‘At ease. Platoon leaders!’
The tension in the men’s bodies went slack and the three officers started quickly toward the Captain. He awaited them impatiently, shuffling his feet as his restless eyes glanced back and forth between the sky and their approaching figures. They formed a line in front of him and stiffened to attention. Kaarna avoided looking at the First Platoon leader, Lieutenant Lammio. Lammio had a habit of raising his hand to the visor of his cap in a jerky, almost spastic manner that Kaarna found supremely irritating – particularly because, on top of everything else, Lammio curved his wrist, which was against regulations. Anyway, the Captain really couldn’t stand the man himself. The Helsinki lieutenant was tall, thin-faced and possessed of a self-assured arrogance that severely tried Kaarna’s patience – which was none too bountiful to begin with. Lammio was a career officer, and the Army Academy had spoiled him for good. He had picked up all sorts of mannered gestures there that really made the old captain grit his teeth. The sound of Lammio’s voice alone was enough to prick the men’s hostility, piercing the air with its shrill, pretentiously convoluted orders.
The Second Platoon leader was a young, conscripted ensign – a small-town, high-school graduate from the wealthier, western part of the country, trying to live up to some mythic ideal of the Winter War ensign by performing his duties with outlandish ceremony.
The Third Platoon leader was also an ensign, aged about thirty. Vilho Koskela was a country boy, hailing from a small farm in Häme, some hours north of Helsinki. Sturdily built, blond-haired and blue-eyed, he had a cleft chin and spoke so little that he had acquired the nickname ‘Quiet Koski’. The men had heard rumors of his feats during the Winter War, though he himself had never spoken a word of it. All anybody knew was that near the end, he had been serving as a company commander, even though by rank he was only a sergeant. When the war ended, he had been sent into officer training, and he had remained in the army beyond his conscripted time at the pay grade of ensign. He spoke very little and was somewhat awkward in carrying out his duties, but he was very direct, so in the end he was able to manage his men as well as anybody else.
The Captain held him in high regard, and even now it seemed as if he were addressing Koskela personally, reducing the other two officers to mere onlookers. The company watched as the four officers’ conversation dragged on, raising their hopes that a change of activity might be afoot. Finally, the consultation ended. The Captain went back to the barracks headquarters and the officers returned to their units. The company’s spirits perked up considerably when the order rang out that all platoons were to march back to their barracks.
‘I bet we’re going swimming,’ one guy whispered to the fellow next to him. The latter, well past entertaining the illusion that pleasant surprises were something that army life afforded, restricted himself to a half-hearted sneer.
Koskela marched his platoon to the front of the barracks. He stood awkwardly for a moment, as if uncertain how to begin. He was uncomfortable giving orders in general, and formulating commands was particularly difficult, because somehow or other he was embarrassed by the contrived formality army commanders used to say such simple things.
‘Right. NCOs, there’s some stuff you guys need to take care of. A transport’s coming to move the battalion to a new location, so we need to pare down the equipment. Everybody take the clothes you’ve got on and put a change of underwear, foot flannels and your overcoat in your pack. Bread sacks and mess kits come too. And weapons, of course. Everything else goes into storage. Try to be quick about it. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve packed my own stuff.’
The situation was so out of the ordinary that the first section leader ventured a question that was actually rather out of line. The assignment they’d received hadn’t been accompanied by any indication of why it was to be carried out, so Corporal Hietanen, boldly assuming a ‘just between us’ sort of air, asked, ‘So, uh, where are we headed? The depths of hell, I guess?’
Koskela glanced at the horizon and answered, ‘I don’t know. Those were the orders. I’ve got to get moving. You’d better hurry, too.’
So that was all the men were to know of their fate. That being the case, they can be held only so responsible for it. But, anyway, they were very excited. Some men even took the initiative and asked their squad leaders what needed to be done – a rare occurrence indeed. Hietanen sat down at the table and drew up a list of the equipment to be taken along, which cut down on the chaos considerably. The Corporal was from the southwest part of the country around Turku, and in Koskela’s absence he was the eldest in the platoon. His great voice boomed out over the others as he took charge of the preparations, setting time in his amusingly staccato Turku accent. He was a breezy, easy-going fellow – young, with a powerful build; and he had managed to garner some sort of authority within the platoon, mainly thanks to his imposing strength.
‘The guys said the runner reported that the company secretary said that they’re sending us to garrison Joensuu,’ a self-important voice called out.
Hietanen was all too familiar with these rumors, which hope spawned now and again, and replied mockingly, ‘Well, I heard from the drivers that this whole battalion here’s being sent to garrison Helsinki! We’re gonna trade in all these old rags for new, and we’re all gonna get riding breeches into the bargain. That’s what I heard. Oh, I hear all sorts of things.’
The second squad leader, Corporal Lahtinen, was kneeling on the floor, tying up his pack. He was a big guy from northern Häme with evident communist sympathies. He was leaning over his pack, muttering, ‘There’s gonna be a stink, boys. You’ll see. That nutcase in Germany’ll take off first, and then our idiot big-shots’ll hoof it after him. Might as well be written on the wall, the way he’s been yabbering on about it.’
Lahtinen looked around apprehensively, his mouth twisted into an anxious knot. Then he continued, ‘Well, we’ll just see how things work out for him. They sure aren’t gonna to run out of ammunition over there’ – his head tilted ever so slightly east – ‘and they’ve got mines lying in wait on all those roads, too.’
‘Ah, and there my Katyusha lies waiting for me, too!’ grinned Private Rahikainen, the unconcerned, perennial truant from North Karelia.
‘Nah, listen guys,’ Hietanen spoke up. ‘I bet I know. We’re just going to build fortifications along the border. The stuffed shirts are scared that if they join up with the Germans, the Russians’ll drop in again—’
‘But what would the Russians want here?’ Lahtinen cut in, unconvinced. ‘Far as I know they’ve never attacked anybody. But Herr Fritz and his buddies are already here.’
‘Just passing through on leave!’ somebody said.
‘On leave!’ The sharp accent of Lahtinen’s voice revealed an untold reservoir of fury and disdain that sparked an all-out uproar. ‘About as “on leave” as the Russians down there in our seaside hotels in Hanko! Just renting the place, uh-huh. Right! Like the ones in Viipuri. Vyborg, my ass. Stop defending them, for Christ’s sake.’
Any attempt at defense was obviously hopeless, and even Lahtinen’s ‘Well, we’ll just see!’ was drowned out by the din. They didn’t really think the question was as momentous as all that, but the clamoring might well have continued indefinitely had it not been cut short by Hietanen’s deafening roar of ‘Attention!’
The Captain stepped into the barracks. ‘As you were, as you were, it’s all right. Everyone taken care of?’ The Captain strode swiftly about the room, inspecting the men’s equipment as he said, ‘Swap any broken equipment for new. If you have any civilian clothes, pack them up and smack a home address on them. The quartermaster will be responsible for taking care of them from there. Don’t bring any unnecessary extra gear like writing pads and that kind of stuff. You know what it says on a boy scout’s belt? “Be prepared.” Be prepared! All right, all right, let’s go.’