The Winter War

by William Durbin

  “Are we going to use those guns if the charges don't work?” Marko asked Hoot.

  “Not if,” Hoot said. “When the charges work.”

  But Hoot looked worried. Was the plan too complicated? Marko couldn't understand why the lieutenant would want to blow the Russians up and then shell them, too. What if Marko had been wrong about that swamp? If the Russians pushed to the north instead of coming this way, the line would collapse, and with it Finland's hopes.

  Late in the afternoon on the following day the Red Army targeted Company One with an all-out assault. The lieutenant immediately got a call from HQ. “Yes,” the lieutenant said into the phone, “I'm certain.”

  He looked at Kerola after he hung up. “Napoleon said the first rule of warfare is to never do what the enemy wants you to. But if I'm wrong about this attack, I'll be busted down to peeling potatoes.”

  The command group skied to an observation point above the lake. “No sign of movement yet,” Hoot said. The cannon fire of the tanks attacking Company One echoed in the distance.

  The woolen masks of the Finnish soldiers dispersed their frosty breath as they waited. Every man knew that if the Red Army's northern attack wasn't a decoy, all three companies were doomed.

  Marko thought: I hope Mother doesn't know how close the Russians are to breaking through the Finnish lines.

  The lieutenant scanned the far shore with his binoculars. “Nothing.”

  The men listened to the battle raging in the north.

  At midnight the lake was still quiet. Karl whispered, “You suppose the Russians moved their equipment to trick the lieutenant?”

  “If he's wrong, we're in deep—” Marko stopped. “There's your answer.” A faint rumbling rose from the far shore. Karl and Marko punched each other's arms.

  One by one the engines cranked to life, and the Russian tanks started across the lake, raising plumes of snow and blue exhaust in the moonlight. The infantry marched close behind, with horse-drawn sleighs bringing up the rear.

  When the Russians neared the section of the lake that had been mined, Juhola turned to the artillery observer at his side.”Ready your guns.”

  The artillery battery pulled the boughs from their cannons. Karl looked at the guns' wooden-spoked wheels.”I hope those old things don't blow us up when they try to shoot them. We have one just like it in our village museum.”

  One artilleryman patted a rusty cannon. “Time for Hyppy Heikki to say hello to the Russians.”

  “Why would he call a gun Jumping Henry?” Marko asked Karl.

  “No idea,” Karl said.

  The Russians continued to advance. “Haven't they reached the charges yet?” Marko asked Niilo.

  “Cross your fingers. We got to time it right,” Niilo said.

  When the tanks were three-quarters of the way up the bay, the lieutenant said,”Now!”

  Hoot waved to his demo men. Explosions shot columns of water high into the air. As the ice heaved upward, Marko felt the ground shake under his feet.

  Three tanks fell through the crack in the ice, and the others skidded forward as the ice began breaking under them. Even with their tracks reversed, the tanks kept slipping toward the black water. Soldiers climbed out of the hatches and tried to leap onto the ice. Some slid into the water. Others went under clinging to the turrets.

  The horses pulling the sleighs reared at the noise. When a few tanks managed to turn around, the horses' panic grew. Marko saw Karl's face tense up as several animals fell.

  Yells went up from the Russians as they retreated, and the sharp cracks of rifle shots soon echoed from behind their lines.

  “Politruks.” Niilo shook his head. “Killing their own men!”

  The lieutenant shouted to the artillery observer: “Fire at will.”

  The muzzle blast of the first cannon nearly knocked Marko down. The flash lit up the whole ridge, and the spruce trees on both sides shivered and swayed, knocking clumps of snow to the ground. The recoil sent the gun carriage flying backward five meters before the hitch plowed into the ground and stopped. The second gun kicked back with the same violence.

  “Now I see why it's called Jumping Henry,” Karl shouted as the gun crew hustled to roll their cannon back into position.

  The shells whistled over the Russian soldiers and exploded chunks of ice and water by the far shore.

  “Missed by half a kilometer!”

  “Right where they were aiming,” Hoot said as the gunners unleashed a second volley.

