by Väinö Linna
III
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.
IV
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.’
V
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 ha
nd.
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 …’