by Väinö Linna
‘Dig.’
‘With what? Our fingernails?’
‘What’d you guys do with your shovels? Well, now you’ll see what you get for lightening your load. You might be best to head back to Koirinoja to find yours, Aromäki. I think that’s about where I saw it flying by the wayside.’
The company’s shovel strength tended to vary greatly. It would gradually increase during periods of heavy fighting, since the men scrounged equipment from dead enemy soldiers, but even a short break or slightly longer march would prompt them to send their shovels flying by the wayside. There were at least a few shovels left, however, and they were already in heavy use. The men without tried to dig themselves some kind of shelter using anything they had, which, in some cases, was indeed their bare fingernails. Self-delusion can always rise to the occasion, when called upon. They positioned themselves behind small rises in the terrain, set some rotting tree branches on top, and built up the structure with a few chunks of moss. A bullet could sail straight through even a thick tree trunk, it’s true, but this shelter was really more for the soul than the body. A man felt a little more secure behind it.
The men were actually fairly calm and decisive. There was a sort of irrevocability about the situation that brought it about. Since there was no escaping the fix they were in, deciding how one felt about it was rather a straightforward matter.
Kariluoto and his platoon would defend the main road. The first and second machine-gun teams from Koskela’s platoon would join them, setting up one on either side of the road. Kariluoto crawled down the line. His own chest felt hollow, but he urged the other men on nevertheless. ‘Remember guys, nobody leaves his hole. Everyone stays put. No matter what.’
One of their own mortars shot off a pathetic barrage of their precious grenades. First, the men cursed its ineffectiveness, then the fact that it had been launched at all – for no sooner had it than the enemy started preparing to attack in what seemed to the men like an act of revenge for a few measly shells. When the first boom rang out in front of them, and the first grenades crashed down behind them, the men gave frightened, furious shouts of ‘Motherfuckers! Now you’ve done it. See what that gets us!’
Shells crashed down behind them, the majority of them, luckily, having been launched too long. When the crashing died down, they began to catch glimpses of men in brown uniforms darting between the trees, and then, resonating over a terrifyingly broad expanse, there came a long, hair-raising cry of ‘Uraa … aaa … raaa … aaaaaaaa!!’
And then it started. A constant, unbroken clamor dulled the men’s hearing. It was as if they were drunk on the rat-a-tat-tat of these endless, clattering waves that echoed endlessly through the air. In their midst, voices rose and fell, bellowing, ‘Uraaaaaa uraaaa … aaaaa … aaaaa!!!’
The enemy tanks started to advance. They were evidently aware that the anti-tank equipment had failed to reach the enemy troops flanking them in the dense forest, as they drove boldly up to the point where the Finnish sappers had mined the road, emptying their ammunition supply as if they were on a firing range.
Panicked cries came from the line. ‘Anti-tank rifle! Get the anti-tank rifle!’
The men with the anti-tank rifle crawled closer, making their way down the long ditch that ran beside the main road. On the other side, the ensign who had mined the road tried to yell over the shooting, ‘It won’t work! Hey! Guys! The rifle won’t work on those tanks. They’re KVs …’
The men couldn’t understand anything the Ensign was yelling and kept advancing. Three of them advanced with the rifle while the rest held further back down in the ditch. The anti-tank rifle managed to fire off two inconsequential rounds. Then, like the judging eye of God, the tank’s main gun turned toward them. When the shot was fired, the men and the rifle disappeared into a cloud of smoke. As the cloud dispersed, three dismembered bodies came into view, a bent, upturned gun barrel sticking up between them.
Cries of panic rang out from the line. ‘Get the short-range weapons! … Hey, satchel charges! … We gotta hit ’em up close …’
They knew that as soon as the tank commander conquered his fear and turned boldly off the road to advance alongside it, they would be done for.
Already the enemy infantrymen were less than a hundred yards off. A hunched man would suddenly appear out of the blue, darting into view for a moment before disappearing under cover again, or else falling mid-dash. The firing line’s barrels were hot from shooting. Silent, dazed from the tension and the clanging, the men loaded and shot, loaded and shot, and each time a hand grabbed a cartridge from a pocket, a panicked mind writhed with the thought, ‘Is that all I have left …?’
Here and there voices screamed, ‘Mediiics …’ and some guy shooting would notice that the weapon beside him had gone silent, then turn to see his neighbor lying still, his head sunk over the butt of his gun. But the man’s attention would not rest there long. The noise of their own shooting prevented them from hearing anything else, so they didn’t realize that the same clamor was underway in both the Second and Third Battalions’ sectors. Nor had they exactly managed to keep track of what going on around them. With blanched, strained faces and hoarse voices screaming out warnings and commands, they fought, literally, for their lives.
The enemy forces were clearly piling up as they edged ever closer. Gradually, the fighting settled into a shoot-out. But both tanks were rumbling back and forth along the road as their opponents watched, hearts frozen in fear, waiting for them to turn off into the forest.
Hietanen was lying behind a rock on the left side of the road. Rahikainen lay a little way to his right, Rokka having taken all the other men from the machine gun off to join the firing line. There was a patch of juniper trees situated about a hundred yards in front of Hietanen, and he could glimpse some sort of frantic movement inside it. He suspected they were dragging a machine gun in there, and soon a crackling filled his ears, confirming this suspicion.
