The blizzard raged on, and the road ahead remained long.
Walter Ilves forged the path in front, Old Juhani supported the weakened Juha in the middle, followed by Aalto atop the donkey, while Simo brought up the rear as the sentry. Hunger and cold clung to them like shadows; the meager warmth provided by the fish soup had long since dissipated.
"Someone's ahead!"
Walter, leading the way, suddenly raised his fist, signaling the group to halt.
The Eye of Death activated.
In his vision, deep within the dense thicket ahead, several white figures could be seen faintly shifting. They wore snow camouflage, moved with lithe grace, and held their muzzles low.
Was it the enemy? Walter's heart leaped into his throat.
"Don't fire! Friendly!"
Just as Walter's finger was about to squeeze the trigger, someone from the opposite side shouted in flawless Finnish. Immediately, a tall officer carrying a Suomi submachine gun stepped out from behind a tree. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face flushed red by the frost. It was a rugged, honest visage of a Karelian man.
"I am Lieutenant Raivo of the 4th Independent Partisan Company."
Hearing the familiar unit designation, Simo let out a long breath of relief and walked toward Raivo.
"Corporal Simo Häyhä, 6th Company, 34th Infantry Regiment, Defense Forces."
In this Winter War where the weak stood against the strong, aside from the impregnable Mannerheim Line, the greatest headache for the Soviet Army was these ski partisans active within the vast sea of forest. They were known as the "Forest Phantoms."
They appeared and vanished like ghosts, utilizing highly mobile ski tactics to raid Soviet supply lines and sever communications. They were like a pack of tireless wolves, nipping away at the heavy, sluggish Soviets, rendering their massive mechanized units unable to move a single step within the forest.
Behind Lieutenant Raivo followed some twenty-odd partisans. They did not look quite as elite as the legends suggested. Their equipment was a hodgepodge: some held captured Mosin-Nagants, others old hunting rifles, and a few half-grown boys even carried nothing but homemade Molotov cocktails. Their camouflage suits were fashioned from bedsheets or old clothes, covered in layer upon layer of patches.
Yet, this did not dim the fiery passion in their eyes.
"Good God, where did you lot crawl out from?" Raivo walked up to Simo, his eyes flashing with shock and sympathy as he looked at this tattered group of remnants who looked like beggars. "You look like you've climbed straight out of hell."
"Close enough," Simo replied with a weary smile. "We need medicine and food. Two of my brothers are at their limit."
Without a word, Raivo immediately waved over two soldiers who appeared to have some medical knowledge.
"Quick! Get the first-aid kits! Tend to their wounds. Distribute the remaining dried meat and bread, don't be stingy!"
On these plains of ice and snow, supplies were more precious than gold, but for fellow soldiers, this boisterous lieutenant was never miserly.
"Thank you... thank you, sir..." Juha clutched a piece of black bread that was hard as a stone, tears and snot streaming down his face.
"Don't thank me! We're all brothers fighting the Russians!" Raivo clapped Juha on the shoulder with enough force to nearly flatten him. "You need a full belly to have the strength to kill the enemy!"
The group sat in a circle on the snow, sharing the food provided by the partisans. Though it was simple black bread and salted jerky, to Walter and the others, it was a feast.
"How did you end up here?" Raivo asked while drinking melted snow, his eyes full of curiosity.
Simo briefly recounted their retreat from the Taipale River, the ambush, the seizure of the field kitchen, and the pursuit by the Soviet elite. By the time he finished, Raivo's mouth was hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.
"You stole a field kitchen? And wiped out a motorcycle squad?" He stared wide-eyed at Walter, who was currently gnawing on bread. "You lot have some serious balls!"
"We were cornered," Walter said flatly. "If we didn't fight, we were dead. If we fought, we at least got a full meal."
"Good man!" Raivo gave a thumbs-up. "I like that grit! We partisans might be poor, but we specialize in curing arrogance." He paused, his expression turning a bit more serious. "However, that Soviet captain you tangled with is no pushover."
"You know of him?" Simo asked.
"I've heard. Wolf. An NKVD mad dog," Raivo spat. "That bastard specializes in hunting down partisans and stragglers. He's ruthless and holds a hell of a grudge. More than a few partisan units nearby have fallen to him; he even hangs the bodies from trees for display."
"He's still hunting us," Simo said. "We killed a fair few of his men. He won't let it go."
"Then let him come!" Raivo slapped his thigh, a murderous glint in his eyes. "It's high time we settled the old scores and the new ones together! In these woods, there isn't a man alive that we partisans fear!"
"Where are you headed?" Raivo asked.
"Pitkäranta," Simo answered. "We're trying to rejoin the main force."
"Pitkäranta is still in our hands." Raivo delivered the good news. "Though the Soviets have been attacking constantly, our defenders are stubborn. They're dug in there like nails. But the road there is blockaded; Russian checkpoints and patrols are everywhere."
Hearing that their destination had not fallen, a glimmer of hope finally broke across the men's faces.
"Since it's on the way, come with us," Raivo stood up, brushing snow from his gear. "We have a hidden base nearby, an abandoned hunter's cabin. It's a bit of a squeeze, but at least it has walls to block the wind, and we can light a fire. You can rest and refit there."
"Will we be a burden?" Simo hesitated, knowing a pack of mad dogs was still on their trail.
"What rubbish!" Raivo glared. "We're all Finns, where's the burden in that? Besides, a few more rifles give us more backbone. Move out!"
The group packed their gear and followed Raivo's partisans deeper into the forest. Although this mixed band of remnants and partisans still looked bedraggled, the atmosphere of despair had largely vanished. Raivo was a natural optimist, telling crude jokes and partisan anecdotes along the way, keeping the men laughing.
"I'm telling you, last time at 'Black Pine Forest,' we buried a few landmines and sent a Russian armored car into the clouds. One of the wheels stayed hanging in a tree for three days..."
Walter walked in the middle of the group, listening to the laughter, his heart slightly more at ease. Yet, he did not lower his guard completely. He looked back at their path from time to time; the blizzard continued to howl, seemingly covering all tracks.
But that prickly sensation of being watched remained. Would Wolf truly give up so easily?
Whether you're a wolf or a dog, if you dare to come, I'll shove a blade down your throat.
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