Ukkosvyöry – Tuulispäänä Leningradiin

Ukkosvyöry – Tuulispäänä Leningradiin” (Avalanche of Thunder – Whirlwind to Leningrad)

“Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons designed by Lahti” – Kenraaliluutnantti Ruben Lagus, Commanding Officer, 21st Panssaridivisoona

Long after the war was over, Eversti Matti Hakkarainen well remembered his first sighting of a Sika, back in early June 1940 when he was a mere vänrikki commanding a Jääkäri  joukkue – and a very junior vänrikki at that. “What the hell are those?” he remembered asking. “Those” were a row of large squat truck-sized shapes covered by tarpaulins and lined up neatly down one side of a long shed. Withdrawn from the intermittent fighting on the outskirts of Leningrad two days earlier, the Komppania had been loaded on trucks, suffered an uncomfortable journey back to Viipuri and after a night in an actual bed, had been summoned to stand outside the large warehouse immediately after breakfast. Not that it seemed to be a formal parade or anything, nobody had told them to clean up, or line up or get into formation, just to be there. In fact, nobody had been sure why they were there at all. It had just been the usual Armieja “hurry up and wait.” Only that morning, there had been not too much waiting at all.

The entire Komppania filed into the Shed after the Komppanian vääpeli had opened a side-door and ordered the men inside. They’d all noticed the large tarpaulin-covered shapes lined up along the far side of the shed. A couple of the more curious had begun to drift towards them but a curt command from the Komppanian vääpeli saw them rejoin the rest. The Kapteeni moved up to the front and jumped up onto a workbench. “OK men, Listen Up,” he said. He had no problem being heard. Everyone was listening and wondering what was going on. “We are now a Mechanized Jääkäri  Komppania.” He grinned. “And if you want to know what that means, well, for a start, we don’t do so much walking.” He gestured to the Komppanian vääpeli, the Company Sergeant-Major, who in turn gestured to a couple of men he’d deputized to stand next to one of the tarpaulin-covered shapes. “And THIS is what makes us Mechanized.” The tarpaulin was tugged away to reveal a squat armored shape with a sloping front and sides, small windows at the front, four large wheels, a twin 12.7mm with a small shield mounted on the front of what looked to be the passenger compartment and another 12.7mm mounted on each side. “Looks like a Pig to drive,” one of the men next to Hakkarainen had exclaimed, forgetting to keep his voice down. Everyone started to talk. The Komppanian vääpeli’s voice roared. “Keep it down men, keep it down, the Kapteeni is going to fill you in.”

Kapteeni Kaarna waited without expression until quiet returned. “This is the Armiejan’s new Armored Infantry Carrier, it’s called the Sika. We’re the first Komppania to be equipped with them and we’re going to spend the next two days familiarising ourselves with them. The rest of the 21st’s Jääkärit are going to get these over the next few weeks, Company by Company as they arrive. And if you’re wondering Why Us? Well, you all know machineguns back from when we were the old Heavy Machinegun Company, and as you can see, that’s something these Sikas have plenty of. We’ll get familiar with these and then we start training with the tanks and artillery. Now, there’s Instructors from the Experimental Combat Group waiting for us, they’re going to take you over your Sika’s in groups, the Komppanian vääpeli and Platoon Officers will meet with me..” he glanced at his watch .. “at oh nine thirty hours over there. Over to you Komppanian vääpeli.”

“Attention.” The Komppanian vääpeli’s voice snapped the Komppania to attention as the Kapteeni turned and strode off towards the group of uniformed men who’d appeared at the far end of the row of Sika’s. The Komppanian vääpeli gestured to half a dozen Lottas’ who were filing through the door. “The ladies are bringing in Coffee and buns over there, line up and feed your faces while it’s hot. Assemble back here at oh nine hundred. The Instructors will give you a rundown on the Sika’s until midday. Lunch at twelve hundred hours in the Shed here. Assemble at thirteen hundred hours right here for this afternoon’s orders.” He looked around. “Fall out.”

Rather than the next two days, the Komppania spent the next week, twelve hours a day, each and every day, familiarizing themselves inside and out with the Sika – and there was a lot to familiarize themselves with. As their Instructors told them, the Sika had been designed and the prototype built in just three weeks at the Patria plant in Tornio. The basis for the Sika was the standard MSK Truck (Maavoimien Sotilasmalli – “Maavoimat Military Pattern”) chassis and the Cummins I6-170hp diesel engine. The armoured all-welded body was made from 9mm ballistic steel plate from the Tornio Steel Works (although the front armour was actually 14mm) with a raised roof over the driver and drivers assistant seats, a rear door and an open-top troop compartment at the back, which allowed provision for three pivot mounts for single 12.7mm machine guns on the vehicle’s inner side walls – one at the front and one on each side of the troop compartment. A further 7.62mm light machinegun could be fired forward through a gun port by the drivers assistant. The armour itself was sloped at the front and angled on the sides to improve protection.

The internal layout of the Sika itself was compact. The front cab seated a driver and driver’s assistant separated by a gear box cover (both of whom would also be responsible for basic vehicle and engine maintenance). Vision for the driver and assistant was through large bullet-proof glass windows which could be covered by armour-plate visors when in battle conditions. These restricted vision considerably but offered considerable extra protection, albeit often at the cost of smashed fingers (a design flaw, as the Instructors kindly pointed out). A Radio Operator was tucked away in a compact space immediately behind the driver. In the open-topped troop compartment, three machinegunners operated the belt-fed DShK 12.7mm’s, a fourth man was responsible for passing ammunition belts out as needed – a challenging task with three 12.7mm’s and in the confined space available. Last was the Sika Commander for a total of eight men in all. Add to this personal kit, racks for personal weapons, boxes of ammunition (“there’s no such thing as to much ammunition” Sihvonen said in an aside to Salo after Salo had grumbled about how little space there was to stretch out “and it sure beats marching”).

While the Sika had a few faults – for one thing, the Instructors pointed out that the weight of the Armour meant that the chassis was overloaded and as a result, “she could be a real bitch to drive”. But on the other hand “no more walking and enough firepower to blast through the gates of hell” – the combined firepower of even a joukkue of Sikas, let alone an entire Komppania, was devastating when used against enemy infantry and light vehicles caught in the open, and the Sika’s themselves provided real mobility. They had a maximum road speed of 50mph and a range of 300 miles on good roads – and with the 4WD, they had reasonable cross-country capability, albeit with decreased range. The machineguns fitted to the Sikas were Russian DShK 12.7mm’s which had been captured from the Red Army in fairly large numbers in eastern Karelia, the Isthmus and in Murmansk together with enormous stockpiles of ammunition – including AP, AP-incendiary, AP-incendiary and exploding bullets. In hasty trials of captured Russian equipment, they proved to be reliable and effective – and as there were large numbers, hundreds at the least, of them captured, it had been decided to fit them to the Sikas as they came into service. With some work, they had been installed in with a shield for the gunner to provide at least a modicum of protection.

Over the first couple of days, Kapteeni Kaarna worked with the Joukkue Officers and NCO’s and the Instructors from the Experimental Combat Group to reorganize the Komppania around the Sika’s, with 8-man Ryhmät assigned to each Sika. Prior to re-equipping with the Sikas, the Company was a standard Jääkäri  Komppania of 141 men organized as follows:

Company Commander (pistol)
Company HQ Ryhmä (Squad)
Messengers (runners)
NCO + 4 men (rifles)

Lookouts/anti chemical weapons Ryhmä (team)
NCO + 3 men (rifles)
Motorcycle messenger (pistol + motorcycle)

Antitank Ryhmä (Squad)
NCO (rifle)
8 men (2 or 4 at-rifles + rifles) (**)
Horse man (horse + cart/sledge), (rifle)

3 Jääkäri Joukkuen (Platoons), in each Jääkäri Joukkue (Platoon):
Luutnantti/Vänrikki (Lieutenant/2nd Lieutenant) (pistol and submachinegun)
Platoon Sergeant (rifle)
Company HQ Squad
2 messengers (runners), (rifles)

4 Jääkäri Ryhmät (Squads), 9 men in each Squad:
Corporal (rifle)
8 men (2 submachinegun + 6 rifles)

Reorganised, the Komppania saw a slight increase in the number of men as follows (6 Sikas per Joukkue allowed for continuous bounding overwatch – alternating movement of coordinated units to allow, if necessary, suppressive fire in support of offensive forward movement or defensive disengagement. As each pair of Sikas takes an overwatch posture, the other pair advances to cover; these two groups continually switch roles as they close with the enemy. The inclusion of 6 Sikas in a Joukkue made it possible to continue to maintain an effective bounding overwatch with sufficient suppressive firepower even when one or even two Sikas were knocked out.

