The men drew in their breath. Every nerve was on edge as their bodies prepared to give their all in carrying out their minds’ orders. The cold had evaporated, banished by their over-excited bodies and anxious breath. It was the most stirring moment of battle, a silence charged with excitement that suddenly erupts into a clattering crash. It was as if the first shot startled tens and hundreds of fingers into pulling their triggers, so that for one moment, all the weapons cracked in unison before their fire petered out into its various forms.
Lahtinen shot with his jaws clenched firmly together. His first prey was an officer clad in white furs. Then he turned his attention to a machine-gun squad trying to reach a position under cover of some pines.
One man made it in time. The enemy’s call to charge echoed over a terrifyingly wide range. From their own positions, they heard only the clamor of ceaseless firing, though once they made out a hoarse, anxious cry on the left: ‘Light machine guns over here! Get the light machine guns over here …’
The advance halted in front of the machine gun. The enemy was trapped in its fire, and Lahtinen was rapidly shooting to both sides. He glanced at Määttä and said, thinking to fend off any accusations, ‘I can’t see them, I’m just boosting morale, see.’
Määttä didn’t say anything. He was just making sure one belt after another made it into the feeder. The machine gun was already beginning to glow with heat.
Things to their left had fallen suspiciously silent, and suddenly Sihvonen gasped, ‘They’re making a run for it. We’d better go, too!’
Lahtinen also saw the running men and screamed to Sihvonen, ‘You’re not taking off before the rest of us!’
At that moment the Ensign came running up on the right, yelling, ‘Get in position! Go back! Who the fuck gave you permission to retreat?’
Further off one of the guys running yelled, ‘They’re circling round from the left!’
The Ensign called for his deputy commander, ‘Penttinen! Sergeant Penttinen!’
‘Penttinen’s dead. Head’s shot through like a sieve.’
‘And Lehtovirta and Kylänpää.’
‘They’re cutting through on the left!’
‘The light machine gun’s still back there along with both guys. I saw them get Aarnio from three yards away.’
Panicked men poured in from the left, yelling about one disaster after another. Hoarse, the Ensign screamed, ‘Turn around! Get back in position!’
A few of the men returned to their positions, but just then they were hit with a hail of enemy fire and one of them fell, crying out softly. It rattled the others so much they lost all will to hold back the enemy. Even the guys on the right, who’d been spared these traumas, were beginning to join the flight. Lahtinen started detaching the machine gun from its mount, as he could see that there was nothing to be done but try to save the gun. Salo and Sihvonen had already fled.
The Ensign also realized that the situation was hopeless. He was about to set off toward the left to see if there was any chance of holding the enemy back, but just then he spotted a hand rising from the snow and heard a wounded man scream, ‘Guys! Don’t leave me! Please, guys, please …’
The Ensign dashed over. He called for help from Sihvonen, who was just running by, but Sihvonen just pressed on with eyes like saucers. Salo stayed back to help, however, and together they started to pull the wounded man behind them.
When Lahtinen saw what was going on, he put the machine gun back on the gun mount and said to Määttä, ‘Clear out the sled and put that guy in it … Hurry. You go help. I’ll hold ’em back while you guys take care of him …’
Määttä went. With one heave he dumped the contents of the sled, then pulled it over to the wounded man. They raised him into the sled and started pulling it to the forest for cover. Some of the Ensign’s men came back to help, so Määttä and the Ensign stayed to wait for Lahtinen.
Lahtinen was firing indiscriminately across as wide a range as the spin on the gun mount allowed. He glanced over his shoulder and, seeing the sled slip into the forest to safety, rose to his knees to grab hold of the gun.
Määttä and the Ensign shot randomly toward the enemy, trying to give Lahtinen some kind of cover. The enemy had spotted him, and their bullets were sending up bursts of snow all around him.
