CHAPTER 11
SPARK DUTY
Marko lay in the dark tent, half awake, thinking back on a hot June day when he and Johan had gone bog-walking through a swamp north of Grandma's farm.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Johan had called over his shoulder. He and Marko had strapped on special, ten-foot-long skis, and they were headed for an abandoned hermit's cabin that stood on a ridge in the middle of the swamp.
“I thought you said the swamp would be no problem.” Marko looked down at his muddy pants as he balanced on a mossy hummock to avoid a pool of water.
Johan was soaked to his knees, but he remained cheerful. “This is even better! I'll bet nobody's made it out here in years.”
Marko slapped a mosquito on his neck.
When they finally got to the cabin, it was empty except for a few cracked dishes and rusty tools. The moss-covered roof looked ready to collapse, and the floor creaked dangerously.
“Let's go,” Marko said.
Johan had knelt down and was pulling a small wooden chest from under the bed. “Look at this!” he shouted.
“Wow!” Marko ran over.
But when Johan lifted the lid, all they saw was a stack of handwritten sheet music.
“Every note is perfectly drawn.” Johan studied a sheet. “If only we could read music.”
“Who cares?” Marko started for the doorway.
“But what if this old guy was some sort of Sibelius, living out here by himself and writing masterpieces?”
“Let's go,” Marko said.
Johan closed the lid, and they left all the music behind. But ever since that day Marko had always wished they'd brought a few sheets to their music teacher.
“Wake up, Gimpy.”
Marko turned with a start. Juho was crouched beside him, smelling of stale tobacco.
“Time for spark duty,” Juho said. He had a pasty complexion and his blond beard was stained with tobacco juice.
“What?”
“It's your turn to tend the fire,” Juho said. “Make sure it don't go out. And watch for embers landing on the roof and sparks jumping out of the stove. The woodpile's out back.”
As Juho lay down, he added, “Since you're a greenhorn, you got double spark duty. Wake Karl after your two hours is up.”
Juho was soon snoring. Marko sat up and yawned. The different pitches and the wheezing of the snorers had made it hard for him to get to sleep. The noisiest fellow was in the far corner. He sucked in each breath with a long whistle that sounded like someone inflating a truck tire. Then he held his breath so long that Marko thought he'd died before he let it out with a big, lip-flapping whoosh.
Someone had set their rotten boots beside Marko's blanket, and another terrible smell came from the socks and foot rags on the clothesline above the stove. The foot rags were soft pieces of flannel cloth that the soldiers wrapped around their feet before they slipped on their boots. They could be dried out quickly over a fire or by hanging them on a tree branch.
Marko pulled out his watch and tilted the face so he could read it in the red glow of the stove. Pale moonlight filtered through the canvas roof. It was two o'clock. How could he ever stay awake until four?
Marko rubbed his calf to ease the stabbing pain. He wasn't used to wearing his brace at night, but everyone slept in their clothes, and he knew the men would tease him if he took it off.
The sharp ache reminded Marko of his first days in the hospital. He'd sweated so much that he lost twenty pounds in two weeks. Mother held a cool washcloth to his forehead and told him to block the pain by thinking about something peaceful. He always imagined the last day his leg had been normal.
He and Johan had spent the afternoon swimming in the lake. They'd sunned themselves on an island and were swimming back to shore when a loon surfaced only a few meters in front of them. The loon called, and Marko answered with a silly, laughing cry. When the loon dove, the boys dove, too. Marko opened his eyes under water and swam toward the bird, but all he saw were tall green weeds and white sand. When Marko and Johan came up, the loon was laughing right behind them. Each time the boys dove, the loon played the same trick. After they swam to shore and toweled themselves off, the loon called one last time. Then he slipped under the water and disappeared.
Now Marko stood up, stretched his leg, and stepped over the man next to him to check the stove. The intake plate rattled as the fire pulled in air, and the lid fit so poorly that smoke leaked out. The stovepipe ran through a piece of metal flashing in the roof, and it looked as if one spark could set the tent on fire.
