Hale watched as the man who had captured him the day before reached Pekka. He could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly the Commissar punched Pekka in the gut. Pekka crumpled at the blow, but the two soldiers’ firm grip on his arms kept him on his feet. The Commissar, shook his black gloved hand.
Enraged, Hale raised his rifle and took aim at one of the men surrounding Pekka and the Commissar. Calming his rage, he held his breath and pulled the trigger. A moment later the impact of the bullet knocked the unfortunate off his feet, and he tumbled to the ground face first.
The rest of the squad, knowing that Hale was alone, turned raised their rifles, and fired in his direction. Hale ducked back down into the gully and worked the metal bolt on his Mosin-Nagant. He calmly stood back up and ended the life of another young Red Army soldier just as the rest of the group were raising their rifles. Seeing him reappear they quickly took aim.
With a loud roar, the Soviets let loose a barrage of fire in unison. This time the bullets flew and buzzed around Hale. They know precisely where I’m at. Hale thought.
The Russians bellowed in unison and charged. Hale, down to his last three bullets, was forced to turn and flee from the advancing Red Army soldiers. I will return for you as you did for me my friend. Hale thought as he fled from the advancing tide of Red Army soldiers.
Chapter 5
Afternoon Karelia Finland, December 1st, 1939
Hale stumbled through the woods in a head long rush. Branches and thorns grabbed at his white coat as he hurtled through the underbrush. Fear drove him forward as his lungs heaved in protest from the effort of running in the frigid air through the snow. After half an hour of running, Hale collapsed in exhaustion and laid on the ground. He rolled over and looked back the direction he had just come.
Expecting to see olive drab green, and red stars break over the horizon at any moment, he raised his rifle and took aim. As he waited, his breathing began to slow and his thoughts raged, How can I get Pekka back from that traitorous jackal! That coward is always surrounded by too many soldiers.
After several minutes, his breath finally stilled itself and he was able to listen. The sounds of the forest filled his ears. Absent was the sounds of boots upon snow. They didn’t follow me.
Hale stood and looked around. The sun was low on the horizon. Off to the north was a line of clouds that had advanced across the sky all afternoon, and now were nearly upon him. He pulled his pack off of his back and rummaged around in it for several moments. Pulling out a compass, he held it up with his right palm to get his bearings.
Satisfied he knew where he was, more or less at least. Hale set off toward the south west. Without his skis, the journey through the snow-covered woods was a difficult one. Even for one such as Hale who had spent his entire young life wandering through woodlands such as this in search of meat for his family’s table. The effort of pushing one’s self through the piles of snow would quickly wear down the strongest of men.
As he trudged through the thick blanket of frozen snow, his mind was cluttered with thoughts of Pekka and the recent fight with the Red Army, What could I have done to save him? Why did you run? You fucking coward, if you would have just stayed and fought a little longer, you could have saved him.
Hale’s mind raced as his brain filled with these thoughts again and again. He was becoming overwhelmed by a growing sense of guilt. His thoughts tried to coalesce around a moment that if he went left instead of right, the engagement would have turned out differently. You had no choice but to run. You were hopelessly outnumbered and they were charging right at you!
In response, another piece of Hale’s mind still raged at him. You could have stayed and fought! Heedless of the cold, he reached into his mostly white overcoat and felt his bandoliers, there were no bullets left. That doesn’t matter you could have taken bullets from the dead man at your feet!
Hale paused and leaned up against a tree. He looked up at the sky, with tears in his eyes. As he started to weep and said, “I had no choice. There was no time!”
His sudden outburst caused the woods around him to grow silent. Sighing deeply, he adjusted the rifle slung over his uninjured shoulder and continued slogging toward his destination. As he walked, the weak light of the artic sun disappeared behind the western horizon. Soon, the bank of clouds he had observed earlier, while it was still daylight, covered the sky overhead.
