Вяйнё Линна - Unknown Soldiers

‘He was too good a man to die. Far too good for death, that man.’

‘True,’ Autio kicked at a rock. ‘Though no one life is any more valuable than any other, really. But that one went too cheap, it’s true. Well, you’ll get used to that… Lammio will take over as company commander, of course.’

Autio turned to leave, then said, ‘The Third Battalion will take the lead as soon as the terrain’s been scoured. We’ll camp here. The tents and the kitchens are right behind the Third Battalion.’

Kariluoto returned to his men. ‘If only they hadn’t had that damn tank!’

His spirits perked up again. He forgot about the fact that they had all taken the tank for an anti-tank gun; he just took refuge in the fact that there was nothing anyone could do with his bare hands up against a tank. And, after a couple of minutes, he was firmly convinced that this was the sole reason he had taken cover in the swamp: because you can’t fight a tank without any anti-tank guns.

Once again, he was the vigorous ensign who had drilled his men back in the burnt clearing. He even thought of Sirkka, and felt a powerful wave of masculinity pervade his being. Sirkka was sacred to him. Kariluoto’s relationship with the girl had begun with such refinement that, indeed, there was nothing to stand in the way of their potential union. And at this very moment, that question, too, was settled. He would marry her, and when he did, it would be as captain of the army of the Greater Finland – if not as major! He would enroll at the Army Academy at the first opportunity. Yes, that’s how it would be. No law school for him.

Kariluoto could already see himself as a young career officer. He was still quite childish, in a way, full of fantasies he would have been embarrassed to acknowledge as his own.

He took a couple of boxes of cigarettes out of his map case and called out cheerfully, ‘Come and get a smoke! Cigarettes for every man with a mouth to smoke ’em in. Bursche, come, pass ’em round.’ (This word ‘Bursche’ had emerged directly from his thoughts about the Army Academy. Some legacy from the ‘Iron-fisted German army’, with its high command and lowly gophers, called ‘Burschen’. The word in itself wasn’t so bad, as it basically just meant ‘boy’, but the class-ridden mentality wrapped up in it certainly was. So much so that now, even this pure-minded youth appeared to have been infected by it. There was an antidote to prevent the spread of this particular affliction, however – war.)

A peculiar traveling party was approaching the swamp. Two men were carrying a third, who was bound with three belts to a birch trunk that somebody had sawed off with his hand-knife. A fourth man tottered along behind, staggering beneath the weight of his baggage. The last was Riitaoja. The man bound to the pole was Vuorela, and the two men carrying him were the ones who had been sent back to help.

‘How’d it go?’

Between gasps, the guy in front managed to choke out, ‘Jaakko’s done for.’

They hadn’t even been able to bind his wound, because Vuorela, who’d been shot in the stomach, had writhed so violently in his death throes. The two of them had nearly broken down in tears of despair as they tried to calm him, but Vuorela hadn’t even been able to recognize them. Then they had prepared the birch pole and bound him to it. They had come across Riitaoja on their way through the swamp and made him carry their packs.

Riitaoja’s absence had been noticed, but no one had gone out to search for him, because somebody had seen him lying unharmed in his little nook back at the edge of the swamp.

The men lowered their burden to the ground. With all his recent emotions still stirred up in his mind, Kariluoto said, rather too ceremoniously, ‘Well, men, Vuorela is the first to go. Are any of you from the same area?’

‘Other side of the same county, but I didn’t know him as a civilian. He was from somewhere out in the country.’

‘Very well, I’ll write… One ought to say a few words, I think.’ Kariluoto’s sentiment was sincere, even if his phrases were all lifted from something he’d read. The men looked at the body in a state of anguish. Vuorela’s shirt was stained with blood around his stomach. The wet swamp had washed the leather soles of his shoes clean, and it made the men slightly sick to see his ankles tied together with a belt around the pole. There was a second belt around the center of his body, and a third around his neck. The worst was his face. His dirty, suntanned skin gleamed with a yellowish hue. His gums were contorted into a gruesome smile. A few of the men felt sick and turned away.

‘Take him to the side of the road.’

They were relieved when Vuorela had been carried away. Now the machine-gunners’ attention turned to Riitaoja. He was standing awkwardly off to the side, grinning with embarrassment. Nobody had the heart to say anything, save Lehto, who gave him the evil eye and snorted at him in contempt.

Somewhere, at the back of their minds, they were all dimly aware that Riitaoja’s terror had not been an isolated phenomenon by any means – fear was just exceptionally visible in his case. Even the call to attack, that rang so handsomely in their memories now, had aroused only terror in them then, followed by the rage they had summoned to suppress it. Nobody felt like boasting. And besides, tomorrow would bring a new day. They had heard rumors of some ‘bunker line’, which was supposedly just a little way out in front of where they were. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. Tents and potato soup were on their way, and there was plenty of time before the morning.

‘Hey, there’s one guy curled up over here, at least.’

‘Where?’

‘Here, in the bushes. It’s an officer. Got badges on his lapels.’

They gathered around to look. A Russian lieutenant lay face-down in the juniper bushes. His body was strangely contorted, just as Vuorela’s had been, but the sight didn’t affect them the same way. They were just curious.

‘Look! The guy dragged himself a long way. Still got mud under his nails.’

‘Doesn’t seem like those guys do much looking out for one another. Leaving him here to crawl back by himself.’

‘Guy was tough. Dragged himself ten yards just with his arms.’

They looked on solemnly until Rahikainen tapped his gun barrel on the dead man’s helmet and said, ‘Yoo-hoo! ’Scuse me, ’sit cold down there in Russki hell?’

Vanhala looked around at the others, but so few of them were smiling that he choked down his laughter.

Rahikainen stooped down and started cutting off the Lieutenant’s badges. ‘These babies are mine.’

‘Give me one, too.’

‘I don’t think so! There aren’t enough on this little stooge to pass ’em round to everybody. That’ll hafta wait until we knock off some of the big cheeses.’

The others were a bit dismayed, but the red badges had already disappeared into Rahikainen’s wallet. ‘You let me know whose bullet brought this guy down, and I’ll hand over the booty. Otherwise, you can just lay off.’

No heir apparent appeared, so Rahikainen kept the badges. But the men had overcome their initial tentativeness. One guy took the belt – a fine, new officer’s belt. They turned the man’s pockets inside out and found a leather bag containing a toothbrush, a set of nail files and a flask of cologne.

Hietanen gamely flicked the cologne onto their dirty sweaters, making them all shriek with laughter like little kids. One guy swung his hips from side to side, puckered his lips and called out, ‘Get in line, boys! Two hundred marks a pop!’

Another fellow used his filthy hands to splash cologne on his face. ‘Discover this distinctive perfume! All the biggest stars are wearing Mouson Lavendel !’