‘Leave the machine gun and run!’ the Ensign cried, figuring it would be impossible for one man to get the machine gun out all by himself. Maybe Lahtinen didn’t hear, or maybe he just couldn’t imagine abandoning the weapon, but in any case Määttä and the Ensign watched as the hulking youth swung the entire machine gun assembly over his shoulder and began crawling toward them. When Lahtinen fell, they thought at first that he had stumbled, but when he didn’t get up, Määttä yelled, ‘Lahtinen!’
No answer came. The snow-suited man lay prone and motionless. The front leg of the gun-stand stuck straight up behind his neck. Määttä and the Ensign waited for a moment for some sign of life, then began to trudge away in silence. Abandoned skis littered the terrain behind their positions, but there wasn’t time to gather them up.
The machine gun sizzled as it sank into the melting snow, its casing hot from firing. Water pearled and joined and slowly began to trickle down the exposed blueberry leaves. A few, sparse drops of blood had stained it red. They dropped from just behind Lahtinen’s ear, where the bullet had lodged.
VI
‘You all whacked or what? Where you comin’ from?’ Rokka clapped the gasping man on the back.
‘Over there … over there …’
‘Don’t you mumble now … What’s goin’ on over there?’
‘All the guys … done … killed the whole platoon.’
‘Now, don’t say that! Here you are, still alive! And there’s s’more fellas comin’ over there. What happen’da the machine gun? Where’s Lahtinen?’
‘Still back there. Nobody made it out alive.’
‘I don’t think we’re gonna get anything out of him,’ Hietanen said, leaning on his ski poles. The only assistance the battalion had sent was Rokka’s rifle, and Hietanen had tagged along. The two of them suspected they were too late to be of use as soon as they ran into the first retreating soldier, who was still in a state of shock.
Rokka let up on the man, and as more breathless runners turned up, he and Hietanen got a clearer sense of what was going on from the guys who had their wits about them. Määttä and the Ensign brought up the rear. No sooner had the Ensign rejoined his men than he flew into a rage. ‘You motherfucking pansies! That’s the last time you’re going to pull that stunt. Sure, just run like a flock of goddamn chickens without so much as a glance behind! And forget about bringing the wounded guys! If even one of you abandons his post again, you’d all better know what you’re in for.’
‘Where’s Lahtinen and the machine gun?’ Hietanen asked Määttä.
‘Lyin’ back there side by side,’ Määttä replied flatly, as if he couldn’t care less.
‘There was nothing to be done,’ the Ensign said, as if making excuses on Määttä’s behalf. ‘This man did everything he could. He and I brought the wounded man back. It wasn’t this man’s fault. He’s the only guy worth his salt in the whole outfit …’
‘Look, I don’t care whose fault it was. All I asked about was Lahtinen and the machine gun,’ Hietanen said, a bit sharply, as he didn’t like the sound of the Ensign’s accusations.
‘Me, too,’ Rokka said. ‘Lissen, they’re gonna be over here soon, too … Better git the fellas set up.’
The Ensign realized there were more critical things to attend to than
berating his men and quickly started organizing the defense. He was still hoping to stop the enemy advance, so, letting up on his tone of a moment before, he bellowed, ‘We’ll knock the fight out of them yet, boys! Get into positions. Try to dig some foxholes in the snow. And if you can reach into the ground, even better.’
Spurred on by a new wave of hope, the Ensign pulled himself together and moved decisively. He asked Hietanen to take charge of the men coming in on the far right wing, as his own platoon had lost its deputy commander as well as both of the squad leaders who’d been on the left. Hietanen got the troops into formation and Rokka searched for a good spot for the machine gun. They had too many men for one gun, now that Lahtinen’s team was on hand as well, so they decided that just Määttä and Vanhala would stay with the gun, and the others would join the firing line. Rokka himself went over to the Ensign and said, ‘Lissen, Ensign! Where do you need a real top-notch fella? ’Cause you’re lookin’ at him.’
Rokka’s self-assured declaration made the Ensign grin, despite the gravity of the situation. He was aware of Rokka’s reputation, however, and knew he was as good as his word.