A snowflake lazily drifted down from the sky and tickled Hale’s nose as it found its way to the earth. A moment later another one brushed his chin as it made its way to the ground below. Then the snowflakes came a few at a time. Finally, they began falling in earnest obscuring Hale’s visibility through the dark and frosty forest.
The sound of millions of snowflakes striking the ground filled Hale’s ears as he plodded ever onward toward his destination. He walked for a few hours through the growing maelstrom of falling snow that swirled around him as the wind picked up. He shivered as he thought, Am I lost?
He paused and rummaged around in his right coat pocket for his compass. Pulling the little metal device out, he strained to see the position of the dial in the darkness. Frustrated, he slipped his pack off, and let it fall to the ground. Bending over at the waist, he rummaged around in it until he found what he was looking for. He struck a match and it flared to life. Careful to keep it sheltered from the wind, he held it up so that it cast its feeble light on the face of his compass.
Hale was relieved when he saw that he had been maintaining his course through the darkness and the storm, Southwest.
He dropped the match to the ground. The wind whisked away the small puff of smoke as it sizzled for a moment in the snow and winked out. Hale slipped his compass back into his coat pocket and pulled the heavy pack back onto his back. He grimaced as shooting pain erupted from his right shoulder. Biting his lower lip, he picked his rifle up off the ground and slipped the strap over his left shoulder.
He resumed his journey through the icy conditions. As he walked, the storm intensified until he could barely see ten feet in front of him. Despite the physically arduous trek through the snow, he began to shiver as the temperature dropped.
Approaching a rise, his teeth began to openly chatter from the cold as he started to struggle putting one foot in front of the other. His thoughts receded as his world shrank to the pain in his shoulder, and the cold. Always the cold.
As he reached the small hill, his strength began to ebb as the frightfully cold conditions drew the strength from his tired muscles. He paused for a moment at the bottom of a small knoll and looked up. All he could see were a few trees in front of him and snow falling from the sky. The snow fell with such intensity, it was as if a giant was standing over him dumping buckets of the stuff onto his head.
As he climbed, he fought against the weather, the cold, and his own fatigue. As the last of his energy fled him, his steps up the rise became a struggle. With each step, his feet sank deeper and deeper into the ever-growing volume of snow on the ground.
Reaching the top of the hill, he paused and looked down into a small valley below. His eyes caught the faintest hint of dull yellow light through the murk. His dry and cracked lips turned faintly upward as a new emotion warmed his frozen body, hope. Ignoring his pain, and the ever present cold, he hastened towards the inviting glow. As he approached, he smiled in relief, I made it!
The glow, came from a tent that had been set up at the base of a large fir tree. The snow-covered branches seemingly reached around the tent as if the tree were embracing it. Smoke wafted lazily from a pipe that jutted out the top of the dark gray hued shelter. The branches of the tree broke up the tell-tale cloud of smoke up as it drifted upward. The positioning of the tent ensured that the smoke emerging from the pipe, would not give the location of the tent away to the invading Soviets.
Hale slipped through a flap and stepped inside. He was immediately greeted by a blast of warm air. Sighing in relief, he collapsed to the floor of the tent, exhausted. A man wit
h penetrating blue eyes loomed over him, “Hale?”
Hale let out a groan as the warmth of the tent began to thaw his frozen extremities. He took a deep breath and smiled as the warm air flowed into his lungs helping the feeling to return to his numb body. Lieutenant Maki looked down at the red stain on Hale’s shoulder and said, “You’ve been injured.”
The blond-haired man squatted and pushed Hale over onto his side, “I need to get this pack off, so I can see what’s going on with you.”
Hale held up a hand as he said, “It’s fine, just a flesh wound.”
The Lieutenant’s lips pursed as he said, “A flesh wound? That’s an awful lot of blood for just a flesh wound. Let’s have a look.”
Hale nodded. He carefully slipped his right arm out of the straps of his pack. As he did so, his face twisted into a frightful visage betraying the pain he was feeling. With a dull thump, the pack dropped to the wooden floor of the tent. He then slid his rifle off his left shoulder and gently placed it on top of his pack.
