Generally speaking, they considered themselves superior to the reserve units, and the officers capitalized on this fact, saying things like, ‘All right men, let’s show them how we see unwelcome visitors to the door.’
An innate want of action had resurfaced in some of the men after their long period of rest, so most of them didn’t even need to be woken up when the order came for the companies to move out. They split into squads a little way from the riverbank, where the sappers who were manning the bridge had already dragged the storm boats. There they received their assignment. Half of the Third Platoon would stay on the bank and maintain fire. The other half would back up Kariluoto’s platoon, which was to lead the charge.
Each squad was assigned a storm boat and the men then decided on the best routes to get to the other side. They set the machine guns into the bows, which they were supposed to shoot from, although Rokka protested that the effort was pointless, since the river was too narrow for them to fire more than a couple of rounds. And thus began the vicious verbal volley between Rokka and Lammio that would carry on just as long as the war did.
Lammio forbade Rokka from evaluating his orders, prompting Rokka to reply, ‘Well, you can see for yourself it ain’t no use puttin’ machine guns in’nere, my fine friend! Slows you down when you git ashore and gotta disassemble the thing.’
‘Listen, Corporal. I am not your “fine friend”, I am your commander, and you will do as I order.’
‘Yeah-huh. Well, at least we ain’t gonna put the whole gun-stand in there, too.’
Lammio didn’t respond, but as soon as Rokka had scurried off, he issued precisely the same command as if it were his idea. ‘Load only the guns into the bows, no gun-stands. One belt should be more or less sufficient to get you across.’
Rokka, stationed at Lahtinen’s machine gun, said, ‘Lemme at ’er, huh? I’m just sittin’ round like a bum over here. And anyway, you shot last time.’
‘Fine by me,’ Lahtinen said. ‘I don’t care who shoots. Don’t think Määttä minds, either. Do you?’
‘Fine by me…’
At four o’clock they were ordered into position. The men stood beside their boats. They tried to steel their minds against the persistent onslaught of images of machine-gun fire puncturing the sides of their boats and killing them. They tried to determine whether it would be possible to swim holding a machine gun and came to the conclusion that it would not.
Kariluoto’s anxious face rose from behind the first boat. ‘Keep it down! Not a word unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ The command had scarcely left his mouth when the world exploded behind them. Whee-ee-ee…
Intense, heavy shelling tore up the earth on the opposite shore. After it had gone on for about five minutes, they started dragging the boats down to the bank. The shells had blanketed the far shore in such heavy smoke that somebody muttered in relief, ‘They’ll have to aim by ear through that.’
‘Advance!’
The storm-boat drivers started up the engines and the men began pushing the boats into the river.
‘Everybody in!’
The propellers sank into the water and the boats started for the opposite shore.
The next echelon of guys was already approaching the river. Weak, random shots came from behind the smokescreen, hurting no one.
Rokka lay in the bow of the second squad’s boat and shot into the smoke. He hadn’t made it very far down the belt before the bow scratched against the bank and the men jumped ashore. It was there that the first man fell. One of the sappers slipped on a rock and fell into the water, which began to billow red all around him. The scare prompted some of the men to dive for cover on the slopes along the bank, but Kariluoto forced them on. Rokka helped, having already started to make his way through the smoke with the machine gun over his shoulder, yelling, ‘Now’ssa time to git a move on! They’ll recover soon and then we’re cooked. ’Member, fellas, we got water behind us.’
They climbed up the meadowy bank in the smoke as the enemy fired from above. Kariluoto called to his men continually to make sure they were close, as their visibility was still limited, though the smoke was already beginning to clear up. Rokka ran beside him, panting, ‘Hey, Ensign! Lissen here! Don’t let your fellas dawdle in’na daisies back there! We gotta steamroll ’em! Keep up the pace! That’s what we did at Kelja, sent ’em scurryin’ with just the same trick.’
The enemy positions were set up along the rim of the forest. The smokescreen had already dissipated so much that it ceased to offer any protection, and one guy from Kariluoto’s platoon took a fatal bullet. The others threw themselves to the ground and answered fire, and Koskela ordered the machine guns into position to counter the enemy’s automatic weapons. The command was superfluous as far as the second gun was concerned, as Rokka was already shooting without the gun-stand, resting the gun barrel on the stump of a tree. Määttä remained standing nonchalantly as he fed the belt, determined to show this Rokka character that he didn’t have a monopoly on courage.
‘Over there, the bastards… Look! See…? Machine gun ’hinda logs.’ Rokka had spotted three heads behind a machine gun, but at just the same moment they had spotted him, and a hail of bullets whizzed by their ears. Two of the bullets tore through Lahtinen’s coat, which was sticking up in a bundle on his back as he pressed to the ground beside the gun. Rokka aimed the sight with speed and precision. Two heads fell. The third sank on top of the machine gun and the gun fell silent.
Kariluoto ordered his men to charge, and when Rokka heard the command, he handed the machine gun to Määttä, saying hurriedly, ‘Here, you take it… I’m goin’ in with the infantry fellas… somebody over there said charge…’
The enemy had abandoned a length of trench in front of them, or rather its defenders had all been shot down. Kariluoto leapt into the trench and a few of his men followed. Rokka raced after them and snatched Kariluoto’s submachine gun right out of his hands before the latter could even think to protest, saying in passing, ‘Gimme that… here, you take these hand grenades… now ain’t that a beauty!… mighty scarce in’na Winner War…’
Rokka raced off past him, and it all happened so naturally that Kariluoto just did as he was told without a second thought. There wasn’t any time to wonder over this lively, chattering man dashing in a low crouch along the edge of the trench. Kariluoto gathered up hand grenades from his men as they came up behind him, and when they reached a bend in the trench, Rokka would order him to throw a grenade up over behind it.
‘Soon’s it goes off, I’ll go in and take care a the moppin’ up. Let’s do one more round at the next bend. That oughdda take care of it… don’t you think?’
Kariluoto threw a grenade and as soon as it had exploded Rokka dashed around the corner. Two fallen enemy soldiers lay in the trench, and a third was pointing his gun at Rokka. He was dead before he had a chance to think of shooting, though.
‘Don’t you aim at me, ol’ man! That’ssa way to git yourself killed… this fella here’s speedy…’
Three enemy soldiers went down at the next corner. Rokka’s aim was swift and sharp. He called out instructions the whole time, which the others instinctively followed. Even Kariluoto didn’t so much as notice that Rokka had taken over his platoon. He just kept throwing hand grenades on command, marveling at the unfailing speed and accuracy of this man running out in front of him. Rokka’s mode of operation was fundamentally practical. His fearlessness meant he could keep a cool head and think without falling prey to panic, and he knew that the enemy would be helpless so long as they pressed onward relentlessly, without pause. As long as the enemy soldiers were under continual fire, they couldn’t launch any hand grenades themselves, and Rokka’s submachine gun took care of the rest, shooting decisively, though not hastily, and striking precisely where needed.