‘The ends of the line are the worst. Take a few men with you and cover the far left. Head out just past the end of the line and keep your eyes peeled …’
‘You betcha. Hey! You, with the submachine gun! Come with me! And gimme that gun.’
‘You might want to take someone else with you,’ the Ensign whispered. ‘Lampinen was on the left back there just now, so he’s a little traumatized. And anyway his nerves aren’t exactly made of steel.’
‘Don’t need quality. Just somebody a keep the drums loaded. C’mere! Now lissen, I’m a comedian, see – you come with me and we’ll have ourselves barrels of fun. Grab some ammo there, much as you can walk with.’
They set off.
Rokka trudged through the snow, his quiet companion lugging ammunition behind him. The moon began to shed some light on the dark forest. Snow glittered in the gaps between the trees, but menacing, mysterious shadows emerged from the thickets. The shadows stretched long, as the moon had only just begun to rise.
Rokka and his companion passed the last man on the line and continued on a little further. Rokka chattered away, whispering to his silent companion, ‘Hot diggity! These are some dandy felt boots I got me back there on’nat service road. Lil’ tough gittin’ ’em off a that fella’s feet, though. Already good and frozen on him, they were.’
The man didn’t respond, he just glanced around, petrified. Suddenly Rokka stopped and raised his hand. A lump rose in Lampinen’s throat when he saw what had prompted Rokka’s halt. Before them lay a small, frozen swamp, and dozens of snow-suited men were tramping across it double-file – toward them. Rokka beckoned Lampinen to his side, and carefully they pressed themselves into the snow.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Lampinen said, his voice trembling.
‘Now how you gonna know ’til you try? Aw, shucks, what a trick! They heard us makin’na racket and figgered out where we was so they could send troops round and surround us. Can I smell it or what? And here I am this whole time feelin’ things ain’t quite what they seem.’
The enemy was advancing slowly and recklessly. They didn’t have any scouts, despite the fact that, at the moment, they were crossing an exposed swamp. Perhaps they were just so confident in their mission that they figured that kind of thing wasn’t necessary. Rokka and Lampinen sank themselves deeper into the snowdrifts, Rokka whispering instructions the whole time. ‘These drums here’s full. Soon as I plow through ’em, you refill ’em, hear? Just make sure you always put the full ones in the full pile, so they don’t git mixed up. And you just keep calm. Just like Rokka here. We ain’t got no troubles. They’re the ones gonna be in for it pretty soon. Hey, you know howd’da sing? You might hum a lil’ sumpin’, soft-like. Keeps the spirits up. Lil’ strategy for the mind, see? Just think a any crazy ol’ thing, ’sall good in a spot like this.’
Rokka knew his whispering wouldn’t reach enemy ears, since the rustling of the men’s snowsuits would drown out any smaller noises. Double-file, they trudged laboriously through the snow as Rokka steadied the sight.
‘See that officer out in front? Soon as his shadow hits that lil’ spruce there, he’s meetin’ his maker. That’s what I say. ’Nen after him, I start in on’na rest of ’em. Look at them all lined up! Waddlin’ along one after the other like sittin’ ducks. Poor bastards! Don’t know what’s about’ta hit ’em. Pretty soon you’re gonna see how the Lord takes His own. Now, You lissen up up there, ol’ man! If any a those fellas’s sinned, You take mercy on him, hear? Be quick now! They’re gonna start headin’ up to You soon.’
The shadow of the officer walking in front was nearing the spruce tree. The man never knew what happened to him. All he saw was the dark rim of the forest, the snow glittering in the moonlight, and his own shadow, whose head was just reaching the tip of a young spruce tree. His eyes may have glimpsed the muzzle flash, but he never had time to grasp its meaning.
A few cries and random shots rang out, but Rokka’s submachine gun cut through everything, hammering away like a sewing machine. Rokka was cool and calculating as he killed – an ability made possible by his particular kind of constitution. His eyes were sharp and his mind moved swiftly, unfettered by fear, as his hands carried out its commands with sure and extraordinary accuracy.
