by Jens Kuhn
Eric af Klint himself was standing with his back pressed tightly to the front wall of the farmhouse and tried to make out how many men he had lost. The Russians had retreated into the house for the time being, knowing too well that they now would risk their heads if they stuck them out of the door. In that respect, af Klint’s daring dash could be called a success. He was no more under fire and held a strategically some more favorable position, at least compared to Kuhlin’s party over there in that ditch. But it had come at a cost. He could see at least five men lying on the ground in front of the house, dead or severely wounded he did not know. Others had been wounded more lightly and, while still able to fight, they might very well become a problem later. He still had a reasonably strong party, though, standing or crouching along the wall next to him. At least they had stood fast and not broke, af Klint thought.
“Gunner, are you alright?” Kuhlin shouted.
“Yes, Sir,” he heard the answer, immediately followed by another volley of musket fire from the upper windows. Kuhlin wondered if he should ask af Klint for any suggestions, but decided not to. He still was the commanding officer here, sailor on dry land or not, and having a shouted tactical discussion surely would not strengthen the confidence of his men. In fact, there wasn’t too much to discuss in the first place. He had only two options: to continue the attack, or to retreat to the beach, waiting for the gunboats to come back and pick them up. The question was, however, if the Russians would pursue if they retreated. Or if there were any reinforcements on their way.
What is Kuhlin doing? Eric af Klint wondered. Surely, he could not stay in that ditch forever. They still had a chance, here. If Kuhlin advanced now and drew the Russian’s attention from his own men, he might fight his way into the building. On the other hand, there were really no guarantees that the enemies’ high officers still were there. With the horses absent now, it was most likely they were not. In which case there was no real point in taking on a house full of Russian soldiers just for the sake of it. If not, he suddenly thought, Anna was in there as well. If she was right and Wetterstrand was a traitor, he could very well still be there, in order to sometimes return to the Swedish lines and continue his subterfuge, or whatever he was up to doing. And Anna? If she had confronted him, she could very well be dead already. Eric shuddered.
“I’d like to know who is in this house,” he said lowly to no-one in particular.
On the other side of the road, lieutenant Kuhlin was just about to give the order, albeit reluctantly, to once again advance towards the house, when he heard the sound of horses coming down the road from the direction of Pargas. And from the sound of it, they were quite a few.
“Cavalry! Retreat to the barn. Now!” He shouted, hoping af Klint would hear the order as well. The men stumbled out of the ditch and ran, more or less orderly, towards the barn. Of course, the Russians immediately fired on them, fortunately not taking their time to aim, thus hitting no-one.
Eric af Klint, who had heard the order as well as the horses approaching, ordered his men to the barn, too, utterly reluctant, but aware that he’d never be able to take, let alone hold, the farm house against whatever was coming for them down the road.
Luckily united again and covered from the enemy’s fire by the bulk of the barn, the two officers watched the Russian cavalry arrive.
“How many do you think they are?” Kuhlin asked.
“Two dozen at least, Sir.”
“Well, then we’ll retreat.”
“Yes, you do, Sir. I won’t. With your permission I’ll stay behind and try to find out some more.”
“Never in life, Eric!” Kuhlin’s use of the gunner’s first name surprised them both.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, you will, because you are coming with me. You are starting to talk like that darned girl spy, you know...”
“Sir, please listen for a moment. We need more information. And I can get it while you retreat, fighting a delaying action.”
“What information, Eric?”
“Well, if the Wetterstrands are still around, for starters.”
“Eric, you are dazzled by that woman, are you not?”
The gunnery officer blushed, but held his ground.
“It is in our orders, Sir. We are to take the Wetterstrands ashore and collect them again after they have done their thing. That’s what we are here for. So we should not leave without them.”
“You have a point there, I’ll give you that. But there is nothing to be gained by your risking your life in some kind of one-man rescue mission. We will retreat, all of us, fighting a delaying action.”
“But...”
“That’s an order, af Klint. We will be returning later, though, to see if we can find our precious spies.”
Eric af Klint shrugged but said nothing in reply.
Fighting a delaying action against cavalry was of course more easily said than done. To begin with, they could hardly make any stand against them in the open field. If they had been regular troops, with bayonets and proper training, they might have stood a chance, even though only a slight one. But as it was, they had to fire at the Russians from under cover. Retreating along the road, but not on it they split up into four parties of a dozen men each, two of which firing at the Russians from the woods, while the other two made their way to the next defensive position.
The Russians advanced, not only on horseback, but also the infantrymen who had hidden in the house, the original guard of thirty men or so. Outnumbered and outgunned, Kuhlin’s men did essentially the same thing the Swedish army on land had done most of this war, they fought and fled, fought and fled, slowly making their way back to the beach, not knowing, however, if they would find rescue there in time.
When they finally were near the beach, four hours had passed since they left this very place. It was now late afternoon and the first party arriving at the beach, under command of af Klint himself, did not see any gunboats at all. In some way, this was not exactly a disappointment, as they had reckoned the boats to be needing at least five hours to return, but then again, one could always hope.
