Chapter 300: White Death
The betrayal of a single man had disrupted Yezhov's entire plan.
Although the remaining Finnish Communist fanatics in Helsinki had been eliminated, Stalin refused to abandon what he believed was a rare strategic opportunity.
Early morning, April 1.
Molotov used the incident as justification to issue a formal statement demanding that the Finnish government release every detained supporter of the Soviet Communist Party.
Naturally, such an absurd demand received no response.
Along the frontier, B 4 heavy howitzers roared in unison.
The war had begun.
Eight o'clock in the morning.
Several Soviet bombers rose into the sky, passing unsteadily through the clouds before releasing low yield aerial bombs over ground still covered by the last remnants of snow.
The buried mines detonated one after another.
Wet, clinging earth erupted into the air.
Seen from above, the scarred ground resembled a mud pit that had been trampled by an enormous bear.
On the ground, two T 26 light tanks advanced rapidly along the road.
Border markers and coils of barbed wire were crushed beneath their tracks.
Columns of Soviet soldiers followed in trucks, peering through gaps in the canvas covers at land that did not belong to them.
It did not take long for the vanguard to encounter its first obstacle.
The Finns had sabotaged the road.
Heavy rain had softened the already unstable ground until the surface could no longer support military vehicles. Even a slow turn of the wheels caused truck tires to sink deep into the mud.
Because the offensive had been launched with such haste, the logistical preparations were incomplete.
The engineers had no ropes or towing equipment available.
They were forced to order the infantry out of the trucks and have them push the vehicles by hand.
The tanks fared no better.
The snow had melted as the temperature rose, but the combination of thawing earth and relentless rain had transformed the road into a swamp.
No matter how loudly their engines roared, the tracks only spun inside the shallow craters left by the bombing.
A bearded Soviet officer climbed out of his command vehicle.
"Everyone halt and maintain formation."
He looked toward the infantry.
"Cut down some trees. We need timber under the tracks."
Over the past several years, nearly all the armored commanders trained under Zhukov had either been executed or imprisoned.
Lev Ral had been one of the fortunate few.
Pavlov had intervened on his behalf. Although Lev had been demoted from battalion commander to company commander, he had at least kept his life.
"This wasteland is a damned hell."
Lev spat into the mud.
"With snow or without it, the place is equally miserable."
After complaining, he pulled a map from inside his coat.
According to the operational schedule, his company was supposed to reach a village designated Target One before nightfall.
Looking at the vehicles trapped in the mud, Lev knew there was almost no chance of that happening.
Yet compared with the difficulties facing his unit, the problems confronting the Northern 4th Army were far worse.
Its objective was Petsamo, Finland's outlet to the Arctic Ocean.
The Army had been given only about a month to prepare, which meant that supplies were dangerously inadequate.
Northern Finland lay close to the Arctic Circle, and snow was still falling in April.
This year's cold was even harsher than usual.
Although the soldiers had been issued winter uniforms, heating equipment was almost nonexistent.
Every blanket had to be shared among four men.
The situation left Infantry Battalion Commander Joe Naya deeply worried.
Watching the sun sink slowly toward the horizon, he turned to his adjutant.
"Can we not slow the advance?"
"It will be dark soon. If we continue marching through the night, our supply line will stretch even farther."
"Almost an entire squad is already suffering from frostbite."
He looked toward the thickening clouds.
"This snow will continue for at least another day. Why can we not wait until tomorrow morning?"
"And I do not believe marching through the forest is wise. We should remain near the road. It is the only route that gives us any protection against an ambush."
The adjutant shook his head helplessly.
"Sir, the order came directly from headquarters."
"The 2nd Infantry Battalion has already begun its advance around the right flank."
"If we fail to attack from the left, they may be surrounded."
He paused, then opened the vehicle door slightly and glanced into the distance.
A Cheka inspector stood nearby in a heavy NKVD coat, watching the column.
The meaning was obvious.
"Fucking madness."
Joe Naya slammed the door shut.
"Suka blyat."
He despised the secret police and their interference in military command.
But under the present circumstances, refusing the order was impossible.
"Notify every level of command."
"We advance at full speed."
"If we cannot withdraw, then we must move faster and rendezvous with the 2nd Battalion before sunset."
Far ahead, a Finnish elite detachment on skis had erected a small tent.
Through binoculars, they watched Soviet soldiers enter the snow covered forest.
"Brother, what is your name?"
"Simon."
The quiet soldier loaded the ammunition stored across his chest and extinguished the small fire.
After drinking the last mouthful of hot soup, he shouldered his Mosin-Nagant rifle.
"I will take position in that tree."
"You drive them toward the bunker."
The detachment commander was about to reply, but Simon had already disappeared into the white forest.
Only the faint rustling of leaves remained behind him.
"What a mysterious fellow."
The commander assembled the German made scope and suppressor, then inspected his MP 4 submachine gun for malfunctions.
Satisfied, he raised one hand.
"Soldiers, let us teach the Russians a lesson."
The sunlight could barely penetrate the dense canopy.
Beneath the trees, the snowy forest was dim and silent.
A Soviet squad leader scouting ahead carefully examined a suspicious mound of snow with the tip of his rifle.
"Watch your footing."
Before he could finish speaking, there was a metallic snap.
A concealed bear trap slammed shut around a machine gunner's lower leg.
The sudden crushing pain tore a scream from the large soldier's throat.
"Fuck!"
"Help me!"
"Get it off! It fucking hurts!"
The combat engineer stepped forward and prepared to force open the trap.
The squad leader immediately noticed something beneath it.
"Stop."
He seized the engineer's arm.
"Look underneath."
A pressure release mine had been attached to the bottom of the trap.
The moment the trapped leg was lifted, the mine would explode.
When the machine gunner saw it, his panic intensified.
He twisted desperately.
Click.
Bang!
The mine detonated.
The explosion tore apart his entire left leg.
Blood and fragments of flesh sprayed across the snow.
Adrenaline prevented him from losing consciousness immediately, leaving him fully aware of the burning agony.
His screams echoed through the forest.
From a tree above them, Simon watched in silence.
Wrapped in a white cloak, he blended into the snow like an agile arctic fox.
He had planted the trap himself.
Killing prey instantly was not always the most effective choice.
Pain produced screams.
Screams produced panic.
And panic spread into fear.
Once fear took hold, men carrying rifles were no different from frightened deer fleeing through the woods.
There were, however, exceptions.
Simon studied the Soviet squad leader.
The man remained calm despite the explosion and the wounded soldier's screams.
Simon pressed the rifle stock against his shoulder.
The barrel resting along the branch shifted slightly upward.
Bang!
The bullet cut through the air and struck the squad leader in the eye socket.
The eye burst apart like a crushed flower bud.
The heated projectile continued into his skull, tearing through his brain.
Without their commander, the remaining Soviet soldiers panicked.
They raised their weapons and fired toward every possible hiding place.
Bullets poured through the forest like a storm of metal, shredding leaves and tearing chunks from the bark.
They stumbled through the trees like headless flies.
Simon watched them with a calm as cold as the surrounding snow.
Without hurry, he drew a folding knife and carved the number one into the stock of his rifle.
Then he raised the weapon again.
And fired.
....
https://discord.gg/KvMN2CFsMR
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03].