‘Indeed, yes, indeed.’ Honkajoki sighed, as if in doleful resignation. ‘One hope I do retain. That the war will end and I will serve as a stud in a great farmhouse.’
Viirilä was sitting off on his own, munching on the loaf of bread he’d scrounged from the enemy soldier’s pack the previous evening. Seemingly unintentionally, he blurted out, rolling his head, ‘A man came from Arimathea and poured water on his head.’
The others didn’t understand what Viirilä meant. Probably just blabbering on senselessly again, as he tended to do, not really meaning anything by it.
‘Phaahaahaa… Bring on the rough and tumble. Long live anarchy and bloody duds! Bring on a storm that’ll send foot-rags flying to the tips of the North Star to dry… Phaahaahaahaahaa,’ he burst into his familiar, raucous laugh. That was Viirilä – ready to kill and just as ready to pack up and go home. Or, rather, go anywhere in Finland, as he wasn’t from any place in particular.
Koskela started organizing the men.
They asked for food. There wasn’t any, but someone would look into it. Silent and bitter, they began digging foxholes. The unit covering them pulled back, retreating behind their line. The sappers mined the road and to some extent the roadsides as well, but the barricade wasn’t nearly strong enough. There was plenty of exposed terrain between the swamp and the road.
Lammio took over command of the battalion and Koskela returned to the Third Company. He was quiet and pensive. He issued instructions in a low voice as if he were somehow tired and depressed. Määttä’s machine gun was positioned beside the swamp, close to the road. Another platoon was operating as a normal infantry platoon under Rokka’s command. Koskela stopped beside Määttä’s position and sat down on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk.
He looked out over the swamp. The sun had already climbed above the treetops, and it warmed his face. He sat still for a long time, as if he’d been turned to stone. Every last tremor seemed to have disappeared from his face. His wide jaw and high cheekbones were pronounced beneath his weather-beaten skin. He was thinner. Even the dent in his jaw seemed to have deepened. His eyelids were rimmed with red. A pained crease quivered around his mouth. He had turned thirty-one years old the day before yesterday. He hadn’t remembered until the next day. Nor had it meant anything to him.
The world had fallen silent for a moment. Even the far-off noises of battle. It wasn’t at all typical, as lately the enemy had taken to intensifying its efforts with each passing day.
Koskela leaned his head back against the tree trunk and allowed his eyes to sink shut. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, whose skin had grown rough and sensitive from exhaustion and lack of sleep. His mouth burned from so many cigarettes, and his empty stomach made him feel weak. He could hear the clink of nearby shovels and the men’s quiet voices. An image of Karjula rose up in Koskela’s mind. He wasn’t insulted by the scolding he’d received. He knew that Karjula couldn’t take these kinds of disappointments without venting his irritation at someone, whoever that might be. Karjula had to pick a scapegoat so that he didn’t wind up one himself, and he needed to find some sort of pretext for his choice. There was no weak point in Koskela’s sense of honor. He forgot the whole thing. Then he forgot the whole prevailing state of affairs. He grasped only warmth and the faint exhaustion of his body. The present moment faded away and he slipped into the space between dreams and wakefulness. He heard voices emerging from Määttä’s gun. He heard Hietanen’s voice, and a sort of panic came over him. Something was awry, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then Rokka said something. Hietanen laughed. Koskela grew more and more alarmed. What was there to laugh about now? Everything wasn’t as it should be. His breath started heaving as he clenched his empty fists in anxiety. Hietanen’s face came nearer to him and laughed. It was black wrapped in the charred bandage, which still had little whitish strips around the edges of the blood stains.
‘Want a smoke?’
Koskela started and opened his eyes. Why was Hietanen standing there like that – black – with a pack of cigarettes in his hand? Määttä gazed in wonder as Koskela’s eyes stretched wide for a couple of seconds, as if he hadn’t quite understood the offer. Then Koskela took the cigarette and said, ‘Oh… yeah… I mean, thanks. I guess I fell asleep.’
‘So I see. It’s just that that engine over there’s started rumbling already. Don’t seem like they’re giving us any downtime.’
‘No, no.’
Määttä sat down to smoke as well, and Koskela relaxed against the tree trunk again. His recent dream had upset him. Why had he seen Määttä as Hietanen? He felt wretched and all mixed up. Some kind of restlessness was gnawing away at him, but he couldn’t find any reason for it.
‘How much longer am I going to hang on out here?’
Where did that sudden thought come from? He didn’t usually allow such thoughts to enter his mind. Then he remembered what he had been thinking the last time he saw Kariluoto alive: That man will die today.
Was his number up next? Why was all of this coming to mind? For God’s sake, here I am telling fortunes. It’s nothing but exhaustion. That’s where this whole numb depression’s coming from. I had a dream. He must have been dead before the flames reached him. The man was full of holes, at least. But the ones who were in the ambulance – that must have been pretty horrible all right. Koskela had been in such a panic himself over the situation that night that he hadn’t had time to think about anything. But seeing it was terrible. That’s where that sight a second ago came from, too. Yeeeesh. Seeing a guy you know in that kind of state…
Pi piew pieeeeeeeeeeeeeeew…
‘OK. They’re here. And we’re going to be up against them pretty soon, too. Better keep our eyes peeled.’
Koskela lay in a foxhole. The ground trembled and swayed. Sand blew down from the upper rim. A piece of shrapnel whirred closer. The noise intensified until the side of the ditch suddenly caved in.
‘How the hell did they move those guns so fast?’ Koskela cautiously raised his head, but quickly ducked it back down again, having spotted a column of smoke rising into the air close by. Dirt rained down into his pit.
When the barrage fell silent, Koskela heard a call to attack. The first shots were already whizzing by. On the left, Määttä was hammering away with the machine gun as if his life depended on it. Koskela overheard Honkajoki saying as he ran by their position that the Lieutenant Colonel was lying down, but nonetheless declaring gravely in a voice thick with fear, ‘Damn it! Now’th the moment we could really use those anti-mithile weaponth.’
Undoubtedly. Three tanks were coming down the road, tearing up the surrounding roadside with their guns. Koskela ran past the shooting men, who, in their nervousness, were aiming at the tanks, which was of course pointless. A grenade from one of the tanks killed somebody, and a panicked cry rose nearby, screaming, ‘They’re gonna run us over! Guys! They’re gonna run us over…’
‘Stay in position! They’re not going to run anyone over. It’s mined over there.’ Koskela yelled as loud as he could in order to make himself heard over the din. He knew that if the men didn’t hear his order clearly, it might easily induce a general panic. There were several short-range defense guys lying in the ditch alongside the road. Koskela crawled over to them.
‘Got any satchel charges?’
‘Yeah. But these won’t get anywhere close…’
‘I’ll try. Couple of you guys come with me!’
‘It’d be better to try from the pit. Ditch here’s too shallow.’
Of course it would be better. But Koskela was quite sure that by then it would be too late. The men would flee before the tanks came within range of the pit.