Komppania HQ:
Command Sika: Kapteeni, 1 x Alikersantti (Junior Sergeant, aka Corporal), 6 men
Sika #2: Komppanian vääpeli, 1 x Alikersantti, 6 men
Sika #3: 1 x Alikersantti, 3 men (Armoured Truck Logistical Carrier)
Sika #4: 1 x Alikersantti, 3 men (Armoured Truck Logistical Carrier)

3 Jääkäri Joukkuen, in each Jääkäri Joukkue 48 men as follows:

Command Sika: Luutnantti/Vänrikki, 1 x Alikersantti, 6 men
Sika #2: Kersantti (Sergeant), 1 x Alikersantti, 6 men
Sika #3: 1 x Alikersantti, 7 men
Sika #4: 1 x Alikersantti, 7 men
Sika #5: 1 x Alikersantti, 7 men
Sika #6: 1 x Alikersantti, 7 men

As the men found out, five men in the troop compartment, together with equipment, weapons and ammo, was getting a bit crowded but it worked. Platoon Officer and Sergeants assigned crews and positions, after which the serious training began. Initially, the men assigned as machine gunners trained on the DShK 12.7mm’s, while the assigned driver and drivers assistant learned to drive the Sika’s, first on roads, then trails, then cross-country. As the drivers found out, they did indeed handle like their namesake. Meanwhile, assigned radio operators trained on their new Nokia radios while the vehicle commanders trained on tactics. That was just the first week…. On the second week, the REAL training began……training as a Joukkue and then as a Komppania.

******************************************

Vänrikki Matti Hakkarainen stood with his joukkue as they looked at their Sikas, half smiling at the sight of them. “If we’d had these back in April and May, we’d have been in Leningrad in days,” Salo’s voice behind him muttered. Matti didn’t say so, but he thought Salo was correct. The men were talking quietly among themselves as they waited. The talking faded away as a tall lean officer in the black leather of the Panssari troops jumped up onto a workbench beside the Sika in front of them. Standing on the workbench, Chief Instructor Majuri Järvinen looked around at the 150 odd men of the Jääkärikomppania. Competent looking bunch of lads, he thought to himself with some satisfaction. He knew they’d started out as a Heavy Machinegun company in an Infantry Regiment, converted to infantry and attached to a Jääkäripataljoona, then fought their way down the Isthmus. No shirkers here, they’d seen battle and fought well. Their CO, Kaarna, had put it tersely to him. “Don’t give them any crap about discipline, they’re all aika velikultia, good ‘ol boys the lot of them, their view is they’re in the Army to fight the war and that’s it. Give them barrack depot crap and we’ll never get anywhere with them and you’ll die of frustration. Just tell them what we need to learn and why and show them how to do it, the sensible matters they will sort out and get on with, otherwise they’ll all be like Ellu’s hens.”

Majuri Järvinen nodded, mostly to himself. For the next two minutes, he introduced himself and the other Instructors. Next he talked about why they were forming mechanized Jääkäri companies. “You all know what its like to fight alongside the panzers,” he said, “you went down the Isthmus with them. When they’re with you, they have to slow down so you can stay with them to protect them from the other side’s infantry, when they move at their maximum speed, you can’t keep up. And you know what you men did to the Russian tanks that got separated from their infantry, even when you didn’t have anti-tank guns you managed to take them out.” He singled out Kersantti Hietanen, who’d taken out one of the terrifying Russian KV1 tank’s single-handedly with an anti-tank mine and been awarded a medal for it, with a look and a nod that conveyed an unspoken message of respect. Hietanen stood a little taller as men glanced at him. They knew what he’d done and it had saved their bacon at the time. The memories of that one still gave Hietanen nightmares. After a slight pause, the Majuri continued. “Well, the Sika here is a way to have you men keep up with the tanks – and with a lot more firepower than you’ve had as a Jääkärikomppania.”

“More than we had as a heavy machinegun company,” one of the men spoke up. “We had a lousy dozen machineguns for the whole company.” Majuri Järvinen grinned. It made him look impish, a lot younger than his actual age. “Well, each joukkue now has twenty four machineguns. Eighty machineguns for the entire kompanie, and you men don’t have to carry either them OR the ammunition.” He chuckled now. “And think what it’ll be like for the Russkies, with eighty of these 12.7’s firing at them. They’ll shit themselves.”
“Naaah, they’ll just use more anti-tank guns,” someone grumbled.
“Or artillery,” another grumbler added sourly. “They always use their damned artillery.”
One or two others started to chip in. It had all the sounds of a familiar argument starting up again. The Grumblers vs The Pessimists. Majuri Järvinen winced. Typical Finnish soldiers. Time to get back on topic before the whole thing turned into a grousing match.

“Enough,” the Komppanian Vääpeli’s voice carried. The men settled down without any more noises. Mainly because they were interested in the Sikas and they knew they’d have to listen to find out about them. The Vääpeli had laid it on the line before they started.
“You don’t pay attention and listen to the Instructors, do what they want, you go back to walking. We’re on to a good thing here with these here Sika’s, look at them. We get to ride inside the things, that there armour keeps bullets out, we don’t have to carry nothing.”
“You never did anyhow,” someone commented drily. The Vääpeli ignored the comment. “They carry all the machineguns and ammo and kit for us. It’s a bleeding life of luxury and if any man here screws it up for us, Saatana, I’ll leave it to you men to settle with the culprit.”
It was a long speech for the Vääpeli. He was usually nowhere near as eloquent. There’d been enough growls of agreement and general looks cast around that he knew the point had sunk in and been understood.

With the audience more or less back in hand, Majuri Järvinen recommenced. In broad terms, he enthusiastically outlined the training schedule that would occupy the next two weeks. And then, even more enthusiastically, he talked about the Sikas. “Armour on the side is 9mm’s of ballistic steel, angled to increase protection. That 9mm will keep out rifle bullets and shrapnel from grenades and most mortar shells. It’ll keep out machinegun bullets except at really close range. It won’t stop close-in artillery and it sure as hell won’t stop an anti-tank round. The front armour is 14mm. That WILL stop even a heavy machinegun bullet and it’s angled acutely, so at long range it MAY stop a light anti-tank round, no promises, but its good stuff, the best that the Tornio works can make. The glass windows are armoured glass but they ARE a weak point. When the shit hits the fan, get the steel hatch covers down over the glass and use the viewing ports. Your gunners are your protection and your commander tells you where to go, what to do. Your protection is your firepower, speed and coordination with the rest of your joukkue, NOT your armour.”

“Also, you see these tubes on the front here. These are for firing smoke grenades. You can lay your own smokescreen in a few seconds and then fall back behind it. BUT it does hide the enemy from you as well as hide you from the enemy. Needs to be used effectively. What else? The engine is a diesel, and diesel is a lot harder to set on fire than petrol, so if you are hit you won’t be deep fried instantly, you’ll likely have time to get out if you’ve lived through the hit. Lots of guns, lots of bins for ammo, although you will have to be careful not to run out, these guns can use it up real fast. Personal weapons – there’s racks inside to fasten them to when you’re moving. Suomi’s and Rumpali’s are recommended, the SLR’s tend to get caught up when you mount and dismount in a hurry. Kit? Well, you can stuff all your kit in the bins under the seats….”

“Now the machineguns, the Russian 12.7 is a good heavy machinegun for all that it’s Russian. Reliable, tough, good range, 600 rounds per minute. It can take out light vehicles. No good against tanks, but you’ll be working with tanks and anti-tank gun units, your basic tactic is of you come up against tanks, you fall back and draw them on to our own anti-tank guns and let them take care of the business. We’ve got plenty of ammunition for the 12.7’s that we captured from the Russians, that hard part is getting it up to you so make sure you don’t go wasting it. Joukkue officers, you need to keep track of how much ammo is used and order resupplies. Every Joukkue is going to get a couple of armoured trucks for carrying ammo and a bit of reserve fuel but that’s for combat resupply, you still need to make sure you stay on top of your current ammo and fuel supply….”

