Unknown Soldiers

by Väinö Linna

  ‘They’ll give us instructions soon enough. Probably both ways, I guess.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinkin’, too. Few fellas take the boats and the rest set up on’na banks and give it all they got. Tricks a the trade, huh? I always said you gotta be tricky in a war. The Russians, see, they woulda taken our positions tons a times in’na Winner War if they’da just thought up a few good tricks. But they just kept at it straight on, straight on, so acourse not a damn thing came outta that. Gotta think about what it is you’re doin’ all’a time. Goes for each man just the same’s for each unit. ’S’called strategy … Let’s have a lil’ shut-eye now, huh, fellas? Never know when you’re gonna git another chance to sleep.’

  Rokka crashed immediately, but the others had trouble falling asleep. Now that they had rested, their anxiety and dread of the coming events overpowered any drowsiness. Their egos got a little boost from the reservists on the side of the road, whom they could overhear murmuring, ‘The guys on active duty are coming. Now things are really gonna heat up.’

  Generally speaking, they considered themselves superior to the reserve units, and the officers capitalized on this fact, saying things like, ‘All right men, let’s show them how we see unwelcome visitors to the door.’

  An innate want of action had resurfaced in some of the men after their long period of rest, so most of them didn’t even need to be woken up when the order came for the companies to move out. They split into squads a little way from the riverbank, where the sappers who were manning the bridge had already dragged the storm boats. There they received their assignment. Half of the Third Platoon would stay on the bank and maintain fire. The other half would back up Kariluoto’s platoon, which was to lead the charge.

  Each squad was assigned a storm boat and the men then decided on the best routes to get to the other side. They set the machine guns into the bows, which they were supposed to shoot from, although Rokka protested that the effort was pointless, since the river was too narrow for them to fire more than a couple of rounds. And thus began the vicious verbal volley between Rokka and Lammio that would carry on just as long as the war did.

  Lammio forbade Rokka from evaluating his orders, prompting Rokka to reply, ‘Well, you can see for yourself it ain’t no use puttin’ machine guns in’nere, my fine friend! Slows you down when you git ashore and gotta disassemble the thing.’

  ‘Listen, Corporal. I am not your “fine friend”, I am your commander, and you will do as I order.’

  ‘Yeah-huh. Well, at least we ain’t gonna put the whole gun-stand in there, too.’

  Lammio didn’t respond, but as soon as Rokka had scurried off, he issued precisely the same command as if it were his idea. ‘Load only the guns into the bows, no gun-stands. One belt should be more or less sufficient to get you across.’

  Rokka, stationed at Lahtinen’s machine gun, said, ‘Lemme at ’er, huh? I’m just sittin’ round like a bum over here. And anyway, you shot last time.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Lahtinen said. ‘I don’t care who shoots. Don’t think Määttä minds, either. Do you?’

  ‘Fine by me …’

  At four o’clock they were ordered into position. The men stood beside their boats. They tried to steel their minds against the persistent onslaught of images of machine-gun fire puncturing the sides of their boats and killing them. They tried to determine whether it would be possible to swim holding a machine gun and came to the conclusion that it would not.

  Kariluoto’s anxious face rose from behind the first boat. ‘Keep it down! Not a word unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ The command had scarcely left his mouth when the world exploded behind them. Whee-ee-ee …

  Intense, heavy shelling tore up the earth on the opposite shore. After it had gone on for about five minutes, they started dragging the boats down to the bank. The shells had blanketed the far shore in such heavy smoke that somebody muttered in relief, ‘They’ll have to aim by ear through that.’

  ‘Advance!’

  The storm-boat drivers started up the engines and the men began pushing the boats into the river.

  ‘Everybody in!’

  The propellers sank into the water and the boats started for the opposite shore.

  The next echelon of guys was already approaching the river. Weak, random shots came from behind the smokescreen, hurting no one.

