Rokka seemed to be enjoying the war. He showed no signs of fatigue – on the contrary, he buoyed the others up with his excess energy. His reputation spread, but the officers were obliged to recognize that this man was not at all the model soldier he might have seemed. He demonstrated no respect for military hierarchy whatsoever. An officer with a rank sufficiently lofty to prevent Rokka from telling him to ‘Lissen here!’ had yet to be seen. As a fighter, he was evidently brilliant, a cool-headed killer – and it often happened that he would take off on his own with the submachine-gunners, in between his turns behind the machine gun. ‘Hand-to-hand’s a kinda military domain you don’ git’ta see much of in a machine-gun outfit, see. I wanna give it a whirl, see what it’s all about.’
Vanhala increasingly overcame his bashfulness. His comments were already frequently spot-on. Moreover, he proved himself to be a reliable guy, and Lehto took him on as something of a right-hand man, which further solidified his credibility.
Each in his own way, the men were transformed by the response the slaughter drew out of them. The strong grew stronger; the weak faltered further under the strain. Riitaoja began to babble incomprehensibly and Lehto demanded a replacement, but the request was turned down. No man was excused from his butchering duties.
Little by little, Ensign Kariluoto had developed into one of the battalion’s best platoon leaders. Autio gave him all the toughest assignments, and Kariluoto, for his part, tried to take Koskela with him whenever possible. Generally, Koskela did accompany him, or rather, accompanied the machine guns detailed to support his platoon, as he generally took the hardest missions himself. The relationship between the two officers was exceptional in all it comprised. Kariluoto tended to take his cues from Koskela’s moods, and Koskela delicately tried to avoid being forced into any sort of role as psychological leader. He knew that every time Kariluoto boldly threw himself into the line of fire while he was watching, he was doing it to make up for that moment back in the swamp when he had taken cover, unable to lead the advance. It was as if the young man wanted to redeem himself with these courageous acts, to free himself from the shame of the memory and regain his self-respect.
And this is precisely what happened, in reality. With each new obstacle that confronted him, Kariluoto repeated his command over and over to himself: Fourth Platoon, advance! and his voice grew more assured every time. And every time he shoved the feeling of weakness deeper into the recesses of his chest. And so Kariluoto came to be counted beside Koskela, Autio and Lammio as one of the battalion’s bravest officers.
His idealism underwent a change as well. The irrational waves of emotion gave way to a firm sense of duty. He became a favorite within his platoon before long too. The men had never hated him, but they had considered him somewhat immature on account of his over-zealousness. Now the brave among them saw it as their duty to live up to him, and the weaker demonstrated their respect in other ways.
One day he received a profound shock that made a decisive impression on him. He had a volunteer battle-runner, a boy a couple of years younger than the rest of them. The kid was generally quite brave, if only out of childish fearlessness, as he didn’t always understand just how close to death he was – luckily for him.
The enemy was defending some hill more relentlessly than usual. They were cast back from the slope four times, and it was there that the battalion lost the greatest number of men in one operation. Kariluoto’s platoon was reduced to a couple of squads. The third machine-gun team from Koskela’s platoon fell in a heap behind the weapon, one after the other, with the sole exception of the ammunition-bearer. Kariluoto pressed on desperately. The command to cut unnecessary losses had already been issued, but he still thought he might be able to succeed in the charge. Capturing even the smallest bit of the end of the trench would mean victory, and he planned to carry out the mission with just a few of his best men so as to avoid casualties.
He convinced a few guys to go with him, but they didn’t make it to the trench. Instead, the battle-runner took a bullet in the stomach as he was throwing a hand grenade, and the venture stopped short. Kariluoto dragged the wounded boy to cover behind a rock. He was in severe pain, as an exploding bullet had torn his stomach to shreds. Kariluoto himself moaned at the horror of the sight as he tried to bind the boy’s wounds. He just said gently, ‘Don’t move… It’ll hurt more. The stretcher’ll be right here. Hang on. They’ve had a lot to carry today.’
The boy’s mouth foamed with blood. ‘It’s death that’s coming… not a stretcher. I’m going to Father… oh! It hurts… ah… ahhh… It’s burning…’
Kariluoto was crying. ‘You aren’t going to die… Stay calm… The stretchers will be here soon and they’ll operate at the field hospital…’
The boy was overcome with a child’s fear of death. He struggled to move and Kariluoto had to hold him down.
‘Ensign… you pray… I can’t… remember… it’s burning… I’m dying…’
Kariluoto was in such a state of shock he didn’t know what to do. In his panic, he didn’t even register that he was praying, he just tried to appease the boy, murmuring, ‘Our Father… who art in heaven… Hallowed be thy name…’
The boy moved his blood-stained lips, ‘Our… Father… Our Father…’ Then he struggled violently a couple of times trying to raise himself up, lifting his back off the ground. His face went blue and his body stiffened. Kariluoto swept his cap over the boy’s eyes and crawled back to his men.
He wrote another letter. Not since Vuorela’s death had he done such a thing.
…you, that my words are meaningless to you, and can do nothing to relieve you of your grief. In sorrow, each of us is alone, and it is alone that we must redeem each moment from fear and death. We must not sanctify the sadness our losses bring, but rather endure, with all the strength of our will. I am writing to you because I am the one who ordered him to the spot where he fell – I am not at fault, but I am aware of my responsibility. That is why I am writing: because I do not want to shirk this responsibility, but to take it on as my burden to bear, for great as it may be, greater still is the cause for which he, and all the rest of us, have come here…
Kariluoto wasn’t ashamed of his letter this time. Instead, he was sickened by the stupid, naïve, patriotic phrases in the letters he received from home.
Days turned to weeks. Time no longer held any meaning for them. They lost track of the days. Once in a while somebody would say, ‘Isn’t it Sunday today?’ and somebody else would think for a second and say, ‘Shit – yeah, it is.’ Periods of time appeared in their calendars as follows: the time the platoon lost six guys, the shitty encirclement, the alarm at the crack of dawn by the railroad embankment, the annihilation of the vehicle column, the mad dash, the run-in with the assault tanks.
The nights were beginning to get dark now. It rained frequently, and you could feel autumn in the air. They occupied tiny Karelian villages whose residents had been evacuated. Those who had stayed behind looked on them with a submissiveness that seemed somehow suspect. Behind the troops there trailed pastors and cultural counselors dispatched to begin assimilation efforts amongst the Karelians, but the men had nothing to do with any of that.