At three o’clock in the morning, as dawn was already beginning to lighten the sky, Ukkola shot himself with Sihvonen’s gun, which had been left leaning against the stretcher during a break.
His carriers were looking off to the side, watching the infantry guys, and didn’t realize what was happening until the shot went off.
They would have been happy to bring Ukkola’s body to the road, but they were forced to abandon the idea, as the exhausted carrying teams needed to keep rotating and Koskela was urging them to hurry. But when they remembered Ukkola’s plea to be covered, they hastily dug a shallow bed with their field shovels and set the body in it, wrapped in a tarp. Then they shoveled some moss and dirt on top to cover it up.
Even Honkajoki was solemn. Maybe it was just exhaustion, but then, death had become a constant companion that night, and it left little room for chatter.
As they were shoveling, Rahikainen said, ‘Now, that guy would have made it. But everybody rings things up as he sees fit.’
‘I guess Ukkola here was the last guy left in the Fourth Platoon who started in the burnt clearing,’ Vanhala said. ‘Man, I still remember that one time when we were new recruits, when the Third Company came back from a march and somebody had stuck this massive rock in Ukkola’s pack. He’d cheated in packing it up. Heehee. Kariluoto was the one who stuck it in.’
‘That guy was a real asshole back then – Kariluoto,’ Sihvonen said. ‘Grew up into a man, though. Guess they’ll dump him in that pond too.’
They left Ukkola’s grave and hurried onwards. There was no benediction. Nothing but Sihvonen’s bitter outburst as he left: ‘So that’s how a Finn bites the dust these days. This country’s done for.’
The supply train was retreating.
It was early morning, but bright as day, so the drivers were worried about air raids. The vehicles had been camouflaged with underbrush and the horses’ harnesses were covered in alder branches, and one of the drivers had even stuck a sprig in his cap.
‘Keep wider intervals,’ Sinkkonen shouted, riding his bicycle along the side of the road as he tried to pass the vehicles. Lammio was with him as well, since Karjula had allocated him the task of managing the supply train’s retreat.
The old guy who’d been called out of the reserves, Korpela, was leading his horse alongside the vehicles. He had checked the carts for officers’ bags and their other belongings, but the previous driver had already tossed all that kind of stuff into the forest, so there weren’t any objects left for Korpela to hurl in his fury.
Sinkkonen was telling him something about aerial observation. Korpela glared daggers at the Master Sergeant and snarled, ‘Yeah, order me to keep an eye on the sky! Why don’t you just get out of the way? Yeah, that’s right, take care of your bicycle so you can ride off on it when the time comes. ’Cause that’s what you’re gonna do all right.’
The battalion’s Lotta was standing on the roadside. Raili Kotilainen hadn’t snagged herself one particular man over the course of the war, but that was partially made up for by the fact that she had snagged several. The aide who had taken her picture by the captured mortar back at the start of the war had been dead for some time. At that point Raili was still a flower in bloom, but the war had worn her down as it had the rest of them. She had withered and lowered her standards so much that she had even succumbed to some anti-tank guy in infantry. Sic transit gloria mundi, Sarastie had observed.
The Lotta’s bicycle was broken. She was tired and worn out. The men showed her nothing but their unmasked contempt and hostility. They showered her with obscene, insinuating abuse. Spotting Korpela, she thought she might turn to him for help. An older man, she imagined, would have some kind of fatherly sympathy for her.
‘I can’t ride this and I’m just so tired. And the heel of my shoe came off. Do you think you could give me a lift on your cart?’
Good Lord! The front-line Lotta! The sight of the woman struck Korpela the way a red banner strikes a bull. ‘We ain’t soiled this cart driving any of your sacred shit yet, bitch. Damn straight that’s how it is.’
Lammio overheard him. First, he ordered the Lotta into the next vehicle and then he yelled, ‘Private Korpela!’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘What did you just say?’
‘I said what I said. Yeah, and I meant that we’ve got enough shit to haul around here without hauling the Finnish officers’ whore too. That’s right.’
‘Listen here, Korpela! You’ve gone too far. Now shut your mouth! One more word out of you and you will regret it.’
‘Quit mouthing off at me, you raggedy-ass bastard. Yeah, you heard me.’ Korpela’s fury had flared up full blast. He screamed at the drivers in a voice choked with rage, trying to pack as much biting contempt into his voice as possible, but mostly drowning it out in the overwhelming flood of his anger. ‘Me-en! Hey, driiivers! Who’s that bastard on my ass? We only had horse flies swarmin’ round before. We startin’ to get people now too?’
‘You’re under arrest. Hey, you, over there. Two men, over here! Confiscate Private Korpela’s belt and rifle.’
There were no volunteers. Nor were they necessary. Somebody further behind was yelling, ‘Heavy-duty tillers overhead… air raid! Sturmoviks! Get under cover!’
They turned the horses quickly toward the cover of the forest and everyone disappeared somewhere or other. Only Korpela remained on the road. His cart wheel got stuck in a ditch and the horse wasn’t able to pull it out. The animal strained against its harness, pulling with all of its might, but the wheel just sank deeper into the treacherously soft soil at the bottom of the ditch.
Small bombs fell from the ground-attack planes and exploded behind them.
Vo… uuuuuu… trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… The plane droned over and machine-gun fire raked the road. When it had passed, more followed in its wake.
‘Come on, you assholes, come and lift!’ Korpela howled, but there was no help in sight nor did any materialize. Many men abandoned their horses and ran off deeper into the forest.
‘Run… run! Just run like hell then! Leave your poor horse here to be killed, oh, that’s fine…’
The carousel continued. Planes circled round and shells exploded ceaselessly, accompanied by the chattering of machine guns. The angry explosions of quick-load rifles grew nearer, then suddenly the back beams of Korpela’s cart cracked. Korpela ducked for cover, but returned to his feet immediately and started yanking again. Having first taken the Lotta to safety, Lammio was now approaching Korpela’s cart. He walked upright, with apparent indifference to the planes, and when Korpela noticed him, he flew into an unbridled rage. That man, flaunting his bravery!
‘You stay the fuck away from me! Don’t you dare touch my cart. I don’t need any help from the likes of you. Yeah, you’re damn straight I mean it.’
Lammio just continued toward him and suddenly Korpela threw the reins to the ground and stepped in front of him, saying, ‘You get me a transfer right now! I’m moving to another unit.’
‘What marvelous unit would that be? What is this… where do you think you’re going to go?’
‘Fuck you! I’ll go all the way to hell if it means I can get you out of my sight!’
‘Korpela, I am warning you for the last time. The defeat has gone to the heads of men like you, but do not make the mistake of thinking that this army is going to let you spit in its face, even in its defeat.’
‘Ha ha ha. Who’s spitting in whose face here? You asshole, you’re the one that’s been spitting in other men’s faces for years! Yeah! Damn straight! You let go of that holster of yours or I’ll throw it into the forest and send you right in after…’