The exhausted sniper then unfastened the buttons of his white overcoat and pulled it off. As he did so Lieutenant Maki gasped, “It’s still bleeding.”
Hale swooned as his thoughts dulled. His superior officer knelt down, and helped pull Hale’s sweater off. Several more layers of clothing later, Maki had reached the bandage. He gently pulled it off as Hale grimaced, “I was right. It’s still bleeding.” Maki said.
The Lieutenant stood up, walked to the back of the tent and opened a large grey chest. Pulling a box with a red cross on it out of the chest, he returned to Hale. He opened the first aid kit and pulled a small packet out. Quickly ripping the top off the packet, he poured the contents of it over Hale’s wound as he said, “This will help to stop the bleeding.”
Hale nodded dully. He looked over at his shoulder. His mind tried to process what he was seeing, but it was clouded by fatigue. A moment later awareness fled as his exhaustion and blood loss overtook him.
Hale opened his eyes. The pleasant smell of brewing coffee filled his nose. His head was laying on something soft. A pillow? He thought. He and looked down at his injured shoulder. It had been expertly wrapped in a clean bandage. Unlike the bandage Hale had applied earlier, this one was not soaked in blood.
Noticing that Hale was awake, Lieutenant Maki stood and walked over to Hale, “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Hale replied.
“Good. You want some coffee?” Maki asked.
Hale nodded, “Yes sir.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir. It’s just you and me in here right now, and I’m not that much older than you.” The Lieutenant replied.
“What should I call you then sir?” Hale asked.
“Maki is fine.”
Maki returned with a tin cup full of steaming black liquid, “Sorry, I don’t have any sugar or milk.”
Hale looked up at him and reached for the cup, “Thank you.”
Hale took a small sip from the cup. The warm liquid slid down his throat. After nearly forty-eight hours in the cold, Hale relished the feeling of warmth in his core.
“Are you hungry?” Maki asked.
Hale meet Maki’s gaze and smiled, “Famished.”
“I’ve got some venison and hardtack. I’ll get a stew going on the stove.” Maki said.
The Lieutenant walked across the tent and began rummaging around the stove. Hale took another sip of the coffee and sat up. He looked around. The tent had a small black stove situated in the middle of it. A small pipe, like the stove made from some black metal, connected to the top of the stove. The stovepipe continued upward to the ceiling of the tent where it jutted upward through a small hole.
Lieutenant Maki stood over the stove. He wore dark grey uniformed pants, but like most of the soldiers of Finland who lacked a full proper uniform, he sported a non-regulation wool sweater. The sweater looked like it had been lovingly knitted by hand. Maki looked back and saw Hale’s eyes on him, “My wife made this for me.”
“It looks really warm.” Hale said.
Maki smiled, “It is. The wool came from our heard of black faced sheep. She spun the wool herself into thread and then knitted it.”
“You are a lucky man to have woman love you enough to take that kind of time making you shirt.” Hale replied.
“Indeed. Is there someone special you are fighting to protect?” Maki asked.
“Other than my sister, and parents?” Hale replied.
“Yes.” Maki said.
Hale’s thoughts drifted inward for a moment as the memory of that last afternoon with Nea filled his mind. He jerked himself back into the present before the growing warmth in his loins gave his thoughts away, “Her name is Nea.”
“What was she like?” Maki asked.
“Someone I grew up with. The daughter of the couple that owned the farm down the road from ours. When we were younger, we used to play dirty tricks on each other all the time. Then our relationship evolved.” Hale said.
Maki chuckled, “Oh I bet it started evolving the moment you both began growing hair in new places.”
Hale flashed him a look of anger, “It wasn’t like that. She became my friend and confidant. We talked for hours about our innermost thoughts and desires for the future. Over the years it became unimaginable that such a future wouldn’t include the other.”
