Hale’s confusion deepened at the Corporal’s statement. Pekka let out another faint chuckle and said, “Never mind. I guess the joke is lost on you. Kivi seems to have drummed all the humor out of you.” He paused for a moment and pointed back at the Soviet camp, “Once I start killing them, they’ll come straight at me. Set yourself up for an ambush well forward of my position and surprise the bastards. With luck, we’ll be eating their breakfast soon.”
Hale nodded in response. As he turned away from the corporal to follow his instructions, he could hear the faint sound of the older man grunting as he pulled himself up into the birch tree. Hale carefully crept forward looking for an ideal spot from which to spring an ambush. He found it in the form of a thick trunked oak tree about halfway back to the Russian camp.
He put the tree between the camp and himself. Leaning up against it with his back, he slid downward to a sitting position on the frozen earth. His mouth watered as the smell of sizzling pork from the Russian camp washed over him. Taking the carbine off of his back, he laid it across his lap. He then watched patiently as the reflection of light grew in the metal of the weapon. Every time he exhaled weapon momentarily disappeared as the steam from his breath shrouded the weapon in a blanket of gray.
As his thoughts began to drift, he was jerked back into the present by the crack of Pekka’s rifle as the weapon roared. The faint voices he could hear from the camp stopped, and turned to shouting. A moment later, the sound of Pekka’s rifle once again pierced the forest. Within the camp, the sounds of confusion intensified.
Several shots boomed out from the enemy camp in random directions, The bastards haven’t figured out where he is a yet. Hale thought.
Several minutes passed as Hale watched the golden light of the sun slowly make its way lower and lower down the birch tree in front of him. Cold from sitting in the snow, he shivered as his mind began to slip into a memory of a warm summer day. His day dreaming was interrupted as another shot rang out from Pekka’s direction.
Back in the Soviet camp excited voices erupted. A moment later they returned fire. All the shots went in the direction of Pekka. They’ve figured out where he’s at. Hale thought. The gunfire, a mixture of single shot bolt action rifles and a higher pitched automatic, reached a crescendo, then fell silent, They’ll be coming soon.
Silence once again descended upon the forest as the two opposing groups reached a stalemate. Hale shivered as he waited patiently for the Russians to work up the nerve to charge Pekka’s position. He didn’t have to wait long.
Suddenly, a wave of automatic weapon’s fire erupted from the Soviet camp and a handful of screams pierced the silence. Pekka responded to the wall of lead with a single shot. As the guns fell silent for a moment Hale could hear the sound of the enemy soldier’s boots crunching in the snow moving toward him. He took the carbine from its spot resting on his knees, ensured a round was chambered, and made ready.
Another round of automatic gunfire erupted from the camp in the direction of Pekka. This time there was no response, Did they get him? Hale wondered.
Before he had a chance to do anything, three soldiers of the Soviet Union in their dark green overcoats, rushed by his position. The group was so focused on reaching Pekka, they failed to see him as they ran by. There should be at least one more man out there. The one with the machinegun is he still in the camp? Hale wondered.
Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach over the missing man, Hale was forced to take action. He stood and carefully took aim at the back of the soldier closest to Pekka. Satisfied that his shot would fly true, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. He was startled as the carbine exploded to life a moment before his own rifle would have. Despite the surprise, Hale’s aim was true. The man closest to Pekka toppled forward, face first, into the frozen earth.
The other two men dove for the ground as a shot rang out from Pekka. Hale saw some snow spring up from the ground next to one of the prone Soviets. Pekka missed! The two Soviets were gazing in the direction of Pekka. My gambit of shooting the lead man worked. They think my shot came from Pekka!
Hale took careful aim at one of the Russians who was unaware that he lurked behind them. He carefully drew a bead on the back of the man’s head with the iron sights of his carbine. Satisfied he had a good shot, he held his breath and started to squeeze the trigger. He was interrupted as two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around.