“…..Now, you all know what its like fighting on the Isthmus and in Karelia. One of the big advantages of the Sika is that it’s small and fast. And the four wheel drive means you can go pretty much anywhere the ground is firm. Unlike a tank, you CANNOT drive through ditches. Getting stuck in a swamp will get you killed and swampy ground is just as bad…..”

“Now, fighting in the forest. The Sika is OK in forested terrain as long as it’s not too rocky or swampy. You have to always keep your eyes wide open, the Russians, they’re mostly scared of the forest but they can hide in it too. You all know what the Russians are like when they dig in, there snipers are good, they can hide anti-tank guns as well as we can so you have to really look. Going down roads, you have to be careful – those curves and corners, a Russian tank or an ambush can be anywhere. BUT the Russians are also cautious, yhey didn’t like to advance their tanks without close infantry support and with no infantry, those Russian tank crews often abandon their tanks totally intact for us to capture and reuse. So we use that to our advantage.”

“The Forest is our friend as well as our enemy, it hides us as better than it hides the Russians and we can move through it to outflank them and attack them from the rear. The Russians hate it when we do that.” He grinned. “Remember that to them. Karelia is an alien land and they’re scared of the forest and of us. And the Sika coming out of the forest where they don’t expect it will scare the living shit out of them more often as not. BUT you have to know the Sika’s limitations, which we WILL show you, the last thing you guys want is to be screwed by the Russians because you got your Sika bogged down or broke it doing something it’s not designed to do…… “

“…..As a Mechanised Jääkärikomppania, more often than not you’ll have additional platoons or sections attached based on the mission. Armoured Cars, mostly the new Kettu’s that are coming in, we have some Sika’s with the 81mm mortars for direct fire support, also there will be a few half-tracks available with the rocket launchers, also some flamethrower half-tracks and the anti-tank guns. You’re going to learn to operate with them, the anti-tank guns especially, if you run into Russian tanks, your job is going to be to lure them back onto the anti-tank guns and let the AT boys shoot the shit out of them while you take care of any Russian infantry with them….”

And so it went on…..
******************************************
Change gears. Reverse up. Change gear again, hammering the gear lever that always seemed to stick when you wanted to go from reverse to first. Turn left using brute force on the steering wheel as the Sika commander yelled directions into the intercom. In the other seat, the assistant-driver was cursing as he looked out for obstacles and yelled directions. The Sika bucked and jerked as the engine picked up power. The seat restraint belts bit painfully as the Sika bounced through a slight dip in the ground. Avoid that tree. Move into the firing position ahead. Above, the barking roar of the 12.7’s as they opened up. Change into reverse right away and hold the clutch down, ready to move. Make sure you know where to back up without running in to anything too large. A tree waving when you hit it will give your position away. Reverse up fast. Jerk as the Sika whacked a tree that was too large and solid to give much. Shit! Change into first. Quick. Quick. Go left. Move into the next firing position. Wait. This time, forward now, over the ridgeline and weaving down through the trees. Someone else, another Sika, close by, moving in parallel. Into the next firing position.

The 12.7’s roared again, covering fire as the second section moved up and through. Bounding overwatch, they’d learned to call it. Covering each other with fire as they moved. Time to move again. Reverse. Go right this time. Accelerate. Incoming fire. The Sika commander yelling instructions to the gunners. All four 12.7mms firing. Reverse. Left into the next position. Left again. More firing. The joukkue CO on the net now, calm, very controlled, calling directions and orders. Reverse. Move right. Back in the troop compartment a frenzy of reloading, belts being passed up, instructions yelled. The Sig in the seat behind talking on the radio. Move again. Keep moving forward through the forest, weaving through the trees. Guns firing. Glimpse of the other Sikas to left and right. Go hull down and wait.

A sudden burst of firing from above. “Got them.”
“Driver. Move out.”
Reverse out. Forward. Left. Left. Right. Red smoke suddenly fills the inside of the Sika. Choking, Lehto bails out straight over the top of the Sig, gasping for air, eyes tearing up. The smoke from the simulated hit is acrid and thick. The others, in the troop compartment, have already gone over the sides. The Sig and the co-driver are the last out, choking and swearing. The Instructor has already started in on them, his face red with anger, pounding a fist on the side of the Sika. “Left. Left. Right. Every bloody time Left Left Right. Every time you do the same thing. You think the Russians are morons, that they won’t notice something as simple as Left Left Right Left Left Right. You are all now officially bleeding dead. Fried. Crispy Critters. You understand that? You want to be deep fried. No? Then change. Alternate. Vary. Do it different. Never the same. Understand? Yes? Right. Back in and lets do it again!”

Back in the Sika, Hietanen gets on the intercom. “OK, my fault. I screwed up. It’s my job to tell you which way to go.” Lehto cut in. “Right. Why not toss a coin.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Driver. Move out.”
Reverse out. Change into first, jerk ahead to the right.
“Target. Two o’clock.”
Guns firing. “Move forward. Fast. Fast. Stop. Target 10 o’clock.”
And again. And again. And again, until at the end of the day they were bone-weary with exhaustion. After which they got to service the Sika, clean the guns, replenish the ammo bins. And then in whatever time was left they got to eat and then sleep.

The targets were popups, the rounds were real. Live firing, individual vehicles to start with, then in Sections, then Joukkueet, then the entire Komppania. Intensive live firing. First at silhouettes, then as they improved, at moving targets. Firing on the move was harder still. Practicing mounting and dismounting into action on foot. “A Sika can’t clear trenches, only infantry can do that.”

Working with the tanks, coordinating the Sikas and the tanks in movements into battle, in combat itself and in withdrawals. Radio procedures. Command and control. Replenishment. Maintenance. Working with tanks, anti-tank guns, artillery and infantry on foot. Time was short and there were never enough hours in the day. They trained twelve, fourteen hours a day. The men grumbled and complained, but very few tried to get out of it. Those that did, Hakkarainen or Kersantti Hietanen simply told them if they didn’t like it he could have them transferred back to one of the infantry battalions that did it the old way, nobody was begging them to stay if they didn’t want to be there.

Well into their second week of training, Hakkarainen decided he need a bit more time getting familiar with the 12.7mm’s. When he walked into the Shed after dinner, it was to find Sihvonen, Salo and Linna there with two of the Instructors, the front 12.7mm dismounted and one of the Instructors at work with a welding torch. On the workbench next to “his” Sika were a couple of Lahti 20mm AA cannon. Hakkarainen looked at Sihvonen, Salo and Linna and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Sihvonen looked at Salo. They both looked at Linna, then all three of them looked back at Matti. The instructors didn’t even look up from their metalworking. “Well, it’s like this Sir, my younger brother, he’s in the Ilmavoimat at the air base just down the road, he’s an Armourer and he told me they had a warehouse full of those new Lahti AA guns for putting on trucks and things as AA guns for airfield defence, but they got no trucks to put them on, so we did a deal. We figured those Lahti 20mm’s, they pack a hell of a punch, they can take out a tank and we figured if we put two of them on the front, we could take out anything we see, and make the other two 12.7’s twins instead of singles.” Sihvonen was getting more and more enthusiastic as he talked.

Hakkarainen looked at the Lahti’s, thought about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of 20mm AP cannon shells arriving at 360 rounds per minute – from each barrel. From every Sika in his joukkue. After a couple of seconds, he grinned. “How soon do you think you can have it ready?” he asked. One of the instructors looked up. “Be ready by morning,” he said. Hakkarainen thought about it. “I think I’ll just leave you to it,” he said. “And Sihvonen, Salo, Linna, if anybody asks what’s going on, I authorized whatever you’re doing.” By the next morning, the single 12.7mm on the front had disappeared and a pair of 20mm belt-fed Lahti cannon had taken their place. And instead of a single 12.7mm mounted on each side, there were now two twin 12.7mm machineguns mounted. It looked rough and ready, and things like the belt feeds for the 12.7mm’s were a real kluge, but it seemed to work, certainly the pivot mounts tracked smoothly and the reinforcing seemed strong enough to take the recoil when the guns were fired. Sihvonen, Salo and Linna on the other hand looked a bit bleary-eyed. A canteen of hot coffee perked them up.

