“I'll watch him as if he were my own son, Mrs. Koski.” Then the lieutenant extended his hand. “Welcome to Company Three, Marko.”
“Thank you, sir.” Marko shook his hand.
“But from now on you can drop the sir. Working soldiers don't have time for formalities.”
Me a working soldier? Marko thought as he walked to the doorway. When Marko had first joined the Junior Civil Guard, Father teased him about being a boy soldier—a member of a”squirrel company,”he called it. But with a single handshake Marko had joined the company of men.
He stepped into the hallway, wondering: Will I be up to the task? And a deeper worry nagged him: How can an army of farmers, blacksmiths, schoolteachers, and boys stop a trained force of 2,700 Russian soldiers?
Two days later a knock came at the door in the middle of the morning. Mother looked out the window at the soldier who stood in front of the house. “Not already?” she said. “This is too much like the day we said goodbye to Father.” She quickly wrapped up some bread and cheese and stuffed it into Marko's pack.
Marko opened the door to see the stocky demolition man he'd met at Grandma's.”It's you!”
“Who'd you expect? President Kallio?”
“But why would they send you?”
“The lieutenant had us finishing up a job in town, and he said you needed to be picked up.”The man took off his cap when he saw Mother. “Pleased to meet you. I'm Pentti Jokinen, but the boys just call me Joki.”
“The lieutenant promised that he would take good care—” Mother began.
“We'll watch him like he was our very own pup.” Joki clapped Marko on the shoulder.
“Marko, are you sure you want to do this?” Mother asked. “It's not too late to change your mind. You could help the soldiers just as much if you kept working in the hospital.”
“I want to do my part at the front. Like everyone else.”
“It would be so much safer here,” Mother said. “All of Savolahti must be in ashes by now.” Mother was crying even harder than she had at the train station.
“Remember, you've taught me well.” Marko grabbed his pack.
“You promise to be careful?”
“I promise.”
Mother kissed Marko's cheek and hugged him one last time.”Be safe.”
Marko felt a jumble of emotions as he walked across the yard. He was excited, but at the same time he felt guilty for leaving Mother alone and frightened by what might lie ahead. He kept thinking back to the wounded soldier from Savolahti in the hospital. As bold as the young man's words had been, Marko had noticed a lost look in his eyes that made him uneasy.
Marko climbed into the rear of the sleigh, while Mother stood at the front gate, still crying. For an instant he thought about jumping back down. My mother needs me, he could say. This was a crazy idea anyway. I'll just grab my pack and…
“Goodbye,” she called, waving. Marko's eyes filled with tears.
Joki's partner, Kekko, called from the front seat, “Welcome to the war, messenger boy.” A cigarette stub stuck out of the corner of his mouth, and the broken chin strap of his helmet swung in the breeze.
Marko waved over his shoulder as Kekko picked up the reins and the matched pair of grays jerked the sleigh forward.
When Marko turned toward the front, Joki asked, “So where'd you get the gimpy leg?”
Marko blushed. He'd tried to hide his limp. “Polio a few years back.”
“We don't care if you're gimpy if you can ski hard and shoot straight,” Kekko said.
When the horses trotted past the west side of the church, Joki pointed at a weathered pole and a rusty chain and collar. “How'd you like to spend a day with your neck in that?”
“They call it the shaming pole,” Marko said. “My grandma said they used to lock students in that iron collar if they didn't learn their catechism.”
“The preacher in our village thought smarts could be knocked into a boy's head, too,” Joki said.
“He tried it on me,” Kekko said.
“And it never took!” Joki laughed and punched his shoulder.
Marko didn't laugh. He could imagine how the boys felt who'd been shackled there and taunted by their friends.
Before they started down the hill out of town, Marko looked back at the twin flags of Kronholm Castle and the church tower one last time. He would do everything he could to make the Russians pay for Johan's death.
Marko sat back and noticed a big coil of wire in the back of the sleigh. “Did you come to town for blasting wire?”
“We used most of it right here,” Joki said.
“Doing what?” Marko asked.
