by Väinö Linna
When he determined that the upper portion of his stomach had been shot through with more than one bullet, Lehto was certain he was going to die. He was aware of some nearby enemy presence as well, since he could clearly make out some low coughing and whispering just across the main road. There was but one conclusion to be drawn from the situation, and Lehto reached it quickly: Where is my gun?
He groped around with his hands, but to no avail. The machine-gunners hadn’t taken along any hand grenades on account of the extra ammunition, and he had already considered his hand-knife, but that seemed too difficult, especially when he considered what kind of botched job was likely to result from his present lack of strength. He kept groping. Even the smallest movement added to the already unbearable pain, and he lost consciousness again.
Upon waking, he found his strength had diminished further still, though the pain had not lessened. A plaintive moan tinged with some kind of sob tightened in his throat, and although he was sure that the others were no longer nearby, he spat the blood from his mouth and called out in a strangled voice, ‘Vanhala …’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa … pa, pa, pa, pa … pa, papa.
‘Rahikainen …’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.
‘Vanhala, aa … aa …’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.
The hail of bullets sailed overhead, as he was lying in a blind spot created by the bank beside the path. Had he thrown himself to the ground instantly upon hearing the enemy shout, it would have saved him. Now it just prolonged his agony. Gathering his forces, he managed to infuse his voice with all his previous rage as he yelled, ‘Lower … aim lower … fucking cross-eyed bastards … aim lower!’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.
‘First machine gun! Vanhala …’
Pa, pa, pa, pa.
‘Are you motherfuckers deaf? Shoot here … down here … follow my voice … my gun … aaahh …’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.
In pain and fury, Lehto cried. It came out in a combination of curses and sobs, as if some wild animal were wheezing in pain. ‘Aa … aah … hah … haa. Can’t you motherfuckers kill anything? Toss a fucking hand grenade! Fu—’
Pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.
Lehto rolled onto his other side. The pain the movement brought on made his eyes black out, but just as they did he glimpsed something that restored his strength. Less than two yards away, the bolt of his gun was gleaming. His fall had sent it flying that far.
Now the painful journey began. It progressed no more than an inch at a time, as he dug his fingernails into the ground and dragged his paralyzed body forward. His nails bent back and his lips were in shreds, as he gnashed through them, biting down in pain. He fainted a couple of times, though each blackout lasted only a few seconds. He no longer had thoughts. There was nothing but that gleaming bolt, so close and yet so far away. He focused all efforts on that point, and finally the gun strap was in his hand. He pulled the weapon beside him. First he raised the gun barrel and set it in his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he bit down on the cold metal flecked with gunpowder, as if he were afraid somebody might still wrest it from his mouth. Then he twisted his neck so that the mouth of the gun pointed toward the roof of his mouth. Noiselessly, he eased his hand into the grip and curled his finger around the trigger. With no settling of accounts and not a shred of fear, he pulled it.
The shot frightened the enemy. A light machine gun rattled off a few rounds and a hand grenade thudded onto the road. Then all was quiet. And one more Finnish hero’s story drew to a close.
VI
Riitaoja crouched in a corner of the dilapidated barn in the meadow, sobbing softly and trying to muffle the sound of his sniffles. At first, the nearness of the building had been reassuring. At least it was made by human hands. In the middle of all this danger and darkness, it seemed to radiate the comforting presence of other people. But then its ominous silence grew downright terrifying. There might even be enemy soldiers in there. Tonight it seemed like ambushes lay in wait everywhere. And Lehto’s cry. What in the world could have happened? What horrific force reigning over this darkness could have made that maniacal god make a sound like that?
As far as his crippling fear would allow, he steered his thoughts toward various scenarios of how he might get out of this situation. There were Finns in the direction of the crackling, but there was also Lammio. Yes – and he didn’t have the ammunition cases. A rock and a hard place. The path was certain death. The whole first machine-gun team might be lying there dead.
A gentle gust of wind blew into a corner of the barn and rustled the hay. Riitaoja could endure it no longer. He walked quietly toward the path. If he could retrieve the cases of ammunition, he could go back and rejoin the others. He was only five minutes late, as Vanhala, Rahikainen and Sihvonen had just left the meadow’s edge when he arrived.
The path stretched before him, dark and menacing. Sniffling and stopping frequently, Riitaoja advanced. In between, he called out the others’ names. His legs did not want to obey. He had no idea how far it was from the meadow to the road, which was why he kept pausing every other second, expecting something terrible to happen.
Then he heard Lehto’s voice out in front of him: ‘Vanhala.’
When the light machine gun opened fire, Riitaoja threw himself to the ground and lay there trembling, unable to answer Lehto’s cries. The shouts of Vanhala and Rahikainen’s names misled him into thinking that they were over there too. Wild with panic, he didn’t understand what was happening until he heard Lehto’s terrifying cursing and moaning. Then, for a long time, silence reigned – the same silence in which Lehto was crawling toward his gun – and it gave Riitaoja the courage to crawl a short distance forward.
