by Väinö Linna
‘Quit shoving, will you? Say, where do we put the packs and guns, huh?’ Having cut the line and seized a prime spot by the wall of the cab, Rahikainen was now demanding more space.
His constant cheating and corner-cutting had earned him a place of special disrepute with Hietanen, who shouted, ‘Pretty sure you can sit on your pack with your gun in your lap just like everybody else.’
‘Sit on my pack? Why, my writing pad’ll get crushed!’ There was no way Rahikainen would have sat on the bare floor of the truck, but he was hoping his ruse might win him more space for later use.
‘Jesus! We’re not gonna start making separate space for the bags on account of your stationery supplies,’ said Hietanen.
‘Well, excuse me. I’ll be happy to put it under me, if it disturbs your soul so greatly.’
‘It doesn’t disturb my soul in the least, but Salo and Vanhala’s rears won’t fit in the truck if you don’t sit on your damn pack!’
Gradually they all situated themselves as comfortably as they could. Koskela got into the cab and the platoon sat waiting for the last ten minutes. They were in a hurry.
‘Well, looks like we’re stuck here. Might as well enjoy the chance to sit in a vehicle for once. The Finnish army doesn’t pay for this kind of thing too often. The higher-ups must’ve got some wires crossed. You know, some people get things turned around from time to time, but somehow those clowns always do.’
The guy leading the convoy drove away from the truck, dragging his feet on the ground. Somewhere within the trucks a voice cried out, ‘Ready!’
The Master Sergeant, who was from Savo – where else, with those absurdly rolled Rs – called back, ‘All rrrrrrighty, boys! Keep a hundred and fifty yards between the vehicles so the dust can settle in between.’
The first vehicle started off. The transmission screeched and the motor groaned: ay yai yai yai …
The Third Platoon’s truck shook and rumbled off in turn. The men bounced down the uneven road to the rhythm of the potholes as the vehicle pitched this way and that. Their spirits rose, as if shaken loose by the lurching of the truck. Some shouts emerged from the convoy, and somewhere in the truck somebody had already burst into song: ‘On the heath a little bloom called Erika …’
‘So long, camp!’ somebody yelled from the Third Platoon’s truck, and others chimed in, ‘So long, barracks!’ ‘The old troops are headin’ out!’
Hietanen had already forgotten his recent exchange with Rahikainen. Drunk with excitement at their chaotic departure, he outdid them all and launched into a full-on speech. Rising to stand, he steadied himself on Lehto’s shoulder, gesturing extravagantly with his free hand as he said, ‘One last goodbye to you, burnt clearing. Farewell, you old sweat-sucking swamp! The old boys are off and we salute you! You, whose surface our boots have messed up with so many footprints. You give the next round of rookies hell, now, all right? The old guard’s rootin’ for ya!’
Cheers from the other vehicles joined in his hurrah, as did his own men. But Rahikainen just grumbled irritably, ‘Of course they drive us off at night. Not one little lady by the side of the road to see us off.’
The truck turned onto the main road, into the dust cloud floating in the wake of the preceding vehicles. The drone of the trucks emanated from its midst, accompanied by strains of the old school songs, ‘What happiness greater than taking up arms, protecting the land of our birth …’
Glints of the clear morning shone between the trees lining the road, gilding the dust cloud with gold as loads of excited young men drove through, one after the other.
Chapter Two
I
A little-used road, or actually just a couple of faint tracks turning off into the forest, wound their way through the spruce grove. The men had pitched their tents beside the tracks and were now idling and milling about. They had dug out little fire pits in front of each tent, and now their mess kits hung above them, dangling from the ends of poles.
They’d pitched the tents the night before, and a strange seriousness had descended for a moment when the duty officer came through the tents announcing, ‘Keep it down. The border’s only about a mile off.’
They got used to the idea fairly quickly, but a perceptible gravity settled over them. They roamed about playing cards all day, having nothing better to do, but among them some men just sat silently, lost in thought, staring into the campfires. When they spoke, it was at half-volume, though the precaution felt slightly absurd, since the dry cracks their axes made chopping firewood carried for miles.
A good two weeks had passed since the battalion had left the burnt clearing. Stiff and dusty, they had unloaded and set up camp along the side of the road. Here, it had gradually been confirmed that this was the real deal. Magazines were loaded up, units were configured for war, and all activity was geared toward preparing for combat. Then they heard that Germany had made a ‘pre-emptive strike on Russia’, thus initiating the fighting. ‘That nutcase over there took off,’ as Lahtinen had put it, and now they were just awaiting the order to ‘hoof it after him’. The others didn’t see things as Lahtinen did, however. On the contrary – they saw things quite the other way around. Germany was tying up the Russian troops so that it would be easy for the Finns to launch an attack on the entirety of the Soviet Union. So great is the power of megalomania.
The previous evening, they had marched to this spot near the border, turned off onto the forest path and set up camp beside it.