“Rigging the bridge,” Joki said.
“Not the Virtalinna bridge?” Marko said.
“Ain't no other bridge in town,” Joki said.
“We got a charge on every piling,” Kekko said.
“But the lieutenant said we need to hold the line in this sector,” Marko said.
“We do,”Joki said. “But a smart commander always has a backup plan. If the Russians breach our defenses, we got no choice but to torch this place and blow the bridge.”
“BurnVirtalinna?”
“We'll stop those Russkies any way we can,” Kekko said.
Marko pulled his coat tight around him. If Savolahti fell, Virtalinna and all the rest of Finland might be lost as well.
The road was in worse shape than on the day he'd driven to his grandmother's. When the sleigh lurched toward the ditch, Kekko grumbled, “How can a fellow run a rig with this skimpy covering of snow?”
“We could have took the wagon,” Joki said.
“We'da busted an axle,” Kekko said.
Every bump hurt Marko's leg, but he tried not to show it.
The roadside was littered with material abandoned by the army and the refugees. A broken wagon wheel lay beside a tin oil drum. A bedspring leaned against a stalled flatbed truck. Ammunition boxes were scattered over the ditch bank, along with a sewing machine, a suitcase, and a kitchen table with four chairs. At the edge of a swamp they passed a dead cow mired in the frozen mud.
At noon they met another sleigh and pulled over to let it pass. The wounded soldiers lying in back groaned every time the runners hit a bump.
Kekko flicked his cigarette away and pulled a canteen and a piece of hardtack out of his pack. “Want a bite?” he asked.
“My mother packed me a lunch,” Marko said.
Kekko smiled at Joki.
“Let's see what sort of a cook your momma is, messenger boy,” Joki said. “A good soldier always shares his grub.”
“He always shares.”Kekko shoved his hardtack back in his pack and held out his hand.
As Joki and Kekko chewed on Mother's fresh rye bread, Joki said, “Why don't you show him some of your tricks?”
“Naw,” Kekko said.
“Does he do magic?” Marko asked.
“Lots better than that,” Joki said.”Kekko can twist up his face like nobody else. A magazine had a contest last winter. Kekko sent in his picture and won first place. Fifty marks! Just for making a face. Do that lip trick.”
“All righty,” Kekko said, swallowing the last of his bread.
Kekko stretched his bottom lip right up over the tip of his nose, and at the same time he crossed his eyes so tight that they looked right at each other.
Marko couldn't stop laughing.
“A rare talent!”Joki said.
Marko saw an approaching sleigh.”More wounded?”
Joki shook his head. “Those boys are scheduled for a train ride home.”
As the sleigh runners hissed past, Marko was stunned to see a pile of dead Finnish soldiers. Their bodies were frozen in twisted positions and only partly covered by the canvas.
Joki was grim. “The first time Kekko and I saw a load like that we were on our way to the front, joking and singing patriotic songs.”
“But we didn't sing no more after that.”Kekko bit off a piece of Marko's cheese.
“Bodies freeze up real fast in the cold,” Joki said. “One morning at first light a greenhorn emptied his clip into a Russkie sitting just beyond our trenches before he figured out the fellow was dead and frozen stiff.”
Long after the sleigh had passed, the blue face of one dead soldier stayed in Marko's mind. The boy was about Marko's age. His eyes were open wide and his lashes were flecked with frost.
No older than me, Marko thought as the wagon bounced over a rut. No older than Johan. And if there are so many dead coming from this battlefield… What about Father? Could he be lying in the back of a sleigh, cold and blue?
“You finished with that bread?”Joki asked.
“What?” Marko shivered, still trying to blot out the face of the dead boy.
“I said, are you gonna eat that last hunk of bread?”
“Go ahead,” Marko said.
“Suit yourself, messenger boy.” Joki plucked the bread from Marko's hand.”But you can't be letting a little thing like a corpse put you off your feed. That's the way it is out here.”
Kekko nodded. “Just the way it is.”
