his ground as an example to his men, to maintain discipline if they began to falter?

He would have to be. Such an encounter with the Major could not come to pass. They’d hold the positions, and if there was no other alternative, then let the end come. The Ensign took a deep and decisive breath of air, filling his lungs far below his heart and saying in a voice full of strength and assurance, ‘Here we stand and here we stay. There’s no alternative. The battalion is in combat and we are responsible for protecting its flank.’

Lahtinen hissed back at them, ‘Shut up back there! Listen! There’s a hell of a lot of chattering going on across the way.’

The Ensign fell silent and they listened. Low voices came from out in front of them, mixed with the crunching of snow. Lahtinen glared at the Ensign and said accusingly, ‘I mean, it’s none of my business, but it seems like we might want to start doing something here. That’s not just one company back there, guys. If there’s anything that’s clear around here, it’s that we’re in for it. You’d better send a runner to request help. And he’d better tell ’em straight out that a troop of guys who are already half-dead isn’t gonna cut it.’

‘I already sent word,’ the Ensign replied, ‘but I didn’t request the reinforcements, because there aren’t any.’

‘I see. Well, that’s a different story.’ Lahtinen resumed scanning the foreground with a scowl on his face.

The Ensign and his sergeant turned back to one another. After a brief consultation, they decided to send another runner to update the battalion on the situation. ‘Tell them we can’t be responsible for holding the line if we don’t get help.’

The man set off, happy and relieved, and the others gazed enviously after him. There goes one guy who’s getting out of this alive.

The gravity of the situation prompted the Ensign to take on a collegial tone as he said to the Sergeant, ‘Well, do what you can over there. They can’t fly away in these deep drifts, either.’

The Sergeant turned to leave, tossing his rifle over his shoulder and calling back with a sort of bitter, hopeless defiance, ‘Snowdrifts aren’t gonna stop ’em. Well, so long, then. See you on the other side.’

It was nearing five o’clock. The snowdrifts gleamed ever bluer as the forest settled into dusk, and the last, cold strains of the clear, winter daylight faded away. The glimmering snow helped the light linger a little, but in the groves and thickets, dusk had already gained the upper hand.

Commands rang out from the enemy side. Lahtinen scowled at his companions. Anxious and frightened as he was, he was overcome with a sort of hopeless, malicious glee, as if he were reveling in the fact that, now, things were as bad as they could possibly be. As the others stared silently into the forest, Lahtinen thought he would remind them just how bad a fix they were really in, and said, ‘We’re toast. Just so you know.’

No one responded. Only Määttä slowly stretched out an ammo belt, and Lahtinen took the silence to mean that the men still didn’t realize or recognize how hopeless the situation was. So, he dutifully resumed his missionary efforts. ‘So now we fight in the name of our faith and family. Humph. Gotta earn those wood crosses they’re gonna stick up on top of our graves.’

No answer. Salo released the safety on his gun. Lahtinen was losing his patience. What the hell was going on? Why didn’t these guys realize how hopeless their position was?

‘If we have to hightail it out of here, the machine guns better not get left behind. Just so you know.’

‘I’ll take the gun-stand,’ Määttä said quickly, with deliberate nonchalance. He may have sensed that, in his fear, Lahtinen was lashing out, paying them back for all the laughs they’d had at his expense. But the hopeless, malicious glee fell from Lahtinen’s voice and he grew frank and businesslike as he issued the men with their instructions. ‘Määttä and I shoot the machine gun. You guys cut down everything you can with those rifles. And remember now, every round’s gotta strike. Aim for the belly, that’s the way to take a guy out of the game. Aim for one that’s closest and take ’em down in turn. And don’t shoot blind. What I mean is, every time you shoot, shoot to kill.’

‘Uraaaa… aaa… aaraa… uraa… raaa…’

The men drew in their breath. Every nerve was on edge as their bodies prepared to give their all in carrying out their minds’ orders. The cold had evaporated, banished by their over-excited bodies and anxious breath. It was the most stirring moment of battle, a silence charged with excitement that suddenly erupts into a clattering crash. It was as if the first shot startled tens and hundreds of fingers into pulling their triggers, so that for one moment, all the weapons cracked in unison before their fire petered out into its various forms.

Lahtinen shot with his jaws clenched firmly together. His first prey was an officer clad in white furs. Then he turned his attention to a machine-gun squad trying to reach a position under cover of some pines.

