Chapter 299: Fig Leaf
April 1, 1937.
The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting a pale light across the forest.
Two Finnish forest rangers were conducting their routine patrol. Both wore specially made wooden board boots to keep from sinking too deeply into the treacherous ground.
The forest floor was uneven, slippery, and bitterly cold. With every step, mud and icy water splashed up their trouser legs.
The entire woodland felt like a silent swamp.
"We are almost at the border."
The older ranger, Kachi, glanced at the warning sign ahead and prepared to turn back.
Before he could move, the younger man caught his arm.
"Mr. Kachi, look at these tracks."
He pointed toward a neat row of footprints in the mud.
"Could they belong to hunters from Soviet Russia who crossed the border illegally?"
Kachi followed his gaze.
He crouched, pressed his fingers into the disturbed soil, and picked up a discarded cigarette butt.
Then he shook his head.
"Have you ever seen hunters walk in formation this neat?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"This is a reconnaissance patrol."
Kachi removed the Mosin-Nagant rifle from his back.
"You return and report this immediately."
"I will follow them and see what they are doing."
He raised his left hand, signaling for silence, then moved carefully along the tracks.
Before long, he reached a concealed patch of dry, level ground surrounded by dense trees.
His pupils contracted.
Several Soviet soldiers were spread across the clearing.
Some lay on the ground, sketching and writing on sheets of paper.
Others were assembling radio equipment.
A few held binoculars and observed a Finnish pillbox in the distance.
A perfect discovery.
Kachi was not entirely Finnish by birth.
He had once served in the Tsarist Russian Army and later fled from Leningrad when Soviet Russia seized power.
The Russian Civil War, which had burned for years, had now found another way to reach him.
Fate could be remarkably cruel.
He raised his rifle.
Bang!
The shot tore through the quiet forest.
Kachi gently released the trigger.
The Soviet reconnaissance patrol he had found was not an isolated case.
Small teams had been scattered across the entire frontier.
However, unfamiliar with the terrain and local habits, many of them were discovered by Finnish civilians almost as soon as they crossed the border.
Reports from every sector were gathered in Viipuri and placed on Mannerheim's desk.
The Marshal understood what they meant.
The pace toward war had accelerated once again.
A large deployment of reconnaissance units was one of the clearest signs that an offensive was approaching.
"Marshal, Soviet reconnaissance squads have been discovered not only on the Karelian Isthmus, but also northeast of Lake Ladoga and along the central frontier."
The adjutant continued reading, his voice tense.
"Two patrols have already exchanged fire with our frontline defensive troops."
Mannerheim's expression did not change.
"Place the entire Army on alert."
"All formations are to accelerate their movement toward their assigned defensive lines."
He leaned back slightly, his gaze cold.
"The Soviets have come."
"Now we shall see whether the blood of their five hundred thousand elite soldiers is red enough, or whether our knives are sharp enough."
He took a long drag from his cigarette.
"Send the report to the President."
Most of the fig leaf had already been torn away.
Only one excuse remained before formal war began.
Mannerheim was curious to see what excuse Soviet Russia would invent.
Helsinki.
Through Mannerheim's political maneuvering, most of Finland's left and right wings had been united.
A small number of extremists, however, still hid beneath the capital.
Soviet intelligence was not as capable as Germany's Internal and External Intelligence Department, but the Soviet political system gave the Cheka an advantage of its own.
It possessed ideological supporters in many foreign countries.
When it came to infiltrating neighboring states, its reach was not inferior to Germany's intelligence apparatus.
Inside a restaurant on a street corner, Kallio's voice echoed from the radio through an otherwise empty room.
"Stand up, Finns!"
"Soviet soldiers are crossing our frontier. They tear down our boundary markers and carry them forward as they advance."
"They want Finland's blood and bones."
"They want her hands and feet."
"But we shall answer them with our lives."
"The only things they will take from Finland are despair and death."
Kallio's voice rang across the country.
"I hereby declare that Finland is in a state of war."
"Gentlemen and ladies, whether you belong to the right or the left, whether you once placed your faith in Soviet Russia or opposed it, remember this above all else."
"You are Finns."
"This land raised you."
"How can you ignore its suffering?"
"How can you hand it over to another nation?"
His voice trembled as he looked through the window.
Across the country, countless citizens straightened their backs.
For the first time, many of them felt the full weight of the duty they owed their homeland.
Kallio continued.
"To the gentlemen of the left, you may claim that your struggle serves a greater ideal."
"But I ask you this."
"Is that ideal truly yours?"
"Or was it placed inside you by others?"
"Is Stalin your leader, or is he merely another pope holding a sacred book and demanding control over your thoughts?"
"I do not believe your ideals should be defined by Stalin."
"True conviction does not come from the Kremlin."
"It does not require another man's approval."
"It requires only your own conscience."
"Gentlemen, sometimes the difference between right and wrong requires only a single moment of honest reflection."
After a brief pause, he continued.
"Finland now faces an unprecedented threat."
"It is like an avalanche descending upon us."
"Only unity can defend our country."
"Only unity and determined resistance can show the European Union that Finland possesses the resolve to survive."
As the speech ended, Mola's left hand slipped from the rifle he had been cleaning.
The young man beside him immediately noticed.
"Comrade Mola, what is wrong?"
Mola shook his head.
A deep sigh escaped him, and his eyes lowered as regret filled his heart.
The radio was right.
Whatever else he believed, he was still a Finn.
Could betraying his own country and shooting his own countrymen for the sake of another nation truly be called sacrifice?
Mola did not know.
He knew only that he no longer wanted to fire upon his fellow Finns.
"Laf, I…"
He hesitated, then forced the words out.
"I no longer want to participate in tonight's operation."
"Mola, are you afraid?"
Laf stared at him in disbelief.
"Think about your ideals."
"Think about everything you have already sacrificed."
"If we succeed, this will become a second October Revolution."
"Comrade Joe Naya in Moscow will celebrate us."
"Comrade Stalin will applaud us."
"Comrades throughout the world will be inspired because of us, because…"
Laf tried to continue, but Mola's firm expression left him speechless.
"Laf, I no longer know what is right and what is wrong."
Mola's voice was quiet.
"Were the Finnish Communists who traveled to Soviet Russia to support the great cause, only to be purged, wrong?"
"Were the Finnish soldiers who marched to defend their own country wrong?"
"And are we truly right?"
He looked down at the rifle in his hands.
"I do not want to shoot my own countrymen."
"This land belongs to Finland."
"I do not want people who share my blood to live beneath the cruelty of Soviet rule."
"Besides, most members of the Finnish Communist Party have already joined the national cause."
"Why should we betray them?"
Mola loaded his rifle.
"The radio was right."
"We do not need a coronation decree from Moscow."
"Stalin's words are not the word of God."
"And we do not need anyone else to crown us."
Laf shook his head furiously.
"You have gone mad."
"You are completely mad."
"Mola, those capitulationists betrayed us, and now you have betrayed us as well."
"You have betrayed the entire Bolshevik cause."
"Perhaps."
Mola raised his eyes.
"But I have not betrayed my country."
His grip tightened around the rifle.
"Give me the list of the other operatives involved tonight."
Reasoning with Laf was useless.
Mola swung the rifle butt into his face.
Warm blood burst from Laf's nose and splashed across the floor, staining it bright red.
....
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