CHAPTER 10
THE SOUP CANNON
An hour later, Kekko stopped the sleigh on the crest of a hill. “Quite a sight, ain't it?” he said. The sun was low in the sky.
Marko sat up. This couldn't be the road to his grandmother's village! The forest to their left was pockmarked with craters from artillery shells, and the snow was black. Trees tipped at odd angles, and boulders had been blasted to flinders. A dozen burned-out Russian tanks stood below the hill.
“The Russkies have been shelling us hard,” Joki said.
“But we've held them back so far,” Kekko said.
Marko saw a bonfire blazing at the edge of the woods south of the village.”Didn't you burn everything down?” he asked.
“That's a Russkie campfire,”Joki said. “They huddle close to their fires at night.”
“We're thinking they're short on tents,” Kekko said.
“They make easy targets for our snipers in the dark,” Joki said,”but once the sun comes up and they decide to charge, they're fearsome straight-ahead fighters.”
“And you don't never want to get into a close-quarters fight with a Russkie,” Kekko said. “They carry rattail bayonets that'll skewer you like a stuck pig.”
“Where are all our men?” Marko asked.
“Companies One and Two are spread out along the back of this ridge,” Joki said. “Their job is to keep the Russkies from pushing west. Our outfit is across the valley behind Horseshoe Hill. We stay hidden in the woods during the day so the Russkies' artillery can't zero in. At night we ski out in small groups and attack.”
“Why is Company Three way over there?” Marko looked beyond the Russian campfires toward the dark hill.
“When the Russkies first advanced on Savolahti, we surprised them with a motti maneuver by skiing in wide circles through the woods and setting up behind them. Once we outflanked them, we split their column and chopped 'em to pieces. What's left of their regiment is trapped below.”
North of the Russian camp Marko could see the charred ruins of Grandma's village. All the buildings had been burned except for the brick pottery factory and the mayor's house.
“The Russians didn't fall for your booby trap in the mayor's house,” Marko said.
“We're still hoping,” Kekko said as he started the sleigh down a logging road that led south through a stand of birch and aspen. Marko and Grandma had picked mushrooms there on a sunny day the previous fall.
The road gradually swung back to the east. When they started up a pine ridge on the backside of Horseshoe Hill, Marko noticed smoke drifting through the trees. “What's that from?”
“Our soup cannon,” Joki said.
“You shoot soup at the Russians?” Marko asked.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Kekko laughed, separating each ha from the next. “That's a good one.”
“The soup cannon is our mobile field kitchen,” Joki told Marko.”It's right under those spruce.”
Marko saw a horse-drawn vat with a built-in wood-burning stove underneath it and a smokestack sticking out the top.
“Our tents are that way.” Joki waved to his left. “The cooks keep their kitchen back here so the smoke don't draw artillery fire. Our squads ski over and eat one at a time.”
“Ain't we gonna stop?” Kekko asked.
“Your dinner can wait until we deliver this boy to the lieutenant,” Joki said.
A minute later they entered a thick spruce grove, and Joki said, “Here's Company Three.”
“You'd never know a camp was here,” Marko said. It was so dark that he had to squint to see the half dozen green tents, tucked under the spruce trees and camouflaged by the branches.
“That's the idea,” Joki said. “We're out of sight back here, but our trenches and tank traps are dug in just a few hundred meters away on the front side of the hill. That first tent is our field hospital. The wounded they can't patch up are hauled toVirtalinna.”
When Kekko pulled the horses to a stop, Joki jumped down and said, “I'll show Marko to the lieutenant's tent. You can unload the blasting wire. This way.”Joki started down the snow-packed path. Marko slung his pack over his shoulder and hurried to catch up.
They walked past a soldier sitting on a log in front of the hospital tent and staring toward the woods. The man's face was so white that it took Marko a moment to realize he was a neighbor fromVirtalinna.
“Eino, how are you?” Marko asked.
The man never blinked.
“It's me, Marko. Don't you recognize me?”
“Why did you come here?” Eino spoke in a slow, raspy voice, but he still stared straight ahead. It was the same lost look the soldier from Savolahti had had in the hospital, only a hundred times worse.