  Rokka lay in the bow of the second squad’s boat and shot into the smoke. He hadn’t made it very far down the belt before the bow scratched against the bank and the men jumped ashore. It was there that the first man fell. One of the sappers slipped on a rock and fell into the water, which began to billow red all around him. The scare prompted some of the men to dive for cover on the slopes along the bank, but Kariluoto forced them on. Rokka helped, having already started to make his way through the smoke with the machine gun over his shoulder, yelling, ‘Now’ssa time to git a move on! They’ll recover soon and then we’re cooked. ’Member, fellas, we got water behind us.’

  They climbed up the meadowy bank in the smoke as the enemy fired from above. Kariluoto called to his men continually to make sure they were close, as their visibility was still limited, though the smoke was already beginning to clear up. Rokka ran beside him, panting, ‘Hey, Ensign! Lissen here! Don’t let your fellas dawdle in’na daisies back there! We gotta steamroll ’em! Keep up the pace! That’s what we did at Kelja, sent ’em scurryin’ with just the same trick.’

  The enemy positions were set up along the rim of the forest. The smokescreen had already dissipated so much that it ceased to offer any protection, and one guy from Kariluoto’s platoon took a fatal bullet. The others threw themselves to the ground and answered fire, and Koskela ordered the machine guns into position to counter the enemy’s automatic weapons. The command was superfluous as far as the second gun was concerned, as Rokka was already shooting without the gun-stand, resting the gun barrel on the stump of a tree. Määttä remained standing nonchalantly as he fed the belt, determined to show this Rokka character that he didn’t have a monopoly on courage.

  ‘Over there, the bastards … Look! See …? Machine gun ’hinda logs.’ Rokka had spotted three heads behind a machine gun, but at just the same moment they had spotted him, and a hail of bullets whizzed by their ears. Two of the bullets tore through Lahtinen’s coat, which was sticking up in a bundle on his back as he pressed to the ground beside the gun. Rokka aimed the sight with speed and precision. Two heads fell. The third sank on top of the machine gun and the gun fell silent.

  Kariluoto ordered his men to charge, and when Rokka heard the command, he handed the machine gun to Määttä, saying hurriedly, ‘Here, you take it … I’m goin’ in with the infantry fellas … somebody over there said charge …’

  The enemy had abandoned a length of trench in front of them, or rather its defenders had all been shot down. Kariluoto leapt into the trench and a few of his men followed. Rokka raced after them and snatched Kariluoto’s submachine gun right out of his hands before the latter could even think to protest, saying in passing, ‘Gimme that … here, you take these hand grenades … now ain’t that a beauty! … mighty scarce in’na Winner War …’

  Rokka raced off past him, and it all happened so naturally that Kariluoto just did as he was told without a second thought. There wasn’t any time to wonder over this lively, chattering man dashing in a low crouch along the edge of the trench. Kariluoto gathered up hand grenades from his men as they came up behind him, and when they reached a bend in the trench, Rokka would order him to throw a grenade up over behind it.

  ‘Soon’s it goes off, I’ll go in
and take care a the moppin’ up. Let’s do one more round at the next bend. That oughdda take care of it … don’t you think?’

  Kariluoto threw a grenade and as soon as it had exploded Rokka dashed around the corner. Two fallen enemy soldiers lay in the trench, and a third was pointing his gun at Rokka. He was dead before he had a chance to think of shooting, though.

  ‘Don’t you aim at me, ol’ man! That’ssa way to git yourself killed … this fella here’s speedy …’

  Three enemy soldiers went down at the next corner. Rokka’s aim was swift and sharp. He called out instructions the whole time, which the others instinctively followed. Even Kariluoto didn’t so much as notice that Rokka had taken over his platoon. He just kept throwing hand grenades on command, marveling at the unfailing speed and accuracy of this man running out in front of him. Rokka’s mode of operation was fundamentally practical. His fearlessness meant he could keep a cool head and think without falling prey to panic, and he knew that the enemy would be helpless so long as they pressed onward relentlessly, without pause. As long as the enemy soldiers were under continual fire, they couldn’t launch any hand grenades themselves, and Rokka’s submachine gun took care of the rest, shooting decisively, though not hastily, and striking precisely where needed.

