‘Who is it?’ somebody asked Mielonen in a low voice. But the latter answered, ‘I don’t know. They’ll say it soon. I don’t know any of the government officials. Somebody over there’s spoutin’ hot air.’
Mielonen was from Savo, somewhere just past Kuopio. He was a little young and self-important, but he was fairly sensible. When assembling the command group, the Captain had selected him as its leader, which further elevated Mielonen’s sense of importance. ‘The Captain and I arranged it,’ he was wont to explain. And to the queries the men directed to him, he would respond with an all-knowing air, ‘Well, obviously that’s where it should be taken. Where else?’
Even he didn’t know anything about government secretaries, though. ‘That rrriffraff?’
The speech started after the news broadcast. First there was a quiet rustling of paper, then a low whisper and a small cough.
‘My fellow Finns. Without any prior declaration of war, the armed forces of the Soviet Union have launched repeated attacks in violation of the Finnish border. Our defense forces have put down each of these attacks, but refrained from transgressing onto Soviet territory. Because of these continuing violations of our neutrality, the administration considers Finland and the Soviet Union to be in a state of war…’
More detailed information about the border violations followed, as well as a special report on the government’s response. Finally, the Secretary shifted into sentimental gear, warming the hearts of the Finnish people:
‘Great changes in the political landscape have once again presented us with a great trial. For the second time in a short while, the men of Finland are being called upon to defend their families and their homeland. We have desired nothing but peace: the peace to build this nation and to develop it toward ever greater prosperity. But our enemy’s thirst for power has not permitted us that opportunity. War is never something that we wish for, but we want even less the renunciation of our freedom and our independence. As in the darkest days of the Winter War, the people of Finland will stand united in the struggle to defend our freedom. Our army, tried and true, stands at the nation’s border, guided by the leadership of Marshal Mannerheim, and is prepared to strike back at every attack. And this time, we are not alone. The great German army has already dealt devastating blows upon our common enemy. Our faith in ultimate victory is unshakeable. So, trusting in the justice of our position, we enter into battle in the name of all we hold sacred, and all we hold dear…’
‘Hey, guys! They’re bringing out the cannons…’
From behind a bend in the road they could hear the snorting of horses and voices urging them on: ‘C’mon now. Whatta ya nibblin’ at… Git!’
The first cannon came into view. It was a three-incher, pulled by a team of frothy, sweaty horses. The guys on horseback were slapping their animals, trying to coax them up the slope, and the cannon was lurching so badly on the miserable road that all the baggage tied to it kept rolling all over the place.
The men transporting the cannons were reservists, many of whom were old men. They tried to help the horses along by pushing the cannons, but the horses’ speed was such that they actually just ended up pulling the men. Rushing along at the rear was one small, older reservist. Streams of sweat had drawn stripes down his dust-covered face, his visor sat askew between one eye and his ear, and his belt was sagging under the weight of his heavy bags of ammunition. His shirt had bunched up over his belt, and the couple of buttons he’d left open revealed a thick, flannel undershirt bearing the mark ‘Int. 40’. His trousers were too long for him, and because he didn’t have any boots – only leather shoes – he had tucked the bottoms of the legs into his socks. So the ankles of his socks, which were held up with safety-pins, were a bit overstuffed. When the team of horses picked up the pace at the base of the hill, he stumbled after them in a desperate half-run, too fixated on his hopeless pursuit to so much as glance around him.
The evening sunlight filtered through the spruce trees onto the road, striking the swarms of insects hovering above it and dispersing as the cannons drove through. Even in the somber darkness of the spruce grove, the summer evening’s calm beauty was palpable. The moss glistened green in the falling light, and the metal cannons flashed in the shafts of sun that filtered through the branches.
Wheels rattled, horses snorted, men shouted and the Secretary spoke:
‘…courageous men of Finland. We were born free, we have lived in freedom, and we will stand with our heads held high against anyone who desires to wrest that freedom from us. Our path is clear, and we know it well. The great deeds of our fathers have paved the way that lies before us; that is the precious legacy they have left us.’
The old reservist ran panting behind his cannon. The machine-gunners standing on the side of the road had ceased listening to the Secretary, and were staring in wonder at the cannons instead. There was something grand in their approach – in spite of the desperate old man, who aroused pity in many of them.
‘They really shouldn’t be sending guys like that out here,’ somebody muttered. But Private Salo had fallen completely under the spell of the three-incher, which in truth was something of a vintage model. His cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth as manfully he shoved his hands in his pockets, boasting, ‘Take a look at those guns, boys. Won’t take long to clear out the neighbors when these babies start to blow.’
The developments on the Eastern Front had shaken up Lahtinen’s righteous convictions somewhat. He looked uneasy when the others questioned him on such topics, and he now sheathed even his critiques in a mantle of goodwill. He still tried to rein in the others when their zealousness verged on the excessive, though. And so, in response to Salo’s speech, he said, ‘Humph. Herrings are a little slim for a Christmas dinner. Rumor has it they’ve got some of that stuff over on the other side, too. I mean, if we can push back the neighbors that easy, well, swell. But I’m afraid anything we send over’s gonna come right back at us. And how.’
‘I dunno what kinda weapons they got. But it don’t look like they got much down there at Bialystok. Seems like they’re havin’ a purty rough time, but I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.’
‘Yeah, well, of course it’s like that when somebody blindsides you… look, I’m just saying you oughtta cool it… it’s like you’re asking for it… and things aren’t always going quite the way they say they are…’
‘I dunno. I heard they had to tie our Ostrobothnian boys to the trees to keep them from heading over here before they was supposed to… Our neighbors are gonna see what you get for picking a fight with somebody smaller than you. Just like in the Winter War.’
The argument was cut short by a rumbling starting up a little way off.
‘They’re driving to the positions over there. Things are gonna get cookin’, boys.’
They glanced around at one another, trying to avoid eye contact. Then they returned to the campfires in silence. The card players were still at it. ‘Lintu’s dealing. Can we bet cigarettes? I’m out of cash. Yeah, that’s fine. Ach! One over, goddamn it.’
Everything was in order, but some men were still fiddling around needlessly with their equipment. Silence didn’t really suit them just then, as it was too easy to fill up with the fantastic visions they were trying not to think about. Half-unconsciously, the men were mentally preparing themselves for what was to come. They stayed up late that night. Bits of information trickled in from here and there, always compounding their sense of gravity. Some reserve regiments had set up camp along the side of the main road. Somebody knew about the massive amount of artillery that was standing at the ready in the depots. Some group had sent a patrol across the border and returned two men short.