Chapter 307: The Opportunity
Finland, Vyborg Front General Command.
Crate after crate of artillery shells was unloaded from the cargo vessels moored along the docks.
Under the coordination of the Cardolan Investment Company, Europe was gradually transforming itself into an enormous interconnected arsenal. Factories that had once armed Britain, France, Belgium, Germany, and half a dozen smaller states were now feeding ammunition toward Finland.
For the Finns, shells were rapidly becoming one of the few things they did not need to worry about.
A German logistics officer stood beside a mountain of confiscated weapons and pointed toward several separate stacks.
"These crates are British stock. The pile beside them came from French military warehouses. The ammunition specifications are different, so make certain your quartermasters separate them properly."
Nearby, machine guns had been stacked almost as high as a man.
Britain's surrender had left behind an extraordinary inheritance.
Weapons Churchill had ordered into production for the continuation of the war were now being transported north and placed in Finnish hands for use against the Soviet Union.
The Finnish soldiers responsible for receiving the supplies were almost overwhelmed by the volume.
One of them looked toward the harbor, where yet another group of freighters was approaching under naval escort.
He shook his head with a helpless smile.
It was an enviable problem to have.
"Thank you, my friend."
The German officer merely nodded and turned back toward the manifests.
Inside the front command headquarters, the mood was considerably more serious.
The tactical map covering the central table was crisscrossed with colored lines, supply routes, defensive positions, known Soviet concentrations, and estimated avenues of advance.
Mannerheim stood over it in silence.
Now that Germany had begun its offensive in North Africa, he finally understood Berlin's calculations.
Germany had never intended to commit its main forces to Finland immediately.
Finland itself was serving a purpose.
By forcing the Soviet Union to concentrate military attention in the north, Germany reduced the possibility of Moscow intervening decisively in the Middle East or North Africa. Every Soviet division tied down near Finland was one less formation available to reinforce Britain's and France's remaining colonial forces.
It was cold strategy.
But it made sense.
And once Mannerheim understood that, another question became considerably easier to answer.
When would Finland's war truly end?
When Germany had finished dealing with North Africa.
Once the British and French colonial position had been broken and the strategic pressure around Egypt and the Middle East eased, Berlin would have far more freedom to turn east.
Finland only needed to endure until then.
What troubled Mannerheim now was not international politics.
It was the Soviet Army itself.
During the first days of the campaign, Soviet attacks had been crude and wasteful, but they had at least possessed a certain military rhythm.
Now even that rhythm seemed to have vanished.
Frontline reports showed obvious ammunition shortages among Soviet formations.
Food deliveries were inconsistent.
Medical supplies were inadequate.
Yet the attacks continued.
That alone was not incomprehensible. If Moscow believed it was racing against European intervention, a relentless offensive despite shortages could be explained.
What Mannerheim could not understand was the lack of coordination.
One sector would launch a desperate assault while the neighboring front remained almost completely inactive.
A regiment would attack without artillery support.
Another formation would remain motionless while an exposed neighboring unit advanced kilometers ahead of its supporting troops.
It was absurd.
Mannerheim frowned at the map.
He refused to believe that a state stretching across two continents, with one of the largest armies in the world, could repeatedly make mistakes this elementary.
There had to be another explanation.
Perhaps the Soviets were deliberately offering openings.
Perhaps they wanted Finland to commit its reserves forward before launching a much larger counterstroke.
Or perhaps they intended to exhaust Finnish ammunition through sheer manpower.
But even that explanation did not survive scrutiny.
The sea lanes remained open.
Dutch and Belgian naval escorts accompanied supply convoys regularly, and not a single major disruption had been reported.
If the Soviet objective was to exhaust Finnish supplies, then the first requirement should have been to sever those supply routes.
Yet Soviet naval pressure was almost nonexistent.
Something did not add up.
Mannerheim leaned back from the map.
"Have the reports from all four theaters been compiled?"
His adjutant immediately opened a folder.
"Yes, Marshal."
"Read them."
"The general situation is consistent across all four sectors. Soviet forces have occupied most of the outer village belts, but there are still no confirmed breaches of the main defensive lines."
He turned the page.
"According to preliminary estimates, Soviet casualties have exceeded eighty thousand."
Mannerheim looked up.
"Eighty thousand?"
"Yes, sir."
Even the adjutant sounded uncomfortable saying it.
The war had been underway for barely two weeks.
Eighty thousand casualties meant an average loss of more than five thousand men every day.
Put another way, roughly every two days the Soviet Army was losing manpower equivalent to an entire division.
And what had it purchased with that blood?
Villages.
Woodland.
Mud.
Positions deliberately abandoned by Finnish defenders.
Mannerheim remained silent for several seconds.
"What are our losses?"
The adjutant checked the next page.
"Between ten and fifteen thousand confirmed casualties."
The disparity was astonishing.
Mannerheim's fingers tapped once against the map.
At last, the adjutant continued cautiously.
"Marshal, General Yarikov has submitted a proposal."
"Go on."
"The Soviet eastern formations have suffered especially heavy losses. One forward Soviet force of approximately twenty thousand men has become separated from its follow-up formations."
He pointed to a section of the map.
"General Yarikov believes this creates an opportunity."
Mannerheim's expression sharpened.
"He proposes feeding them false intelligence and deliberately allowing the isolated formation to continue advancing. While their attention is fixed forward, the 2nd and 3rd Infantry Divisions would penetrate behind them."
The adjutant traced the intended movement.
"If successful, our forces could cut the Soviet forward formation off entirely and then strike directly into the rear of the Soviet Eastern Front Army."
Mannerheim studied the proposal without speaking.
It was dangerous.
