by Väinö Linna
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.
III
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 pa
ralyzed. 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.
IV
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, ‘H
elp! 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.