A few of the men darted off, trying to make a break for it. Others tried to crawl along the snowdrifts. A few shot randomly, but the dry hammering of the submachine gun was difficult to locate.
Having mowed down the front of the line, Rokka started in from the tail end. First he shot down the men nearest to the forest’s protective edge. The man nearest to safety was always next up, and Rokka hammered steadily toward the center of the group as the situation advanced. Men dropped like flies in the snowy clearing. One hopeless fugitive ran wading through the snow to the edge of the forest, and a glimmer of hope may even have flickered through his mind as he crossed into the shadow of its cover. But then the hail of bullets struck, and again, one more motionless lump sank onto the snow. Others tried to dig themselves down into the drifts and return fire, but no sooner did anybody shoot than the snow around him would fly into the air and his weapon would fall silent.
Lampinen lay beside Rokka, dripping with sweat from head to toe. Hands trembling, he tore open the cardboard boxes and filled Rokka’s empty drum magazines. He was nearly mad with fear. He was reassured somewhat by Rokka’s face, which wasn’t even anxious, just stealthy and alert; but the whole situation still struck him as highly unstable and far from equal. They might be surrounded at any moment. And on top of his fear he was overwhelmed with horror at this staggering slaughter. Whenever he glanced over at the swamp, he would glimpse some guy trying to crawl away on his last legs, until Rokka’s merciful bullet would put him out of his misery. Heart-rending wails and cries for help pierced through the din. Never in his life had Lampinen witnessed so great a massacre, and although he had no particular humanitarian anxiety about such things, the ruthless slaughter somehow struck him as monstrous.
Lampinen heard an angry, buzzing blast, and the submachine gun fell silent. A frightened cry escaped him as he looked at Rokka. He saw that his fur cap had slid off. His head hung limp over the butt of the gun and a red rivulet of blood was trickling from his hairline down to his cheek.
Lampinen dropped the magazine and started crawling away. Now that he was alone, self-control abandoned him completely and, choking with horror, he imagined that the enemy was at his back at this very moment, about to shoot a s
tream of bullets straight through him. He was just about to get up and start running when he felt a hand seize his ankle, and with a strangled gasp and protruding eyes, he turned back to look.
Rokka squeezed his leg and smiled. But to Lampinen, even the smile was sickening. Rokka’s face was distorted by pain and stained with blood, and his grimace gleaming in the moonlight looked more like that of a cackling devil than anything human.
‘Where you headed?’
‘Nnnn … n … no … nowhere.’
‘C’mon back where you were, then. I thought you’d run off somewheres. Don’t you go runnin’ off, damn it. I’d run outta drums …’
The submachine gun started up again. None of the men remaining was running anymore – those that were left were just trying to crawl through the snow to safety. A few of them even made it, but the number of survivors represented just a tiny fraction of those who had advanced into the middle of the clearing.
‘That’ssa one done it, lil’ sucker behin’nat spruce. You shot a furrow down my scalp, and for that you’re gonna git half your head blown off. Like that … an’nat … an’nat. Just lookit how that fella went down in’na snow! You see how that drift just swallowed him up? Damn! Don’t you mess with Antti Rokka.’
Movement on the swamp slowed. There was some fire coming from the rim of the forest, but no signs of attack anywhere else. The moonlight, clear as ever, bathed the bodies strewn about the swamp. A low moan would rise now and again, followed by a sharp, quick string of shots from Rokka’s submachine gun. His head bare, his face lit with a faint smile, the cool killer guarded his prey, eyeing it down to the very last sign of life.
A rustling of skis sounded somewhere to the rear. The lieutenant from the Jaeger Platoon slid up behind them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on no more. Lissen, you go git the line and stretch ’em over there alongside a swamp! Neighbors might give it another go. Guess you fellas came to give us a hand anyway, huh?’