Individual men could not be seen at any distance as the crack Russian regiments which were now being flung into the battle were all equipped with snow shirts; but as wave after wave of them came past the island towards the firing line the great, flat ice field seemed to undulate with their perpetual motion. From what Gregory could gather, their morale was good, as they pressed forward in spite of the shells from the Finnish batteries which were exploding among them, and all those who passed near enough to the island to recognize Voroshilov raised a cheer for him, which he acknowledged from time to time with a wave of his hand.
Gregory had seen the bombardment which the Germans had out over on March the 2lst, 1918, when they launched their last offensive in the first Great War and broke through between the British and French Armies. That was said to be the most devastating that had ever taken place in the history of the world, but from what he could judge the one that he was now witnessing was even greater.
Major Woltat told him that the Soviet artillery was putting over 300,000 shells a day and, from the sector that Gregory could see, he had little reason to doubt this estimate. The whole Finnish line from Viborg in the north to a point far away in the south west was one continuous ripple of light from the shellbursts. The hundreds of explosions per minute merged into one unceasing roar that made the air quiver and rocked the senses.
The island on which they stood was in a constant state of vibration as though an earthquake threatened or a concealed volcano was rumbling beneath it, and the Finnish coast, now obscured by a dense pall of smoke which sparkled like a black sequin dress with innumerable shifting flashes, appeared such a veritable hell that it seemed utterly impossible for anything to remain living upon it.
By comparison the Finnish artillery retaliation seemed only like a few batteries doing a practice shoot with all the economy which they would have had to exercise in peace time; yet it was miraculous that they continued to fire at all, and the Russians were so massed that every Finnish shell did deadly execution. Here and there the Finnish heavies blew holes right through the ice causing men and horses to plunge to their death in the freezing water and scattering a great hail of ice splinters, as deadly as the steel fragments of the shell itself, to whiz through the air killing and wounding scores of Russians.
They remained on the island watching this incredibly terrible spectacle for just over an hour. Then Voroshilov said something to Budenny, which made the old Dragoon laugh, and, turning, led the way back to the sleighs; the whole party following. This looked to Gregory just the opportunity for which he had been waiting, so hurrying up to van Geisenheim, he asked the German if he could possibly request the Marshal to give him a moment; but von Geisenheim shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but I'm sure it would be useless. You see, he is intensely nationalistic and resents any suggestion that Russia is not capable of concluding this campaign successfully without help from Germany. In consequence, he won't even speak to any of us in public except on ceremonial occasions, in case it is thought that he is seeking our advice. But I'm having an interview with him to morrow and I'll ask then if I can present you to him."
It was a maddening situation but there was nothing that Gregory could do about it so with bitter disappointment he accompanied the others back to Battle Headquarters.
On Thursday evening he asked von Geisenheim if he had been successful in obtaining an interview with the Marshal for him and the General said: "I'm afraid I haven't managed to fix any definite appointment but he said that he would send for you as soon as he is able to spare a moment," so Gregory could only endeavour to possess his soul in patience.
All through Friday and Saturday he waited in the German
Mess hoping for the Marshal's summons; but Voroshilov was away long before dawn on both days visiting various sectors of the front. Unlike most modern Generals who spend nearly all their time in conferences far behind the lines, he maintained his old routine which had won him his brilliant victories twenty years earlier. Utterly fearless of death, he was always to be found in the most dangerous forward areas observing things for himself while daylight lasted, and it was only when he got back to camp at night that lie reviewed the general situation with his Staff from the day's reports.
The battle for Viborg raged with unceasing ferocity. By Saturday, March the 2nd, the Russians had fully established themselves on the coast south of the city. The Mannerheim Line was still holding in the north, at Taipale, on Lake Ladoga, but in the south it had now been completely outflanked and nothing except one wing of the small exhausted Finnish Army lay between the Soviet host and an advance direct on Helsinki.
By Sunday morning Gregory was becoming desperate. It was eight days since he had left Kandalaksha. Instructions might be arriving at any time now for the prisoners to be transferred to Moscow. Even when he was allowed to see Voroshilov he had yet to get over the big fence of securing from him an order for their release, and in the desperate conditions of this ghastly weather it might take a considerable time to get the order through. Except by railway, communications with Kandalaksha were most unreliable. Kuporovitch had told him how he always sent his reports by courier as the quickest and surest way during the worst months of the winter. It seemed certain to Gregory now that under the pressure of his own affairs Voroshilov had forgotten his promise to give him an interview; so he made up his mind that, legitimate means of getting to see the Marshal having failed, the time had come when he must resort to desperate measures; he would throw all military regulations overboard and attempt to beard Voroshilov personally on his return to camp that night.
Although Gregory had no uniform his civilian clothes did not make him a conspicuous figure about the camp as everybody there was muffled in fur or leather garments of one kind or another. Having dined with the Germans he went out and took up a position among the trees from which he could observe the front of the long hutment that contained the Marshal's quarters. After a few moments the bitter cold forced him to start walking up and down, but as a number of people were constantly moving about the camp, and he kept at some distance from the building, he did not excite the attention of either of the sentries who were on guard outside it. An hour later his teeth were chattering in his head but at last he heard the note of a musical klaxon horn and the Marshal's fleet of cars came twisting down the woodland road.
As the klaxon sounded Gregory moved swiftly forward. At the same moment the sentries shouted something in Russian and he guessed that they were turning out the guard to receive the Marshal. When the leading car pulled up Gregory was still about thirty yards from the road and he began to run; three fur clad figures stepped out of the car as he reached a point halfway between them and the hutments. Pulling up in their path he came to attention and saluted smartly; but even as he did so he caught the sound of running footsteps behind him. Before lie had time to open his mouth the guard had seized him by the arms and dragged him 'aside.
"Marshall Marshal! I have a request," he cried in German; but one of the soldiers clapped a gloved hand over his mouth, muffling his cries, and Voroshilov walked on, followed by his officers who seemed scarcely to have noticed the incident. With kicks and curses the Russians hauled Gregory across the snow towards the end of the long hutment. Two minutes later he was thrown head foremost into the guard room.
Chapter XXX
Voroshilov Signs Two Orders
As Gregory lay bruised and panting on the guard room floor be realized that his crushing fear for Erika had become such an obsession that it had led him into making a blunder which might prove disastrous to them all. If only he had fought down his impatience a little longer the Marshal might have seen him in a day or two and, even if his friends had left Kandalaksha by then, with an order of release from Voroshilov, there might still have been time to intercept them on their journey south and prevent them from being handed over to the Germans in Moscow.