Before Hale could bring his carbine up to shoot this interloper, a large fist smashed into his face. Momentarily stunned, he staggered back and dropped his weapon. As the carbine hit the snow packed earth, he looked into the grinning face of the Soviet Sergeant. Hale dove for the weapon. Before his hands could reach the gun, the Sergeant grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and punched him in the face again.
Hale’s head swam as he staggered back. The Sergeant, with a look of pure delight on his face, stepped forward, snatched up Hale’s rifle, and threw it away.
“What the hell?” Hale muttered.
The sergeant held both his of his hands up in front of his body and gestured with his fingers for Hale to come toward him with a smile and said, “Srazis’ so mnoy!”
Hale, wanting to avoid a fair fight reached for the pukko in the sheathe on his belt. It wasn’t there. The Russian grinned at him, pulled the pukko from his own belt and said, “Ishchu eto?”
Hale, not knowing what the Sergeant just said, seethed with rage, as the Russian held the blade his Grandfather had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Two more shots behind him thundered across the forest. They were of a slightly different pitch than Pekka’s gun. Pekka must be alive! The two soldiers just tried to kill him.
Losing his patience with Hale, the sergeant stepped forward and tried to stab Hale with the knife in his right hand. Anticipating the move, Hale dropped to one knee, as he simultaneously slapped the side of the Russian’s arm with his left hand sending the pukko thrust just past his left ear. He then rolled to his right side and came up on his feet. The Sergeant turned and faced Hale as two men started circling each other warily searching for an opening.
Without warning, the Sergeant lunged at Hale. Surprised, Hale failed to avoid the Soviet’s grasping left arm as it swept him up and pulled him close. Hale attempted to break the grip of the stronger man, and failed. He caught a whiff of the Sergeant’s foul breath as the man grinned down at him.
Hale saw his own death in the man’s eyes as the Sergeant raised the pukko blade to deliver a killing blow. Hale, managed to wiggle one of his arms loose and tried to break the grasp of the Russian. It didn’t work. As the blade began to descend towards Hale’s face a single shot rang out. A spot of red blossomed on the large man’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground dragging Hale with him.
Another shot pierced the silence and slammed into the oak tree behind Hale, missing him by an inch. It was one of the soldiers that had charged past him. As the man worked the bolt on his rifle, Hale grabbed a pistol out of the dead sergeant’s holster and shot the enemy. The other Soviet had turned to face Hale and was taking aim with his rifle.
Hale wouldn’t be able to bring his pistol up before the man fired a shot. Fortunately for Hale, a bullet slammed into the back of the man’s head. This sent him toppling forward as he fell to the earth. Hale saw that the back of his head was a misshapen reddish goo. Thank you Pekka. Hale thought.
Out of danger, Hale took his pukko from the dead sergeant’s hand and slipped it into his belt sheathe. He then searched the corpse. He found the expected bottle of vodka, a wad of rubel bank notes, and a pair of dice. Curious, he cast the dice on the ground and they both landed with the six-side facing up. A lucky throw. Hale thought. Deciding to try his luck again with the dead man’s dice, he cast them one more time. He rolled another double six. Now I understand why you have so many banknotes.
Pekka looked down his nose at Hale on his knees amusing himself with the dice, “If your done fucking around. We still have one more of the ba
stards to kill, the officer cowering in the camp with the SVT-40.”
“That’s the automatic weapons fire we heard as the soldiers charged?” Hale asked.
“You go to the head of the class.” Pekka replied
“I’m famished let’s go get some breakfast.” Hale replied.
The two Finns crept warily forward toward the Soviet encampment. As they drew close to the Russian tents, they quickly fell into a rhythm. One man would silently creep forward, while the other man covered him. In this way they were able to cover each other as they slowly advanced. Much to their surprise, they reached the camp unopposed.
“Where did the commissar go?” Hale asked.
Pekka didn’t answer. Instead he circled around the camp until he settled on a pair of footprints, “Look here, these prints. They are the only ones that leave the camp in a different direction.”
“Back toward Russia.” Hale said.
