Kariluoto went off to the Army Academy and returned a captain upon completion of his course. He was immune to the general lowering of spirits, his recent engagement having distracted him from any concerns about the future of the homeland. Inhabitants of the Third Company bunker became thoroughly acquainted with the virtues of a certain girl by the name of Sirkka. Like all lovers, Kariluoto naturally assumed that everyone took great interest in his happiness, and anyone who could bring himself to lend him an ear would never stop hearing about the girl. A certain telephone operator had become engaged around the same time, and so instantly became Kariluoto’s bosom buddy – in so far as a captain and a private can be bosom buddies, that is.
Lammio had already been made a captain as well. He hadn’t changed in the least – at least, not for the better; and as the situation deteriorated, he figured that the only way to combat it was to enforce tighter discipline. Koskela wasn’t promoted, for the evident reason that there were no positions above his open in the battalion, and Sarastie was reluctant to lose him to another, even if the Regiment Commander had suggested such a possibility. So, Koskela was paid in decorations, and to ease his own feelings of responsibility, Sarastie repeatedly promised him that the next company commander post to open up was his.
Koskela himself wasn’t particularly concerned about the matter. He had firmly resolved to leave the army as soon as the war was over, so he had no particular use for promotions. He lay on his bunk and took part in the quiet life of his platoon just as he always had.
The winter passed and a new summer came. Germany’s defeat became ever more apparent, and Salo alone was able to hang on to his faith. Even the events in Italy didn’t rattle him. Whispers about his steadfast devotion circulated amongst the others, and after each notice of a defeat somewhere, somebody would bait him, ‘Seems like now might be a good time to pull out those secret weapons, don’t you think?’
But Salo would just gaze over their heads into the beyond and say, ‘They’ll come. They’ll come… They’re just waitin’ for the enemy to get closer before unleashing ’em. I heard they got some eight-inchers over there behind the lines. There’ll be plenty of iron all right, once they decide to let ’er rip.’
‘Well, I’ll be darned. In that case we ain’t got nothin’na worry about!’ Rokka said – and still Salo managed to remain uncertain whether he was being mocked.
A quiet bitterness had appeared in Rokka, making itself felt now and again. He knew that the ring money he’d sent down to Kannas for the new house had all been for nothing. He wouldn’t live in that house. The firmer this conviction grew in his mind, the more resentful he became of the officers’ ongoing rivalry in kitting out their bunkers. ‘Now they’re makin’ log lounge chairs. Guess those fellas think we’re gonna be sittin’ back by the fireside ’til kingdom come.’
One afternoon in the summer of 1943, he was sitting on guard duty, carving decorations into a curly-birch table lamp-stand when a colonel suddenly took him by surprise. The ‘surprise’, in truth, was purely the product of the Colonel’s imagination, as of course Rokka had noticed him a way off and just hadn’t bothered to hide the piece of wood. The Colonel was some sort of inspector charged with taking stock of who knows what. He was on a typical inspection round, deemed necessary for whatever reason, collecting observations to compile into some kind of high management report, which would be distributed amongst the divisions, and possibly even read by somebody somewhere before being shoved into a file.
The Colonel was not particularly different from any other Finnish colonel, and dreamt up nothing more than the trusty classic, ‘Well, well, what have we here? What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Standin’ guard. And you know, a guard’s a kinda fella you shouldn’t just up and yell at… on account a he’s got great responsibilities to attend to.’ The Colonel’s tone of voice had made Rokka bristle instantly. He sat carving his lamp-stand in defiance, though not without glancing up into the periscope sharply and frequently.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Carvin’ a lamp-stand. Ain’t you got eyes? But it’s got its shape pretty good now. Gonna be a beauty that’s hard to beat.’
‘Don’t you know you’re on guard duty?’
‘Sure do. Why else’d I be out here? You can see for yourself I’m on guard duty, sittin’ here lookin’ in’na periscope! That’s what bein’ on guard duty is.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Rokka, Antero. No middle name.’
‘You’ll hear about this.’
The Colonel left. Rokka continued to sit calmly, carving and keeping watch. He didn’t say anything of the incident to the others in the bunker, and he was already beginning to think that maybe the Colonel’s threat had been empty when he didn’t hear anything more about it for two days. But at the end of the second day, Koskela received a phone call from Lammio with orders to send Rokka and his squad to clean up the area around the command post and decorate the path with some rounded stones along the sides. Koskela didn’t quite follow the whole command, as it sounded too absurd, even coming from Lammio. But he replied carefully into the phone, ‘Yup. I’ll convey the order.’
This ‘convey’ was Koskela’s way of establishing that he did not stand behind the command. And in a voice that announced as much, he repeated the order to Rokka. The latter was silent for a moment, then said perfectly calmly, ‘If anybody want’ssa go, you all feel free. I ain’t goin’.’
‘Why, without our leader?’ Rahikainen exclaimed, aghast. ‘But how’re a bunch of bumblin’ privates supposed to manage all by ourselves?’
‘Decorate with stones, he said…? Heeheehee!’ Vanhala snickered, giving no indication of leaving. Susling’s vote obviously fell with Rokka, as he followed his friend unconditionally.
Koskela notified Lammio of the group’s refusal, adding stiffly that he would not personally get involved any more than his position required – in other words, issuing the command and notifying them upstream of the men’s refusal to comply. Lammio then ordered Rokka to the command post, to which Rokka replied, ‘Sure, why not? I can pay ’im a call.’
He set off, humming, stooping to pick berries along the side of the path as he went. He managed to dawdle a good couple of hours on his way to the command post, causing Lammio’s irritation to attain new and unprecedented heights by the time he arrived. He stepped easily into the bunker and, unbidden, took a seat, plonking his cap onto the table. He was carrying five sturdy straws of hay skewered with berries, which he plucked off one by one and popped into his mouth as he spoke. Before Lammio had a chance to utter a word, he burst out, ‘So! What’ssa trouble?’
Lammio turned his words over in his mind for a while before he spoke. ‘Listen, Rokka. You seem determined to incite conflict with your flagrant disregard for the disciplinary code.’
‘What’ssat? You just talk straight with me. I’m a farm boy from Kannas, see, and I don’t understand all those fancy words a yours.’
‘You act as if military discipline did not concern you at all.’
‘It don’t concern me at all.’
‘Well, it’s going to concern you now.’
‘It sure ain’t gonna concern me enough to grab a besom and start sweepin’ up after you all.’
‘Besom! Might you be so kind as to answer me in Finnish?’
‘Don’t you know what a besom is? ’Swat we call a broom over in’na East. Which word you think is right? And say, when you luck out, does that mean you got lucky or you’re shit outta luck? Gaddamn it! How is it that we got men from the East an’na West squabblin’ over these things a whole war long and we ain’t got nothin’ figgered out?’