As they prepared for the days exercise – a company movement forward and into the attack – the Kapteeni wandered over. “Some changes to your Sika, Vänrikki?”
“Yes Sir,” Hakkarainen acknowledged. “We fitted a pair of Lahti 20mm’s on the front mount and converted the 12.7’s to twins.”
“Hmmmmm,” Kapteeni Kaarna climbed into the Sika and took a thorough look. Hakkarainen followed him in. “And this happened when, Vänrikki?” “Ahhh, last night Sir.” Kaarna shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask where you got those 20mm’s from.” He looked at the twin Lahti 20mm guns thoughtfully, then somewhat quizzically at Hakkarainen, then at the guns again. “Let’s take them out to the gunnery range after the exercise and see what they can do.”

The exercise was not routine. No exercise with these instructors ever was. Two of Hakkarainen’s Sikas got stuck and had to be towed out. Under fire. Two were destroyed by simulated enemy fire. They got lost. They let enemy infantry get too close. They screwed up on the radio procedures. “Saatana,” Kersantti Hiekanen complained into the joukkue radio net as red smoke from a simulated hit billowed out from a third Sika and the men bailed out, choking and swearing, “Ei meist’ o’ mihkä!”.” They could all see an Instructor, dressed in bright orange for visibility, storming towards the hit Sika, obviously preparing to rip the crew new assholes. Hakkarainen shuddered. He knew his turn for public humiliation would soon be coming.

In the event, he was spared the public humiliation. He received that privately. If you could call the back of his Sika, with the Kapteeni and one of the Instructors and the rest of the Sika crew en route to the gunnery range private. “That Instructor certainly has an excellent command of the Finnish vernacular,” Linna said admiringly to Sihvonen as he pulled his diary out in the barracks later that evening to jot down a few notes. “For your novel, is it?” Sihvonen asked somewhat sarcastically. Linna grinned. “You want to be in it Sihvonen?” Sihvonen laughed. “If we all live through this, I won’t give a shit whether I’m in it or not, I’ll just be happy I survived.”

On the gunnery range, they’d stopped in a prepared firing position. “Lets see what it does,” Kapteeni Kaarna said mildly. Hakkarainen nodded to Linna, who promptly opened up. The Lahti’s had been loaded with belts of mixed AP and AP-Tracer. A line of fire walked down the static targets as the twin 20mms roared, cascading empty shells onto the floor of the Sika.
“Perkele,” Linna said, his voice hushed, almost inaudible under the roar of the twin Lahti’s.
The rest of the crew, Hakkarainen, Kapteeni Kaarna and the Instructor watched in awe as the targets disintegrated in a maelstrom of 20mm cannon shells, splinters and dust. “Saatanan mahtavaa” Linna screamed at the top of his voice as he hosed the targets down. Hakkarainen looked sideways at Kapteeni Kaarna. The expression on his face hadn’t changed. Linna ceased firing when the belts ran out.

“You know,” the Instructor said thoughtfully, “there’s an old T-26 in the back of the shed, too damaged to use and most of the useful bits have been stripped off. Why don’t we have it dragged out here and we’ll test the guns on that.”
Kapteeni Kaarna thought about it. Then he smiled. “Let’s do it.”

It was midnight before Hakkarainen and his men got back to the barracks. After they’d shredded the T-26 on the range, rather conclusively showing what the Lahti’s could do to a Russian tank in the process, they’d still had to clean down the Sika, strip and clean the guns, collect all the cartridge cases, refuel and service the Sika and get it set up for the next day’s exercise. Kapteen Kaarna and the Instructor had left, engrossed in a discussion of the guns. Hakkarainen had stayed and worked on the Sika with his men. And he’d made sure that they got a hot meal from the kitchen. He’d had to coax the grumbling old Lotta on night duty to get her into motion, but she’d rustled up something for them in the end.

******************************************

The next day’s exercise was another bitch. By the end of a day that was straight from hell, Hakkarainen was seriously considered applying for a transfer to a position as a weather monitor on the Kola Peninsula. Kapteeni Kaarna beckoned him aside as they began cleaning up the Sika’s outside the shed. The sinking feeling in his stomach disappeared as Kaarna asked him where the Lahti’s had come from. Hakkarainen did his best to diplomatically state that they had been “acquired” from the Ilmavoimat, in the best traditions of armiejan scrounging. “Dammit Hakkarainen, just tell me who it was that got them,” Kaarna finally exploded. “I want to know if we can get more of the damn things.”

“Oh.” Hakkarainen deflated. “Sihvonen got them, his brother’s an armourer in the Ilmavoimat, ththey’veot a warehouse of them down the road and they did some sort of a deal.”
“Thankyou so very kindly Vänrikki Hakkarainen.” Kaarna still sounded exasperated. “Perhaps you would be so good as to summon Sihvonen to join us.”
Hakkarainen did. Sihvonen came over, snapped to attention. Even, wonder of wonders, saluted. “Cut the crap Sihvonen, we’re not in the field, there’s no enemy snipers around,” Kaarna’s mouth half-twitched into what might have been a smile. “Now, do you think your brother could lay hands on a few more of those Lahti’s, say a pair for every Sika we’ve got? Plus ammo for training?”
Sihvonen forgot military appearances instantly, wrinkling his forehead, removing his cap and scratching his head. “Have to talk to him Sir, its easy enough to explain a couple going missing, but forty of them, that might be a bit much to ask.”
“Well, you can take the evening off, take Linna and Salo with you and have a chat with your brother, I’m going to talk to our Majuri Järvinen and see if there’s anything he can do for us.”

As it turned out, Majuri Järvinen went up through his own line of command. His request for forty Lahti 20mm’s was expeditiously declined. Conversely, his request for large amounts of 20mm ammunition for training purposes was approved almost immediately. Sihvonen in turn advised that his brother could not see his way to “losing” that many Lahti’s, but certainly the small bunker that they had been moved to was somewhat isolated and not guarded. Thus it was that two nights later, a surprise Soviet air raid took the airbase by surprise. Over a period of an hour or so, a number of sporadic explosions wracked the airbase, none of them doing any appreciable damage – with the single exception of an isolated bunker that was being used to store a number of Lahti 20mm AA guns. A Soviet bomb had blown the whole bunker to fragments, leaving nothing but an overly large hole in the ground and some fragments of wood and metal. The base Armourer, one Sihvonen, reported the writeoff of some forty Lahti 20mm AA guns and put in the paperwork for replacements.

A couple of hours after the Soviet air raid ended, Sihvonen, Salo, Linna and half a dozen other men from Hakkarainen’s joukkue drove into the army base in four rather heavily laden old Ford Muuli trucks, the springs groaning under the weight of their loads. Strangely enough, the Komppanian vääpeli was at the Gate when they arrived and waved the trucks through himself without a security check. The Kersantti of the Guard, who strangely enough was also from Kapteeni Kaarna’s Komppania, blinked not once as the four trucks groaned and squeaked past. Indeed, he even waved at Sihvonen as he leaned nonchalantly on the sill of the passenger’s window. The trucks disappeared towards the Shed that was home to the Sika’s and very shortly afterwards, the sounds of a large group of soldiers hard at work could be heard.

Over the next few days, the Sikas rotated through the shed, three or four at a time. Each morning a few more would emerge with the modifications completed. It took more than a week before the last one was done. And then, on the gunnery range, with the entire Komppania lined up in their Sikas, the sheer firepower of twenty twin-Lahti 20mm cannon and forty twin-12.7mm heavy machineguns was tried out ….
“Impressive,” Kapteeni Kaarna stated blandly.
“Mahtavaa” one Sotamie Maatta was heard to say as he watched chunks flying off the old Russian T-26, which was now looking more like Swiss Cheese than a tank. “Impressive” was something of an understatement. Even the Instructors from the Combined Arms Experimental Combat Group stood there with their jaws hanging, a look of stunned amazement on their faces. Marjuri Järvinen was frantically making notes.