One man made it in time. The enemy’s call to charge echoed over a terrifyingly wide range. From their own positions, they heard only the clamor of ceaseless firing, though once they made out a hoarse, anxious cry on the left: ‘Light machine guns over here! Get the light machine guns over here…’

The advance halted in front of the machine gun. The enemy was trapped in its fire, and Lahtinen was rapidly shooting to both sides. He glanced at Määttä and said, thinking to fend off any accusations, ‘I can’t see them, I’m just boosting morale, see.’

Määttä didn’t say anything. He was just making sure one belt after another made it into the feeder. The machine gun was already beginning to glow with heat.

Things to their left had fallen suspiciously silent, and suddenly Sihvonen gasped, ‘They’re making a run for it. We’d better go, too!’

Lahtinen also saw the running men and screamed to Sihvonen, ‘You’re not taking off before the rest of us!’

At that moment the Ensign came running up on the right, yelling, ‘Get in position! Go back! Who the fuck gave you permission to retreat?’

Further off one of the guys running yelled, ‘They’re circling round from the left!’

The Ensign called for his deputy commander, ‘Penttinen! Sergeant Penttinen!’

‘Penttinen’s dead. Head’s shot through like a sieve.’

‘And Lehtovirta and Kylänpää.’

‘They’re cutting through on the left!’

‘The light machine gun’s still back there along with both guys. I saw them get Aarnio from three yards away.’

Panicked men poured in from the left, yelling about one disaster after another. Hoarse, the Ensign screamed, ‘Turn around! Get back in position!’

A few of the men returned to their positions, but just then they were hit with a hail of enemy fire and one of them fell, crying out softly. It rattled the others so much they lost all will to hold back the enemy. Even the guys on the right, who’d been spared these traumas, were beginning to join the flight. Lahtinen started detaching the machine gun from its mount, as he could see that there was nothing to be done but try to save the gun. Salo and Sihvonen had already fled.

The Ensign also realized that the situation was hopeless. He was about to set off toward the left to see if there was any chance of holding the enemy back, but just then he spotted a hand rising from the snow and heard a wounded man scream, ‘Guys! Don’t leave me! Please, guys, please…’

The Ensign dashed over. He called for help from Sihvonen, who was just running by, but Sihvonen just pressed on with eyes like saucers. Salo stayed back to help, however, and together they started to pull the wounded man behind them.

When Lahtinen saw what was going on, he put the machine gun back on the gun mount and said to Määttä, ‘Clear out the sled and put that guy in it… Hurry. You go help. I’ll hold ’em back while you guys take care of him…’

Määttä went. With one heave he dumped the contents of the sled, then pulled it over to the wounded man. They raised him into the sled and started pulling it to the forest for cover. Some of the Ensign’s men came back to help, so Määttä and the Ensign stayed to wait for Lahtinen.

Lahtinen was firing indiscriminately across as wide a range as the spin on the gun mount allowed. He glanced over his shoulder and, seeing the sled slip into the forest to safety, rose to his knees to grab hold of the gun.

Määttä and the Ensign shot randomly toward the enemy, trying to give Lahtinen some kind of cover. The enemy had spotted him, and their bullets were sending up bursts of snow all around him.

‘Leave the machine gun and run!’ the Ensign cried, figuring it would be impossible for one man to get the machine gun out all by himself. Maybe Lahtinen didn’t hear, or maybe he just couldn’t imagine abandoning the weapon, but in any case Määttä and the Ensign watched as the hulking youth swung the entire machine gun assembly over his shoulder and began crawling toward them. When Lahtinen fell, they thought at first that he had stumbled, but when he didn’t get up, Määttä yelled, ‘Lahtinen!’

No answer came. The snow-suited man lay prone and motionless. The front leg of the gun-stand stuck straight up behind his neck. Määttä and the Ensign waited for a moment for some sign of life, then began to trudge away in silence. Abandoned skis littered the terrain behind their positions, but there wasn’t time to gather them up.

The machine gun sizzled as it sank into the melting snow, its casing hot from firing. Water pearled and joined and slowly began to trickle down the exposed blueberry leaves. A few, sparse drops of blood had stained it red. They dropped from just behind Lahtinen’s ear, where the bullet had lodged.

‘You all whacked or what? Where you comin’ from?’ Rokka clapped the gasping man on the back.

‘Over there… over there…’

‘Don’t you mumble now… What’s goin’ on over there?’

‘All the guys… done… killed the whole platoon.’

‘Now, don’t say that! Here you are, still alive! And there’s s’more fellas comin’ over there. What happen’da the machine gun? Where’s Lahtinen?’