“We’ll make a stand behind those rocks over there. Keep well hidden and do not fire until ordered,” he told his men.
There was no musket fire now, as the Russians finally had to leave the road, and their horses, in order to follow them through the forest. Until then, the Russians had tried to outrun them on the road, trying to fall upon them from behind, but in effect they never succeeded, instead the Swedish muskets had taken down quite a few of them. The Russians apparently were afraid of having to fight hand-to-hand in the forest, where their horses would not have been of any use, and scarcely their superior numbers either. But now they had to enter the forest after all, advancing carefully, in two lines abreast, like some sort of hunting party. The cavalrymen, now without horses, making awkward progress, slashing away at bushes instead of human heads with their frightening sabers.
Lieutenant Kuhlin was relieved by the slow progress of the Russian troops. His own men, by now quite at home in this forest, had not suffered any further losses, although, unfortunately those of af Klint’s men who had been wounded severely at the farm had to be left behind. His own party of men made up the rear now, and when they finally reached the rim of the woods, he ordered them to the rocks, where the other troops had dug in.
“No sign of our boats,” he remarked unhappily.
Eric af Klint nodded. “We will be able to make a stand here for a while though. Without their horses, the cavalrymen will not be as efficient and there is enough distance between us and the forest to give a good field of fire.”
“What about ammunition?”
“That’s a problem. We do not have enough powder and shot to sustain a continuous barrage for very long. I’d give my left arm for a swivel gun or two...”
“Let’s just hope for the boats to arrive soon.”
Chapter 17 - Subterfuge
“I really would like to know
why you are doing this,” Anna wondered. There was no reply though. Squeezed tightly between Wetterstrand and the very same young Russian officer who had been knocked out by af Klint the day before, she was seated in a carriage, on its way to Turku, the former capital of Swedish Finland. At least she guessed that was were they were headed, from the general direction of it as well as from the fact that the road was getting better, the ride less bumpy, as time passed. She tried to ignore the young Russian’s hand on her left thigh, where it had been for a while, exploring, but not quite succeeding to reach more exquisite parts of her lower body.
Wetterstrand, on the other hand, was utterly silent and seemed quite uncomfortable. He had been avoiding looking at her all along, staring out of the window instead. Still, he held the pistol Eric had given her in his hand, muzzle pointed at her ribs. She tried again: “Are you really a priest.”
“In fact I am,” he answered unexpectedly. “And you are nothing but a sinner.”
“I know I am. But then again, I always have been. You, however, have now become a sinner as well, a traitor and an aide to murderers.”
“Oh rubbish. There is a war on, you know. A war that is already lost here. So why not try to make the best of it and get us reasonable conditions from our new master?”
Anna considered this for a while. “I guess you might have a point. What do you think those conditions would be, then?”
Wetterstrand did not answer. He did, however, turn his head and looked at her. Suddenly he shifted into French, addressing the Russian officer.
“Young man, could you please keep your hands to yourself, at least until we arrive? You are not alone in here you know.”
The Russian took away his hand, blushing deeply. Anna smiled at Wetterstrand. “Thank you.”
Wetterstrand turned away his face, saying no more.
“I am sure that you are aware of the peasants being afraid of enslavement,” she tried again after a while.
“There will be no serfdom in Russian Finland!” Wetterstrand almost shouted.
“Oh.”
“Yes. We have been assured so.”
“I see.”
Anna did say no more. She did know enough now. Clearly, Wetterstrand wasn’t just a spy, he was part of something bigger. Distractedly, she laid her head against the young Russian’s shoulder. “You can put your hand back there now,” she whispered in his ear. The boy complied eagerly. They were so easily manipulated, these men. Anna softly nibbled at his ear, listening to his heart beating faster, while thinking of the handsome gunner. Eric. She hoped he would be okay, despite the ambush Wetterstrand had laid upon them. Had used her to lay upon them. She should have known better than that, of course. Perhaps she had been distracted by the feelings she clearly was developing for af Klint. Feelings she did not wish to have, at least not right now, in the middle of this war, while she needed her assets for herself. All of them. And her body, after all, was her greatest asset.
Sub-lieutenant Gran wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It wasn’t especially warm, in fact, there was a nice breeze from the southwest, now propelling both gunboats, all plain sail set, at what probably was their maximum speed. Twenty men were pulling at the sweeps as well, in order to give them some extra knot. Time was of the essence, and everybody aboard knew it.
Bosun Tapper stood in the stern of Number 14, smiling. He could not deny for himself that he felt like a captain on his own ship, even though it was a temporary affair. He had received some extra men from Gran’s boat, making up for parts of the landing party. Still, although now evenly manned, none of the boats was at its full complement. It would have to do though, and as long as there were enough men to man half the sweeps and all the forward guns, they would still be a force to be reckoned with. He only hoped they would be there in time.