“I guess the cowardly bastard has had his fill of Finland.” Pekka replied.
“Perhaps. He told me last night, in Finnish, that he was half Finn and half Russian.” Hale replied.
“I hope the bastard has enjoyed his homecoming so far. Hopefully he’ll freeze to death before he reaches the border.” Pekka replied.
Hale walked over to the dying fire in the middle of the camp. Sitting over the smoldering flames was an iron pot with a lid upon it. Steam leaked out of the lid’s edges and slowly wafted up into the sky. Hale, with his gloved hand, grabbed the handle on the top of the pot and raised it. A pleasant smell of boiling pork, rice, and vegetables filled his nose, “They made stew for us.”
“Let’s take the pot and go. I don’t want to risk that cowardly commissar getting the drop on us.” Pekka said.
Hale pointed at the truck, “What about the vehicle?”
Pekka looked up the road to the north, then back at the olive drab green Gaz-MM emblazoned with the red star of the Soviet Union and smiled, “I’ll drive.”
Chapter 4
Morning Karelia Finland, December 1st, 1939
Hale let out a belch, “That was good.”
Pekka nodded in agreement, “I wonder which one of them was the cook?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t the Commissar.” Hale replied.
“What makes you say that?” Pekka inquired.
“He seemed to much of an arrogant ass to actually get his hands dirty doing anything.” Hale said.
Pekka pulled up the sleeve of his white overcoat and glanced at his watch, “We’d better get moving before another Soviet column shows up here and wonders why two Finns are sitting in the middle of a camp surrounded by their dead comrades.”
“What’s did you have in mind?” Hale asked.
Pekka looked off to the north as he pondered Hale’s question for several moments, “How’s your Russian?”
Hale laughed at the question, “We were in the same basic Russian class with Oda. What do you think?”
“Pretty shitty.” Pekka replied.
“Exactly.” Hale said.
“We can at least look the part. Let’s get ourselves into two of their green overcoats and hats.” Pekka said.
“Won’t our own people mistake us for Russians and try to kill us?” Hale asked.
“Maybe, but the odds of us running into one of our folks out here is pretty slim. There’s just a handful of us trying to delay their advance. General Mannerheim has a nice surprise cooked up for them a bit further north.” Pekka replied.
Pekka stood up and walked over to the tent where Hale had been held prisoner the previous night. He disappeared for several moments before emerging with a green overcoat and hat in his hands, “This one is pretty clean.” He started to remove his white overcoat. As he did so, he pointed to another Russian body nearby, “I shot that one in the head. Why don’t you roll him over and see if he bled any on his coat?”
Hale did as he was instructed. He rolled the corpse of the slain enemy soldier over and said, “The coat looks good, but the hat is a bloody mess. I shot one in the back out in the woods. I bet you his hat is just fine.”
“After you collect your weapons, why don’t you go and get it. I’ll see about starting this truck.” Pekka said.
“I want to check these other tents first.” Hale said.
There were two more tents in the camp. Hale started with the larger of the two, assuming that is where the Commissar spent the night. He lifted the two folds of the olive drab green fabric and secured them to two hooks sewn into the fabric for the specific purpose of holding the door flaps open. This shed enough light into the dark interior that Hale was able to make out contents.
In addition to two cots, Hale saw his gear neatly stacked in the back of the tent. He collected his rifle and pack. Checking through it to make sure all was well, he quickly noticed that the vodka he’d looted the previous day from several enemy soldiers was missing, “Bastards.” Hale muttered under his breath in disgust.
A moment after he spoke the word, a loud noise came from the direction of the truck. It sounded like one-part grinding gears, and one-part shrieking banshee. The screeching element of the noise, similar to the effect of dragging fingernails across a chalk board, sent a shiver up his spine. After several long moments of this, the sound abated and the truck began sputtering to life. Several long seconds later, with a great belch of black smoke from the tailpipe, the engine started.