After the day’s live shoot on the gunnery range ended, Kaarna summoned Hakkarainen to his temporary office. “And bring Sihvonen, Salo and Linna with you Vänrikki,” he added, almost as if it was an afterthought. What followed there arrival was not what you would call a speech, but the Kapteeni made it plain to Sihvonen, Salo and Linna that was he well pleased with the initiative they had shown. “Quite impressive Korporaali Sihvonen, Korpraali Salo, Korpraali Linna,” the Kapteeni said blandly, grinning at the surprised look on their faces. “Congratulations on your promotions.” He handed each of them the shoulder stripes for their combat uniforms. “I expect to see you wearing these by the morning.” He turned to Hakkarainen. “And lest I forget Luutnantti, these are for you.” He handed Hakkarainen a set of collar tabs for a 1st Lieutenant. Then shook his hand. “Good work Luutnantti.”

Another week of training followed. Orders came to be prepared to move out the next day. Kapteeni Kaarna gathered the company together outside the Shed to announce their eminent departure. To Vänrikki Koskela, of the Third Joukkue, he had delegated the task of issuing instructions to the Komppania. In his opinion, Koskela, who was taciturn & overly self-conscious, needed all the command experience he could get. Koskela stood in front of the Komppania, looking as though he was meditating how to begin. He always had difficulty giving orders and he would have far preferred Kapteeni Kaarna to issue them. “Er … we move out at 6am tomorrow morning with our Sika’s. …. You NCO’s ….. it’s up to you to look after things. See that all extra equipment is handed in. Make sure you have a change of underwear and socks and your greatcoats and blanket in your packs. And of course bring your weapons and body armour and helmet. Anyone who needs replacement kit, see the Quartermaster. Sika commanders, make sure your Sika’s get all their maintenance done today, all fuel to be topped up, a full combat load of ammo for the Sika’s as well as your personal weapons. Be as quick as you can.”

Kersantti Hietanen ventured a question. “Where are we going? Way the hell out in the wilderness I suppose?” Koskela’s glance first sought out Kapteeni Kaarna, who stood looking blankly inscrutable, then sought the horizon as he answered. “I can’t tell you. All I know is the orders. Get going now, and don’t waste time”. That was all the men learnt. Indeed it was all anyone except Kaarna knew, yet everyone was eager to be off. The rest of the Armieja was fighting, not training, and while no-one was eager to go back to the war, the sooner the war was won, the sooner everyone could go home again. Such was their eagerness that men even asked the NCO’s what else they could do, a rare occurrence in any army. With Luutnantti Hakkarainen off with the Kapteeni, Kersantti Hietanen took charge of the Joukkue. His booming voice rose above the din as he directed the preparations, first in the barracks and then as they worked on the Sika’s. Hietanen was a powerfully built and cheerful young man who had established his authority over the joukkue chiefly due to his immense strength.

They gossiped as they worked, but nobody knew more than anyone else where they were going. One of the men from Lammio’s joukkue came running over. “The panzers are moving out.” They abandoned their tasks for the moment to step out of the shed and watch. The panzers were indeed moving out, long columns of them on their transporters, followed by the seemingly endless logistical tail. It seemed that the entire Divisoona was indeed moving. Ordered back to their tasks, all day they worked on the Sikas. Maintenance. Engines. Oil and grease, topping up everything that could be topped up, servicing everything that could be serviced. Clean the guns. Fill the ammunition belts and the ammo lockers. Check personal weapons, check their individual Lohikäärme Vuota, the body armour that had proved so valuable in battle on the Isthmus, sharpen puukko knives, the now standard-issue Isotalo-Taisteluveitsi (“Isotalo fighting knives”) and the almost two-foot long combat machetes that could be used to chop down a tree or take a man’s head off, load up on extra food – you could always fit in something extra inside the Sika. Extra kit tied on the outside – cammo nets, tarpaulins, spare tires, chains and rope for towing, planks for getting out of the mud if they got stuck, axes, saws, spare parts, whatever seemed necessary, whatever could be scrounged. When they moved out the next morning, Rahtainen’s Sika had a live pig in a hastily made cage tied on the back. Kapteeni Kaarna looked at it expressionlessly as it passed by, squealing loudly. Luutnantti Lammio looked shocked as he stood in his command Sika watching Hakkarainen’s joukkue drive past him.

Hakkarainen grinned at Lammio from his command Sika, which his men had named Anssin Jukka, after the notorious Ostrobothnian knife fighter of the same name. Behind him, Salo started singing. The rest of the crew joined in first, roaring out the words, then the rest of Hakkarainen’s joukkue joining in, as much to shock the rather prim and proper Luutnantti Lammio as for any other reason. Also, much to Hakkarainen’s embarrassment, his men seemed to have altered the words somewhat….

“When Luutnantti Hakkarainen set out for the war
the Devil sat down on the shaft
like a gust of wind drove Anssin Jukka
past the Pikku-Lammio Sika…”

Hakkarainen wasn’t quite sure what that said about him or his men, given the rather grim melody of the song, which told of “The Horrible Wedding in Härmä, with drinking and fighting going on — from the hallway to the head of the stairs dead bodies were carried…” In a way, Hakkarainen thought, the singing of the song rather typified the joukkue’s spirit of aggressive intent – though whether it was towards the Russians or towards Luutnantti Lammio was perhaps the question to ask. As if to illustrate the song rather more graphically, Salo flipped his Isotalo fighting knife in the air and caught the blade in his fingers, raising it to his forehead in an ironic salute to Luutnantti Lammio as they drove past. Behind Lammio, his men were grinning. Hakkarainen thought perhaps he should rebuke Salo, but then he gave a mental shrug. As long as the men followed his orders, a certain amount of leeway was permissible. With a grin, he turned his face to the road, caught up in the grim elation of the moment as they headed off towards battle once again……

And just as a bit of an informational post-script….

In the mid-1800s in western Finland, in a region called Ostro-Bothnia along the Gulf of Bothnia, there was a tradition similar to that of the “gun-slingers” of the old American Wild West. Only these guys, mostly wealthy and strong farmers, used the Finnish puukko-knives instead of six-shooter colts to settle their disputes – so perhaos one could call them knife-slingers. They liked fast horses but did not ride them. Instead they had the horse draw a two-wheel cart with iron wheels. They liked to gallop through the villages and enjoyed the drumming of horse hoofs and the rattling of the wheels on the gravel roads. In this they were like some present day Finns in their cars…

Now these guys were very proud of themselves and wanted to be kings of the hill. They used to crash parties like weddings and do all sorts of mischief, fighting against others and against their own gang members. The result was of course a high murder statistic. Some of the most famous of these knife-fighters (and they WERE famous within Finland) were Isontalon Antti, Rannanjärvi, Pikku-Lammi and Hanssin Jukka (more often spelled Anssin Jukka, Anssi being the family name and Jukka “John” the first name, so Anssin Jukka translates to Jukka of Anssi). The memory of these knife-fighters still lives in a very popular song about a wedding at a village called Härmä in 1868 and it can still be bought in many versions, recorded by many military bands. The words go about like this:

“There was a terrible wedding at Härmä
with plenty of drinking and fighting.
Blood was carried there in a damn big pile.
When Anssin Jukka went to the wedding
the devil sat on the shaft of his cart.
Like a gust of wind he galloped past Pikku-Lammi on the way”.

Anssin Jukka arrived at the wedding and shouted from the door: “Good evening, are you not going to show me the beautiful Tilda of Alitalo?” Alitalo was the name of the farm, Tilda being the bride. The song continues, telling that people were playing and dancing till Anssin Jukka came – and then the fight started at once. By the time the fighting ended, there were so many corpses that the row of them reached from the vestibule down to the porch stairs. On the way to the wedding, Anssin Jukka had insulted Pikku-Lammi by galloping past him. This, of course was an insult so they got into a fight at the wedding and ….

“Anssin Jukka had a knife
and Pikku-Lammi had a stake.
There on the floor heaven opened
for Pikku-Lammi as Anssin Jukka cut his throat”.