The shower Lehto’s suicidal shot provoked crackled all around him. He rose in terror at the hand grenade’s explosion and started sprinting toward the rear. Hysterically, he stammered, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I didn’t do anything!’
The bullet struck the back of his head, so he was spared the realization of the end.
Chapter Seven
I
The platoon Lehto’s squad had been looking for hadn’t flanked the path to advance toward the road at all. As it turned out, it couldn’t spread out that far to the left without losing contact with the First Platoon, which, for its part, was bound to other squads of the Battalion, so Ensign Sarkola had had to alter the command on his own initiative and advance at a distance of one hundred yards to the right of the path. He had sent word of the change and received the go-ahead – which was perfectly understandable, since losing contact in the dark would have been too risky.
As soon as Koskela had received word, he’d sent a runner to inform Lehto. But the runner, fearful of the dark forest, had dawdled, and met up with the remaining members of the squad only upon their return.
Koskela was kneeling in a ditch by the roadside, aiming into the darkness in the direction of the rumbling of an enemy tank. Rahikainen crawled up behind him and said, ‘Lehto’s done for … And we couldn’t find anybody over there …’
Koskela glanced over his shoulder. Then he turned his head and resumed staring out into the darkness. After a long silence he said, as if only now realizing what had happened, ‘Yeah … I mean, no. There wasn’t anybody over there.’
‘There were some foreign chaps all right! Didn’t seem too fond of us, though.’ Rahikainen was feeling slightly uneasy, and so spoke with a rude defensiveness, as if in anticipation of the accusations to come. He thought Koskela’s silence seemed to imply some sort o
f judgement, and so, acting insulted, he tried to make it clear in his tone of voice that they were the ones who had been wronged. ‘Well, what did you expect? Of all the shitty places to send us … We were creeping along the path when those light machine guns just started cleaning up … took Lehto out straight away …’
‘Yeah … body still over there?’
‘Oh, it’s over there all right. Right under their noses. We barely managed to get the machine gun out.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘They’re over there in the back. But we don’t know where Riitaoja is. Didn’t he come back here?’
‘Haven’t seen him.’
‘He just disappeared back there. We searched for him and called out and all. But when we didn’t hear anything, we figured he must’ve come back here.’
‘He didn’t come here, and we haven’t sent any guys out searching for him, either. Rokka!’
‘What’ssa trouble?’ Rokka crawled down the ditch toward Koskela.
‘Lehto’s dead. You take charge of the first squad from here on out. Send Sihvonen back to his own squad and take Susi with you into the first.’
‘Works for me. How’d he go?’
‘Ran into the enemy.’ Koskela was still staring out into the darkness as he mumbled, ‘They shouldn’t have been sent out straight. It would have been better to curve around through the First Platoon …’
‘Well, there’s two sorts a luck, see. You can have the good or the bad. Now that Lehto boy, he had the bad. But goddamn it, would that tank just drive a lil’ closer! It’s mined over there, see.’
‘Get into position on the left. If it knows to avoid the mines, then just let it come and hold back the infantry.’
The main road had been cut off, and the enemy had instantly sent troops to the cut-off point. Under cover of darkness, both sides were preparing for action at daybreak, and any skirmishes in the meantime were just products of the men’s nervousness. Rokka had taken over Lehto’s squad, which was positioned on the side of the road. They were careful not to shoot, however, as the tank was rumbling out in front of them, firing occasional, random shots into the darkness.
‘Now, don’t waste your shots, fellas!’ Rokka whispered. ‘C’mere you lil’ devil! Not too much, now … just about three yards. Gaddamn it! Won’t budge. Now either I’m goin’ over there and tossin’ a satchel charge on his roof, or – hey, he’s movin’, he’s movin’! Hey fellas … that’s it … now!’
The ground shook and flames lit up the night as the mine exploded beneath the tank treads. The men’s tension erupted in a flurry of frantic shooting on both sides, and the fire blazed up wildly for a moment, before gradually receding into a low, steady burn. The low fire began to lick the sides of the tank, and soon it was engulfed in flames, glaring brightly through the early-morning darkness.
Rokka whispered in delight, ‘You just drove yourself right on’na that mine! I didn’t mean to order you around for real! I was just messin’ with you, and you, you fool, you thought I was serious! A fella hears all kindsa things in this world, but that don’t mean he’s gotta believe everything he hears!’
‘Shut up, pal. We don’t know what else is coming.’ Rahikainen still hadn’t entirely recovered from his shock. Vanhala, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He preferred his new squad leader, as Lehto had been wont to spoil his fun all too often, with a terse ‘Quit sniggering’. But Rokka kept up a pleasant chatter, and Vanhala thought the future under his leadership looked downright grand.
The tank chassis boomed and crackled as it burned, as the heat was beginning to make the ammunition explode. Rokka kept close watch to make sure no men tried to escape the flames, but they must have all lost consciousness when the mine went off, as nobody even tried to get out.
‘Ol’ fellas’ butt-fuzz is burnin’,’ Rokka announced, concluding that by now it was too late for anybody to escape.
