Вяйнё Линна - Unknown Soldiers

‘“ When Lapua’s glorious day was done, von Döbeln rode to see the brave ranks had been sadly thinned ,”’ Vanhala giggled, lifting his pack over his shoulder. Lehto’s group was silent, observing that their leader had tossed his rifle over his shoulder without saying a word. They could tell they had better keep their mouths shut. Hietanen caught sight of a fellow here and there smiling at his charade, so he continued, ‘Sure, just like Döbeln if that’s what you want! C’mon, what’s wrong with you guys? Your bread bags are full of sugar. We are Finland’s young heroes! They’ve promised to write songs about us for the generations to come! Yes, onwards we march – to eternity if necessary!’

‘You must want another stripe really badly.’

‘And why not? Every man here has been hankering after them for days now.’

‘To the road, double file!’

The whole sky was hidden behind the clouds. Cannon fire boomed somewhere far off, and flames flared up along the horizon. The first drops of rain were already beginning to fall. The road crunched beneath hundreds of feet as the ranks filed off into the thickening darkness.

‘Watch your intervals… Do we have contact on the left?’

‘What?’

‘Do you have contact on the left?’

‘Yeah, they’re stumbling along over there all right.’

Panting, puffing, cursing and tripping, the two extended lines advanced through the dark forest. The somber spruce grove and low-hanging rainclouds made the night even darker. Water sloshed in the men’s boots. Their wet, scratchy clothing clung to their skin, steaming with body heat. Dizzy with hunger and exhaustion, each man stared fixedly ahead at the gray ghost stumbling along in front of him. He thought neither of where he was coming from nor of where he was going. He had no information on the latter point, anyway. With each step, he concentrated all his efforts on surveying the terrain: step on that moss hump, there’s a pothole over there, keep clear of the shrubs.

The noise of battle was rumbling somewhere further off, but he paid no attention. He just nurtured the hope that the submachine gun of the scout out in front of him would not start rattling. That the enemy was far away and heading even further. All the way to hell, ideally. Otherwise, he consoled himself with visions of a road opening up before them, with tents and a field kitchen assembled beside it, awaiting their arrival.

Had it really only been twenty-four hours since they’d left the village?

They had pushed the enemy out of its positions the night before. They didn’t have much information about the skirmish that had taken place under cover of darkness. Firing, whistling bullets, muzzle flashes. Somebody had called out for medics, but it wasn’t until the following morning that they learned it was Virtanen, a fellow from the neighboring platoon. ‘Oh, that Virtanen guy.’

They had also come across a few dead enemy soldiers and stripped them of their badges, despite the darkness and the rain. They had advanced over the course of the day, stopping frequently, ignorant of the general situation. A few men were lost in an artillery and mortar barrage. Around mid-morning the day before, they finally received some food. Experience had already taught them that they could have absolutely no certainty when the next opportunity to eat would be, so they broke their bread in half: this one I eat and this one I save.

Then they would start picking at the piece they intended to save a little at a time, finally wondering, ‘Well, what good is it going to do me over there, anyway?’ And then they would ask, ‘Does anybody have any bread? I’ll trade half a cigarette.’

‘Nope. Did yesterday, but it’s all eaten up.’

‘Haven’t got any bread left, but I haven’t got so much of that soul-crushing hunger, either!’

It was one of their better jokes.

They’d lost their sugar to the rain. They had scraped the wet, crumbling gunk from the bottoms of their bread bags and eaten it, but their hunger remained.

In the evening, they had turned off the main road and pressed into the dark forest, trudging onwards with no idea where they were being taken or why.

‘Do we have contact?’

‘Rotate!’

‘But that shift was shorter than the one I just had carrying.’

‘That’s a lie.’

‘Who the hell can carry this thing?’

‘Quit whining all the time! You wimps! Here, give me the gun-stand.’

It was Lehto.

One guy used his shoulder to push a spruce branch out of his way. It whacked the guy behind him directly in the eyes.

‘Watch what you’re doing, asshole!’

‘Why don’t you look where you’re going and shut up?’

‘Oh, come off it!’

The verbal jousting never led to any serious brawls, or even real rifts between the men. As soon as the cause of the spat disappeared, and the strain and nervous tension passed, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

No one ever launched any of these invectives at Koskela. This was because he never took any rotations out, but carried one machine gun or other the whole time, to lighten the rotations for the others. Somebody had protested at the start, as a matter of formality, but they were all happy about it. Not to be outdone, Lehto insisted on carrying the whole time as well, just like Koskela.

‘Where’s the second machine gun? I’m supposed to take that one now,’ Koskela said.

‘Määttä has it.’

‘So where’s Määttä?’

‘Määttäää!’

‘He was walking right there just a second ago.’

‘Keep moving… can’t search now.’

‘Of course Määttä’s lost! With all you guys avoiding him so you won’t have to carry his gun!’ Hietanen exploded.

‘Shove it. Every man here’s carried it,’ Sihvonen hissed irritably.

Prrrrrrrr…

A long, sharp string of submachine-gun fire cut the conversation short.

They dropped to their knees. Bodies trembling and hearts pounding.

‘What’s over there?’

‘A Russki, of course.’

‘Bullet’s already nicked that tree.’

‘Get the machine guns into position.’

They lugged the weapons down the line. The second machine gun was missing and Lahtinen was about to set off in search of Määttä. Being a fairly conscientious leader, he considered himself at fault for the fact that Määttä had gone missing from his team.

But Koskela stopped him. ‘You won’t be able to find him searching in a dark forest like this. He’ll be able to find his way from the sound of the firing.’

Enemy fire flew out of the darkness, striking here and there, and the men answered fire just as haphazardly.

‘As far as I know,’ Koskela whispered, ‘we’re supposed to be securing things from this side. We might be waiting here a while. Let’s rotate taking half-hour shifts on guard so the others can relax behind. It’ll be a little nicer that way.’

It was a welcome suggestion. The guards were assigned and the others gathered further back at the base of a few large firs. Water dripped from the branches. Bracken and blueberry twigs dripped water onto their already soaking-wet boots. Pale splotches had already appeared in the sky, and the men could make out each other’s faces in the dim light. They weren’t pretty. Blank, expressionless eyes stared out of dirty, stubbly faces, quivering with anguished creases around the corners of their mouths. Was it really only the fourth day of war now dawning?

They wrapped themselves in their overcoats, but the cold still kept them awake. Whenever the firing grew more intense, they would get to their feet with a start and look at one another inquisitively, but as soon as the fire died down they would sink back to the ground, the anxious look in their eyes extinguished.