The machine-gunners’ command tent was just beside the road. Crawling out of its door flap came the NCO battle-runner, Corporal Mielonen. ‘If anybody wants to hear the news, come on over! Afterwards some government secretary’s gonna give a speech. Tell the others, too, in case anybody wants to hear.’
The two tents belonging to the Third Platoon were situated right next to the command post, so the Captain could keep himself entertained listening to the men’s chatter. He was feeling particularly fond of Hietanen today, though he had always liked him, being an admirer of anyone energetic and direct. Hietanen’s gusto kept the men’s spirits up, and prevented them from getting too depressed – which was why Hietanen, rather than Lehto, served as deputy platoon leader. The Captain knew Lehto was a capable corporal, but he had no ability to exert a positive influence on the other men. He operated in a vacuum. An off-putting tension set him apart from everything. Hietanen’s easy spontaneity, on the other hand, tethered him to the other men, so he was perfectly positioned to influence them with his behavior. The Captain, being a good judge of character, was also aware that Hietanen would be invaluable in a combat situation.
‘I’ll come and listen to the news, but I couldn’t care less about those government secretaries. I just don’t care what those buzzards jabber on about. Can’t even do anything about the goddamn mosquitoes.’
At this the Captain laughed. ‘We need guys like that. Absolutely, absolutely. Just can’t let this baptism of fire go awry. We need this operation to succeed.’
More than once over the course of the day, the Captain had surveyed the map, which was folded at the ready beneath the celluloid map-case cover. ‘Somewhere around there. That’s where the Third Platoon will be baptized.’
They knew the enemy’s first line of defense lay just behind the border – with outposts before that. Those would have to be overcome, and then when the Second Battalion launched a frontal attack, their battalion would strike from the side and take control of the service road. There was just one dicey spot – that exposed swamp, which the Third Company would have to cross in its attack. Koskela’s platoon would back it up, with hi
s own command post bringing up the rear. The rear! The Captain’s position irked him no end. Company commander of a bunch of machine-gunners – what was that? Director of Social Life. God damn it! Well, it wouldn’t last long. He could already sniff a battalion heading his way. Come to think of it, who was to prevent him from putting his command post even in front of the line …? Well, so it goes … Hmm … dum-dee-dum.
Mielonen’s voice rang out from somewhere near the other tents. At the same time Private Salo spoke up as well. ‘We’re comin’, we’re comin’! Come listen to the radio, boys! The news is about to come on and the Secretary’s speakin’.’
The men gradually began to gather around the command tent. The faint music wafting from it grew louder as somebody turned up the volume on the radio inside. Then the music stopped and the news began:
‘The air force of the Soviet Union has continued to bomb several counties within Finnish territory. The damage, however, has been limited. Shelling targeted at Finnish territory has continued at multiple points along the border, and in some locations our troops have repulsed minor attacks launched by enemy patrols.’
Then came the announcement from the Führer’s Headquarters: ‘Our advance on the Eastern Front continues. Several heavily armed tank formations have already penetrated …’
A crackly voice read off the names of some cities, places of which the men had but the vaguest of notions, at best. Some Churchill and some Roosevelt guy had said something that, for whatever reason, was supposed to be very important. Then it was announced that one of their own government secretaries would give a speech.
‘Who is it?’ somebody asked Mielonen in a low voice. But the latter answered, ‘I don’t know. They’ll say it soon. I don’t know any of the government officials. Somebody over there’s spoutin’ hot air.’
Mielonen was from Savo, somewhere just past Kuopio. He was a little young and self-important, but he was fairly sensible. When assembling the command group, the Captain had selected him as its leader, which further elevated Mielonen’s sense of importance. ‘The Captain and I arranged it,’ he was wont to explain. And to the queries the men directed to him, he would respond with an all-knowing air, ‘Well, obviously that’s where it should be taken. Where else?’
Even he didn’t know anything about government secretaries, though. ‘That rrriffraff?’
The speech started after the news broadcast. First there was a quiet rustling of paper, then a low whisper and a small cough.
‘My fellow Finns. Without any prior declaration of war, the armed forces of the Soviet Union have launched repeated attacks in violation of the Finnish border. Our defense forces have put down each of these attacks, but refrained from transgressing onto Soviet territory. Because of these continuing violations of our neutrality, the administration considers Finland and the Soviet Union to be in a state of war …’
More detailed information about the border violations followed, as well as a special report on the government’s response. Finally, the Secretary shifted into sentimental gear, warming the hearts of the Finnish people:
‘Great changes in the political landscape have once again presented us with a great trial. For the second time in a short while, the men of Finland are being called upon to defend their families and their homeland. We have desired nothing but peace: the peace to build this nation and to develop it toward ever greater prosperity. But our enemy’s thirst for power has not permitted us that opportunity. War is never something that we wish for, but we want even less the renunciation of our freedom and our independence. As in the darkest days of the Winter War, the people of Finland will stand united in the struggle to defend our freedom. Our army, tried and true, stands at the nation’s border, guided by the leadership of Marshal Mannerheim, and is prepared to strike back at every attack. And this time, we are not alone. The great German army has already dealt devastating blows upon our common enemy. Our faith in ultimate victory is unshakeable. So, trusting in the justice of our position, we enter into battle in the name of all we hold sacred, and all we hold dear …’
‘Hey, guys! They’re bringing out the cannons …’
From behind a bend in the road they could hear the snorting of horses and voices urging them on: ‘C’mon now. Whatta ya nibblin’ at … Git!’