Vanhala lay beside the machine gun, fiddling with his belt and repeating Rokka’s phrase, which had clearly struck his fancy. ‘Butt-fuzz … heehee! … Butt-fuzz.’
‘Lissen, Vanhala, don’t you giggle too much now. We’re gonna be in for it ourselves in’na mornin’.’
They watched the fire. Reflections of the flames lit up their faces, making them gleam against the darkness. Rokka’s eyes darted about furtively, like a cat’s. He was in good spirits, as the tank’s destruction meant a significant decrease in the danger awaiting them.
Susling watched the burning chassis in silence for a long time, and then he whispered, ‘Hell of a way to go.’
‘Now lissen here, Suslin’! Don’t you start pityin’ them! This ain’t no Sunday school, you hear? Out here you’re supposed’da kill, damn it. Like I always said, we ain’t out here to die, we’re out here to kill. Otherwise you ain’t comin’ out alive.’
Susling raised his gun to his cheek, sent a shot out into the darkness and said as he pulled out the cartridge, ‘I wasn’t talkin’ ’bout that … Those fellas ain’t out here all by their lonesome, neither. Seems a me I spotted sumpin’ in’nat bush. But I guess it’s empty.’
II
The darkness gradually gave way to a gray, dismal morning. The rain had ceased, but its over-abundant moisture still reigned over the landscape. The branches of the spruce trees dripped with rain and their trunks surged up black against the pale dawn. The grass drenched the men’s clothing. Each twig and leaf they brushed up against dropped a cold gush of rainwater onto them. Countless cobwebs hung between the shrubs and the tall grasses clung to their hands and faces.
The men shivered in their damp garments, trying to block out their misery, which gradually came to be drowned out by the knowledge that they would soon find themselves – yet again – experiencing that greatest of human anxieties: fear for their lives.
The enemy retreated backwards a little, as daybreak would have put them in a rather exposed position otherwise. This brought the men some relief, and the most gullible of them even wondered if perhaps the enemy might decide to surrender the main road voluntarily. Lucky for them, they were ignorant of the general situation. They did not know that the forest behind them was teeming with enemy soldiers, nor that their phone line had been cut, which meant that they were relying solely on a radio connection. They were also unaware of the fact that the division heading toward the main road had not been able to advance nearly far enough, so there was no way the artillery would be able to offer them any support.
They had to try to spread out quickly over a wider sector, as the ground they were covering was still too narrow. The battalion set out, advancing down both sides of the road. When they reached the spot where the path leading to the meadow turned off the main road, they found Lehto and Riitaoja’s bodies. Bit by bit they pieced together the details of the drama. Lehto’s mouth was smashed up and the back of his head had been blasted off almost completely.
‘Shot himself in the mouth. Looks like he was wounded pretty bad. Three bullets right under the heart. Look, guys, look how he dragged himself … his fingernails are totally torn up.’
‘So Lehto is dead, huh?’ Hietanen said, looking at Vanhala and Rahikainen. Vanhala shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, looking embarrassed, but Rahikainen said curtly, ‘I don’t know! We called and he didn’t answer. Whatta you starin’ at?’
‘Seems pre-tty damn strange, if you ask me. Looks like we got a real mystery on our hands, boys. Just like a real mystery play. Now, how can a dead man shoot himself? Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll be so goddamn damned that I don’t even know how damned I am.’
> ‘Well, damn you.’ Rahikainen threw his gun savagely over his shoulder.
Koskela looked at the bodies in silence. Then, to put the pointless quarrel to rest, he said, ‘Look, obviously he regained consciousness later. Anyway, it’s all the same now, whatever happened. What’s for sure in any case is that there’s no way you could have gotten him out of here. Whoever came to get him would have ended up lying here too.’ Then Koskela continued, as if to himself, ‘Lucky it was Lehto. Best man of any of us to endure a death like that.’
Riitaoja’s body aroused further curiosity. The men who had set out with him insisted that he could not have been there when they left. Vanhala even showed them the spot where he’d retrieved the gun-stand, pointing out the traces its two front legs had left on the ground, which were still carved into the surface of the path where he’d dragged it away. Koskela seemed quite convinced that Riitaoja must have returned to the scene later. The others found the story pretty implausible, though, because in order for it to hold, Riitaoja’s return would have had to have been voluntary.
They lifted the corpses onto the path and placed them side by side. Koskela removed the men’s coats and spread them over the bodies. The gesture was unnecessary, of course, but somehow or other it was undeniably beautiful. It was like a blessing. The men did not want to talk about death. Their gaunt, worn-out faces just wore a strange gravity. Carefully, with a gentle deference, they slipped the ammunition from their comrades’ pockets, as it wouldn’t have done to let even one cartridge go to waste. Then they hurried after the advancing company.
Three hundred yards later, the battalion ran up against formidable enemy forces and took up its defensive positions. A massive tank rumbled into view from round a bend in the road, followed by a second. Under cover of the two vehicles, a sizeable fleet of infantrymen were gathering in groups, preparing to attack.