Hale cast a glance in the direction of the moon, “The moon is setting. That means dawn isn’t far off. How much time do we have?”
Maki pulled up the left sleeve of his coat, and then several more layers of clothing underneath until he found his wrist watch, “About two hours until dawn.”
“How shall I attack this time? I’ve got three grenades left.” Hale said.
“I would say to try and conserve at least one for our attack on the group assaulting the village.” The Lieutenant replied.
“Very well that sounds prudent. I think that I should try sneaking up on them all the way again. Perhaps I can find more grenades.” Hale said.
Maki made eye contact and placed a hand on Hale’s shoulder, “Just be careful. With our previous two attacks, the guards are probably very alert. Not to mention the fact that dawn is near.”
Hale gave Maki a reassuring smile, “Piece of cake, let’s get going.”
The two men turned their skis toward the Soviet column that resided on the road and began moving. They skied in silence for about ten minutes before Hale raised his right fist into the air. He turned to Maki and whispered, “I think this is close enough. Let’s lose the skis.”
Maki nodded and the two men removed their skis. They leaned them up against a stout looking birch tree and carefully hung their packs from two of the mighty tree’s lower branches. Maki, pulled his PPD 34 from his shoulder, and checked the weapon to ensure all was in readiness.
Hale slowly crept forward toward the sound of the idling engines. The moon had set, so there wasn’t as much light to see by. He grew more and more nervous as he made his way further and further eastward without spotting a guard, The two previous times, I would been past the guard by now. Where is he?
Hale’s thought was answered by a shadow up ahead blocking the flicking light from the camp fires off in the distance. There he is. Why is he so close to the camp?
Hale concealed himself behind a tree and observed the guard for several minutes. He doesn’t appear to be moving. I guess I can try sneaking up on him, but if he alerts, and I’m that close to the road, I’m fucked.
Gritting his teeth, Hale made his way slowly toward the guard. Just like he did the last time he approached a guard, the young Finn angled to go around the man, instead of heading right toward him. As Hale drew closer, he saw, that the guard’s back was turned toward him, If he stays where he is at, this is going to be easy.
Hale slowly crept up behind the man. A moment before he reached the guard, the man started to whirl around, and grab for the whistle hanging around his neck, Too late. Hale thought. He a stuck hand over the man’s mouth, and used his other to drag the sharp edge of his pukko blade across the man’s neck.
The Russian struggled for several moments as his lifeblood flowed out and dripped onto the snow below him. Satisfied that the life had left him, Hale slowly lowered the corpse to the ground. He quickly rifled through his victim’s pockets. As before on a perimeter guard, he didn’t find any vodka. Instead of the alcohol he coveted, he managed to find a pocketful of 7.62mm bullets and a pack of Russian cigarettes.
He pocketed the cigarettes, wiped his blade on the man’s green pants, and carefully removed his overcoat. He pulled the coat on to conceal his own white one that gave him away as a Finn and set off toward the nearby road.
Like before, he spied several figures huddled around the flickering light of the campfires. The campfires were near the road close to the idling olive drab green Gaz-MM transport trucks. Each group of sleeping Soviets, were arrayed in a tight circle around the small source of heat. They used the warmth being cast by the crackling flames and each other, in an attempt to stay warm in the sub-zero temperatures.
Hale quietly tiptoed up to the closest group of slumbering soldiers, careful not to make any sound as he approached. Luckily this group didn’t have a cougher, and all seemed to be in a deep slumber. He reached the closest man, put his hand over the man’s mouth, and with a quick jerk of his arm, ended the nameless Russian’s war forever.
Hale would never know that he ended the life, not of a Russian but of a Siberian. This man, a father of two had been swept up into the Red Army against his will, and made to fight in Stalin’s wars. Now, on a frozen field far from home, his family would never know his fate. Never again would he feel the tender embrace of his wife’s arms, the adoring smiles of his children, or the satisfaction he got from watching his children play.
For Hale, the man represented an invader who must be destroyed to save his home. With each instance such as this, an innocent man killing an innocent man, the horrors of the conflict grew. This horror had been perpetrated by the greed and hunger for power of a single man. While men fought and died, he lay in his warm comfortable bed in Moscow hundreds of miles away.
This evil man, through lies and deceit, had perpetrated this tragedy that was unfolding in the frozen forests of Karelia. A tragedy that put fathers, brothers, and sons against each other for no other purpose than his greed. Comrade Staling slept on as men continued to die from greed.
Hale methodically repeated this process over and over, until all seven of the men sleeping by the fire’s lifeblood leaked into the hungry Finnish soil. With each new victim a piece of the young Finn’s innocence left him forever. His grisly task complete, he took the time to methodically searched each body.
Besides the usual large quantity of vodka and cigarettes, the young sniper came up with two grenades, and a PPD 34 for himself, What luck! With two of these wonder weapons, we are sure to be able to make a difference during the stand at Kivennapa.
Hale quietly slipped the sub-machine gun onto his shoulder and checked his surroundings. None of the men belonging to the squads of the nearest fires had stirred as Hale went about his grisly task. I should move down the road away from the village.
Hale started his slow silent moved southward to the next group. As he focused on his steps and making the least amount of sound, he failed to notice the driver of the truck closest to him wake up and watch him. The man, noticing the white coat underneath Hale’s stolen olive drab great coat, pretended to be asleep as Hale drew abreast of the Gaz-MM’s door.
Without warning, the Russian flung the door open. The door, emblazoned with the Red Star of the Soviet Union, narrowly missed the startled Finn. The man lunged at Hale tackling him to the ground. Hale was completely surprised as the weight of the driver hit him on his left side. Grunting Hale fell toward the right and stuck the frozen earth.
As the truck driver wrapped his arms around Hale, he started yelling for help. Hale, desperate to escape, managed to get a hand on his holstered pistol. As the men from the nearby campsite began to stir, Hale, elbowed the driver in the abdomen. This won him a few inches of precious separation.
The Soviet, grunted in surprise and loosened his grip for the barest moment. Hale, taking advantage of his efforts, shoved his pistol against the driver’s chest and pulled the trigger three times. The man’s body shuddered as each bullet pierced his skin. By the third shot, the enemy soldier offered no further resistance and collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Hale, reacting quickly, saw the Sergeant stirring in the cab of the truck. He pulled a grenade from his belt, twisted the cap, and threw it into onto the empty drivers’ side seat. He then turned toward the nearby campsite, where all of the bleary-eyed Russians, were coming to their feet in alarm. Without emotion, he pulled the newly won PPD 34 off his shoulder, and sprayed the entire clip of bullets into them.