Marko slipped on his coat and stepped outside to get more wood. A three-quarter moon hung above the black pines. The light sparkling on the snow made it nearly as bright as day. As he breathed in wood smoke mingled with cold, piney air, he thought of Mother. She'll have to carry her own firewood now.
“What's the password?” a voice snapped.
Marko turned. A rifle pointed at his chest. “Ahh!” What, what is the password Kerola told me?
“You're lucky it's my night for guard duty.” Joki stepped out of the shadows. “Some of these boys woulda shot you dead.”
“Sekahedelmäkeitto.” Marko remembered the word. “Fruit soup!”
“If you want to live to have another bowl,” Joki said, “don't forget the password.”
As Marko's eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he saw the path to the woodpile. He'd just loaded his arms when he saw a red flash in the west. Then he heard a faint whizzing.
“Is that you, Joki?” he asked, thinking it might be the demo man whistling. It almost sounded like a bomb, but Marko hadn't heard a plane. The whiz turned to a high-pitched howl.
Marko looked up as an artillery shell ripped through the top of a spruce tree. Branches snapped off, snow flew in all directions, and the shell exploded with a deafening boom.
Shrapnel zinged through the trees, slicing off hunks of bark and ricocheting off boulders. Marko ducked as frozen clods of dirt and pieces of rock rained down.
“Attack!” Marko yelled, rushing back and pulling open the tent door.”The Russians are attacking!”
The lieutenant lifted his head. “Take it easy, Koski.”
“It's artillery. We—” Marko stopped. Why wasn't everyone jumping up and putting on their boots?
“Listen to your lieutenant.” Juho's voice was slow and sleepy. “They lob a shell over the hill now and then just to rile us up. Don't get your underwear in a bundle over it.”
With that Juho went back to snoring.
CHAPTER 12
SPECIAL DELIVERY
“You gonna sleep all day?”
Marko opened his eyes and squinted in the yellow light of the kerosene lamp. Karl and Niilo were looking down at him. It took him a moment to remember where he was.
Second Lieutenant Kerola handed a packet to Niilo. “As soon as Marko's up, you fellows get going.”
Marko threw off his blanket and scrambled to pull on his boots. When his leg brace creaked, Juho said, “Our mechanical man needs some oiling.”
Marko's face burned as the men laughed.
“And he don't know how to get dressed without his momma.” Seppo blinked and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He fingered the dog tags that Marko had been issued the day before. “These death tags go under your shirt.” He stuffed them down Marko's neck.
“How else we gonna know who you are if the Russkies blow your head off?”Juho laughed.
Marko put on his new whiteovers. The pants fit, but the coat was so big that the hood hung down over his face.
“Ha, ha,”Seppo said.”Gimpy is blind now, too.”
“Let's see how your helmet fits.”Niilo bent to pick it up. Niilo was the shortest man Marko had ever seen. His skin was dark, and his bushy eyebrows gave him the look of a bear.
Marko pulled back his hood, and Niilo plunked the helmet on his head. When it covered up his eyes, Niilo said, “Nah. Too big. You've got to see where you're skiing. Just wear your cap.”
Juhola finished shaving, using his helmet as a washbasin. The other men in the command group had scrag-gly beards, but he looked as neat as he had in the classroom. He turned to Marko as he toweled off his face. “We normally send messengers out in pairs, but I want Niilo and Karl to show you the ropes today.”
He pitched his wash water out the door and nodded to Niilo.”You know the routine. I'm taking Kahvi over to check on the First Platoon.” He dried the inside of his helmet, put the liner back in, and grabbed his coat. “Report to the command trench when you get back.”
As Juhola left the tent, Marko was confused. Kahvi was the word for coffee. “Why would the lieutenant need coffee to check on a platoon?”
“Kahvi is the name of his horse,” Karl said.
The moon still hung in the predawn sky when the messengers stepped outside. Niilo said, “We got backwoods trails that lead to the other companies.”
Niilo wore high brown ski boots that had curled-up toes.”Where'd you get those?” Marko asked.
“Made them myself out of reindeer hide. They slide in and out of bindings better than those farm boots of yours. Us Laplanders live on skis.” He stepped into his skis and started down the trail.