‘Still back there. Nobody made it out alive.’

‘I don’t think we’re gonna get anything out of him,’ Hietanen said, leaning on his ski poles. The only assistance the battalion had sent was Rokka’s rifle, and Hietanen had tagged along. The two of them suspected they were too late to be of use as soon as they ran into the first retreating soldier, who was still in a state of shock.

Rokka let up on the man, and as more breathless runners turned up, he and Hietanen got a clearer sense of what was going on from the guys who had their wits about them. Määttä and the Ensign brought up the rear. No sooner had the Ensign rejoined his men than he flew into a rage. ‘You motherfucking pansies! That’s the last time you’re going to pull that stunt. Sure, just run like a flock of goddamn chickens without so much as a glance behind! And forget about bringing the wounded guys! If even one of you abandons his post again, you’d all better know what you’re in for.’

‘Where’s Lahtinen and the machine gun?’ Hietanen asked Määttä.

‘Lyin’ back there side by side,’ Määttä replied flatly, as if he couldn’t care less.

‘There was nothing to be done,’ the Ensign said, as if making excuses on Määttä’s behalf. ‘This man did everything he could. He and I brought the wounded man back. It wasn’t this man’s fault. He’s the only guy worth his salt in the whole outfit…’

‘Look, I don’t care whose fault it was. All I asked about was Lahtinen and the machine gun,’ Hietanen said, a bit sharply, as he didn’t like the sound of the Ensign’s accusations.

‘Me, too,’ Rokka said. ‘Lissen, they’re gonna be over here soon, too… Better git the fellas set up.’

The Ensign realized there were more critical things to attend to than berating his men and quickly started organizing the defense. He was still hoping to stop the enemy advance, so, letting up on his tone of a moment before, he bellowed, ‘We’ll knock the fight out of them yet, boys! Get into positions. Try to dig some foxholes in the snow. And if you can reach into the ground, even better.’

Spurred on by a new wave of hope, the Ensign pulled himself together and moved decisively. He asked Hietanen to take charge of the men coming in on the far right wing, as his own platoon had lost its deputy commander as well as both of the squad leaders who’d been on the left. Hietanen got the troops into formation and Rokka searched for a good spot for the machine gun. They had too many men for one gun, now that Lahtinen’s team was on hand as well, so they decided that just Määttä and Vanhala would stay with the gun, and the others would join the firing line. Rokka himself went over to the Ensign and said, ‘Lissen, Ensign! Where do you need a real top-notch fella? ’Cause you’re lookin’ at him.’

Rokka’s self-assured declaration made the Ensign grin, despite the gravity of the situation. He was aware of Rokka’s reputation, however, and knew he was as good as his word.

‘The ends of the line are the worst. Take a few men with you and cover the far left. Head out just past the end of the line and keep your eyes peeled…’

‘You betcha. Hey! You, with the submachine gun! Come with me! And gimme that gun.’

‘You might want to take someone else with you,’ the Ensign whispered. ‘Lampinen was on the left back there just now, so he’s a little traumatized. And anyway his nerves aren’t exactly made of steel.’

‘Don’t need quality. Just somebody a keep the drums loaded. C’mere! Now lissen, I’m a comedian, see – you come with me and we’ll have ourselves barrels of fun. Grab some ammo there, much as you can walk with.’

They set off.

Rokka trudged through the snow, his quiet companion lugging ammunition behind him. The moon began to shed some light on the dark forest. Snow glittered in the gaps between the trees, but menacing, mysterious shadows emerged from the thickets. The shadows stretched long, as the moon had only just begun to rise.

Rokka and his companion passed the last man on the line and continued on a little further. Rokka chattered away, whispering to his silent companion, ‘Hot diggity! These are some dandy felt boots I got me back there on’nat service road. Lil’ tough gittin’ ’em off a that fella’s feet, though. Already good and frozen on him, they were.’

The man didn’t respond, he just glanced around, petrified. Suddenly Rokka stopped and raised his hand. A lump rose in Lampinen’s throat when he saw what had prompted Rokka’s halt. Before them lay a small, frozen swamp, and dozens of snow-suited men were tramping across it double-file – toward them. Rokka beckoned Lampinen to his side, and carefully they pressed themselves into the snow.

‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Lampinen said, his voice trembling.

‘Now how you gonna know ’til you try? Aw, shucks, what a trick! They heard us makin’na racket and figgered out where we was so they could send troops round and surround us. Can I smell it or what? And here I am this whole time feelin’ things ain’t quite what they seem.’

