The Second Company, which had made the crossing behind them, now caught up on the right and easily took up the enemy positions, Kariluoto’s platoon having already advanced far down the trench and paralyzed its defense. Kariluoto’s men returned just as the platoon to the left of the Second Company was catching up to them. Part of the Third Company circled around, attacking from the opposite direction, or rather, just taking over the enemy positions, as a general flight was already underway. Koskela’s machine-gunners were out in front securing the battalion’s victory, with the exception of Rahikainen, who was in the back, securing his personal stockpile of insignia scrounged from dead Russian soldiers.
Kariluoto hurried over to Rokka in excitement. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Rokka here. First name Antero. Already all signed up with another ensign, though.’
‘No, no, I was just curious. That was some top-notch work you did in that push through the trench.’ Kariluoto was so excited that it hadn’t even occurred to him to be irritated with Rokka for giving him orders.
Rokka wiped his sweat with his cap and laughed. He had a peculiar way of looking at other people. He never looked anybody straight in the eye, but rather looked slightly sideways, out of the corner of his eye, which would flash with a sly twinkle more often than not. In general, his speech also had something about it that made it seem as if it were all half meaningless – except when he started lecturing pedantically on some topic or other. He answered Kariluoto’s praise with his typical lightheartedness, laughing, ‘Don’t you start praisin’ me, Ensign. You think I’m some kinda daredevil, don’t you?’
Then he stopped laughing, pointed his finger and started lecturing Kariluoto in a tone so schoolteacherly it sounded humorous coming from the mouth of such an animated man. ‘Lissen here, Ensign! You’re a young fella and you still got some idea ’bout bein’na hero. You wanna go out and do heroic deeds. Now me, I don’t give a damn ’bout none a that. You go where you gotta go when’na situation calls for it, and otherwise you keep low. In’nat attack back there you got yourself up and pushed on as a example to the others. That’s good – but make sure you check what the situation is before you go doin’nat kinda thing. We ain’t out here to die, we’re out here to kill. You keep your eyes peeled, always. That’s called offensive strategy. You go. They shoot at you. You run without lookin’ and those damn fellas’ll pop you off straight away. No – you look for cover, you see who’s shootin’, and you act fast but not hasty. Aim quick, aim sharp and shoot first. One second ahead’s all you need. That’s all there is to it.’
Then it was as if Rokka suddenly realized he was being unnecessarily serious and pedantic, and he followed up his speech with a wry laugh and said, ‘Anyway, I can’t seem to work up a fright in this here war. This’s all child’s play compared’da what we had out in Taipale. Suslin’ over there, he can tell you how we hadda lie in’na ice in between’na dead bodies and how all’a fellas went bonkers, and how we hadda drag half of ’em back dead every night. That’ssa way it was all right… But hey, I’m gonna go see what kind of chump that fella is, one who tried at me with his machine gun.’
Rokka took off toward the machine-gun position and came upon Rahikainen, busily taking stock of his loot. ‘What the hell you gonna do with those?’
‘Turn a profit on ’em.’
‘Where you plan on findin’ buyers?’
‘Bums in the back.’
‘Well, whadda ya know. Hey, where’d those two fellas fall? Oops, there they are, lyin’ on’na bottom a their trench. I wondered if I oughdda shoot the whole belt, but when those two fellas sunk down behind… Here’s the one took a shot at me. Young fella. Poor kid. Well, you pick a fight with me and that’ssa way it goes. But let’s git movin’… others’s gonna leave us behind. Ain’t changed, sound a bullet makes. Same ol’ whistle.’
They resumed their advance. The machine-gunners held Rokka in such a degree of esteem that it went far beyond envy. It helped that Rokka himself seemed to think it all perfectly natural and demanded no particular recognition. At the moment he was just pestering Susling to take better care of himself. ‘Quit rushin’ around like that! We’ll make it to Kannas all right, there ain’t no need for all’at. But hey! Lissen, grab that tent tarp from the fellas that went down over there. Shucks, that’ll make us a dandy blanket. Autumn rains gonna start up pretty soon.’
Chapter Six
From that point on, the fighting was more or less continuous until they reached Petroskoi. The Karelian Army had launched its second offensive, and they were under constant fire all along the rough country roads leading from the border to Lake Onega. They didn’t know anything of the Karelian Army, however, much less the phases of its offensives. Each man knew his regiment number, but even a ‘division’ was a pretty hazy concept to most of them, not to mention an ‘army corps’ or an ‘army’. Once in a while they would catch a glimpse of a general in a passing car, looking like a picture out of their ‘Private’s Handbook’, and wonder, ‘What the hell is that guy doin’ all the way out here?’ Generals belonged to a whole other world. In their world, there was nothing but misery, hunger, danger and exhaustion, and a group of guys who became your buddies – one or the other of whom would vanish from time to time, never to return.
On they lumbered, mile after mile, ‘decimating the opposition with expertly designed maneuvers engineered to disrupt enemy communication lines’. And for this, their highest commanders received medals of the greatest distinction.
Continuous cannon fire rumbled as far as they could hear to the north and the south, and aerial battles were being played out overhead. Sometimes they would pause to watch a plane fall to the ground, flaming like a torch.
They were always hoping the advance would speed up once they’d driven the enemy back from some position, but to no avail. Every couple of miles brought new resistance. They grew increasingly quiet and irritable with each day that passed. Petty squabbles broke out constantly. Eyes sank deeper into their sockets, cheekbones grew more pronounced and, within a few weeks, lines carved their way into their smooth, boyish faces. Rahikainen stopped scavenging badges. Bread and tent tarps were in higher demand.
The relationship between Koskela and his platoon grew ever closer. The quiet ensign had attained such an unassailable position in the minds of his men that all he had to do was hint at what needed to be done and it would be taken care of. In combat he was silent, tireless, shrewd and calculating. As a result, his platoon escaped with very few casualties. Not once did he send the guns into a dangerous combat situation where they couldn’t be of any use, and in situations where they could be effective, he accompanied them personally, guiding the others. But above all, the men felt he was one of their own because he was just like any one of them. When he was off-duty, no one would have been able to say he was an officer without checking his badges, so naturally did he blend in with his men, right down to the detail.
Lehto’s moods grew ever darker. Once a grenade exploded beside him, but he escaped unharmed. He went deaf for a little while, and was, indeed, still deaf when he proceeded to shoot a wounded enemy soldier, saying that he couldn’t take the man’s moaning any longer. No one took much notice of the incident. They were soldiers now. Once, retreating from some hill, they had to leave a wounded guy behind. When they retook the hill, they found him stripped to his underwear, a deep bayonet gash in his side. In retaliation, one of the submachine-gunners from Kariluoto’s platoon casually took aim at three of the Russians who had surrendered, shooting them down without even removing his gun from under his arm. Two days later that man met his own end when a grenade landed squarely upon him, cleaving his body in two. Death had ceased to be a moral issue.