Karl said, “We don't have all day,” and followed Niilo.
Though Marko could barely see in the gray light, he threw on his pack and hurried to catch up. He'd only taken a few strides when a branch slapped across his face and cut his lip.
He and Johan had always held back branches and looked out for each other on the trail, but Marko saw he would have to be on his guard out here.
They'd only covered a couple of hundred meters when Niilo coasted to a stop. “We'll catch some breakfast here.”
Hidden at the edge of the woods stood the field kitchen. The cook said, “You're running behind today.”
“We got us a late sleeper,” Karl said. He and Niilo slipped off their packs and opened their mess kits. The cook ladled a scoop of rye porridge onto the lower part of each kit and filled the lid with tea.
Juho and Seppo were already eating. “Tea is for pan-sies,” Seppo said. He poured himself coffee from a blackened pot beside the coals and took a big drink without checking to see if it was hot.
“Hey! Didn't you burn your mouth?” Karl asked.
Juho laughed. “Seppo drinks straight from the pot when we're in a hurry.”
Seppo wiped his face on his sleeve. “Strong coffee helps me see my rifle sights when I'm hunting Russkies.”
Marko had only taken two spoonfuls of porridge when he saw that Niilo and Karl had already wolfed theirs down. They swigged down their tea and washed their mess kits in the snow. Marko gobbled his breakfast and cleaned his kit while Niilo filled his canteen with tea and put a few squares of näkkileipä, a hard rye bread, into his mess kit bag. “You'd better grab some, too.”
Niilo started up a trail that led north. “Company One is this way,” he said. “Keep your eyes peeled for Russkie scouts.”
Marko skied hard to keep up. Niilo's arms pumped like a machine, and Karl, who had longer legs than Marko, was a good skier as well.
The sun was beginning to filter through the pine tops when the trail swung west. In the distance Marko could see a long ridge overlooking the valley. Suddenly Niilo and Karl stopped. Marko had to tip his ski edges outward to keep from running up the back of Karl's skis.
“Those rascals got what they deserved.” Niilo stared into a swale.
Three Russian soldiers lay dead in the snow.
“They tried to sneak behind our lines two nights ago”—Karl spat into the snow—”but our patrol caught them.”
The brown uniforms were covered with thick frost. A dark beard showed on the chin of one man. His eye sockets were filled with snow, and his boots were missing.
“Sooner or later the Russkies will all get their medals plucked,” Niilo said.
“Our men took their medals?” Marko asked.
“They make great souvenirs,” Karl said.
Marko shook his head. “Who would steal a dead man's boots?”
Karl looked down.”My feet are pretty small, so I was lucky when Juho brought me these. They're a whole lot better than the old manure kickers I wore on the farm.”
“But my Civil Guard instructors said that soldiers should respect the enemy dead.”
“It's easy to preach when you're safe and warm in a classroom,” Karl said. “Out here it's everyone for himself.”
The bitterness in Karl's voice chilled Marko.
“Let's go.” Niilo planted his poles and kicked forward.
On the way to Company One, Niilo and Karl filled Marko in on what his job would be like. Field telephones connected Companies One and Two, but Company Three, which was seven kilometers away, relied on messengers. “It's just as well we hand-deliver,” Niilo said, “ 'cause the Russkies splice into phone lines and eavesdrop.”
When it was time to ski back to camp, Niilo stopped at the head of the trail and took off his whiteovers and his jacket. Then he peeled off his shirt and undershirt! Steam rose off his hairy back as he reached into his pack. Was he crazy?
Niilo said, “Best to swap shirts when you get sweaty.” He shoved his damp undershirt into his pack and pulled a dry one over his head. “You're chilly for a minute, but it helps in the long run.”
Marko looked at Karl, but Niilo shook his head. “He won't try it. He don't believe this old Laplander knows about winter.”
Marko stripped to his waist, but by the time he had his new shirt and coat back on, his whole body was shaking. “This is nuts,” he said, his teeth chattering.
“Grab your ski poles,” Niilo said. “You got to move fast.”