The two gunboats were now essentially racing against each other. Number 34 being much newer, as well as rowed by crew already accustomed to each other, was leading, while Number 14 did its best to give her an even match. Until, one hour later, they fell foul of the weather. A huge black thundercloud had been building over the islands ahead for a while, but now it had finally decided that it was big enough for the assault. It descended upon them with heavy rain, gusty winds and almost no visibility at all, forcing them to take down the sails and continue under sweeps alone, slowly and carefully, barely able to make out the nearest islands. Still they carried on, as fast as they could under the circumstances.
Far away to the east, off the Sottungarna base, Eleonora Sparre looked longingly towards the shore from a navy brig, carrying despatches, wounded men and herself, towards the distant and peaceful capital of Stockholm. Eleonora sighed, thinking of her beloved sub-lieutenant, and the unsure future that awaited her on the mainland. She had a letter with her, of course, introducing her to Gran’s parents and begging them to take care of her until he would return home himself. She also had another letter, from lieutenant Kuhlin himself, to be delivered to his wife Charlotte, who had, after all, some right to know how her husband was faring and who had gotten precious few letters from him so far.
Eleonora did see the distant thunderclouds for herself, from the security of a real sailing vessel’s poop deck. Thinking of how it would feel to be in that weather aboard one of the small gunboats, she had become far too acquainted with, she shuddered, turned around and walked towards the ladder that would lead her down towards the cabin, and dinner.
Finally, the carriage came to a rest and Wetterstrand, who really was a priest, got out first, holding out a hand to help Miss Anna down, while still holding the pistol in his other hand. Anna however, frowning, did not take his arm but descended for herself, glad to be in the open at last, and able to stretch her muscles after the long ride.
“I won’t run from you, Wetterstrand, you don’t need to point that gun at me all the time.”
Wetterstrand shrugged, but kept the gun where it was. On the other side of the carriage the young Russian had descended as well. Having joined them, he reluctantly led the way towards the nearest building. It was an inn, or some kind of boarding house. Apparently, they were in the outskirts of Turku itself, somewhere near the water as well, judging from the smell of fish and brackish water that saturated the air. Two Russian soldiers stood guard next to the door, curiously examining her and apparently liking what they saw. She smiled at them and followed the Russian boy in, sensing Wetterstrand and his pistol closely behind her.
The Russian stopped in order to talk to some other soldiers, then continued up a flight of stairs, with Anna and Wetterstrand in tow. He opened the door to one of the rooms and held it open for her to pass through. Anna entered and turned around just in time to see him start closing the door. Giving him her most inviting smile, she saw him blushing, and then the door was shut and locked, before the two men could clearly be heard descending the steps. Anna was alone.
She moved towards the window, which could be opened easily, but was situated exactly above the guards at the door. The room itself was furnished, if the term even could be applied here, with a wooden bed frame, a straw mattress and a blanket, as well as a small table and a chair. On the table was a bowl of water for washing and under the bed was a bucket. For a prison cell, Anna thought, this was not so bad.
Chapter 18 - Evasion
Lieutenant Kuhlin was worried. Another hour had passed without any gunboats showing, and they were almost out of ammunition. The Russians had attacked twice and both times been repelled before they had gotten near enough for hand-to-hand fighting. He knew that, if they managed to come that far, they would probably win. His men did not have bayonets, only cutlasses, and those were not too efficient against a closed line of infantrymen with bayonets. Let alone against the sabres of the cavalrymen, which posed a severe enough threat even without their horses. Being outnumbered on top of that, they could as well give up themselves once they’d gotten out of ammunition. Kuhlin turned to his second in command.
“How many more of
these attacks do you think we can withstand, Eric?”
“Not more than one,” af Klint answered. “Perhaps not even that. I have been wondering why they don’t simply charge us. These slow advances are beyond me.”
Kuhlin nodded. “Maybe they are just cautious.”
“Well, they’ve no reason to be.”
Kuhlin once more looked at the water behind him. The weather was deteriorating, a thunderstorm clearly approaching. Soon it would be raining and the visibility would be bad out there.
“Keep your powder dry, it is going to rain!” And so it did. The clouds emptied themselves with great fury, drenching the men to the bone in minutes. They tried to shelter their muskets with their bodies, knowing that they were their only protection from the onslaught that was clearly to come. Surely, the Russians could not stay in the shelter of the forest, while the rain gave them a perfect advantage to press home a final attack.
And of course, the attack came. The Russians moved slowly, in two orderly lines abreast, with the cavalrymen at their wings, sabres drawn and pistols at the ready. The infantrymen approached steadily, their muskets held at an angle, with bayonets already fixed.
“They are not going to stop and fire,” af Klint commented. “This will be a cold steel attack only.”
Kuhlin nodded. “Hold your fire and keep the powder dry. We will not fire until they are much closer.”
The men crouched behind the shelter of the rocks and waited. When the Russians were about a hundred yards away there was some sort of slight hesitation in their line. Eric af Klint knew that this was the point where they’d expect the command to charge. He looked at Kuhlin, who nodded.