The Lieutenant left the stove and walked up to Hale, squatting, he met Hale’s gaze and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder, “Peace my friend. I did not realize the depths of your feelings for Nea. It’s tradition for soldiers to talk lewdly of what we left behind at home.”
“I just can’t talk about Nea like that. Even though we. . .” Hale’s voice drifted off as his thoughts returned to that afternoon in the woods.
“I can see she means everything to you.” Maki stood and ran his right hand over his chest almost caressing the sweater, “My Sade evokes such feelings within me as well. It is good to have such thoughts of a woman. It fills our Finnish hearts with fire.”
Hale nodded in understanding, “We will need that fire if we are to keep the invader from our homes.”
“Exactly,” The Lieutenant stood and brought a second tin cup over to Hale, “Drink up, I’m not a great cook, but this will help your strength to return.”
“Thank you.” Hale replied.
He took a small sip of the broth, Not bad. He thought.
Hale held the cup with both hands relishing the warmth his fingers felt. Looking down at it, he saw pieces of meat floating within a brown looking broth. Steam came from the liquid and filled his nose with the smell of boiled venison. There were small bits of bread within the cup. As the bread dissolved, it helped to thicken the broth.
Hale took another sip of the stew and looked at the left side of the tent. There was a campaign table with a map sitting on it. Helping to hold the map down on the table were two objects a large stone, and a radio microphone. Hale’s eyes followed the cord attached to the bottom of the round black microphone. His eyes came to rest on a large gray box sitting on the floor next to the table.
Maki followed the course of Hale’s gaze and said, “One of our few radios. It helps me to stay abreast of what is going on.”
“What have you heard so far? How bad is it?” Hale asked.
“It’s pretty bad. We’re facing the Soviet 7th Army’s 19th Rifle Corps, specifically the 24th Rifle Division.” Maki replied.
Without warning Hale suddenly stiffened. He turned to face the Lieutenant and said, “I’ve got to get back out there. They’ve captured Pekka.”
Maki shook his head, “No, you need to rest, you’re exhausted. The snipers we have put in place have nearly ground the bastards to a halt. At the pace they are moving it will be a week before they even reach the Mannerheim line.”
“But Pekka-”
Maki held up a hand, “Knew the risks the same as the rest of us. He would want us to focus on the invader and not some half-cocked attempt to sneak past half a million S
oviets to rescue him.”
Hale’s nostrils flared as his cheeks began to turn red. As the fire of anger burned through his blood, Hale’s eyes narrowed. With clenched fists he turned to face Maki and squared his shoulders. The action caused him to grimace in pain. The Lieutenant placed a hand on Hale’s good shoulder and said, “I understand. The thought of those bastards having one of my snipers makes me sick inside. Especially Pekka. During his many years of service, he’s given much to Finland.”
“He has a family. A wife, and two daughters.” Hale replied.
Maki sighed, “I know.” He repeated himself, this time in a low whisper before saying in a louder voice, “He would want us to keep fighting to protect them.”
Hale nodded and turned to look down at the map. It was a detailed map of the local area. The chart had a transparent sheet of plastic over top of it. Two grease pencils laid on the table at the edge of the map, one black, the other red. Hale’s eyes were drawn to a red arrow that hugged the only northward running road in this area. The red line was labeled with a 24.
Hale traced the red line back to the border of the Soviet Union. There were several more numbers written on the Soviet side of the border 43, 70, 123. Each number had a question mark written behind it.
Maki saw what Hale was looking at and said, “Those are the other three divisions in the 19th Corps. We haven’t detected them yet.”
“So many.” Hale’s voice drifted off into a whisper.
“Aye. To many” Maki said in a low voice.
The radio crackled to life interrupting the two men, “Loki do you have a copy? Over.”
Maki picked up the radio microphone and said, “This is Loki go.”
The radio speaker replied, “Loki this is Asgard. Uncle Lenin is going for a walk. Over.”
The Winter Sniper Page 9
