‘Well, fuck, why don’t we just kick ’em to death so we can get back over to our own side?’ the men had muttered.
The Lieutenant lost his temper and stepped out in front, where a bullet promptly lodged itself in his throat.
The situation demanded some sort of solution. The firing had diminished perceptibly and Kariluoto knew from experience that this meant the men had lost their initiative and were lying under cover, shooting randomly. Koskela’s word of the counter-attack had just reached them, and Kariluoto listened fearfully for those savage cries ringing out through the ceaseless shooting.
Something had to be done. Should they leave? Round up the battalion and curve around, pulling out through the forest? But there was the Lieutenant Colonel’s command – which was also supported by the Second Company commander’s recent message that the enemy had calmed down along the brook line and seemed to be stopping there, contrary to expectations. But pressing onward looked difficult. There were three bodies lying over there, side by side. Some wounded man was screaming and moaning as the medics hurriedly dragged him to cover. Then Kariluoto saw a man being dragged from the line on his side, and heard the man’s panicky, trembling voice repeat, ‘It’s over, boys… the Virolainen boy’s war is over… Virolainen’s heading off.’
For the first time, Kariluoto felt that the responsibility for the men’s deaths was his. Then he swallowed his feeling of doubt and yelled, ‘Fourth Platoon, join the First Company’s advance and take the enemy position directly ahead.’
Stopping here would mean that all the casualties incurred up to now had been utterly in vain. And besides, Koskela needed relief. Now was the time to strike. There were two options. Succeed and clear up the situation, or else… not curve around through the forest, but die.
The Fourth Platoon got itself into formation. Kariluoto had it join the First Company’s clearly diminished line, hoping that the additional force would get the operation moving again.
Something of Kariluoto’s mood took hold within his platoon. The men had seen how this slope devoured lives, but it hadn’t crushed their spirit. On the contrary – it made them feel they had no right to be spared any longer either. They knew that Kariluoto had kept them in reserve because shared experience had made them a bit closer to him than the others. They were the last shot. Everything depended on them.
Kariluoto stepped beside them into the line. A savage call to charge rang out, and a terrific clatter ensued, swallowing up all individual voices.
Napoleon and the Old Guard at Waterloo. The comparison wasn’t nearly as feeble as it might have seemed. Three years earlier, this same platoon had broken through the bunker line, and Kariluoto could still spot a few of the same men in the line: Ukkola, Rekomaa, Lampioinen, Heikinaro and a few others.
The men of the First Company joined the attack. Kariluoto yelled and shot with his gun under his arm, though he hadn’t yet caught sight of the enemy. Just lead rain lashing against the branches and the ground.
‘Yes, Ukkola!’ he cried, seeing the man leap forward, shooting and howling. But right on the heels of his shout, a cry of panic escaped Kariluoto. Ukkola dropped his submachine gun and staggered to his knees behind a hill of blueberry bushes.
‘Ukkola!’
‘In the chest… I’m weak… so much for this boy’s sprint…’
Ukkola didn’t die, however, though he had thought he would. The medics pulled him to safety. Kariluoto continued to advance. He was soon forced to take cover, as the enemy was beginning to notice him.
Then Rekomaa and Heikinaro fell, one after the other. The men searched for cover, and Kariluoto was afraid the advance would get stuck again. Yelling, he rose to his feet and dashed to the root of a pine tree, shooting at the enemy, but with little effect, as their opponents were well hidden.
Cries for the medics rang out once more. Some guy from the First Company rose to his feet and threw a hand grenade. Kariluoto saw clearly how the shower struck him, and heard the man grunt softly as he died. Word came from the right that the squad leader had been killed.
Kariluoto urged the men on, but garnered nothing but a couple of short sprints. What was wrong with them? Then Kariluoto realized that in the space of the last ten minutes, the line had diminished almost to the point of non-existence. The terrain was empty to either side of him. And two more wounded men were crawling to the rear.
The enemy had been shooting furiously the entire time. They shot even though no one was visible, and the bullets brought up moss in ceaseless swirls. Kariluoto’s mind was numb. The attack had failed. The First Company platoons attacking on the right sent word that they couldn’t advance any further. The losses were disproportionate.
Banging and rattling rang in Kariluoto’s ears in one heady, chaotic jumble. His consciousness swirled with panic. I’ve killed the company. I drove them to their deaths… I knew myself that this wouldn’t work. I can’t manage anything more with these men… Now they’re even shooting Rekomaa’s corpse.
The Sergeant’s body was lying in plain sight, and some enemy soldier was pummeling it with his light machine gun so that the body shook with his fire. The sight was too horrific to endure, and Kariluoto turned his eyes away. Just a moment ago the man had been yelling and shooting, and now he was lying there bloody, shaking like a limp pile of meat as the bullets pounded into his back.
Firing was weak on their own side. Good God! There was hardly anyone left shooting. Kariluoto was terrified. His impression of the situation was more desperate than it actually was, as death had hit his immediate surroundings hardest, the men there having attempted the charge at his impetus. His former platoon was now more or less finished. As was the First Company’s second platoon, which had attacked with them. Though in truth, neither unit had had more than a dozen men to begin with. And there were a few men helping the wounded.
One consolation did come, at least. Koskela’s runner arrived from the south side of the road, announcing that the counter-attack had been put down and that there was a strong channel open in front of Määttä’s machine gun. Even so, Koskela had said that he couldn’t continue right away and, moreover, that his impression was that the operation was a lost cause. Kariluoto was to wait until they could both try again simultaneously.
‘Wait! For what?’ Kariluoto had surrendered to complete despair. Koskela wouldn’t be any help. The enemy was strong enough to take on both of them. It didn’t even need to move men. If he didn’t make it through now, he wasn’t going to make it through later either.
He pulled back slightly and headed down the line to the right. That would be the place to try from, in the Third Platoon’s sector. Its leader was wounded, and Kariluoto took command of the platoon.
‘Let’s try again, men.’
No one replied. But the men silently prepared to charge.
‘Advance!’
The movement sparked the enemy to fire full blast, and Kariluoto saw once more how the death of two men can bring their comrades screeching to a halt.
‘I will not stop… I will not stop…’ Kariluoto wasn’t stepping forward, he was crawling. His face was snow-white, and his voice was stiff and strangled as he yelled, ‘One more time, men…’
When the bullet struck, his mind burst with a strange release. He had three seconds to realize that he was dying, but in those three seconds he feared death less than he had in the entire war. He was almost content, as he realized, his consciousness fading, ‘That’s it… Now it’s over…’
Jorma Kariluoto had paid his dues into the common pot of human idiocy.
As had Virolainen, Rekomaa, Heikinaro, Pokki, Vähä-Martti, Hellström, Lepänoja, Airila, Saastamoinen, Häkkilä, Elo, Uimonen, Vartio, Suonpää, Mikkola, Yli-Hannu, Kuusenoja, Kalliomäki, Vainionpää, Ylönen and Teerimäki.