Joki patted Eino on the shoulder and said, “Hang in there, buddy.”Then he led Marko away.
When they got behind the tent, Joki said, “We call that the thousand-yard stare. Eino is with our antitank squad. He's been like that since our last little fireworks.”
“What caused it?” Marko asked as Joki kept walking.
“Nobody knows,” Joki said.”He was in top form during the battle. He shoved a log into a tank track and stopped it single-handed. But when the Russkies pulled back we found him sitting on the ground staring. Our medic says when the brain takes in more than it can sort out, the eyes go blank sometimes.”
“Will he get better?” Marko asked.
“No telling. The command tent is right up there.” He pointed up the hill. “Let's see if the boss is in.”
“Lieutenant?”Joki called as he stepped through the door of the twenty-man tent. “We've fetched your messenger boy.”
Marko tried to hide his limp as he entered the eight-sided tent, but he couldn't keep his brace from clacking. An unlit stove stood in the middle of the tent, and the sleeping area was piled with spruce boughs, extra blankets, boots, and gas masks. A kerosene lantern hung from the center pole.
Marko's eyes tried to adjust to the dim light.
Juhola was kneeling on a blanket, studying a black and white map spread out over a rucksack. Two men looked over his shoulders. “Did we get the right boy?” Joki asked.
“You got the right man,” the lieutenant said. He stood up and shook Marko's hand in a steel grip. “Welcome to the front.”
Joki said, “I'll go help Kekko unload.”
“Thanks, Joki,” Juhola said.
The tent was so cold inside that frost coated the corners. The men had hung wet clothing from a line strung over the stove, and the air smelled of sweat, boot leather, and wet wool.
“I know it's cold in here, but we can only risk a fire at night,” Juhola said. He turned to the rest of the men. “Meet my command group.” The lieutenant used the same quiet voice as in the classroom, but Marko could tell that the men respected him. He pointed to a man in a neat uniform at his left. “This is Second Lieutenant Ke
rola, my assistant. Seppo and Juho are my observer patrol, and over in the corner are Niilo and Karl, my messengers.”
The men nodded at Marko. No one spoke.
Marko studied the weary faces of the soldiers. Half the men had coughs and runny noses, and their wool pants and suspenders made them look more like farmers than soldiers. The exception was Kerola, whose shiny boots and neat green jacket were straight from military school.
Karl was about Marko's age. His Civil Guard uniform was too big, and he'd pulled a stocking hat down to his eyebrows. Spiky blond hair stuck out from under his cap, and his eyes were a deep blue. Marko was glad to see that he'd be working with at least one young person.
“Karl,” the lieutenant said, “why don't you bring Marko to the supply tent to get his whiteovers and skis? Then he'll be ready for duty in the morning.”
“Will do.”
When Marko turned to leave the tent, his leg brace creaked.
“What's that squeaking?” Seppo asked. He had a coarse brown beard. He wore smudged glasses with black tape across the bridge, and he blinked constantly.
Seppo set down the sniper rifle that he'd been cleaning and walked over to Marko. He bent down and tapped the toe of Marko's boot. “You got springs in there?”
“I have a leg brace.” Marko had hoped to keep it a secret.
Seppo lifted the bottom of Marko's pant leg and saw the metal slats that supported his ankle. “Would you look at that? We got us a mechanical boy!”
The other men laughed.
“Marko caught polio a few years back,” the lieutenant said. “But he hasn't let it slow him up.”
“Let's hope he can ski.” Seppo blinked his weasel eyes.
Karl stepped outside, and Marko hurried to catch up. He asked Karl, “Are you from around here?”
“Tervola,” Karl said, keeping his head down as he walked toward the supply tent.
“The village north of here?” Marko asked.
Instead of answering, Karl studied Marko's limp. “How can you deliver messages with a bum leg?”
“I ski just fine.”
Karl shook his head as though he didn't believe it, and he didn't say another word the whole way to the supply tent.
The Winter War Page 5