Defending prepared positions was one thing.
Committing Finnish regular formations into an offensive against a numerically superior Soviet army was another.
But opportunities did not remain open forever.
After several moments, he nodded.
"Authorize it."
The adjutant straightened.
"Yes, Marshal."
"Send the 1st Elite Brigade as reinforcement."
Mannerheim's tone became more severe.
"If we can tear open their eastern flank, we may create enough room to threaten the Soviet border itself. That would give us greater strategic depth and force them to divert attention from the main line."
He looked directly at the adjutant.
"But make one thing clear to Yarikov."
"Sir?"
"This operation is not worth destroying our field army."
Mannerheim tapped the Soviet concentration on the map.
"If anything changes, if the Russians reinforce faster than expected, if the encirclement cannot be completed cleanly, he withdraws immediately."
"No heroics."
"No gambling the country on one victory."
The adjutant nodded firmly.
"Understood."
Finland, Eastern Front Command Post.
When the authorization from headquarters arrived, General Yarikov's mood improved considerably.
For two weeks, he had watched Soviet formations repeatedly march into Finnish fire.
There was a certain satisfaction in seeing the enemy bleed itself dry.
But endless defense was suffocating.
Now, finally, Finland had been given permission to strike back.
Yarikov spread the operational map across the table.
"Contract the defensive perimeter."
Several officers immediately leaned closer.
"The Soviets are obsessed with attacking. Fine. Let them believe they've finally broken us."
He pointed toward the right flank.
"The 2nd Infantry Division will move around this sector and strike their command position at Calonne Village."
His finger shifted toward the forested center.
"The 3rd Infantry Division will establish the ambush line here."
One of the officers frowned.
"In the snow forest?"
"Exactly."
Yarikov smiled faintly.
"We let their forward troops advance into the forest, then close the road behind them. Once they're trapped, their command will be forced to concentrate attention and reinforcements on rescuing them."
He tapped the Soviet rear area.
"While they're looking forward, we cut behind."
At present, the Soviet concentration occupied the area around Kimmo Village, approximately eighty kilometers from the nearest major Finnish city.
Between them stretched an enormous belt of snow-covered woodland.
Finnish forces had already repelled several attacks there.
This time, they would deliberately stop doing so.
The adjutant studied the plan uneasily.
"Sir, are we certain they'll take the bait? The troops occupying Kimmo Village have been more cautious than the formations we've faced elsewhere."
Yarikov leaned back.
"Two weeks ago, I would have shared your concern."
He shook his head.
"Not anymore."
The room fell quiet.
"I've watched the Soviet offensive long enough to understand one thing. They are incapable of ignoring an opening."
He gave a humorless smile.
"They're like a wounded animal thrashing at anything in front of it. Even when a trap is obvious, someone will order them into it."
"Because standing still is apparently more dangerous for their officers than dying."
The following morning, Finnish troops began withdrawing.
Temporary positions were abandoned.
Several defensive points were deliberately evacuated.
Signs of hurried movement were left behind.
Enough equipment was removed to make the retreat believable, but enough remained to suggest disorder.
Soviet reconnaissance patrols noticed almost immediately.
By the time the information passed through several layers of command, interpretation had transformed speculation into certainty.
The Finns were retreating.
Their supplies were exhausted.
Their forward defenses were collapsing.
That was the version eventually placed before Soviet commander Levin Ral.
Ral read the report twice.
Unlike many of the men recently promoted into command positions, he had survived the Great Purge with both his life and much of his military judgment intact.
That alone made him unusual.
He stared at the map.
Something about the situation bothered him.
The Political Commissar standing nearby did not share his hesitation.
"Why are we not attacking?"
Ral looked up.
The commissar leaned over the table.
"This is an opportunity we may never receive again. Once we cross the snow forest and seize Ralmos, we will finally establish a stable forward base inside Finland."
Ral said nothing.
The commissar continued.
"More importantly, headquarters has already issued its directive. No opportunity for attack is to be abandoned."
Ral slowly shook his head.
"We used an enormous amount of ammunition taking Kimmo Village."
He pointed toward the supply marks behind their position.
"Artillery shells are critically low. Small-arms ammunition is being rationed."
Then his finger moved farther back.
"And look at the distance between us and the main force."
The Political Commissar dismissed the concern.
"That can be corrected. I will telegram headquarters immediately and demand that the supporting formations accelerate their advance."
Ral interrupted him.
"Then we wait."
The commissar frowned.
"What?"
"We wait until the supporting units have assembled. Then we attack."
It was the most reasonable compromise Ral could offer.
The Political Commissar rejected it immediately.
"Commander Ral, what exactly are you thinking?"
Ral's expression tightened.
"If we wait for the follow-up troops, the opportunity will disappear."
The commissar's voice became sharper.
"And even if it does not, once the other formations arrive, will this victory still belong to us?"
There it was.
Not strategy.
Credit.
Ral stared silently at him.
The commissar continued.
"Opportunities on the battlefield are fleeting. The Finnish Army is retreating now. If we hesitate and allow them time to restore their defenses, we will pay twice the price later."
Ral looked back at the map.
The forest.
The exposed advance route.
The widening gap behind them.
Every instinct he possessed told him not to enter.
He could already imagine the possibility of Finnish troops hidden behind the retreat.
A withdrawal that neat was suspicious.
A suddenly weakened enemy was suspicious.
Everything was suspicious.
Yet another thought weighed more heavily than all of them.
If he refused the attack and the opportunity proved genuine, the resulting report would reach headquarters.
Cowardice.
Failure to exploit battlefield conditions.
Defeatism.
Perhaps even sabotage.
…..
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Frieren: The Demon Who Learned to Love