The song ends by wondering whether the authorities rest well knowing that “the best of the boys has spent ten years in the prison of Vaasa.” Anssin Jukka was a bit of a hero – for instance in the 1930s the glider club at Vaasa had their Grunay Baby glider was named after Anssin Jukka. Also, Marshal Mannerheim’s personal transport aircraft, a DC2, was named “Hanssin Jukka” – one can in all honesty say that very few Military commanders of any nation have had their personal aircraft named after a knife-fighter. This in itself should perhaps have been a warning to the Russians not to attack Finland and probably the popularity of “Anssin Jukka” reflects some deep characteristic of the Finnish soul, who knows….. Anyway, everybody knows about Hanssin Jukka, a Finnish knife-fighter of the 1800s…

Here’s the Finnish and English lyrics for Anssin Jukka Ja Härman Häät. There’s quite a few versions of this, this is only one…..

Härmässä häät oli kauhiat / There was a terrible wedding in Härmä,
siellä juotihin ja tapeltihin. / there was drinking and fighting.
Porstuasta porraspäähän / From the porch to the end of stairway
rumihia kannettihin. / corpses were carried.

Anssin Jukka se häihin lähti / Anssin Jukka went to wedding
ja valjasti hevoosensa. / and harnessed his horse.
Eikä hän muita mukahansa ottanut / He didn’t take with him others
kun Amalia-sisarensa. / than his sister Amalia.

Anssin Jukka kun häihin lähti, / When Anssin Jukka went to wedding,
niin aisalle istuu piru. / devil sits on shaft.
tuulispäänä ajoo Anssin Jukka / Like a gust drove Anssin Jukka
Pikku-Lammin sivu. / past Pikku-Lammi.

Mikähän silloon sen Anssin Jukan / What might then Anssin Jukka
mieles olla mahtoo, / have in his mind,
kun se tuota rytkypolkkaa / when he that rough polka
soittamahan tahtoo. / wanted to play.

Pienet poijan perhanat / Little damn boys
sen tappelun aloottivat, / started the fight,
kaksi oli Anssin veljestä, / two were Anssi brothers,
jokka tappelun lopettivat. / who ended the fight.

Rytkypolkkaa kun soitettiihin, / When rough polka was played,
niin poijat ne retkutteli. / boys were wrestling.
Hiljallensa se Anssin Jukka / Silently Anssin Jukka
helapäätä heilutteli. / wagged a knife.

Anssin Jukka se heilutteli / Anssin Jukka shaked
tuota norjaa ruumistansa. / his flexible body.
Kehuu Pohjan Kauhavalta / Bragged from Ostrobothnian Kauhava
sankari olevansa. / the hero to come from.

Anssin Jukalla puukkoo oli / Anssin Jukka had a knife
ja värjärin sällillä airas. / and dyer’s jack a shaft.
Alataloon laattialla / On the floor of Alatalo
aukes Pikku-lammille taivas. / the heaven opened to Pikku-Lammi.

Herran Köpi se puustellin portilla / Master Köpi at the gate of farmhouse
rukooli hartahasti. / prayed earnestly.
Anssin Jukka se puukoolla löi / Anssin Jukka hit with his knife
niin taitamattomasti. / so unskillfully. (you slit with a knife, don’t stab or you kill somebody)

Anssin Jukan puukkoon se painoo / The knife of Anssin Jukka weighted
puolitoista naulaa. / a pound and a half.
Sillä se sitten kutkutteli / With it he then tickled
tuota Pikku-Lammin kaulaa. / neck of Pikku-Lammi.

Anssin Jukan puukoonterä / Blade of Anssin Jukka’s knife
oli korttelia ja tuumaa; / was a span and an inch;
sillä se sitten koitteli, / with it he then tried,
jotta oliko se veri kuumaa. / if blood was hot.

Anssin Jukan puukoonterä / Blade of Anssin Jukka’s knife
oli valuteräksestä; / was of cast steel;
sillä se veren valutti / with it he drained the blood
tuon Pikku-Lammin syrämmestä. / from Pikku-Lammi’s heart.

Mitähän se harakkakin merkitti, / What did the magpie mean
kun saunan katolle lenti. / when it flew on the roof of sauna.
Vihiille piti mentämän, / It was to be a wedding,
vaan rumihia tehtiin ensin. / but corpses were made first.

Kahreksan kertaa minuutis / Eight times in a minute
tuo rivollipyssy laukes. / the revolver went off.
Alataloon laatialla / On the floor of Alatalo
Pikku-Lammin kurkkuk aukes. / throat of Pikku-Lammi was opened.

alataloon häis kun konjakki loppuu, / When brandy run out at Alatalo wedding,
niin ryypättihin viinaa. / we drank spirits.
Niinimatosta Pikku-Lammille / Of a bast carpet for Pikku-Lammi
tehtihin käärinliina. / a shroud was made

Ja voi kukn se yö oli kauhia / Oh how that night was terrible
kun juotihin ja tapeltihin, / when it was drunk and fought,
ja pirunmoosella lehmänkiululla / and with a large cow pail
verta vaan kannettihin. / blood was carried.

Eikä se Anssin Jukka olisi tullu / Anssin Jukka would not have become
rautojen kantajaksi, / a carrier of shackles
jos ei menny alataloon häihin / if he had not went to Alatalo wedding
konjakin antajaksi. / as a server of brandy.

Jokohan ne herrat Kauhavalla / Wonder if masters at Kauhava
on hyvän levon saaneet, / have already got a good rest,
kun kymmenen vuotta parhaat poijat / when for ten years the best boys
on Vaasan linnas maanneet? / have lied in the prison of Vaasa?

Artist Erkki Tanttu has made a famous painting of this instance leading to that Horrible Wedding, masterfully depicting the Finnish spirit of aggressive intent, see below. So when Hakkarainen, Hietanen, and the rest of the Finnish Army went on the offensive in August 194o, perhaps there was the Devil sitting on the roof of their Sika…

They drove all day in convoy, following the road north of Lake Laatoka and then turned south. “It’s the Svir then,” Kersantti Lehto muttered from his Sika. The entire armiejan seemed to be in motion, not just the 21st, but other divisions mixed in, everyone rumbling south towards the Svir – armour, artillery, infantry, pioneeri, soldiers of every branch imaginable, all with their orders, all looking grim and unsmiling. They knew what was coming and not many were looking forward to it. There were a few who were and Lehto was one of those. He was singing quietly to himself as his Sika rumbled along. His front gunner, Kaukonen, looked sideways at him. “Sounds like you’re enjoying this,” he grumbled. Lehto looked at him and grinned. The grin never touched his eyes, which were an icy blue. “Killing Russians makes me happy,” he said. “And with this baby,” he patted Kaukonen’s twin Lahti’s, “I can be sure I’m going to be very happy indeed.”

In his command Sika, Hakkarainen was studying the map. “Almost there,” he muttered to himself. Twenty kilometres to the Svir. Already the sound of the artillery was a constant, if distant, rumble that was audible even over the diesel engines and the road noise. The Kapteeni had been clear about the movement orders, but aside from the assembly point south of the Svir, he knew as little as Hakkarainen about what they were to do after that. Battalion HQ came up on the radio net. Riitaoja, who Hakkarainen had moved to his Command Sika as the Sig, piped up, “Message from Battalion Sir.” He flicked a switch to relay the radio signal over the internal intercom so everyone could hear.
“Possible Russian infiltrators anywhere between here and the Svir,” the Battalion HQ Sig’s voice was clear. “Entire Battalion on Alert posture. HQ out.”
The Radio net came alive with chatter, Komppania and Joukkue both. Hakkarainen ordered his joukkue to full readiness, guns cocked and ready. They rumbled on, the men now scanning the forest and the intermittent fields they passed by.

Hakkarainen did a quick positional check. His Sika’s were all maintaining standard close-up convoy distances, Lahti’s angled alternately to left and right. Alikersantti Virtanen’s Sika was in the lead, followed by Hakkarainen’s, then Lehto’s, Hietanen’s, Lahtinen’s and lastly Rokka’s. Ahead of them was Koskela’s joukkue and the Komppania HQ Sika’s, behind, bringing up the rear, was Lammio’s joukkue. Apparantly there were remnant Red Army units on the Finnish side of the Svir, Red units that had survived the Finnish counter-offensive and were continuing to fight behind the Finnish lines. Not to much effort had as yet been put into mopping them up, the main focus was on the new fighting south of the Svir and the destruction of the Red Army units on the front. These stragglers had been left for later, but they could still prove a nuisance. Which, indeed, turned out to be the case just a few kilometres down the road. A checkpoint. A truck further ahead, half of the road, burning sullenly. Shooting. Rifles and machineguns. Russian and Finnish. A thin line of Finnish soldiers burrowed into the ground, facing south, older men, their faces grim. An NCO came running over to Kaarna’s command Sika. “Sir, there’s Russian’s up ahead, don’t know where they came from, they ambushed our trucks, there’s fighting up ahead.”