  When a big hole opened up at the rear of the Russian formation, Marko realized that the lieutenant intended to trap the Red Army between two open leads. Rock cliffs blocked any escape to the north and south. That left the soldiers facing a watery grave.

  The cannon volleys continued as men screamed and fell through the ice. Marko imagined the burning chill of the water. A few soldiers struggled back to the far shore, but as they broke for the woods, the Finns had set up a Maxim machine gun to finish the job the politruks had started.

  “What a horrible way to die,” Karl whispered.

  Marko nodded, staring down the lake. Of all the killing that Marko had seen, this was the most brutal. The Russians could run and face the hot rain of machine-gun bullets spitting from the woods, or they could stand their ground and slip into the black water.

  CHAPTER 29

  CEASE-FIRE

  One week after the lake battle, the men were standing at the edge of the woods finishing breakfast. Kerola ran up the hill and handed the lieutenant a paper.”It's official!”

  Juhola read: “March thirteenth. Russia and Finland signed a truce agreement in Moscow at one o'clock this morning. The war will end at eleven o'clock.”

  The men all cheered.

  “And nobody thought we could hold the line!”Joki said.

  “We taught those Russkies a lesson they won't never forget,” Kekko said.

  “Hope we captured Leningrad,” Joki shouted, “so I can spend a night in that palace! Put my boots on the czar's pillow!”

  “There's more,” Kerola said.

  The lieutenant shook his head. “Hear the terms of the peace agreement before you celebrate. If this information is correct, Finland has agreed to cede thirty-five thousand square kilometers. The Karelian Isthmus and areas north of Lake Ladoga, including Sortavala, Käkisalmi, and Virtalinna, will be incorporated into the Soviet Union.”

  “NotVirtalinna!”Marko said.”Never! Never!”

  “The Russkies attacked us,” Kekko said. “Why should they get anything?”

  “War doesn't determine who's right,” Juhola said, “only who's left standing. The important thing is that we held the front. Stalin thought this was going to be a walk in the park, but we showed him that Finland isn't about to give up. Hold your heads high! Finland is still independent!”

  Everyone looked down and shook their heads. Soldiers who had joked in the darkest moments of the war were silent. Kekko stared into his bowl of half-eaten porridge. Juho and Seppo walked off toward the woods.

  Marko stood in shock. Karl pulled on his arm. “Come on.”

  When they got back to the tent, Marko said, “I can't believe it! We held the line but lost the war? After all the bloody battles, the dead, the skiing, the frozen hands … and nowVirtalinna's gone.”

  “It's not fair!” Tears ran down Karl's cheeks. “No! First I'm left an orphan, and now this. It's just not fair.”

  “Karl… I'm sure things will work out for you,” Marko said. Yes, his own worries were small compared to Karl's. A farm could be replaced and a forge rebuilt, but what if his whole family had been taken from him?

  A short while later, the lieutenant entered the tent and asked Marko and Karl, “Ready for one last trip?”

  “Where to?” Marko asked.

  “No need for a packet this time. HQ called and said a squad from a neighboring company is bivouacked east of the lake. Those men don't know this little tea party is about to end, and we're afraid they might engage the enemy.
Pity for someone to die on the last morning of the war. I told HQ I'd send someone to warn the squad.”

  “Easy skiing on the snow crust,” Karl said.

  “I'll see you after the war is over,” the lieutenant said.

  Marko and Karl started down the trail. The sky was blue and the air still. Compared to the dark days of December, the sun was so bright that Marko had to squint. He paused on a birch hillside where a flock of redpolls was testing their spring voices. He poked the hard-packed snow with his ski pole. “We won't have to worry about following the trail. Johan and I used to love exploring new territory on a day like this.”

  Marko led the way down the slope, skirting the shore of the lake and passing the place where the Russian infantry had retreated. The twisted arms and legs of soldiers stuck up out of the snow. A drift covered a stalled tank up to the top of its treads. Ravens and foxes had been feasting on a pair of horses that lay tangled in the traces of their sleigh.

  Marko stopped. Just ahead someone had uncovered several Russian soldiers and stripped them of their medals.