The enemy was advancing slowly and recklessly. They didn’t have any scouts, despite the fact that, at the moment, they were crossing an exposed swamp. Perhaps they were just so confident in their mission that they figured that kind of thing wasn’t necessary. Rokka and Lampinen sank themselves deeper into the snowdrifts, Rokka whispering instructions the whole time. ‘These drums here’s full. Soon as I plow through ’em, you refill ’em, hear? Just make sure you always put the full ones in the full pile, so they don’t git mixed up. And you just keep calm. Just like Rokka here. We ain’t got no troubles. They’re the ones gonna be in for it pretty soon. Hey, you know howd’da sing? You might hum a lil’ sumpin’, soft-like. Keeps the spirits up. Lil’ strategy for the mind, see? Just think a any crazy ol’ thing, ’sall good in a spot like this.’

Rokka knew his whispering wouldn’t reach enemy ears, since the rustling of the men’s snowsuits would drown out any smaller noises. Double-file, they trudged laboriously through the snow as Rokka steadied the sight.

‘See that officer out in front? Soon as his shadow hits that lil’ spruce there, he’s meetin’ his maker. That’s what I say. ’Nen after him, I start in on’na rest of ’em. Look at them all lined up! Waddlin’ along one after the other like sittin’ ducks. Poor bastards! Don’t know what’s about’ta hit ’em. Pretty soon you’re gonna see how the Lord takes His own. Now, You lissen up up there, ol’ man! If any a those fellas’s sinned, You take mercy on him, hear? Be quick now! They’re gonna start headin’ up to You soon.’

The shadow of the officer walking in front was nearing the spruce tree. The man never knew what happened to him. All he saw was the dark rim of the forest, the snow glittering in the moonlight, and his own shadow, whose head was just reaching the tip of a young spruce tree. His eyes may have glimpsed the muzzle flash, but he never had time to grasp its meaning.

A few cries and random shots rang out, but Rokka’s submachine gun cut through everything, hammering away like a sewing machine. Rokka was cool and calculating as he killed – an ability made possible by his particular kind of constitution. His eyes were sharp and his mind moved swiftly, unfettered by fear, as his hands carried out its commands with sure and extraordinary accuracy.

A few of the men darted off, trying to make a break for it. Others tried to crawl along the snowdrifts. A few shot randomly, but the dry hammering of the submachine gun was difficult to locate.

Having mowed down the front of the line, Rokka started in from the tail end. First he shot down the men nearest to the forest’s protective edge. The man nearest to safety was always next up, and Rokka hammered steadily toward the center of the group as the situation advanced. Men dropped like flies in the snowy clearing. One hopeless fugitive ran wading through the snow to the edge of the forest, and a glimmer of hope may even have flickered through his mind as he crossed into the shadow of its cover. But then the hail of bullets struck, and again, one more motionless lump sank onto the snow. Others tried to dig themselves down into the drifts and return fire, but no sooner did anybody shoot than the snow around him would fly into the air and his weapon would fall silent.

Lampinen lay beside Rokka, dripping with sweat from head to toe. Hands trembling, he tore open the cardboard boxes and filled Rokka’s empty drum magazines. He was nearly mad with fear. He was reassured somewhat by Rokka’s face, which wasn’t even anxious, just stealthy and alert; but the whole situation still struck him as highly unstable and far from equal. They might be surrounded at any moment. And on top of his fear he was overwhelmed with horror at this staggering slaughter. Whenever he glanced over at the swamp, he would glimpse some guy trying to crawl away on his last legs, until Rokka’s merciful bullet would put him out of his misery. Heart-rending wails and cries for help pierced through the din. Never in his life had Lampinen witnessed so great a massacre, and although he had no particular humanitarian anxiety about such things, the ruthless slaughter somehow struck him as monstrous.

Lampinen heard an angry, buzzing blast, and the submachine gun fell silent. A frightened cry escaped him as he looked at Rokka. He saw that his fur cap had slid off. His head hung limp over the butt of the gun and a red rivulet of blood was trickling from his hairline down to his cheek.

Lampinen dropped the magazine and started crawling away. Now that he was alone, self-control abandoned him completely and, choking with horror, he imagined that the enemy was at his back at this very moment, about to shoot a stream of bullets straight through him. He was just about to get up and start running when he felt a hand seize his ankle, and with a strangled gasp and protruding eyes, he turned back to look.