  The Second Company, which had made the crossing behind them, now caught up on the right and easily took up the enemy positions, Kariluoto’s platoon having already advanced far down the trench and paralyzed its defense. Kariluoto’s men returned just as the platoon to the left of the Second Company was catching up to them. Part of the Third Company circled around, attacking from the opposite direction, or rather, just taking over the enemy positions, as a general flight was already underway. Koskela’s machine-gunners were out in front securing the battalion’s victory, with the exception of Rahikainen, who was in the back, securing his personal stockpile of insignia scrounged from dead Russian soldiers.

  Kariluoto hurried over to Rokka in excitement. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rokka here. First name Antero. Already all signed up with another ensign, though.’

  ‘No, no, I was just curious. That was some top-notch work you did in that push through the trench.’ Kariluoto was so excited that it hadn’t even occurred to him to be irritated with Rokka for giving him orders.

  Rokka wiped his sweat with his cap and laughed. He had a peculiar way of looking at other people. He never looked anybody straight in the eye, but rather looked slightly sideways, out of the corner of his eye, which would flash with a sly twinkle more often than not. In general, his speech also had something about it that made it seem as if it were all half meaningless – except when he started lecturing pedantically on some topic or other. He answered Kariluoto’s praise with his typical lightheartedness, laughing, ‘Don’t you start praisin’ me, Ensign. You think I’m some kinda daredevil, don’t you?’

  Then he stopped laughing, pointed his finger and started lecturing Kariluoto in a tone so schoolteacherly it sounded humorous coming from the mouth of such an animated man. ‘Lissen here, Ensign! You’re a young fella and you still got some idea ’bout bein’na hero. You wanna go out and do heroic deeds. Now me, I don’t give a damn ’bout none a that. You go where you gotta go when’na situation calls for it, and otherwise you keep low. In’nat attack back there you got yourself up and pushed on as a example to the others. That’s good – but make sure you check what the situation is before you go doin’nat kinda thing. We ain’t out here to die, we’re out here to kill. You keep your eyes peeled, always. That’s called offensive strategy. You go. They shoot at you. You run without lookin’ and those damn fellas’ll pop you off straight away. No – you look for cover, you see who’s shootin’, and you act fast but not hasty. Aim quick, aim sharp and shoot first. One second ahead’s all you need. That’s all there is to it.’

  Then it was as if Rokka suddenly realized he was being unnecessarily serious and pedantic, and he followed up his speech with a wry laugh and said, ‘Anyway, I can’t seem to work up a fright in this here war. This’s all child’s play compared’da what we had out in Taipale. Suslin’ over there, he can tell you how we hadda lie in’na ice in between’na dead bodies and how all’a fellas went bonkers, and how we hadda drag half of ’em back dead every night. That’ssa way it was all right … But hey, I’m gonna go see what kind of chump that fella is, one who tried at me with his machine gun.’

  Rokka took off toward the machine-gun position and came upon Rahikainen, busily taking stock of his loot. ‘What the hell you gonna do with those?’

  ‘Turn a profit on ’em.’

  ‘Where you plan on findin’ buyers?’

  ‘Bums in the back.’

  ‘Well, whadda ya know. Hey, where’d those two fellas fall? Oops, there they are, lyin’ on’na bottom a their trench. I wondered if I oughdda shoot the whole belt, but when those two fellas sunk down behind … Here’s the one took a shot at me. Young fella. Poor kid. Well, you pick a fight with me and that’ssa way it goes. But let’s git movin’ … others’s gonna leave us behind. Ain’t changed, sound a bullet makes. Same ol’ whistle.’

