‘I’m at least commander enough to know that you oughtta aim. Shoot into those bushes! There’s a machine gun in there with about as many jokers as can cram in there with it.’
Rahikainen ceremoniously lifted his head higher, shot and continued quarreling as he yanked the cartridge out of his gun. ‘Shut up. Goddamn corporal. Shit’s going to your head.’
Hietanen was so wound up that he was about to take a crack at Rahikainen, but just then the enemy started ramping up its fire, so he continued shooting. Nonetheless, he resumed yelling over the din, ‘You shut up! Or I’ll come over there and make you. You’re some kind of guy – I don’t even know what you are… What would I call you? You’re like a… a limp rag!’
Rahikainen stopped responding. The tank in front turned off the road and headed toward them. The second accelerated fire to its maximum capacity to keep the first tank under cover. Cries of infantrymen started up again, and again they caught glimpses of men darting ever nearer. The defensive forces’ fire slowed, just when it should have accelerated. It was clear that all it would take was a little shove for panic to take over. The ensign who had mined the road was lying in the ditch beside it. He rose to a hunched position and started running toward the tank with a mine in his hand. He made it a few steps forward before he spun around and fell a few yards from Hietanen.
Hietanen clearly saw the bullets strike the Ensign, as his shirt rippled with the impact. For two seconds, Hietanen hesitated. The occurrence of this death right before his eyes made it all the more difficult to make a decision. Hietanen didn’t really think. He just had some vague awareness that if he didn’t do something, the tank would crush him, and if he tried to make a break for it, he would die running. The latter option would at least postpone the terrifying moment, and Hietanen was tempted to take it. For two seconds, he hung suspended in the scales. And then they tipped.
The tank was about two dozen yards off. A few steps out in front of him lay a fallen tree, whose upturned roots the Ensign had clearly also been trying to reach. They might offer him some kind of protection from the enemy’s view. Hietanen quickly crawled over to the dead ensign and snatched the mine out of his hand. Moss flew up at his feet and angry squeals whizzed past his ears.
Hietanen’s breathing felt strangely constrained, as if he had just plunged into an ice-cold swimming hole. His lips were stiff with tension, fixed in a sort of horn-shape. It was as if his entire consciousness had been frozen. It refused to consider the significance of these angry blasts, as if shielding itself from the terror such considerations would induce. Hietanen darted quickly behind the upturned roots.
Just then he heard Rokka’s voice yelling, ‘Now shoot like hell!’
Hietanen was panicked and trembling with anxiety. The urgency ringing in Rokka’s cry struck his over-excited consciousness as a warning of some new, unknown danger. Then he realized that the call was intended for the others.
It occurred to him he did not know if the mine was functional or not. He didn’t know anything about it except that it was supposed to explode under pressure. It was a little late for sapper training, however. The time was now or never.
A vision of the tank tracks rolling beneath their fenders flashed through his mind. Right there… right there… And then he threw. The weight of the mine made aiming next to impossible, and a kind of prayer-like wish flickered through Hietanen’s consciousness as he hurled it. Then he hurriedly gathered up some moss and tossed it at the mine, to serve as some sort of camouflage. It seemed to catch a few bits of debris too. Then he glimpsed a sight that sent a shiver down his spine. It would have to fall under the right track. That much was already clear. Only then did the precariousness of his own position suddenly dawn on him. Would the tree base be enough to protect him from the force of the blast? He sank down behind it, opened his mouth and pressed his hands hard against his ears.
Two seconds later, it was as if the pressure of the whole world suddenly descended upon him. He didn’t experience the explosion as a sound, but rather as a numbing, thudding blast – and then his consciousness went dim.
When it returned, he saw that the vehicle was still, tilted slightly to one side. It was still obscured by dust and smoke. He saw that the men closest to him had their mouths open – but he couldn’t understand why, as he couldn’t hear the hysterical shrieks of joy bursting from the line. His head was still sort of numb, so he wasn’t sure what to do next. He just lay there, looking back and forth at the tank, then at the men, who were yelling at him, ‘Yes, Hietanen! Woo-hoo! Bravo, Hietanen!’ The praise was all wasted, however; Hietanen couldn’t hear a thing.
Then he saw a leg appear beneath the vehicle, then another, and gradually a man’s mid-section came into view. Suddenly it jerked and fell motionless. Hietanen looked back and saw Rahikainen’s exhilarated face, though he couldn’t hear him yelling, ‘Pull off the line! I’ll take care of the rest!’
Only then did Hietanen start to come to his senses. He leapt quickly back to his previous position and crouched to a squat behind the rock.
‘Stay under cover! I’ll finish him off.’ Rahikainen shot a few rounds into the tank’s hatches.
From the way he addressed Hietanen you’d have thought he was at least half responsible for the tank’s destruction. The squabble of just moments ago had left him in an uncomfortable position. It made Hietanen’s feat feel like a crushing comeback to his words, which was why he was now trying to restore his self-respect by adopting a caring, protective attitude toward his brother-in-arms.
Hietanen himself lay behind the rock, his body trembling through and through, as if from a severe chill. The more his senses returned to him, the more he was overcome by horror. It was as if he were now being forced to endure all the terror he’d blocked out during his dash. All his fear was concentrated into a single image that he couldn’t get out of his mind. He saw the tank tracks beneath the fender about to run him over. The image was so vivid and powerful that for a moment he thought it was real and very nearly made a break for it.
He stayed put, however, his reason exerting at least some power over his imagination. He dug out a cigarette and managed to stuff it into the holder with trembling hands. It wobbled in his mouth and he grabbed onto it so forcefully that the thing snapped in two. With the fourth match, he finally managed to get the end of the cigarette lit, and the tobacco oil rose to the surface of the rapidly burning paper as Hietanen drew on it with hollowed cheeks.
Little by little the shaking subsided. He was already beginning to hear the men’s shouting and shooting. For a little while he kept repeating, ‘Good God. Good God’, not even understanding himself what he meant by repeating it over and over. Then he remembered how he had thrown fistfuls of moss over the mine to camouflage it, and the childishness of the act made a smile creep over his face. And then it was accompanied by a strange joy rising up within him. Only now did he begin to understand what his action meant, and he exploded with laughter at the joy of victory. That was supposed to be camouflage?!
He laughed, and his laughter simultaneously released the previous moment’s horror and the euphoric delirium of having survived it: of having accomplished this daring feat that elevated him to savior of the battalion.
Meanwhile, the combat situation had altered considerably. The second tank had retreated and the enemy infantry had also stopped their advance. Soon they stopped answering fire as well. Cautiously, the men began to raise their heads, noticing that the enemy had ceased shooting. They had retreated further back.