When the hail of bullets came down around them, Rahikainen ducked his head behind the rock and fired away, aiming his gun almost directly upwards. The senseless squandering of ammunition infuriated Hietanen, who, tense with anxiety over the situation, exploded, ‘Aim, damn it! Don’t shoot into the clouds! That juniper patch over there is crawling with men!’
Rahikainen shot, but his head stayed just where it was behind the rock. In Hietanen, as in many brave men, fear expressed itself in the form of a restless will to action, in light of which Rahikainen’s hiding appeared all the more despicable. Hietanen was perfectly aware that destruction awaited them if they failed to stop the attack, as the enemy would have no trouble whatsoever steamrolling over a scattered mass of men. This fear threw him into a rage and he exploded, cursing, ‘Jesus Christ! Stop wasting cartridges! They’re not falling from the sky, you know!’
Rahikainen could feel his old aversion toward Hietanen surging up in him. He had hardly forgotten Hietanen’s words beside Lehto’s body, even if circumstances had now thrust them down another road. ‘Don’t you order me around, pal. Commander, my ass.’
‘I’m at least commander enough to know that you oughtta aim. Shoot into those bushes! There’s a machine gun in there with about as many jokers as can cram in there with it.’
Rahikainen ceremoniously lifted his head higher, shot and continued quarreling as he yanked the cartridge out of his gun. ‘Shut up. Goddamn corporal. Shit’s going to your head.’
Hietanen was so wound up that he was about to take a crack at Rahikainen, but just then the enemy started ramping up its fire, so he continued shooting. Nonetheless, he resumed yelling over the di
n, ‘You shut up! Or I’ll come over there and make you. You’re some kind of guy – I don’t even know what you are … What would I call you? You’re like a … a limp rag!’
Rahikainen stopped responding. The tank in front turned off the road and headed toward them. The second accelerated fire to its maximum capacity to keep the first tank under cover. Cries of infantrymen started up again, and again they caught glimpses of men darting ever nearer. The defensive forces’ fire slowed, just when it should have accelerated. It was clear that all it would take was a little shove for panic to take over. The ensign who had mined the road was lying in the ditch beside it. He rose to a hunched position and started running toward the tank with a mine in his hand. He made it a few steps forward before he spun around and fell a few yards from Hietanen.
III
Hietanen clearly saw the bullets strike the Ensign, as his shirt rippled with the impact. For two seconds, Hietanen hesitated. The occurrence of this death right before his eyes made it all the more difficult to make a decision. Hietanen didn’t really think. He just had some vague awareness that if he didn’t do something, the tank would crush him, and if he tried to make a break for it, he would die running. The latter option would at least postpone the terrifying moment, and Hietanen was tempted to take it. For two seconds, he hung suspended in the scales. And then they tipped.
The tank was about two dozen yards off. A few steps out in front of him lay a fallen tree, whose upturned roots the Ensign had clearly also been trying to reach. They might offer him some kind of protection from the enemy’s view. Hietanen quickly crawled over to the dead ensign and snatched the mine out of his hand. Moss flew up at his feet and angry squeals whizzed past his ears.
Hietanen’s breathing felt strangely constrained, as if he had just plunged into an ice-cold swimming hole. His lips were stiff with tension, fixed in a sort of horn-shape. It was as if his entire consciousness had been frozen. It refused to consider the significance of these angry blasts, as if shielding itself from the terror such considerations would induce. Hietanen darted quickly behind the upturned roots.
Just then he heard Rokka’s voice yelling, ‘Now shoot like hell!’
Hietanen was panicked and trembling with anxiety. The urgency ringing in Rokka’s cry struck his over-excited consciousness as a warning of some new, unknown danger. Then he realized that the call was intended for the others.
It occurred to him he did not know if the mine was functional or not. He didn’t know anything about it except that it was supposed to explode under pressure. It was a little late for sapper training, however. The time was now or never.
A vision of the tank tracks rolling beneath their fenders flashed through his mind. Right there … right there … And then he threw. The weight of the mine made aiming next to impossible, and a kind of prayer-like wish flickered through Hietanen’s consciousness as he hurled it. Then he hurriedly gathered up some moss and tossed it at the mine, to serve as some sort of camouflage. It seemed to catch a few bits of debris too. Then he glimpsed a sight that sent a shiver down his spine. It would have to fall under the right track. That much was already clear. Only then did the precariousness of his own position suddenly dawn on him. Would the tree base be enough to protect him from the force of the blast? He sank down behind it, opened his mouth and pressed his hands hard against his ears.
Two seconds later, it was as if the pressure of the whole world suddenly descended upon him. He didn’t experience the explosion as a sound, but rather as a numbing, thudding blast – and then his consciousness went dim.