Kaarna leaned over. “Any idea how many Russians?”
“No sir, my men and I, we were in the last truck. Some of the others from up there joined us, there’s fighting up there, we was just about to advance down the road.”
Kaarna thought for a moment. The Sig could get Battalion HQ, which was behind them with Two Company, commanded by young Autio. He advised Battalion of his intentions. Majuri Sarastie concurred. He looked down at the old NCO. “You and your men stay here, I’ll send anyone we recover back to join you. When you have enough, send a group up to recover the trucks.” He got on the radio, issued commands to the joukkue commanders. The Komppania fanned out either side of the road, forming an extended line, Hakkarainen’s joukkue on the left, Lammio’s on the right, Koskela’s on either side of the road and the HQ section as reserve. Virtanen was first to spot their own men from his command position in the lead Sika. Sweaty men bolted towards then, running with their last strength, looking backwards over their shoulders.

“Something’s scared the rabbits.”
“Not “Something”, it’s the enemy. Just be alert on the guns!”
“Shit! The enemy can’t have penetrated this far behind our lines.”
“Well, I doubt they’re running from the Germans.”
Hakkarainen leaned over the side. “You, where’s the enemy, what strength?”
Ignoring him, the men ran by, heads down, panting. At least all of them so far still had their weapons. An NCO, an old, greying, overweight Kersantti, stumbled towards them. Hakkarainen leapt straight over the side of the Sika to the ground and grabbed him with both hands, swung him round and thumped him hard against the side of the Sika. Behind him, Linna had followed him, Hietanen and one of his men piled out of their Sika, all of them manhandling the running men, grouping them behind Hakkarainen’s Sika. Seeing a semblance of organisation and the armoured bulk of the Sika’s offering at least a sense of security, more stragglers joined them.

They were all older men, greying, overweight, rear-echelon transport and logistics troops without any real combat experience. Hakkarainen interrogated them sharply, found they couldn’t tell him much, just that a horde of Russians had emerged from the woods, shot up some of the trucks, they’d mostly run without fighting. He sent them back towards the road to join the men already there. “Take any other’s you find with you, mind,” he told them. “We don’t want to leave anyone behind out here. Start getting the trucks ready to move again, get any badly damaged ones out of the way. We’ll clean out the Russians.” Reassured by the presence of the armoured Sika’s and the aggressive confidence of Hakkarainen’s men, the transport men headed in the indicated direction, at least now looking like they were in an army.

Hakkarainen piled back into his Sika. There was fighting going on ahead, that was for sure. Russian and Finnish rifles, grenades, Russian machineguns. Lammio’s joukkue was in action on the right, he could hear the chatter on the Komppania radio net. Koskela was moving down the road, small groups of the transport troops coalescing around his joukkue and clearing out the Russians as he went. As he scrambled up and into the Sika, his driver threw it into first and they move forward.
“Bounding overwatch,” Hakkarainen ordered. “Virtanen, your section leads. We’ll cover you.”
“Move out.”
“Faster.”
“You drive then,” Maatta’s voice was an angry snarl on ther intercom as they bucked through the forested ground, weaving around large trees, crashing through the scrub and the smaller trees. The first Sika, Virtanen’s, crossed a small stream, climbed up the bank, and halted to wait for the others to follow. The gunners looked around, alert. Someone spotted a small group of Finnish soldiers moving back in good order. Hakkarainen shouted out: “You there, where’s the enemy. What strength?”

An NCO ran over. “Where do you want my men? There’s Russian’s back there, no idea how many,” he yelled up at Hakkarainen. More soldiers were trickling in, some running, some seemingly prepared to fight. “Get a hold of these men falling back and move back to the road.”
“Right,” the Kersantti said, and like a shot he was off, rounding up stragglers.
From beside Hakkarainen, Linna chuckled. “He looks happy to be going.”
“At least he was still fighting,” Hakkarainen snapped. Then, as the second ryhmä moved up, “One ryhmä, move out.”
They moved up and over the slight ridgeline, pausing as the second ryhmä moved up and through. Then leapfrogged again. “Ambush”. Virtanen’s voice on the joukkue radio net was very controlled. “Estimate two hundred romeo alpha’s. Taking fire.”

The twin Lahti’s and the 12.7’s on Virtanen’s Sika blazed lines of fire into the scrub and forest as his Sika accelerated into the ambush, closely followed by the other two in the ryhmä, Hakkarainen’s and Lehto’s, the drivers following their training without orders. Behind them Hietanen’s ryhmä was fanning out to the left and accelerating, engines roaring, machineguns and Lahti cannon blazing lines of fire into the trees. Standard training. Accelerate into an ambush and break through, then circle back and criss-cross through the ambush zone machinegunning everything in sight. To either side of One Ryhmä’s three Sika’s moving in their arrowhead formation, Russians bolted. The cannon and machineguns cut them down, Hietanen’s ryhmä now swinging right and driving into the flank of the ambush, rolling it up from the side. Rifle bullets pinging and whining of the armour.

“Don’t stop!” Hakkarainen barked at gis driver. “The others will follow. Just keep on going!”
“Tank. Left. Eleven o’clock,” Linna yelled, swinging his cannon around.
“It’s one of our own panzers!”
“No, its not!”
There was a moment of indecision as the T-26 nosed towards them. No Finnish markings on the front. Still they hesitated. Hakkarainen saw Russian soldiers moving beside the T-26. They wouldn’t be doing that if it was Finnish.
“It’s Russian. Fire!” he screamed.
Although their Sika was still moving, Linna on the Lahti’s fired. Simultaneously the driver braked hard, and the Sika halted. It stopped so suddenly, that the everyone in the back, Hakkarainen, Linna, Salo, Sihvonen and Vanhala crashed into each other and the side of the troop compartment. Regardless, Linna kept firing, keeping the Lahti’s on target. From below, Riitaoja was alternately swearing and crying. Hakkarainen kicked him in th helmet, as much to quieten his own nerves as to shut Riitaoja up, although it managed that as well.

The T-26 halted and it’s cannon began to swing towards them. Virtanen’s Sika opened fire at the same time as Linna opened up. Two streams of 20mm AP rounds hit the Russian T26, which jerked, turned sideways and stopped. The big white number and a red star were clearly visible on the turret. The 20mm shells poured in; every one was a hit. Flames beginning to flicker from the engine compartment. Two more enemy panzers appeared through the trees. One of them stopped abruptly, as if it had run into an obstacle. It had – fire from Hietanen’s ryhmä. Linna’s Lahti jammed. He tried the cartridge-remover, but it slipped, and fell to the floor. The hammer and the screwdriver didn’t work either and went down there with the cartridge-remover. Vanhala joined him, hands bleeding, because of the bolts and the tools slipping as he tried to pry the jammed cartridge out. Lehto’s Sika took out the third T-26. Nobody tried to escape from any of the T-26’s. The 12.7’s chattered continuously, cutting down the Russian infantry.

“Forward,” Hakkarainen ordered.
They moved forward in a line now, weaving around the trees, crashing over logs and through bushes, the guns firing bursts at anything that could hide a Russian, cutting down Russian soldiers mercilessly.
“Cleared,” Linna and Vanhala frantically loaded belts for the Lahti. Linna fired a quick burst at nothing in particular, just to make sure the guns worked. The burst spooked a small squad of Russians who emerged from wherever it was they’d been hiding, right in front of Lehto’s Sika, hands held high. Lehto pushed Kaukonen aside and swung the twin Lahti’s of his Sika’s to cover them and, after an infinitesimal pause, fired a long burst that cut them down. The 20mm cannon shells at close range blew them apart, blood and body parts sprayed in all directions. From the driver’s seat of Lehto’s Sika came a howl of rage. “Sataana, Lehto, did you have to shoot the poor bastards. You can clean the perkele glass, it’s covered in blood and I’m not touching it!”

