Hale nodded in response. As he turned away from the corporal to follow his instructions, he could hear the faint sound of the older man grunting as he pulled himself up into the birch tree. Hale carefully crept forward looking for an ideal spot from which to spring an ambush. He found it in the form of a thick trunked oak tree about halfway back to the Russian camp.
He put the tree between the camp and himself. Leaning up against it with his back, he slid downward to a sitting position on the frozen earth. His mouth watered as the smell of sizzling pork from the Russian camp washed over him. Taking the carbine off of his back, he laid it across his lap. He then watched patiently as the reflection of light grew in the metal of the weapon. Every time he exhaled weapon momentarily disappeared as the steam from his breath shrouded the weapon in a blanket of gray.
As his thoughts began to drift, he was jerked back into the present by the crack of Pekka’s rifle as the weapon roared. The faint voices he could hear from the camp stopped, and turned to shouting. A moment later, the sound of Pekka’s rifle once again pierced the forest. Within the camp, the sounds of confusion intensified.
Several shots boomed out from the enemy camp in random directions, The bastards haven’t figured out where he is a yet. Hale thought.
Several minutes passed as Hale watched the golden light of the sun slowly make its way lower and lower down the birch tree in front of him. Cold from sitting in the snow, he shivered as his mind began to slip into a memory of a warm summer day. His day dreaming was interrupted as another shot rang out from Pekka’s direction.
Back in the Soviet camp excited voices erupted. A moment later they returned fire. All the shots went in the direction of Pekka. They’ve figured out where he’s at. Hale thought. The gunfire, a mixture of single shot bolt action rifles and a higher pitched automatic, reached a crescendo, then fell silent, They’ll be coming soon.
Silence once again descended upon the forest as the two opposing groups reached a stalemate. Hale shivered as he waited patiently for the Russians to work up the nerve to charge Pekka’s position. He didn’t have to wait long.
Suddenly, a wave of automatic weapon’s fire erupted from the Soviet camp and a handful of screams pierced the silence. Pekka responded to the wall of lead with a single shot. As the guns fell silent for a moment Hale could hear the sound of the enemy soldier’s boots crunching in the snow moving toward him. He took the carbine from its spot resting on his knees, ensured a round was chambered, and made ready.
Another round of automatic gunfire erupted from the camp in the direction of Pekka. This time there was no response, Did they get him? Hale wondered.
Before he had a chance to do anything, three soldiers of the Soviet Union in their dark green overcoats, rushed by his position. The group was so focused on reaching Pekka, they failed to see him as they ran by. There should be at least one more man out there. The one with the machinegun is he still in the camp? Hale wondered.
Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach over the missing man, Hale was forced to take action. He stood and carefully took aim at the back of the soldier closest to Pekka. Satisfied that his shot would fly true, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. He was startled as the carbine exploded to life a moment before his own rifle would have. Despite the surprise, Hale’s aim was true. The man closest to Pekka toppled forward, face first, into the frozen earth.
The other two men dove for the ground as a shot rang out from Pekka. Hale saw some snow spring up from the ground next to one of the prone Soviets. Pekka missed! The two Soviets were gazing in the direction of Pekka. My gambit of shooting the lead man worked. They think my shot came from Pekka!
Hale took careful aim at one of the Russians who was unaware that he lurked behind them. He carefully drew a bead on the back of the man’s head with the iron sights of his carbine. Satisfied he had a good shot, he held his breath and started to squeeze the trigger. He was interrupted as two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around.
Before Hale could bring his carbine up to shoot this interloper, a large fist smashed into his face. Momentarily stunned, he staggered back and dropped his weapon. As the carbine hit the snow packed earth, he looked into the grinning face of the Soviet Sergeant. Hale dove for the weapon. Before his hands could reach the gun, the Sergeant grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and punched him in the face again.
Hale’s head swam as he staggered back. The Sergeant, with a look of pure delight on his face, stepped forward, snatched up Hale’s rifle, and threw it away.
“What the hell?” Hale muttered.
The sergeant held both his of his hands up in front of his body and gestured with his fingers for Hale to come toward him with a smile and said, “Srazis’ so mnoy!”
Hale, wanting to avoid a fair fight reached for the pukko in the sheathe on his belt. It wasn’t there. The Russian grinned at him, pulled the pukko from his own belt and said, “Ishchu eto?”
Hale, not knowing what the Sergeant just said, seethed with rage, as the Russian held the blade his Grandfather had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Two more shots behind him thundered across the forest. They were of a slightly different pitch than Pekka’s gun. Pekka must be alive! The two soldiers just tried to kill him.
Losing his patience with Hale, the sergeant stepped forward and tried to stab Hale with the knife in his right hand. Anticipating the move, Hale dropped to one knee, as he simultaneously slapped the side of the Russian’s arm with his left hand sending the pukko thrust just past his left ear. He then rolled to his right side and came up on his feet. The Sergeant turned and faced Hale as two men started circling each other warily searching for an opening.
Without warning, the Sergeant lunged at Hale. Surprised, Hale failed to avoid the Soviet’s grasping left arm as it swept him up and pulled him close. Hale attempted to break the grip of the stronger man, and failed. He caught a whiff of the Sergeant’s foul breath as the man grinned down at him.
Hale saw his own death in the man’s eyes as the Sergeant raised the pukko blade to deliver a killing blow. Hale, managed to wiggle one of his arms loose and tried to break the grasp of the Russian. It didn’t work. As the blade began to descend towards Hale’s face a single shot rang out. A spot of red blossomed on the large man’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground dragging Hale with him.
Another shot pierced the silence and slammed into the oak tree behind Hale, missing him by an inch. It was one of the soldiers that had charged past him. As the man worked the bolt on his rifle, Hale grabbed a pistol out of the dead sergeant’s holster and shot the enemy. The other Soviet had turned to face Hale and was taking aim with his rifle.
Hale wouldn’t be able to bring his pistol up before the man fired a shot. Fortunately for Hale, a bullet slammed into the back of the man’s head. This sent him toppling forward as he fell to the earth. Hale saw that the back of his head was a misshapen reddish goo. Thank you Pekka. Hale thought.
Out of danger, Hale took his pukko from the dead sergeant’s hand and slipped it into his belt sheathe. He then searched the corpse. He found the expected bottle of vodka, a wad of rubel bank notes, and a pair of dice. Curious, he cast the dice on the ground and they both landed with the six-side facing up. A lucky throw. Hale thought. Deciding to try his luck again with the dead man’s dice, he cast them one more time. He rolled another double six. Now I understand why you have so many banknotes.