Fighting back tears, he holstered his pistol, picked up his rifle, and pulled himself up to the edge of the gully. His stomach sank at the sight that greeted him. The survivors of the other two squads had reached Pekka. Inwardly cursing, Hale slipped back down into the gully and pulled his last clip of ammunition out of his pocket. This isn’t going to be enough.
He opened up his white overcoat and patted his bandoliers to check for more ammo. There were no more bullets, Fuck!
Taking a moment to calm his nerves, Hale peeked up over the edge of the gully. The Russians had pulled Pekka to his feet. The gathered crowd of Red Army soldiers had made a lane for a new figure that approached. Hale’s looked at this man, his olive drab green overcoat was of a better cut than the rest of the group. On his overcoat, affixed to the collar were three red squares. Squinting, to see the man’s features, Hale’s heart sank, The Commissar!
Hale watched as the man who had captured him the day before reached Pekka. He could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly the Commissar punched Pekka in the gut. Pekka crumpled at the blow, but the two soldiers’ firm grip on his arms kept him on his feet. The Commissar, shook his black gloved hand.
Enraged, Hale raised his rifle and took aim at one of the men surrounding Pekka and the Commissar. Calming his rage, he held his breath and pulled the trigger. A moment later the impact of the bullet knocked the unfortunate off his feet, and he tumbled to the ground face first.
The rest of the squad, knowing that Hale was alone, turned raised their rifles, and fired in his direction. Hale ducked back down into the gully and worked the metal bolt on his Mosin-Nagant. He calmly stood back up and ended the life of another young Red Army soldier just as the rest of the group were raising their rifles. Seeing him reappear they quickly took aim.
With a loud roar, the Soviets let loose a barrage of fire in unison. This time the bullets flew and buzzed around Hale. They know precisely where I’m at. Hale thought.
The Russians bellowed in unison and charged. Hale, down to his last three bullets, was forced to turn and flee from the advancing Red Army soldiers. I will return for you as you did for me my friend. Hale thought as he fled from the advancing tide of Red Army soldiers.
Chapter 5
Hale stumbled through the woods in a head long rush. Branches and thorns grabbed at his white coat as he hurtled through the underbrush. Fear drove him forward as his lungs heaved in protest from the effort of running in the frigid air through the snow. After half an hour of running, Hale collapsed in exhaustion and laid on the ground. He rolled over and looked back the direction he had just come.
Expecting to see olive drab green, and red stars break over the horizon at any moment, he raised his rifle and took aim. As he waited, his breathing began to slow and his thoughts raged, How can I get Pekka back from that traitorous jackal! That coward is always surrounded by too many soldiers.
After several minutes, his breath finally stilled itself and he was able to listen. The sounds of the forest filled his ears. Absent was the sounds of boots upon snow. They didn’t follow me.
Hale stood and looked around. The sun was low on the horizon. Off to the north was a line of clouds that had advanced across the sky all afternoon, and now were nearly upon him. He pulled his pack off of his back and rummaged around in it for several moments. Pulling out a compass, he held it up with his right palm to get his bearings.
Satisfied he knew where he was, more or less at least. Hale set off toward the south west. Without his skis, the journey through the snow-covered woods was a difficult one. Even for one such as Hale who had spent his entire young life wandering through woodlands such as this in search of meat for his family’s table. The effort of pushing one’s self through the piles of snow would quickly wear down the strongest of men.
As he trudged through the thick blanket of frozen snow, his mind was cluttered with thoughts of Pekka and the recent fight with the Red Army, What could I have done to save him? Why did you run? You fucking coward, if you would have just stayed and fought a little longer, you could have saved him.
Hale’s mind raced as his brain filled with these thoughts again and again. He was becoming overwhelmed by a growing sense of guilt. His thoughts tried to coalesce around a moment that if he went left instead of right, the engagement would have turned out differently. You had no choice but to run. You were hopelessly outnumbered and they were charging right at you!
In response, another piece of Hale’s mind still raged at him. You could have stayed and fought! Heedless of the cold, he reached into his mostly white overcoat and felt his bandoliers, there were no bullets left. That doesn’t matter you could have taken bullets from the dead man at your feet!
Hale paused and leaned up against a tree. He looked up at the sky, with tears in his eyes. As he started to weep and said, “I had no choice. There was no time!”
His sudden outburst caused the woods around him to grow silent. Sighing deeply, he adjusted the rifle slung over his uninjured shoulder and continued slogging toward his destination. As he walked, the weak light of the artic sun disappeared behind the western horizon. Soon, the bank of clouds he had observed earlier, while it was still daylight, covered the sky overhead.
A snowflake lazily drifted down from the sky and tickled Hale’s nose as it found its way to the earth. A moment later another one brushed his chin as it made its way to the ground below. Then the snowflakes came a few at a time. Finally, they began falling in earnest obscuring Hale’s visibility through the dark and frosty forest.
The sound of millions of snowflakes striking the ground filled Hale’s ears as he plodded ever onward toward his destination. He walked for a few hours through the growing maelstrom of falling snow that swirled around him as the wind picked up. He shivered as he thought, Am I lost?
He paused and rummaged around in his right coat pocket for his compass. Pulling the little metal device out, he strained to see the position of the dial in the darkness. Frustrated, he slipped his pack off, and let it fall to the ground. Bending over at the waist, he rummaged around in it until he found what he was looking for. He struck a match and it flared to life. Careful to keep it sheltered from the wind, he held it up so that it cast its feeble light on the face of his compass.
Hale was relieved when he saw that he had been maintaining his course through the darkness and the storm, Southwest.
He dropped the match to the ground. The wind whisked away the small puff of smoke as it sizzled for a moment in the snow and winked out. Hale slipped his compass back into his coat pocket and pulled the heavy pack back onto his back. He grimaced as shooting pain erupted from his right shoulder. Biting his lower lip, he picked his rifle up off the ground and slipped the strap over his left shoulder.
He resumed his journey through the icy conditions. As he walked, the storm intensified until he could barely see ten feet in front of him. Despite the physically arduous trek through the snow, he began to shiver as the temperature dropped.
Approaching a rise, his teeth began to openly chatter from the cold as he started to struggle putting one foot in front of the other. His thoughts receded as his world shrank to the pain in his shoulder, and the cold. Always the cold.
As he reached the small hill, his strength began to ebb as the frightfully cold conditions drew the strength from his tired muscles. He paused for a moment at the bottom of a small knoll and looked up. All he could see were a few trees in front of him and snow falling from the sky. The snow fell with such intensity, it was as if a giant was standing over him dumping buckets of the stuff onto his head.