When it returned, he saw that the vehicle was still, tilted slightly to one side. It was still obscured by dust and smoke. He saw that the men closest to him had their mouths open – but he couldn’t understand why, as he couldn’t hear the hysterical shrieks of joy bursting from the line. His head was still sort of numb, so he wasn’t sure what to do next. He just lay there, looking back and forth at the tank, then at the men, who were yelling at him, ‘Yes, Hietanen! Woo-hoo! Bravo, Hietanen!’ The praise was all wasted, however; Hietanen couldn’t hear a thing.
Then he saw a leg appear beneath the vehicle, then another, and gradually a man’s mid-section came into view. Suddenly it jerked and fell motionless. Hietanen looked back and saw Rahikainen’s exhilarated face, though he couldn’t hear him yelling, ‘Pull off the line! I’ll take care of the rest!’
Only then did Hietanen start to come to his senses. He leapt quickly back to his previous position and crouched to a squat behind the rock.
‘Stay under cover! I’ll finish him off.’ Rahikainen shot a few rounds into the tank’s hatches.
From the way he addressed Hietanen you’d have thought he was at least half responsible for the tank’s destruction. The squabble of just moments ago had left him in an uncomfortable position. It made Hietanen’s feat feel like a crushing comeback to his words, which was why he was now trying to restore his self-respect by adopting a caring, protective attitude toward his brother-in-arms.
Hietanen himself lay behind the rock, his body trembling through and through, as if from a severe chill. The more his senses returned to him, the more he was overcome by horror. It was as if he were now being forced to endure all the terror he’d blocked out during his dash. All his fear was concentrated into a single image that he couldn’t get out of his mind. He saw the tank tracks beneath the fender about to run him over. The image was so vivid and powerful that for a moment he thought it was real and very nearly made a break for it.
He stayed put, however, his reason exerting at least some power over his imagination. He dug out a cigarette and managed to stuff it into the holder with trembling hands. It wobbled in his mouth and he grabbed onto it so forcefully that the thing snapped in two. With the fourth match, he finally managed to get the end of the cigarette lit, and the tobacco oil rose to the surface of the rapidly burning paper as Hietanen drew on it with hollowed cheeks.
Little by little the shaking subsided. He was already beginning to hear the men’s shouting and shooting. For a little while he kept repeating, ‘Good God. Good God’, not even understanding himself what he meant by repeating it over and over. Then he remembered how he had thrown fistfuls of moss over the mine to camouflage it, and the childishness of the act made a smile creep over his face. And then it was accompanied by a strange joy rising up within him. Only now did he begin to understand what his action meant, and he exploded with laughter at the joy of victory. That was supposed to be camouflage?!
He laughed, and his laughter simultaneously released the previous moment’s horror and the euphoric delirium of having survived it: of having accomplished this daring feat that elevated him to savior of the battalion.
Meanwhile, the combat situation had altered considerably. The second tank had retreated and the enemy infantry had also stopped their advance. Soon they stopped answering fire as well. Cautiously, the men began to raise their heads, noticing that the enemy had ceased shooting. They had retreated further back.
Koskela hurried over to Hietanen. ‘How are you doing? My God! They oughtta give you leave for that. I couldn’t watch when all that moss went flying up, I had to shut my eyes. And right at your feet!’
Hietanen couldn’t really make out what Koskela was saying, though he was able to hear his voice now. So he just said, ‘I have no idea. I haven’t got the slightest idea. I just hurled it. It was just the grace of God that that ensign managed to get it all ready to blow. But I was scared all right! Holy bejesus was I scared! I didn’t think I’d ever get that cigarette lit. It’s just mind-boggling that a person can have a scare like that. But hey, we better
go check it out.’
‘That does it. I finished ’em off!’ Rahikainen announced, coming to join them. He may have succeeded in deceiving himself, but he certainly didn’t fool Koskela, who paid him no attention whatsoever. The three of them cautiously approached the vehicle.
It was silent, and when they had waited a moment, Hietanen banged on the side of it with the butt of his gun. He had shaken off his shock now, and gave himself up to a state of euphoria. In a voice that declared it belonged to the vehicle’s destroyer, he bellowed, ‘If anybody’s still in there, now’s the time to come out! Otherwise I’m gonna give this roof a blast that’ll send you all the way to America! From now on, this tank is mine and I decide who drives it. Idzii surdaa! Ruskee soldaat! Come on out! Well, damn. I’m popping the hatches.’
Hietanen climbed up onto the roof and pried open the heavy hatch door. When he got it open, he looked inside and then called out to the others, ‘These guys all got blood comin’ out their ears. All’s quiet.’
‘Say, the one I finished off’s a lieutenant!’ Rahikainen shouted from underneath the tank, where he was cutting off the dead man’s badges. ‘That makes me as good as captain of the Russian army from now on. Now that I took down this lieutenant here.’
Hietanen had already forgotten their recent spat. He looked over the tank and exclaimed in sincere amazement, ‘Jesus Christ, guys! Am I something or am I something! I’m pre-tty damn impressed! Say now, what does all this make me? Hero of Finland! If only this damn buzzing in my head would stop. Nothin’ swollen up there I hope.’
‘Oh it’s swollen all right, but don’t worry, it won’t hurt’cha,’ Rahikainen smiled. It was like an olive branch, the way he said it – and it made Hietanen laugh, as indeed everything made him laugh just then.