  “The lieutenant will be upset if he finds out,” Marko said.

  “It scares me, Marko.” Karl's voice was only a whisper. Marko turned. Karl was staring at the nearest soldier.

  “It scares me how I can't feel anything. That man is someone's brother or husband, but all I see is an enemy. I might as well be lying dead on this lake myself.”

  “Don't say that,” Marko said. “You'll feel different when the war is over.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “A soldier can't think or feel too much if he wants to survive. But my mother always said that time is a great healer. And—”Marko saw something move to his right.

  “What is it?” Karl asked.

  Just then a voice called, “Hey, it's Gimpy and his buddy.” Juho and Seppo were skiing toward them.

  Marko stared at their overstuffed packs. He knew who'd been stripping medals from the soldiers.

  “What are you lookin' at?” Seppo said. “We got a right to collect souvenirs.”

  Juho nodded. “Payback time.”

  “You ladies lost?” Seppo said.

  “We're supposed to find a squad out here,” Karl said.

  “We ain't seen nobody but dead Russkies.” Seppo spat into the snow.

  “So—”Marko began.

  “So you girls will just have to follow your noses. But you'd better hurry, because this little tiff with the Russkies will be over real soon.”Juho laughed as they skied away.

  When the boys reached the far end of the lake, Marko noticed smoke rising from behind a hill. “Must be the squad.”

  The boys skied over a low ridge and into a clearing, surprised to find a smoldering fire pit but no men.

  Marko shook his head. “Juho and Seppo must have cooked their coffee here.”

  “Idiots!” Karl said.”They didn't even put it out.”

  Marko slipped off his skis and knelt to rake some snow over the coals. “Those two have got to be the biggest—”

  Marko was interrupted by the pop of an artillery gun. He held his breath until the shell exploded back at camp.

  “I was afraid they were zeroing in on this,” Karl said.

  “Let's get clear,” Marko said as a red squirrel chattered in the tree above their heads and steam rose from the fire pit.

  But before Marko could plant his poles and ski away, he heard another pop followed by a high-pitched whizzing. “Cover!”

  He and Karl dove into the snow. Marko's mind flashed back to the lieutenant announcing that the war was over. Don't let us die! Not here. Not now.

  The force of the blast flung Marko sideways and knocked him to the ground. His left ski released, but his right strap held, twisting his leg under him.

  Clods of dirt and bits of bark rattled down as a second and third shell screamed in.

  CHAPTER 30

  THE DRAG

  Marko woke up lying facedown in the snow. His ears buzzed from the blast concussion, and he was wet and cold.”Karl!” he called, lifting his head.

  No one answered. Marko sat up. Soot and dirt covered the snow. The fire was out.

  “Marko … I'm hit.”

  Marko stood up and stretched the leg that he'd twisted as he fell; then he limped over to Karl.

  “My leg hurts bad.”The right side of Karl's face was black with soot.

  Marko's heart stopped. A pink circle was spreading into the snow under Karl's right leg. “I'll take a look,” Marko said.

  Karl groaned as Marko slid his pants leg up. Shrapnel had sliced open the back of Karl's leg, and his long underwear was soaked with blood. Marko felt faint.

  “How is it?” Karl asked.

  “Just a scratch,” Marko lied. His mind raced. What can I do? “I'll get Seppo and Juho.” He couldn't lose a second friend!

  Marko jumped up. Seppo and Juho can't be too far— He stopped when he saw the shadows. He'd been knocked out for a long while. That was why his pants were so wet. Seppo and Juho were probably at camp by now. He couldn't believe they hadn't come back to see if he and Karl were all right.

  He would have to help Karl himself. First he needed to stop the bleeding. He skied to the nearest Russian corpse. Trying not to look at the man's face, he pulled out his knife and cut wide strips of coarse wool from the coat.

  He hurried back to Karl. “Here we go,” Marko panted as he knelt. He hoped that Karl couldn't feel his hands shake as he wrapped a clean handkerchief over the wound. Then he picked up a strip of the heavy cloth.

  “It burns … Marko …” Karl's voice sounded faint.

