When consciousness returned, there was no dramatic flash of light, only a pungent stench of acrid smoke and a rhythmic, bone-deep ache that made it feel as if his entire body had been dismantled.
Walter Ilves pried his heavy eyelids open with great effort. Through a blur of vision, a cluster of orange flames crackled nearby, offering a sliver of long-lost warmth.
"Oh, look, Sleeping Beauty's awake."
A large, scruffy face covered in bloodstains and soot suddenly leaned in, blocking the meager firelight. It was Juha.
The man looked barely better than a corpse. His left arm was slung against his chest, secured by a grimy black leather belt likely stripped from some dead soldier; the blood seeping through his bandages had already turned a dark, muddy brown. Yet his mouth remained as restless as ever, mocking in that insufferable tone of his.
"I thought you were planning to sleep until next spring. I was just about to peel those good boots off you for myself."
Walter tried to smile, but the moment the corner of his mouth twitched, a gash on his cheek flared with sharp pain, forcing a hiss of cold air through his teeth.
"Get lost..." Walter's voice was raspy, as if his throat were filled with coarse sand. Every syllable grated against his vocal cords.
He attempted to sit up. The moment his hand braced against the ground, a piercing bolt of agony shot through his left arm. Worse was his head; the nearby grenade blast had clearly left him with a severe concussion. A violent wave of vertigo hit him instantly; the world spun, and the campfire split into a dozen shimmering ghosts.
Walter had just managed to straighten his back when his legs went weak. His vision went black, and he began to pitch forward toward the flames.
A rough, powerful hand caught his back, while another gripped his shoulder.
"Easy. Don't be in a hurry to move."
Simo Häyhä's steady voice sounded in his ear. The veteran propped Walter against a fallen trunk, letting him sit half-upright. Then, a cold canteen was pressed to his lips.
"Drink. I mixed in some clean snow. It's cold; it'll wake you up."
Walter gulped greedily. The icy snow-water slid down his throat and into his stomach, sending a shiver through his frame that finally cleared some of the fog from his brain. He gasped for air, waiting for his vision to find its focus.
They were in a leeward hollow, surrounded by a dense coniferous forest that blocked the worst of the freezing wind. In the center of the depression, huddled around the small fire, were about a dozen ragged, blood-soaked soldiers, pressing together for warmth like a covey of frightened quail. Some moaned softly; others stared vacantly into the flames; one was using snow to scrub a notched bayonet.
Despair and exhaustion hung in the air like a physical weight, suffocating and thick.
Walter's gaze swept over every face.
Stranger. Stranger. Another stranger.
He didn't see the trademark gold-rimmed glasses, nor did he see the trembling figure clutching his ears. His heart skipped a beat.
"Where are Antti and Eero?" Walter asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Simo remained silent for a moment. He picked up a dry branch, snapped it, and tossed it into the fire, sending sparks dancing into the air.
"We got separated in the melee," Simo said. His tone was level, but his eyes dimmed. "Antti's legs were like jelly to begin with; he couldn't keep up during the retreat. I looked back once... a few bayonets had closed in on him."
"And Eero?"
"No one saw where he went," Juha interjected, his voice heavy. "That coward... maybe he got scared and crawled into a snowbank to freeze, or maybe a Russian tank rolled over him. Either way... he didn't make it out with us."
Walter felt as if an invisible hand had squeezed his heart. The First Squad, the group that had assembled in Vyborg, played cards on the train, and roasted wild boar in the woods, was now reduced to three broken men.
"What about the Company Commander? Captain Juutilainen?" Walter asked, though he already had a premonition.
This time, even Juha, who usually masked his fear with jokes, went silent. He lowered his head and began picking at the mud on his boots with his good hand.
"He didn't withdraw," Simo said softly, watching the flickering flames. "When we charged down, he stayed on the heights with a few couriers and guards to hold the rear."
"The last I saw of him, he was charging a tank that had crawled up, saber in hand... He made good on his word."
Trading lives for time.
Walter leaned back against the rough bark, looking up at the grey, overcast sky visible through the canopy. A profound sense of helplessness washed over him.
"What's the situation now?" After a long while, Walter reopened his eyes, forcing his emotions back down. Those who lived still had to face this hellish reality.
"It's a mess," Simo said, gesturing to the dozen or so stragglers. "This is all we have left. Aside from the three of us, there are survivors from a few other squads in the company. Most are wounded. Less than fifteen total."
"And the Russians?"
"They've taken the heights. They aren't pursuing." Simo let out a cold, mocking snort. "Those bastards are probably busy celebrating their victory or picking over the spoils on the battlefield. They likely think we've all been slaughtered, or they just view us as a few stray dogs that fled into the woods."
"We're about two or three kilometers from the heights. Safe for now," Simo paused. "But nobody knows when they'll decide to push another step forward. Once their scouts sniff us out, we're done."
"We've lost contact with Regiment," Juha said, pointing to a smashed radio nearby that a surviving signalman had carried out. It was a heap of scrap metal. "Completely blind and deaf. No one knows where we are, and no one is coming to save us."
Walter felt at his waist. His M28/30 rifle was still there, but the scope had been shattered during the chaos. He checked his ammo pouches; they were hollow, containing only his windproof lighter and half a pack of crushed cigarettes.
"No food, no ammo, no support... we don't even know which way to go," Walter gave a bitter laugh. "We're just a bunch of wandering ghosts now."
Hearing this, the surrounding soldiers lowered their heads even further.
"Wandering ghosts can still haunt people."
Simo suddenly stood up, brushing the snow from his clothes. The short veteran stood by the fire, his shadow stretched long by the flickering light. In his grey-blue eyes, there was none of the confusion or terror seen in the others. In this forest of perils, the old hunter's instincts had fully awakened, replaced by a cold, flinty resilience.
"Dry your tears!" Simo barked. "As long as we're in these woods, this is our home turf. The Russians have tanks and a sea of men, but they don't understand this forest. They are clumsy bears; we are wolves."
Simo checked his worn but lethal Mosin-Nagant, cycling the bolt to reveal the last three rounds in the magazine.
"I know you're afraid. I am too. But these woods don't believe in tears." He turned to Walter and Juha, a spark of trust in his eyes that only old comrades could share. "Walter, can you walk?"
Walter gritted his teeth and used the tree trunk to pull himself up. The vertigo remained, but he steadied himself. "As long as my legs aren't broken, I can walk."
"Juha, how's the hand?"
"I can still shoot. If it's one-handed," Juha grinned, though it looked more like a wince.
"Good."
Simo surveyed the stragglers and issued his orders.
"Collect every functional weapon. Distribute the ammunition evenly. Scavenge every scrap of rations from the dead, that's our lifeline now."
"We rest for thirty minutes. Then we head west, deeper into the forest. Since we've become a lost unit, we're going to do what lost units do—survive, and then drive ourselves into the Russians' soles like a rusted nail."
Walter watched Simo's resolute back, a surge of warmth rising in his chest. In this moment where order had collapsed and life was as cheap as grass, having a pillar like Simo was worth more than anything.
He pulled the half-pack of cigarettes from his pocket, handed one to Simo, stuffed one in Juha's mouth, and finally lit one for himself. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, bringing a brief moment of lightheadedness and numbness.
Walter watched the dancing flames, his gaze gradually sharpening.
Pekka was dead. Matti and Toivo were dead. The Company Commander was dead. Antti and Eero were likely gone too.
But the war wasn't over.
The wind and snow began to howl again, masking their tracks. A squad of a dozen stragglers vanished into the white sea of the forest.
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