Вяйнё Линна - Unknown Soldiers

‘Oh, but Lieutenant, sir, let’s not be too hasty. If we’ve got a long trip ahead of us, we’d better have some provisions. How much of that tobacco am I allowed?’

‘How much would you like?’

‘Let’s say that pack there. And toss in about ten of those bread rolls.’ Rahikainen paid slowly and made a few more passes at the girl before being supplanted by the next fellow in line. Gathering up his purchases, he moved out of the way and found a seat at the table by the door, where some guys from the Third Platoon were already seated. Seeing as the Lotta was the communal center of attention, Rahikainen’s little enterprise had not gone unnoticed.

‘Looks like that girl ain’t gonna be the mother of your children,’ Hietanen smirked. ‘Need a few more pins on your collar.’

‘I don’t have any need for her services at the moment.’

‘Now you’re just tellin’ whoppers. Guy like you – why I’ll take you out to our neck of the woods and use you as a stud if you make it out of this alive!’

Just then the orderly came in to announce that the convoy would arrive at ten o’clock. For Lammio, the announcement meant the possibility that his hopes would be realized, but for the rest of them it just meant more waiting around. The canteen closed and Lammio set off with the Lotta, walking her bicycle. The men wandered back to the barracks, their excitement at departure souring.

‘What are they dawdling for? What kind of numbskulls do they have up there running this show? We’re not really going to just keep milling around the empty barracks, are we?’

The bed frames sat in their spots, empty. The beds and the narrow spaces between them had grown familiar to the men, and the blue-stained boards seemed strangely dreary now that they had been stripped bare. An inscription had already appeared at the head of one of the beds: ‘This bed belonged to Pentti Niemi, who slept here during his service to the Finnish army and departed 16 June 1941 for an unknown destination. Recruit, rookie, FNG: when you come near this bed, take your boots off, because this bed was a sacred spot to some guy once.’

They were blessed, however, before departure. Since there was time, the battalion’s chaplain came round to hold evening prayer services in each of the companies. The duty officer rounded up the men, and this time both the officers and the utilities platoon took part as well.

The Captain stood a little way off, awaiting his cue, and the Master Sergeant followed at the tail end of the company, looking very grave. The duty officer wasn’t sure whom he was supposed to cue to bring the company, since the officers’ presence eliminated the possibility of the Master Sergeant’s serving this role. Koskela was the oldest officer present, but he was just walking along at the head of his platoon, and clearly had no intention of getting involved. Luckily, just then Lammio rushed onto the scene. His plans had been seriously thwarted. He had been pinning his hopes on this Lotta, knowing that she was a country girl, but this very fact had turned out to be the cause of his downfall.

Lammio took over the company from the duty officer and presented it to the Captain. Kaarna had observed Lammio’s entrance but averted his gaze. He had no patience with men who went absent without leave, officers included, and it was even more irritating in this case because it was Lammio. Keeping his voice low, so that the company would not hear, the Captain murmured, ‘The company is on alert, which means no absences are permitted. As far as I know, the Lieutenant is still a member of the company.’

‘Yes I am, Captain, sir.’

‘Well then. Assume your position.’

The scolding didn’t ruffle Lammio in the least. He walked calmly to the head of his platoon. The haughty expression of his face was just slightly stronger than usual, reinforced by the stiff flair of his nostrils. It was his typical response to any and all criticisms directed his way.

The Captain was pacing back and forth in front of the company. He muttered something to himself and kept glancing at his watch. Once he stopped, turned to the company and said, ‘OK. Now we should… Well, no, no, let’s not.’

Resuming his pacing, he reasoned with himself, ‘There’s no need. It’ll work out without… hmm… hmmm…’

The chaplain came across the clearing on his bicycle.

‘The crow has landed,’ Rahikainen whispered, as the others suppressed their smiles. ‘The crow’ was their nickname for the chaplain. It drew its inspiration from the fact that the chaplain was a frail, dark-skinned, narrow-shouldered type. A prime target for tuberculosis bacteria.

The Captain’s orders rang out. The men removed their caps, allowing their bristly hair to stick out in whatever direction it pleased. Or directions, rather, as even within just one head there seemed to be aspirations in several directions.

The minister began the hymn in his thin, tinny little voice, to which the men contributed a vague sort of moo that gradually developed into singing: ‘ forrr… truuuss… is… aar… Go… od …’

Faces were stiff, brows knitted, eyes dull and squinting. Bearing no sentiments of devotion whatsoever, the men paid their respects to their god looking rather dismal and cross. Hietanen furrowed his brows and choked out some noises, though his singing skills were a little questionable. Lehto stood mute, his thin lips firmly shut. It was as if he had been turned to stone, and would have preferred to get through the whole hymn without having to hear a word of it. But next to the Master Sergeant, a clear, beautiful voice was ringing out from Mäkilä’s mouth. The quiet man had no equal when it came to hymn-singing. He opened up his whole soul, and its strength seemed to lift him up into the clear twilight.

‘Let us pray.’

In so far as it was possible, the men’s expressions grew even angrier. They looked as though they were just about ready to eat somebody alive. The minister tried to deepen his voice to make it sound more powerful. ‘O Lord, God of nations. You who hold our fate in Your hands. May You turn Your face to us and have mercy upon us, for You are our refuge. Let Your will be done, for Your vision exceeds our humble understanding. If You send us trials, it is no more than we deserve, but we pray to You: strengthen our souls with Your power, so that we may withstand Your trials. Help us to fulfill our duties in Your name, to our families and to our homeland. Give us the strength to make even the greatest sacrifices, for it is in Your name that Your chosen people move toward their destiny. Fill our souls with the same steadfast courage and the same, burning spirit of patriotism that our brothers felt as they faced their deaths – our fallen heroes, who now sleep in the cemeteries of soldiers. This is all we ask of You. Bless these men in all that they do, in whatever may lie before them. Bless all the people of our nation and make us one. May You open our hearts to Your will, that we may travel the path of righteousness.’

Then the chaplain read the Lord’s Blessing, his voice returning to normal, as he had exhausted his fervor in the three identical services he’d already given in the battalion’s infantry companies. After the blessing, he struck up one last, short hymn, and then the service was over.

The Captain allowed the company a break, and the men began wandering around aimlessly. Rahikainen lumbered along, shoving his hands in his pockets as he said, ‘Ye-ees, what a sermon! How in the world does that spindly little man drone on so damn long? Did you hear the horrible things that guy said? We’re headed for the cemeteries, boys! My neck-hairs are still standing on end from the threats that chump made.’