Hale inspected his rifle as he walked through the forest. When he was satisfied that his rifle was in working order. He pulled the leather shoulder strap that secured the Russian carbine to his shoulder and without a second look dropped the Soviet weapon into the snow. With a faint smile on his face, he slipped the SK Nagant M/28-30 that his father had given him onto his shoulder.
The familiar weight of the weapon gave him comfort, as he trudged through the frozen forest. As he searched for the enemy, he had slain earlier, his mind slipped back to the day his father had given him the rifle. “Happy birthday!” His family, which included, his grandparents, parents, and little sister said in unison as his mom walked out of the kitchen with a chocolate cake. Included in the small gathering was Nea the daughter of the couple that owned the neighboring farm.
They were clustered around a simple battered wooden table. The room barely large enough to hold them all, was decorated with colorful streamers. His mother brought the cake to the head of the table and tilted it slightly so that everyone could get a good look at it before she met Hale’s gaze and said, “German chocolate.” She paused a moment as the smile spread across Hale’s face before adding, “You’re favorite!”
Unlike a regular chocolate cake, the icing on this masterpiece of home cooking, was more of a caramel color than the dark brown typical of chocolate. The smell of the freshly baked cake filled the small room. Hale’s mother set the cake down on the table. Working with Hale’s Grandmother, the two women carefully slipped thirteen candles into the icing. As the two women finished and stepped back, Hale’s father struck a match and began to light the candles one by one.
The candles blazed atop the cake as Hale’s family began to sing Happy Birthday to You, in unison. At the conclusion of the song, his mother said, “Blow out the candles honey and make a wish!”
Hale inhaled deeply and blew for all he was worth. The candles winked out quickly. As the wicks of the candles began to smolder and send rings of smoke lazily into the air, Hale’s family clapped in approval. Aina said cheerfully, “Now you get to open your gifts!”
Hale looked down at his sister, she was barely more than a toddler and said, “Hmmm, I wonder whose gift I should open first?”
Aina quickly blurted out in the unabashed manner typical of toddlers, “Mine!” As she thrust the small package into Hale’s hands.
Hale looked down at the small box that Aina had just given him. It was wrapped in festive red and silver wrapping paper that had clearly been used and reused many times. Hale made a great show of raising the package to his ear and shaking it gently while sa
ying, “I wonder what’s in it?”
“Open it and find out!” Aina urged him.
Hale carefully removed the wrapping paper, so as not to damage it, and pulled out a tiny wooden box. He recognized the box as one he kept under his bed. The previous summer he had collected several bugs out in the woods and kept it in this very box. After they all promptly escaped, he quickly forgot about the empty box as it collected dust under his bed. His sister had located it and repurposed it for this occasion. He smiled down at her and said, “What a wonderful gift! Thank you.”
Hale leaned down and gave Aina a hug and a kiss on the top of her head. As he stood back up his Grandfather handed him a larger box and said, “This is for you.”
Hale made eye contact with his grandfather and smiled. The older man was deep into his fifties with iron gray hair starting to give way to white. His features were well weathered from many decades of exposure to Finland’s harsh winters. His smile revealed yellowing teeth. Hale took the box excitedly. It was wrapped in festive green paper. This time he tore into the paper with relish. Within was another wooden box about twelve inches long. Inwardly he sighed and thought, Another box? At least this one doesn’t already belong to me.
Before his thought could continue his grandfather said, “Open it.”
Hale did as he was instructed and gently removed the lid of the wooden box. A sharp intake of breath was quickly followed by a smile that spread across his face. Within the box was a pukko blade. His eyes slowly panned up and down the length of the knife. The pukko was ten inches in length from tip to the end of the pommel. The end of the blade had a slight curve to it which as Hale knew made it easier to gut an animal with. The pommel was a work of art. Hale marveled at the ornately carved moose bone handle with creatures of the forest meticulously carved into it.
“Try it.” His grandfather said.
Hale held his breath and took the blade into his hand. The pommel was a bit large for his grasp and he awkwardly held it aloft, “You’ll grow into it.” His father said.
The Winter Sniper Page 6