  “This should help,” Marko said, tying the wool around his leg. “Now we'll get you to camp.”

  Marko could ski back for help, or he could drag Karl with him. The snow was firm, but what could he use for a litter?

  “Is my leg bad?”

  “The medics will fix it up,” Marko said.

  The truth was that with such major blood loss Karl needed to get to a hospital fast.

  Marko had lost Johan on the first day of the war—he was not going to let Karl die on the last day. If Marko cut across the lake and reached the road, he could flag down one of the sleighs heading to town. “I'll rig up some sort of litter.”

  “You could never carry me,” Karl said. “Just get help.”

  Karl's eyes were closed, and he sounded as if he was ready to fall asleep. If Marko left him alone, he might go into shock and never wake up. “I'll find something!” Marko looked back at the Russian equipment strewn over the ice. “You stay awake. You hear me? I'll be right back.”

  Marko rushed back to the fallen horses and sleigh. His Civil Guard instructors had told him to improvise. He remembered a wooden handle in a snowdrift. When he found the handle, a quick jerk freed a canvas stretcher. He knocked off the snow. It was made for two men to carry, but he would have to make it work.

  He dragged it back to Karl. “You awake?” Marko's throat was raw, and his head still ached from the shell blast.

  “Everything looks fuzzy.”

  “Keep your eyes open!”Marko spied a young aspen. “I'm going to cut some sticks.”He took out his knife and hacked off two forked branches.

  “Now”—Marko pulled a rope out of his pack and cut off a short piece—”I'll lash these together with the forks facing out.”

  “You're crazy if you think that will work,” Karl said.

  “Just watch.” Marko wedged the forks between the stretcher poles. “Tight as a drum.” He thumped the canvas.

  “Not… very musical.” Karl tried to smile.

  Marko lashed the forked ends in place.”Ready for a ride?”

  “Just leave me.”

  “And not use this rig?” Marko picked up the front poles and dragged the stretcher a few meters to test it.

  Then he looked at Karl's wound. Blood had soaked through the bandage. If it bled much more, Marko might have to use his rope to tie on a tourniquet. Civil Guard class had taught
him to use a tourniquet only in a dire emergency, because cutting off the circulation could cause damage. “But if you ever have to choose,” the instructor said, “don't hesitate to sacrifice a limb to save a life.” Marko hoped he could control Karl's bleeding without risking the loss of his leg.

  In class when they'd practiced putting on a tourniquet, Johan said, “If the Russians shoot you, let's hope they hit your bad leg.”It had been easy to laugh on that summer day, so far from battlefields and real bandages.

  Marko laid the stretcher beside Karl. “We'll slide you on. Then you lie back and take it easy. Lift your hips.” Marko helped Karl.”Now one leg at a time.”

  Karl gritted his teeth as he moved his good leg on his own, but when Marko lifted his wounded leg, Karl shrieked.

  “Sorry!” Marko said.

  “What about… our skis?”

  “I wish I could pull this and ski, but I'll have to walk.” Marko stuck both pairs in a snowbank. “They'll be safe here.”

  Marko bent down and lifted the front of the stretcher.”You need to eat more potatoes.”

  “You won't say that a kilometer from now,” Karl said.

  Marko's first step made the stretcher bounce. “Watch the bumps,” Karl groaned.

  The rear poles of the stretcher slid easily across the frozen snow, and once Marko was moving, Karl felt even lighter. Marko set off across the lake.

  As they passed the dead horses and the sleigh, he tried to distract Karl.”Silly of you to get wounded in the last minutes of the war.”

  “Just wanted … to give you something to complain about.”

  “The exercise will do me good,” Marko said. “Did I ever tell you about the time Paavo Nurmi walked ten kilometers to Paris right after he won two gold medals?”

  As Marko told the Paavo Nurmi stories, the leg that he'd twisted began to ache.

  Marko passed a frozen tank with icicles dripping from its cannon barrel, and the body of a capless Russian soldier, sitting in the snow with his legs crossed. The man had one hand under his bearded chin and looked like he was dreaming. A snowdrift covered his back.