The first cannon came into view. It was a three-incher, pulled by a team of frothy, sweaty horses. The guys on horseback were slapping their animals, trying to coax them up the slope, and the cannon was lurching so badly on the miserable road that all the baggage tied to it kept rolling all over the place.
The men transporting the cannons were reservists, many of whom were old men. They tried to help the horses along by pushing the cannons, but the horses’ speed was such that they actually just ended up pulling the men. Rushing along at the rear was one small, older reservist. Streams of sweat had drawn stripes down his dust-covered face, his visor sat askew between one eye and his ear, and his belt was sagging under the weight of his heavy bags of ammunition. His shirt had bunched up over his belt, and the couple of buttons he’d left open revealed a thick, flannel undershirt bearing the mark ‘Int. 40’. His trousers were too long for him, and because he didn’t have any boots – only leather shoes – he had tucked the bottoms of the legs into his socks. So the ankles of his socks, which were held up with safety-pins, were a bit overstuffed. When the team of horses picked up the pace at the base of the hill, he stumbled after them in a desperate half-run, too fixated on his hopeless pursuit to so much as glance around him.
The evening sunlight filtered through the spruce trees onto the road, striking the swarms of insects hovering above it and dispersing as the cannons drove through. Even in the somber darkness of the spruce grove, the summer evening’s calm beauty was palpable. The moss glistened green in the falling light, and the metal cannons flashed in the shafts of sun that filtered through the branches.
Wheels rattled, horses snorted, men shouted and the Secretary spoke:
‘… courageous men of Finland. We were born free, we have lived in freedom, and we will stand with our heads held high against anyone who desires to wrest that freedom from us. Our path is clear, and we know it well. The great deeds of our fathers have paved the way that lies before us; that is the precious legacy they have left us.’
The old reservist ran panting behind his cannon. The machine-gunners standing on the side of the road had ceased listening to the Secretary, and were staring in wonder at the cannons instead. There was something grand in their approach – in spite of the desperate old man, who aroused pity in many of them.
‘They really shouldn’t be sending guys like that out here,’ somebody muttered. But Private Salo had fallen completely under the spell of the three-incher, which in truth was something of a vintage model. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as manfully he shoved his hands in his pockets, boasting, ‘Take a look at those guns, boys. Won’t take long to clear out the neighbors when these babies start to blow.’
The developments on the Eastern Front had shaken up Lahtinen’s righteous convictions somewhat. He looked uneasy when the others questioned him on such topics, and he now sheathed even his critiques in a mantle of goodwill. He still tried to rein in the others when their zealousness verged on the excessive, though. And so, in response to Salo’s speech, he said, ‘Humph. Herrings are a little slim for a Christmas dinner. Rumor has it they’ve got some of that stuff over on the other side, too. I mean, if we can push back the neighbors that easy, well, swell. But I’m afraid anything we send over’s gonna come right back at us. And how.’
‘I dunno what kinda weapons the
y got. But it don’t look like they got much down there at Bialystok. Seems like they’re havin’ a purty rough time, but I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.’
‘Yeah, well, of course it’s like that when somebody blindsides you … look, I’m just saying you oughtta cool it … it’s like you’re asking for it … and things aren’t always going quite the way they say they are …’
‘I dunno. I heard they had to tie our Ostrobothnian boys to the trees to keep them from heading over here before they was supposed to … Our neighbors are gonna see what you get for picking a fight with somebody smaller than you. Just like in the Winter War.’
The argument was cut short by a rumbling starting up a little way off.
‘They’re driving to the positions over there. Things are gonna get cookin’, boys.’
They glanced around at one another, trying to avoid eye contact. Then they returned to the campfires in silence. The card players were still at it. ‘Lintu’s dealing. Can we bet cigarettes? I’m out of cash. Yeah, that’s fine. Ach! One over, goddamn it.’
Everything was in order, but some men were still fiddling around needlessly with their equipment. Silence didn’t really suit them just then, as it was too easy to fill up with the fantastic visions they were trying not to think about. Half-unconsciously, the men were mentally preparing themselves for what was to come. They stayed up late that night. Bits of information trickled in from here and there, always compounding their sense of gravity. Some reserve regiments had set up camp along the side of the main road. Somebody knew about the massive amount of artillery that was standing at the ready in the depots. Some group had sent a patrol across the border and returned two men short.
‘Let ’em do what they want. I’m gettin’ some sleep.’ Hietanen pulled his coat up around his ears and the others followed suit.
