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One guy tried to buy on credit, promising to settle up on the next payday, but Rahikainen wasn’t interested. ‘Who knows who’ll still be here by the time the next payday rolls around? Who’s gonna be responsible for settlin’ up then?’

‘Me.’ Koskela cleared his throat and said rather hurriedly, ‘I haven’t got any money either, but if something happens, you can take my binoculars. They belong to me, not the army, and you could easily sell them to make up the difference. You won’t have any trouble finding a buyer around here, that’s for sure.’

‘Well, I believe that… yeah, sure… I didn’t mean… I mean, it’s not about the money.’ Rahikainen sounded half-ashamed, half-hurt, but in any case he shared the cigarettes.

Every one of them had taken note of the fact that Koskela had broken rank in his exchange with Rahikainen, getting involved as if the two men were equals, rather than private and officer. And from then on, Koskela interacted with all of them that way. At first the men found it strange, and many of them struggled to treat him the same way in return. None of them ever really managed to pull it off convincingly. It was a rare phenomenon in this regiment of conscripts, in which the officers were constantly trying to maintain their so-called status, even in wartime. Of course, many officers did maintain their superior status across all units, though it was hardly by means of pretentious standoffishness that they commanded the men’s respect. The marked gesture on Koskela’s part was not without effect, however. Just his presence was enough to calm his men’s nerves, as he seemed somehow closer to them. He was the one they trusted to resolve all the questions the future promised to pose.

They heard low voices and the dry sputtering of engines coming from somewhere behind them. It was Kaarna, shadowed by Mielonen, close on his heels.

‘All right, all right. Quiet down, boys. We’re going to get the rabbit. We’ve already got him surrounded. Where’s Autio?’

‘Over by the Second Platoon.’

‘Right, right, sure, sure. Hietanen, what kind of troops do we have here?

‘The finest machine-gunners in the nation, Captain, sir.’

‘Right, right, that’s the way, that’s the way.’

It was an old question, to which there was only one answer. Kaarna habitually held his own company to be just a cut above the rest. He didn’t really care whether this belief corresponded to reality or not – he was just aware of what healthy self-confidence can do. He knew, of course, that machine guns were dwindling in significance, at least in offensive combat operations, but he encouraged his men to take pride in their weapons anyway. Also, the man was like a rock when it came to defending his company. Officers from other companies had best refrain from coming to him with any complaints about his men. Some cadet had tried it once, when somebody or other failed to salute. Kaarna replied coldly that his men certainly never failed to salute, therefore the cadet must be mistaken. ‘On top of which, it seems that the cadet’s own stance demonstrates rather poor form. Why don’t you go practice it a couple more times?’

The man in question was duly punished, but the cadet made sure to give Kaarna a wide berth after that.

All these kinds of things that Kaarna did stuck in the minds of his men, so even now his words brought smiles to their all-too-grim faces. ‘A man who bears the unbounded admiration of his men’ is the phrase often applied to some officer or other. It has a slightly nauseating ring, besides which it’s false, since no cradle yet has rocked such an officer as could inspire the unbounded admiration of a Finnish private. But Kaarna’s relationship to his men was exceptional. ‘Won’t find another one quite like that son of a bitch. Real bird of prey,’ the men would say. The relationship was anything but equal, however. There was no question who was calling the shots. It was just Kaarna’s direct, fair and absolutely straightforward manner that made an impression on the men.

There were smiles on their faces as they watched him leave, heading off in search of the Third Company commander, Lieutenant Autio.

‘You’ll see, boys. Wherever it is that things get cracking, that man’s command post won’t be far off,’ somebody said, and the others murmured in agreement. Kaarna and Mielonen set off, one after the other, with Mielonen issuing instructions regarding their direction, which he presumed to have a better sense of than the Captain. Their conversations generally consisted of a string of little disputes, as Mielonen did not hesitate to issue commands and voice his opinions, even on questions of strategy. The Captain was happy to let the Corporal do this, though he would never have taken it from a major. He squabbled with Mielonen to pass the time and did as he liked, regardless, though he had nothing against Mielonen’s suggestions. The Corporal was a sensible fellow, which was something. The Captain didn’t trust Mielonen’s sense of direction, though, and said, ‘No-o-o, Mielonen. Follow the eye of experience. The Russkis are over there.’

‘I don’t think so. Not so far from the front. The command post, I mean.’

Kaarna and Mielonen’s murmuring faded away and silence reigned, until suddenly it was shattered.

‘Holy Christ!’

‘Everybody down!’

The leafy undergrowth rustled and weapons clanged as the men frantically dropped to the ground. Behind them, as if just behind their ears, there came a series of deafening artillery explosions. Ba-boom. Boom. Boom.

A sharp, piercing whistle soared over the treetops, and the men clung to the ground with their eyes opened wide. Then more explosions came, more randomly now, and again the air was filled with hissing. Somewhere far behind the border they could hear faint thuds.

Koskela, who was sitting on a mound of grass, called out, ‘Get up, guys! It’s our own guns. And try to keep those boxes from rattling so goddamn much.’

They clambered to their feet, grateful that the embarrassment was communal. Only Lehto hadn’t moved a muscle. He was just sitting right where he had been, a thin, slightly contemptuous smile on his face. Soon Hietanen pulled himself together as well, as did another machine-gun leader, Private Määttä, a shortish guy from the northern town of Kainuu, not far from the eastern border.

Vanhala had sunk down to the ground rather languidly, following the others’ lead. And now, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile all the while, he was the last to rise. ‘The booming voice of authority! Heehee,’ he whispered to his neighbor. He didn’t even blush this time, though it certainly took some daring to start cracking jokes when the others were taking the incident so seriously.

Riitaoja, on the other hand, was slow to recover, and Sihvonen blustered, ‘Of course. It’s our own guns. Getting all jumpy over that! Clear as day that that was our guns. Stupid to get all worked up.’ He himself was the one who had plunged to the ground with the most terrific clatter, however.

The battery fell silent, but the men’s uneasiness was slow to recede. The leader of the rifle platoon in front of them was pacing back and forth restlessly in front of his men. He was speaking to them in an offhand sort of way, but you could tell from the stiffness in his voice and the unevenness of his breath that his heart was racing. He strode over to Koskela and said, with a contrived gruffness, ‘Well, Koski, let’s pull out all the stops! Autio promised me two of your guns.’

‘We’ll see when we get there,’ Koskela replied briefly, and the Ensign returned to his men, making a personal note that Koskela was not the man to turn to when you wanted someone to chat with. The machine-gunners were somewhat acquainted with this blond-haired, slightly precocious ensign as well. Kariluoto, they’d heard his name was. Back in the burnt clearing he’d comported himself with a bit too much machismo, and the men’s sharp instincts made it impossible for them to take him seriously. The Ensign was happy to curse like a sailor, but it was painfully obvious that it was all just some sort of misguided idea of manliness. Coarseness didn’t suit the well-spoken, high-born fellow in the least. No wonder the other men grunted rather contemptuously, ‘Talks about the goods almost as if he’d had a feel himself.’