The Storm Troops advanced.
The First Battalion cut through the passing troops to meet up with their regiment, which was advancing down a different road. It felt strange to find the regiment out in front of them, at a fork in the road a few miles out. They’d been fighting for three days without the faintest idea what was going on beyond their immediate surroundings. Now they heard vague rumors that the enemy lines had been broken, and that the Jaegers and the division next to theirs had already penetrated far into enemy territory very early that morning. They were happy, as it seemed they might be allowed some time off the line as a reward for the relentless campaign of the past three days. When they glimpsed their own field kitchen coming toward them, their elation was almost as great as Kariluoto’s had been as he watched the Jaegers streaming by, ready to drive back the enemy.
‘What’ve we got?’
‘Pulp porridge.’
‘Fucking hell!’
‘Pulp porridge’ was a kind of mush made of whole-grain wheat pulp, which the men hated with particular fervor, but which unfortunately composed a solid portion of their diet. Once again, Mäkilä and the kitchen staff had to bear the brunt of the men’s anger at the poverty of their homeland and the inefficiency of its primitive provisions department. Their outcry was so obscene that Master Sergeant Korsumäki nearly lost his temper. He did understand their resentment, though, and so began consoling them that plans for organizing cigarette sales had finally gotten the go-ahead. And that they would be getting increased wages now, just like the reservists, starting from the date of mobilization.
‘Well, swell! So we’ll get to play cards,’ Hietanen said, sprinkling saccharine over his porridge. ‘I guess we’ll stay in reserve. They oughtta be able to manage with that endless stream of guys they’re sending out here.’
‘Humph. They’ll shove us out in front again soon as things heat up. You’ll see,’ Lahtinen replied. ‘That’s always why they keep the good units in reserve.’
‘Naw… so we really are a good unit then, huh? Well, I’ll be damned!’
‘Humph. Well, there aren’t actually any good units… what I mean is, we’re young and we’ll go wherever the hell some blockhead orders us. I mean, those reservists aren’t going to go just anywhere. And I have to say, if we’re in as desperate shape as it seems from the look of those fellows back there, I don’t think we have any business setting out to build some kind of superpower. They’ve rounded up every last man whose mouth can still melt butter.’
‘But look, pal, all you hafta do is choke down mush! Who needs to melt butter?’ Rahikainen exclaimed.
‘Well, there’s some prisoners over there. Why don’t you go take a look? Real live heroes. There, by the side of the road. Those guys aren’t looking so hot, either,’ Sihvonen said, gesturing toward the prisoners.
Salo went one better, pointing out, ‘Their belts look like they’re made of thresher straps. And they’ve got strips of torn-up black bags tied on as gaiters. Plus, they’re enlisted by force.’
Lahtinen stretched out on his back. ‘I don’t know about that. I mean, sure, so long as everything is going well. But you don’t fight with belts. What I mean is, they’re a tough lot, that’s all I’m sayin’. And judging from the way they kill, I wouldn’t be too sure anybody’s forcing them.’
‘Maybe you oughtta change sides, Yrjö-boy!’ said Hietanen, laughing mischievously. ‘If I took all this as hard as you do, why, I sure wouldn’t be here yapping about it. I’d go over to the other side and give us hell! But Lahtinen is a radical. He wants to give everybody land and money. So that nobody has to work, just keep his health. So much for the radical. But gee whiz, am I clever or what? I even know all about radicals!’
‘Yeah, or if Lahtinen is just fanatical! Heehee,’ Vanhala hesitated cautiously for a second, then burst into giggles. He won the day. The other men began to laugh, rolling their mahorka in newspaper as Lahtinen angrily turned his back on them.
Even with their ravenous hunger, the men were so disgusted by the porridge that they left plenty for the prisoners to eat. The latter were sitting huddled in a group, taking turns to eat since they didn’t have enough cutlery. The ones awaiting their turn looked on hungrily as the others ate. A group of curious onlookers had gathered around them.
‘Look at them down that porridge,’ somebody said.
‘They’ve been starved,’ explained Salo, who had also come over to gawk at the Russians.
One of the young, blond prisoners started to smile and suddenly said in Finnish, ‘Ah! Three days with no vood.’
‘Do you speak Finnish?’
‘Ah! Of course. Pure Vinnish. I’m Ingrian. From Rääpyvä, near Leningrad.’
‘How do you know Finnish?’
‘How could I not know Vinnish? My mother hardly spoke a word of Russian.’
The men barraged the prisoner with more questions than he could answer. He gestured wildly as he explained how his company had been split up, and how some sub-lieutenant had gathered together some of the men and assembled them into a unit, which he planned to lead through the forest to the road. But they had been drawn into some fighting during the night, and the sub-lieutenant had been killed, so they surrendered, having no idea where the rest of their units even were.
‘But weren’t the Ingrians sent to work camps in Siberia?’
‘What vor? We didn’t do anything.’
‘Is living in Russia better than living in Finland?’
‘Ah! How would I know? I have never lived in Vinland.’
‘Have you seen Stalin?’
The man stretched his arms wide. Then he said something in Russian to the others. The prisoners nodded, looking sly, and then one struck the ground with a stone and repeated, ‘Stalin, Stalin!’ pointing at the spot on the ground. The Ingrian exclaimed, ‘Go give it to them! We were vorced into the army.’
The prisoners’ clumsy ruse didn’t fool anybody, except maybe Salo. Somebody asked what names the Russians had for Finns, and the Ingrian hesitated for a moment before he laughed, ‘Tsuhna’, which made the other prisoners laugh too. Vanhala was shaking with laughter as well, shuffling his feet as if he couldn’t stand still he was so amused. He whispered the name to himself over and over, eyeing his companions as if trying to determine how it suited them: ‘Suhna, suhna, heeheeheehee…’
When the prisoners realized the name could be laughed at so easily, they went wild, gleefully pumping their heads and chanting, ‘Tsuhna, tsuhna!’
‘Russki, Russki,’ Rahikainen joined in, coming toward the group, pumping his head in time.
The men were so gratified at the idea of staying in reserve that they couldn’t bring themselves to go to bed straight away, no matter how exhausted they were. ‘We’ve got plenty of time for that.’
The blow was all the more devastating, then, when Mielonen appeared, walking through the camp and calling out, ‘Get rrready to head out! Make sure your feet are well wrapped! Gonna be a long march.’
‘Stop screeching, damn it!’
‘Somebody shoot that screaming son-of-a-bitch.’
‘To the road, double file!’
‘Route step, march!’
Chapter Five
They marched. A second, third, fourth day. They were glorious midsummer days. The gardens of the Karelian villages they passed through were overgrown with wild grass. The air shimmered with a bluish haze that occasionally vibrated with the faint sounds of cannon fire and plane engines somewhere to the south. An aerial battle was taking place up there in the endless blue, though from the ground the dull chattering of machine guns sounded more like an army of croaking frogs.