“Hale! Press the clutch down to shift gears!” Sergeant Kivi barked into his ear gruffly.
As Hale attempted to shift into second gear the engine began to stall, “See-saw dammit!” Roared Kivi.
Hale nodded as he attempted to push down on the accelerator. At the same time, he kept his left foot on the clutch. Despite his best efforts, the truck, a Sisu sputtered and stalled, “Goddam it!” Roared Sergeant Kivi, “I told you to see-saw!”
Hale visibility shrank in his seat and said, “I’m sorry Sergeant.”
“You goddammed right you’ll be sorry! Screw this up again, and I’ll bury my boot so far up your ass, you’ll have to open your mouth, so I can scratch my toe!” Sergeant Kivi bellowed. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and added, “Start the motor and try again.”
Hale nodded, shifted the gear back to neutral, pressed in the clutch, and turned the key on the ignition. Starting with a string of sputters, and coughs, the truck roared to life, “Now try again. Shift it into first gear, gently release the clutch, and slowly press down on the accelerator.”
Hale nodded as he said, “Yes sir.”
Hale reached out and grabbed the knob on the end of the shifter and tugged it downward and to the left, “Now give it some gas and start letting up on the clutch.” Sergeant Kivi advised.
Hale let up off the clutch while simultaneously pressing down on the accelerator. With a lurch the Sisu began moving forward. Sergeant Kivi smiled, “That’s it, you’re doing it!”
Hale continued to slowly press down on the truck’s accelerator as he let up off the clutch. He watched as the speed odometer on the dashboard in front of him slowly ticked up to 15 kph. As the truck passed 15 kph the engine began to roar, “It’s time to shift to second.” Sergeant Kivi advised.
Hale swallowed hard, as he nervously nodded in acknowledgement to the order. Holding his breath, he pushed down on the clutch with his left foot, grabbed the shifter, and moved it toward the dashboard in a straight line. With a lurch, the truck shifted into second gear, and the loud roar of the engine, immediately died down to a dull hum.
He gave the truck some gas and started letting up off the clutch. Sergeant Kivi slapped him on the back, smiled and said, “You got it. Take us up to 30 kph and level off. You need to practice keeping the truck on the road. Once you get the hang of that, we’ll let you practice on a gravel road. If you ever have to drive, it will likely be on a gravel or dirt road.”
Hale’s thoughts faded back into the present, off in the distance, on the road ahead, he saw a blurry black dot. That has to be the column. Gritting his teeth and clenching the wheel, he kept the accelerator mashed to the floor as he quickly closed the distance between himself and the vehicle ahead. The engine of his Gaz-MM truck roared in his ears as the trees whizzed by.
The vehicle slowly morphed from a black shadow on the horizon into an olive drab green twin of the Gaz-MM truck he drove. Underneath the canopy that covered the truck’s bed, he could see a squad of Russian soldiers huddling together for warmth. One of them glanced in his direction. After a moment, the Soviet man, smiled and waved. The truck bed and the men along with it, would occasionally bounce upward as the wheels struck a pothole in the gravel road.
Hale returned the smiled and saluted in the Russian fashion. He continued to close the distance to the last truck in the column. As he brought his vehicle within twenty feet of the canopied rear of the truck ahead of him, he reached over with his left hand and started rolling down the window. Finishing, he raised his right knee up to hold the steering wheel in place as he reached over and grabbed the cast iron RGD 33 hand grenade rolling and bouncing around on the bench next to him.
As his fingers clutched around it, he reached over with his left hand and twisted the top to arm it. The Soviet soldier that had smiled at him only a few moments ago forehead creased in worry, as he frowned at Hale’s continuing approach. Switching the grenade to his left hand, Hale reached out of the window and tossed it toward the opening in the rear of the Soviet truck. Which was now only a few feet ahead of the front bumper on his own vehicle.
Hale’s eyes followed the grenade as it lazily arced into the canopy covered rear of the truck in front of him. The man who had been watching him carefully eyes widened in shock. Reacting quickly, the man dropped to his knees. He frantically tried to grasp the grenade as precious seconds ticked by. Stubbornly the metal cylinder rolled around on the floor just out of his reach.
Mission accomplished, Hale, slammed on the breaks of his Gaz-MM. As the metal discs of the breaks screamed in protest, his wheels began to skid on the loose gravel. Trying to maintain control, he clutched the steering wheel as hard as he could. The truck fought him as it attempted to turn the steering wheel of its own accord and wrench it out of his hands.
As the rear wheels of his own truck began to skid to the side, and the front of his truck started to turn to the left, the Soviet truck, now some hundred feet or so in front of him, exploded in a hail of shrapnel. A moment later, a piece of smoldering metal penetrated the gas tank of the burning truck. The rear of the truck lifted off of the ground as the gas tank exploded into a reddish orange fireball.
The shockwave from the explosion caused Hale to lose what little control of his own truck he had, and the vehicle turned completely sideways as it skidded down the roadway. The Gaz-MM’s center of gravity was hopelessly compromised as the vehicle rolled onto its side and began sliding down the road. This continued for nearly a hundred feet as Hale’s truck came to rest just a few short feet from the smoldering remains of the enemy truck he had destroyed.
He rubbed his head and groaned. At some point during the chaos, his head had smashed into the steering wheel. How did I get here? Hale asked himself with his inner voice.
Fighting to stay conscious, the memory of the afternoon’s event came flooding back to him. After he had broken contact with the Russians that pursued him that morning, he had used his skis to try and keep pace with the Soviet column on the road as they resumed their northward journey. For two hours he pushed his body as hard as he could to try and keep up.
His arms and legs became leaden with fatigue as his breath came in increasingly ragged gasps. The cold air burned the walls of his lungs as he was forced to breathe deeply of the frigid air to keep the pace. With no other choice, given the physical limitations of his body, he was forced to slow down.
Despite the freezing temperature, beads of sweat ran down his back beneath his great coat. This heat is miserable, but if I open my coat to cool myself off, I’ll make myself sick, and then I won’t be able to fight. Finland needs every last one of us to hold the line against these damned invaders. They are so many, and we are so few. His eyes shifted to a steely gaze as he continued his thought. Despite their numbers, they will learn what it means to earn the ire of a Fin.
As the sound of the column drifted away to the north, the air was filled with complete silence. It was as if all of the forest denizens somehow knew of the invading army and tried to remain as quiet as possible, so as not to attract the invader’s attention. Hale decided to angel toward the road. Perhaps one of the bastards will break down, and I can use their truck to catch up with the column.
He held onto this hope for nearly two hours as he slowly made his way northward over the snow. As kilometer after kilometer slid by, he began to completely lose hope. Finally, his eyes caught a dark shadow up ahead on the roadway. He quickened his pace to close the distance to the strange shadow and discern what it was. Could it be? Hale thought.