The corporal’s statement was punctuated by the loud shot from the 37mm PstK/36 anti-tank gun. The projectile slammed into the armor of an advancing T-26 light tank causing it to explode. Flame shot out of the port holes of the tank as it rolled to a stop and the men inside screamed in agony as they boiled alive.
The gun crew worked quickly prepare the PstK/36 for the withdraw. As they did so, the remainder of the Finnish survivors stood and fled. Half of them were immediately shot in the back by the tidal wave of olive drab green advancing toward their collapsing position. Hale, desperate to buy the gun crew the time they needed to pull the precious weapon to safety looked about for a faster firing weapon.
Miraculously, a PPD 34 magazine, covered in gore and mud lay at his feet, “Where did you come from?” Hale said.
Placing his rifle on his left shoulder, he drew his PPD 34 from his right shoulder, ejected the empty magazine, and slammed the gory one home. The mess covered magazine, slid into place with a satisfying click. Hale smiled, Judging by the weight this magazine is full.
As the gun crew, staying low, began to pull their gun down the muddy street, Hale stood and hosed down the Russians with his PPD 34. Surprised by his attack, hundreds of Russians dove to the ground seeking cover. Two dozen of them would never rise again.
Ammunition expended; Hale ducked back down behind the wagon. Desperate for another weapon to help stem the tide, he looked around. His eyes landed on the legless torso of a dead Finn nearby. His gray uniform was covered in mud, blood, and guts. Hale ignored the horrific scene. Instead his eyes focused on the two grenades clipped to the man’s suspenders, he smiled.
He exposed himself for a moment as he reached over to pull the body close. Gunfire erupted. The bullets smacking into the mud all around him as he hauled the body back under cover. He quickly unclipped the two grenades, pulled the pins, and heaved them in the direction of the Russians.
As soon as they exploded, he stood, put a bullet into a Russian that was too stupid to dive for cover, and ran up the main street of the village northward. As he passed the raging fire that used to be the hospital, he ducked into the alleyway where Liv and the sleigh had been parked, it was empty.
Smiling, his eyes followed the trail caused by the sleigh as it had exited the alleyway to the east and then turned north, Good, they followed my instructions.
Hale ejected the clip from his rifle, and slammed a new one home. He peeked around the corner of the church. The Russians had reached the barricade and where pouring through the hole created by the tank shot that destroyed the heavy machine gun crew.
He took a deep breath and held it. Taking aim at a Russian he pulled the trigger. Before his first victim could hit the ground, he operated the bolt on his rifle and slew another. He repeated this move over and over until the Russians were able to pinpoint his position. A barrage of bullets slammed into the corner of the church forcing the young sniper to take cover.
His magazines empty, he looked around to see if any other Finnish soldiers were about, there were none. Father, I hope you have a good lead on these jackals, I don’t have anything left to buy you more time.
Hale turned and ran toward the tree line behind the church. As he ran, he noticed the tracks left by the family sleigh as they turned northward and followed the tree line. Heading right for the road out of town. Godspeed. Hale thought. As Hale ran, a few Russians caught sight of him, raised their rifles, and fired at the fleeing Finn. They missed.
As he reached the tree line, a thought occurred to him, My first magazine still has three bullets in it.
Smiling Hale dug the clip out of his pocket, ejected the empty magazine from his gun, and slammed the partially loaded one home. Now I wait for the right opportunity.
He withdrew into the tree line and waited. As the adrenaline left his body, he began to shiver. The mud and blood covered suit he wore did little to protect him from the oppressive cold of a Finnish December, I should have taken a moment to grab my coat.
After what felt like an eternity of shaking in the bitter cold, a pair of Russians appeared in the alleyway between the church and a house. The two men, appeared to be shirking their responsibility as they lit two cigarettes and began speaking with each other. Hale started to rub his hands together to return feeling to his frozen appendages.
The young sniper crept to the edge of the tree line and looked to his left and right. There were no other Russians in site, This might work, but I need them to come to me.
Hale decided to gamble, he set his rifle behind a tree so that the Russians wouldn’t be able to see it and stepped out into the open, “Hey Shitheads. I’m freezing, can I come back into the village?”
The two Russians immediately ceased their conversation and turned toward the sound of Hale’s voice. Fortunately for Hale, they didn’t understand Finnish. The Red Army Soldiers, neither over the age of twenty, raised their rifles. The one on the left barked, “Stoy!”
Hale raised his arms and showed the enemy soldiers his palms, “Whatever you say.”
He waited patiently as the two Russians ran toward him, their rifles pointed his chest. He coyly began stepping back toward the tree line, “Stoy!” The Russian barked again.
Ignoring the order, Hale took a large step back, snatched up his rifle, and put a bullet into the vocal Russian. As he fired, he smiled and said, “Stoy this you swine.”
Hale’s un-aimed shot crashed into the chest of the man knocking him off his feet. The other soldier stopped running and fired off a shot at Hale as the young sniper dove for cover behind a tree. Rolling back to his feet, he emerged from the protection of the trunk on the other side of it, raised his rifle, and put a bullet right into the shocked open mouth of the remaining Russian.
Wasting no time, Hale ran to the first Russian corpse. He quickly removed the man’s olive drab greatcoat and red star emblazoned hat. Next, he snatched up the man’s pack and ammo satchel, and then turned and ran for the tree line. Finding cover behind a large oak tree, he quickly put the coat and hat on.
Next, he plunged his hands into the ammo satchel. He felt the cold metal of dozens of bullets with his fingertips. Smiling at his good fortune he set about reloading all three of his magazines. Finishing, he counted up the bullets he had left, Thirty, just enough to load my PPD 34 magazine.
As Hale worked to place bullets into his sub-machine gun’s gore encrusted magazine, a group of Russians arrived to investigate the gun fire. Seeing the slain corpses of their comrades, the squad’s Sergeant, immediately began barking orders. The squad, quickly fanned out and began advancing toward the tree line, as the Soviet Sergeant, bent down to investigate the coatless corpse.
Hale, ignoring the Russians, continued loading the magazine of his PPD 34. Finishing, he stole a quick glance to see where the advancing Russians were. The nearest one, saw Hale, raised his rifle and put a bullet into the tree, about two inches from Hale’s head as he yelled, “Vot.” Repeatedly.
Hale, exhaled, ejecting a large cloud of steam from his mouth. Snatching up a rock from the ground, he heaved it to his right. The movement and noise of the rock hitting the ground, caused all seven of the advancing Russians to turn and fire in the direction of the rock. Hale emerged from behind the oak in the opposite direction that he had thrown the rock.
Yelling, he hosed down the squad of Russians with his PPD 34. As the last Soviet toppled over, the Sergeant stood and took aim at Hale. His weapon, empty, Hale dove for cover as the Sergeant squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared sending the bullet into the space that Hale had just occupied a moment before. Like before, he rolled into a crouching position, on the other side of the tree trunk, drew his pistol and put a shot into the Sergeant’s head.