Вяйнё Линна - Unknown Soldiers

‘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.

‘Wake up, guys! It’s started!’

A nervous excitement stirred in the tent. The men grabbed whichever belts and caps their hands touched first. Everybody was rushing to get out, and some guys even had their packs on already.

They heard a few isolated cannon blasts off to the right, where the main road was. A dull thud boomed somewhere behind the border, and a few moments later a shell went off. The men listened in silence. The night forest was quiet, save for the occasional twitter of an early bird high in a spruce tree. The pale, summer night gave the men’s faces a blue-white cast. Even their breathing was quiet and cautious. Finally, somebody broke the silence, whispering, ‘Cannon fire.’

‘Cannons.’

‘Headed for the road.’

‘Aim’s pretty far off still. Can’t even hear the whistle.’

‘If it turns just a little, though, it’ll be right here.’

The last remark was ill-considered. Some of the men stirred restlessly. Several fumbled with their shovels. Ensign Koskela emerged from the command tent. The soldier who carried the first machine gun’s ammunition, Private Riitaoja, approached him anxiously. His eyes darted furtively about as he mumbled quietly to Koskela, ‘Ensign, sir. If they turn, are they gonna strike?’

Koskela reflected for a moment before responding to the question posed by this boy from central Finland. He didn’t quite grasp what he was getting at, however, as he then asked, ‘Turn what?’

‘The c-c-c-cannons. They’re shooting toward the road. But if they turn, will they strike?’

‘Oh! No, no. They’re just shooting toward the road to stir things up. They won’t shoot randomly into the forest.’

Riitaoja broke into a childish smile. The sudden release of tension in his body was so great that his very eyes danced, and he said lightly, ‘Yessir, Ensign, sir! That’s what I was thinking, too. They wouldn’t shoot into the forest. They don’t even know we’re here. They think we’re just rabbits or something.’

Koskela’s presence dispelled the others’ nervousness too.

‘The cannons are already singing out there!’ Hietanen smiled to Koskela, and Vanhala sniggered to himself, ‘Singing… heehee! Cannons sing. But bullets just ring. Heehee!’

‘Of course they’re making a racket over there,’ Koskela said. ‘The guys drove the trucks up too close. Just asking for a nosebleed for no reason. OK, departure’s in half an hour. We go with the Third Company. And one more thing. Strap two ammo boxes together with a belt. That way you can wear them around your neck. So your hands don’t go numb holding ’em, I mean.’

Koskela fell silent, but the men sensed, correctly, that he hadn’t quite finished. He cleared his throat for a moment, then swallowed before beginning again. ‘So. I, uh, guess I should explain a few things. I mean, since I’ve been out there before. There’s not really much to it, but you want to stay calm. Hurry when the moment comes, but otherwise rushing around just makes for a lot of dumb dickheads, like they say. Getting yourself all worked up won’t help, but that doesn’t mean you should rush in and hand ’em everything you’ve got, either. They’ll be happy to take it the moment you let ’em. Aim for the belt buckles, that’s the best way to settle things. Just remember, they’re no different from other people. They bow to bullets, just like everybody else.’

Private Sihvonen, who hailed from the same part of North Karelia as Rahikainen – but managed to be his living antithesis – said, gesticulating nervously, ‘Stay calm, stay calm. Rushing around makes for dumb dickheads. That’s for sure. Best to stay calm.’

‘OK. Tents down and into the vehicles.’

They collapsed the tents, rolled them up and carried them off to the carts. The supply train was sitting a little way off, and Mäkilä was roaming about in the dim light, taking one last inventory before departure. The men bringing the tents asked him when the next mealtime would be, to which Mäkilä responded, ‘All in good time. We’re just on the normal schedule, there are no extra portions.’

Master Sergeant Korsumäki was also up and, to the men’s bewildered surprise, the old man, who’d always been so withdrawn before, now chimed in kindly, ‘Maybe we could spare a little bread for these boys to stick in their pockets.’

Mäkilä gave one rye cracker to each of the men who’d carried the tents, advising them the whole time not to tell the others. ‘Right, sure, why not? Because I can’t make bread out of pine cones, that’s why not!’

The men concealed their booty in their pockets: one half of a dried-out rye roll the size of your palm. They were hungry, but they had the future to consider too.

In unusually short order, everybody was ready for departure. The machine-gun teams kept hoisting the guns and gun mounts up on their shoulders, as if they needed to get used to their weight, having the first shift. The scouts and ammunition carriers belted up the cartridge boxes according to Koskela’s instructions. Each of the machine-gun leaders carried a back-up gun barrel, a box of ammunition and a water container. And so the pack animals were ready to set out on their journey across hundreds of miles. The journey would be shorter for some, of course, but nobody wasted a moment’s thought on that.

The infantry companies set off, each one followed by a platoon of machine-gunners. The First and Second Platoons vanished into the dark spruce grove as commands sounded low beneath the clatter of their gear.

Koskela’s whisper cut through the rustling march of the Third Platoon. ‘Double file. To the road.’

Once the group had settled into formation, a message rippled down the line from one man to the next: ‘Head out.’

The infantry company they were trailing hollered furtive greetings in their direction, hissing at half-volume, ‘Welcome to Camp Finland! We’re a little low on wheat, but chaff we have in spades.’

They passed the artillery battery they’d seen on its way out earlier that evening and saw that the cannons were now fully manned. The men kept their voices low, shielding their cigarettes with their hands. A bit further down the road, they turned off into a dark spruce forest. The cannon fire they’d heard to the south had already died down, but somehow silence felt even more oppressive.