Marko vowed he was never going to do such a stupid thing again. But partway up the next hill his shivering stopped.
“How you doing now?”Niilo called over his shoulder.
“Warmer,” Marko said. “And drier.”
Niilo stopped on the crest of the ridge and turned to Marko.”Us reindeer people know how to live with cold.”
“You sure do! So—how often do we carry messages?” Marko asked.
“Sometimes we go a day or two without a run,” Niilo said.
“But on a busy day we might make three trips,” Karl put in.
“What do we do when there's no deliveries?” Marko asked.
“What do you think we do? Tie silver bells on our sleigh and ride to the nearest manor house for tea?” Karl asked.”There's plenty of little jobs in camp.”
Niilo grinned as Karl pushed past Marko and started down the trail. “Karl don't like to waste time on small talk.”
CHAPTER 13
A COCKTAIL FOR COMRADE MOLOTOV
Marko's leg was throbbing by the time the messengers reported to the command trench, but he wasn't about to let anyone know. One day, after Marko had passed Johan at the finish line in a ski race, Johan asked, “What makes you push so hard?”
“It started on the day the doctor told my mother that I wouldn't ever walk and play like a normal boy.”
“So you're still working to prove him wrong?”
“Every day of my life,” Marko said.
The command trench was dug into the hillside and concealed by a berm of earth, logs, and spruce boughs. Narrow exit trenches on both ends allowed the men to stay hidden as they moved up to the camp or down to the battlefield. The elevation offered a view of the woods where the Russians were camped and the no-man's-land between.
Juhola was briefing two platoon leaders, who turned and looked at Marko.
“Meet Marko Koski,”the lieutenant said.”A student of mine fromVirtalinna.”Marko nodded politely at the men.
The soldier beside Kerola spoke. “Is he the one Seppo calls Gimpy?”
Everyone laughed except for a square-shouldered sergeant, who extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, son,”he said.”I'm Henri Hauta, the fellow who's in charge of those loony cases Joki and Kekko. Folks call me Hoot.” Hoot had a thick neck and a broad face,
and his hand was as big as a shovel. He reminded Marko of Grandma's saying,” Finns are the toughest bulls in the pasture.”
Marko rarely met a man stronger than his father, but when Hoot pumped Marko's arm, Marko's feet nearly rose off the ground. Hoot stopped and said, “Hey! Where'd a city boy get a strong grip like that?”
“My father is a blacksmith. I help him at the forge.”
“Iron men make good soldiers,” Hoot said, clapping Marko on the shoulder and nearly knocking him over.
Kerola took the communication packet from Niilo, and the lieutenant turned back to the map that he'd covered with tracing paper. “This is the sector we need to watch. If they move, we'll have two choices—”
A voice hollered from up the hill, “Where's them messenger boys?”
When Joki appeared, Kerola said, “Can't you see we've got a meeting going on here?”
“It's all right, Mr. Kerola,” the lieutenant said. “I told Joki he could borrow Karl and Marko.”
Joki waved at the boys. “This way, pups.”
“I know what Joki's got planned for them,” Seppo said.
“Mixing cocktails.” Juho grinned.
As they walked up the hill, Joki whispered, “Don't pay no attention to Kerola. He's a career man. Like all the lifers, he's using this war to hunt for a promotion.”
But Marko was frowning over what Juho had said. “What did he mean, mixing cocktails?”
“You're going to help us toast our friend Comrade Molotov,” Joki said.”Time's a-wasting.”He led them past the tents to a sleigh filled with cases of empty vodka bottles.
“Welcome to our party.” Kekko walked up with a gasoline can in his hand. A cigarette dangled from his lower lip.
Kekko picked up a vodka bottle filled with amber goo. “This here container was manufactured by the Koskenkorva vodka factory. But I wouldn't recommend taking a nip unless you have a taste for kerosene and tar. Once we add a shot of gasoline, we'll have a first-rate antitank weapon. They normally come ready-made, but our last shipment got held up.”
“You blow up tanks with liquor bottles?” Marko said.
The Winter War Page 6