  They resumed their advance. The machine-gunners held Rokka in such a degree of esteem that it went far beyond envy. It helped that Rokka himself seemed to think it all perfectly natural and demanded no particular recognition. At the moment he was just pestering Susling to take better care of himself. ‘Quit rushin’ around like that! We’ll make it to Kannas all right, there ain’t no need for all’at. But hey! Lissen, grab that tent tarp from the fellas that went down over there. Shucks, that’ll make us a dandy blanket. Autumn rains gonna start up pretty soon.’

  Chapter Six

  I

  From that point on, the fighting was more or less continuous until they reached Petroskoi. The Karelian Army had launched its second offensive, and they were under constant fire all along the rough country roads leading from the border to Lake Onega. They didn’t know anything of the Karelian Army, however, much less the phases of its offensives. Each man knew his regiment number, but even a ‘division’ was a pretty hazy concept to most of them, not to mention an ‘army corps’ or an ‘army’. Once in a while they would catch a glimpse of a general in a passing car, looking like a picture out of their ‘Private’s Handbook’, and wonder, ‘What the hell is that guy doin’ all the way out here?’ Generals belonged to a whole other world. In their world, there was nothing but misery, hunger, danger and exhaustion, and a group of guys who became your buddies – one or the other of whom would vanish from time to time, never to return.

  On they lumbered, mile after mile, ‘decimating the opposition with expertly designed maneuvers engineered to disrupt enemy communication lines’. And for this, their highest commanders received medals of the greatest distinction.

  Continuous cannon fire rumbled as far as they could hear to the north and the south, and aerial battles were being played out overhead. Sometimes they would pause to watch a plane fall to the ground, flaming like a torch.

  They were always hoping the advance would speed up once they’d driven the enemy back from some position, but to no avail. Every couple of miles brought new resistance. They grew increasingly quiet and irritable with each day that passed. Petty squabbles broke out constantly. Eyes sank deeper into their sockets, cheekbones grew more pronounced and, within a few weeks, lines carved their way into their smooth, boyish faces. Rahikainen stopped scavenging badges. Bread and tent tarps were in higher demand.

  The relationship between Koskela and his platoon grew ever closer. The quiet ensign had attained such an unassailable position in the minds of
his men that all he had to do was hint at what needed to be done and it would be taken care of. In combat he was silent, tireless, shrewd and calculating. As a result, his platoon escaped with very few casualties. Not once did he send the guns into a dangerous combat situation where they couldn’t be of any use, and in situations where they could be effective, he accompanied them personally, guiding the others. But above all, the men felt he was one of their own because he was just like any one of them. When he was off-duty, no one would have been able to say he was an officer without checking his badges, so naturally did he blend in with his men, right down to the detail.

  Lehto’s moods grew ever darker. Once a grenade exploded beside him, but he escaped unharmed. He went deaf for a little while, and was, indeed, still deaf when he proceeded to shoot a wounded enemy soldier, saying that he couldn’t take the man’s moaning any longer. No one took much notice of the incident. They were soldiers now. Once, retreating from some hill, they had to leave a wounded guy behind. When they retook the hill, they found him stripped to his underwear, a deep bayonet gash in his side. In retaliation, one of the submachine-gunners from Kariluoto’s platoon casually took aim at three of the Russians who had surrendered, shooting them down without even removing his gun from under his arm. Two days later that man met his own end when a grenade landed squarely upon him, cleaving his body in two. Death had ceased to be a moral issue.

  Rokka seemed to be enjoying the war. He showed no signs of fatigue – on the contrary, he buoyed the others up with his excess energy. His reputation spread, but the officers were obliged to recognize that this man was not at all the model soldier he might have seemed. He demonstrated no respect for military hierarchy whatsoever. An officer with a rank sufficiently lofty to prevent Rokka from telling him to ‘Lissen here!’ had yet to be seen. As a fighter, he was evidently brilliant, a cool-headed killer – and it often happened that he would take off on his own with the submachine-gunners, in between his turns behind the machine gun. ‘Hand-to-hand’s a kinda military domain you don’ git’ta see much of in a machine-gun outfit, see. I wanna give it a whirl, see what it’s all about.’