Rokka squeezed his leg and smiled. But to Lampinen, even the smile was sickening. Rokka’s face was distorted by pain and stained with blood, and his grimace gleaming in the moonlight looked more like that of a cackling devil than anything human.

‘Where you headed?’

‘Nnnn… n… no… nowhere.’

‘C’mon back where you were, then. I thought you’d run off somewheres. Don’t you go runnin’ off, damn it. I’d run outta drums…’

The submachine gun started up again. None of the men remaining was running anymore – those that were left were just trying to crawl through the snow to safety. A few of them even made it, but the number of survivors represented just a tiny fraction of those who had advanced into the middle of the clearing.

‘That’ssa one done it, lil’ sucker behin’nat spruce. You shot a furrow down my scalp, and for that you’re gonna git half your head blown off. Like that… an’nat… an’nat. Just lookit how that fella went down in’na snow! You see how that drift just swallowed him up? Damn! Don’t you mess with Antti Rokka.’

Movement on the swamp slowed. There was some fire coming from the rim of the forest, but no signs of attack anywhere else. The moonlight, clear as ever, bathed the bodies strewn about the swamp. A low moan would rise now and again, followed by a sharp, quick string of shots from Rokka’s submachine gun. His head bare, his face lit with a faint smile, the cool killer guarded his prey, eyeing it down to the very last sign of life.

A rustling of skis sounded somewhere to the rear. The lieutenant from the Jaeger Platoon slid up behind them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on no more. Lissen, you go git the line and stretch ’em over there alongside a swamp! Neighbors might give it another go. Guess you fellas came to give us a hand anyway, huh?’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s why we’re here.’ The Lieutenant sent his companion back to the line while he himself remained marveling over the bodies.

‘It was just you, shooting?’

‘Well, sure, you might say that. Neighbors over there tried’a chime in every once in a while, but nothin’ much came a that. Did gimme a nick in’na head, though, the bastards. Clear knocked me out for a second there.’

‘And I was all ready to run,’ Lampinen confessed meekly, as if to establish that he had no intention of denying his fear. Rokka gave a good-spirited chuckle and said, ‘Sure were! Gave me a good laugh when I came to and saw your foot right there next to me, ’bout’ta push off for the rear. ’Nen it flashed through my head that you thought I was a goner. I reckoned you’d git a hell of a start from a dead man pullin’ your leg! But lissen, you bandage up my head now, all right? So it stops bleedin’ like. Cold’s made the blood stop, but you better wrap it up anyway.’

Lampinen started binding the wound. He wasn’t at all embarrassed about how scared he’d been, and said in a voice full of humble admiration, ‘I don’t know much about these things, but man, you’re one hell of a shot.’

Rokka raised his mitten and started lecturing in his school-teacherly voice, ‘Now, you see here. Here’s how it is. You turn tail, and you can hightail it all’a way to the Gulf’a Bothnia. They’ll chase after ya, no doubt about that. But if you stay put and don’t give an inch – well, whadda they gonna do about it? Wouldn’t be quite right to all fall in’na same pit together. That’ssa whole key to defensive strategy right there. There’s nothin’ more to it than that and there never will be. But gaddamn it, don’t swaddle me like a babe! Pretty soon I ain’t gonna be able to see or hear nothin’! Say, Lieutenant, gimme a smoke. I left mine back in’na transport.’

‘Here, take the whole pack. I’ve still got another.’

‘Naw. Now, aren’t you a big-hearted bastard? I like you lots, Louie. You go see if those fellas all got felt boots on. ’F they do, then tomorrow I’m outfittin’na whole platoon with ’em!’

There were no felt boots on the bodies. They checked the next day, once the enemy had ceded back the reconquered village. The wedge that had been pushing toward the service road had forced them to return to their original line. Fifty-two bodies were found lying in the swamp. By Lampinen’s count, Rokka had emptied seventeen drum magazines. The weapon showed it too. The barrel was stretched beyond repair.

After the fighting, Major Sarastie assembled his battalion again and thanked them for a job well done. He said that their role in the counter-attack had been decisive. The battalion had fought well, and even the Regiment Commander had sent his congratulations. He had ordered that the battalion be recognized for its dauntless fighting spirit.

The men didn’t really understand how this time was any different from any other time, but anyway, apparently they had fought well, because somebody said so.

And to revitalize that fighting spirit within them, they had even shot two privates in front of a sauna wall in the next town over. It would have been rather incredible, after all, if such a thing had had no effect whatsoever.