“Forward,” Hakkarainen ordered again.
They criss-crossed through the ambush zone, then swept back towards the road. Russians were running away from the road, towards them. The guns continued to cut them down. Riitaoja was on the Komppania net, making sure everybody knew they were sweeping in. Nobody wanted to be taken out by their own side’s fire. They reached the road, turned and swept back down the side of the convoy. It seemed Koskela’s joukkue had done a pretty good job. Groups of Finnish soldiers were already recovering the trucks, policing up the wounded and the bodies of the dead, collecting weapons. At the roadblock that had been their starting point, an infantry company was dismounting from trucks and preparing to move out in a sweep through the woods. Their CO walked by, looking at Lehto’s Sika in disgust. The front looked as if it had been painted red, a dismembered arm was stuck in the front grill. Lehto jumped out, walked around to the front, tugged the arm out and looked at it, looked at the infantrymen passing by and grinned. “You men look like you need a hand,” he said, tossing the arm at a young soldier. Who promptly threw up. Lehto chuckled.

Hakkarainen felt inexpressibly weary as he waited while Lehto wiped down the glass. Around him the Sika’s of his joukkue stood, their engines idling, the gunners continuing to eye their sectors warily. Summoning up some energy, from where he wasn’t sure, he got on the radio and reported in to the headquarters section. Kaarna came up on the net.
“Form up and move to the front of the Convoy Hakkarainen, there’s a rear security unit taking over.”
“Acknowedged. Move back onto the road, front of the convoy and form up. Hakkarainen Out.”
He issued the orders to his joukkue. They backed and filled, turned and moved up the road again. The log troopers waved as they went by.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Salo muttered. Hakkarainen didn’t say anything, but he agreed.

(Viewer discretion advised i.e. if bodies are a bit much, don’t watch…..and just do a bit of mental substitution if you’re watching it….)

He wears green boots and he’s coming to get you
Sika on his sleeve and I can bet you
There ain’t no place where a Russkie can run 
or hide his face in Karjala-land.

Now he’s quick with a puukko and he’s fast on the draw 
and in Karelia he is the law
He don’t know a word of fear, 
everybodies safe when a Sika’s near.

He wears green boots and he’s coming to get you
Sika on his sleeve and I can bet you
There ain’t no place where a Russkie can run 
or hide his face in Karjala-land.

Put a tracker on him now, in front of the car, 
showing us where the Russkies are
There’s one thing you must understand, 
The Armiejan is the law in Karjala-land.

He wears green boots and he’s coming to get you
Sika on his sleeve and I can bet you
There ain’t no place where a Russkie can run 
or hide his face in Karjala-land.

Repeat chorus.

He was part of a unit, he could do it
As hard as a rock was Eugene De Kock
To say the things that he has done, 
made him enemy number one.

He wears green boots and he’s coming to get you
Sika on his sleeve and I can bet you
There ain’t no place where a Russkie can run 
or hide his face in Karjala-land.

Excerpt from “Kalmaralli: Puna-Armeijan tuhoaminen Syvärin rintamalla, Elokuu1940” (“Death-dance: The Destruction of the Red Army on the Syvari Front, August 1940”) by Robert Brantberg, Gummerus, 1985.

Having led the Finnish offensive on the Karelian Isthmus through April and May 1940, fighting southwards from their starting point on the Mannerheim Line to the outskirts of Leningrad in six weeks, the 21st Panssaridivisioona, nicknamed “Marskin Nyrkki” – The Fist of the Marshal – had been withdrawn from the Front to reequip and train replacements for the casualties. As part of this re-equipment, two of the Division’s Jääkäri Battalions had been equipped with the new Sika Armoured Fighting Vehicles together with a miscellany of armoured and unarmoured support. Much of June and early July had been spent reequipping and training in the rear and thus the 21st Panssaridivisioona would not be heavily involved in the initial defensive fighting and counter-attacks on the Svir in late July and early August 1940. They, together with the other 3 Armoured Divisions, two of them the newly created Divisions using captured Red Army tanks and equipment, would be held back in reserve, leaving the localized counter-attacks to the Infantry Divisions, who bore the brunt of the fighting through the furious battles of mid-Summer. Their moment to shine would arrive soon enough.

Like the other officers of the 21st, if not the men, newly promoted Luutnantti Hakkarainen fretted at their inactivity through late July as the fighting carried on. Training palled, but worry turned to hope and then to elation as the news of the fighting at last turned positive and Finnish defensive positions were regained, Russian units annihilated or driven back. In the second week of August, the 21st was moved up towards the front and crossed the Svir, halting in the bridge head that the men and the guns of the British Commonwealth Division and the Armiejan’s 8th Infantry Division had forced as the Red Army fell back in increasing disarray under the relentless counterattacks, breakthroughs and encirclements. And now the 12th Infantry Division had moved ahead, breached the weakened Red Army lines, creating an ever-wider gap through which the 21st would pour, the spearhead of the attack, the massed armour, infantry and guns pounding down the road towards Leningrad, two other Armoured Divisions and the Infantry Divisions of the Strategic Reserve thrown in to the offensive while the Infantry Divisons of the Eastern Karelia Army fanned out, rolling up the Red Army’s flanking units, eradicating the rear area support and logistics units. And all the while the men of Osasto Nyrkki and the Parajaegers were deep in the enemies’ rear, cutting communications, eliminating headquarters units, destroying supply dumps, supported by the fighter bombers, bombers, ground attack aircraft and ground attack gyrocopters of the Ilmavoimat in creating havoc. And always overhead flew the air superiority fighters of the Ilmavoimat, dominating the skies, forever watching for any Russian aircraft which dared to approach. 

The destruction of the Red Army on the Syvari Front was a prelude to the great “cauldron” battles of Barbarossa. It was to be a classic demonstration in the use of armor in warfare along the lines articulated by some of the early theorists in tank warfare such as Basil Liddell Hart – or indeed, of Tukhachevsky with his “Deep Penetration” theories – finding a weak spot and pouring an “expanding torrent of mobile firepower through it slashing at the enemy in the weak underbelly of his rear echelon, cutting communications and supply lines and driving him into defeat.” As a battle it is now virtually unknown outside of Finland – more or less deliberately forgotten by Russian historians, unnoticed by the British, who were at this time deeply involved in their own struggle for survival and in the midst of what would become known as “The Battle of Britain”. The Germans vaguely noted the Finnish victory but saw it merely as part of the ongoing Finnish defeat of the Red Army – a sign of weakness that predicated the success of their own inevitable offensive against the Soviets. For the Americans, the battle was a footnote in history, noted for a day by the military attache’s in Helsinki and duly forgotten. The senior officers of the British Commonwealth Division, who were heavily involved in the battle, took lessons from it but were never in a position to apply those lessons during WW2. 

Ukkosvyöry: Tuulispäänä Leningradiin

Kapteeni Kaarna was injured by a stray Russian artillery burst as they moved up towards the front after crossing the Syvari. It was a fluke. Battalion HQ had ordered a halt to refuel and replenish ammunition before they moved up to their start positions. They’d paused at the designated point, waiting for the log vehicles to catch up, Kapteeni Kaarna had ordered an impromptu Orders Group when a few stray Red artillery rounds dropped in. First, the evil shrieks of the shells, then violent explosions off in the forest to their left which set the earth quaking, trees toppling. The men were ducking for cover either in or out of their Sika’s. Lammio and Hakkarainen dived to the ground, Hakkarainen wriggled a little further into a slight depression, Lammio hiding behind the illusory protection of a tussock of grass. Koskela was running back to his Joukkue, Kaarna continued to stand there, looking down at them, a bemused smile on his face. “Just random artillery,” he said quite calmly, “not aimed at us.”

Ashamed at seeking cover while the Kapteeni continued to stand, Hakkarainen was about to rise to his feet when something exploded very close. The ground heaved, a crashing explosion half-deafened Hakkarainen, a shower of dirt enveloped him, and as he struggled to brush the dirt of his face, he half-sensed the Kapteeni and Mielonen, the Kapteeni’s Orderly, collapsing. As Hakkarainen struggled to his knees and then to his feet, Mielonen rose instantly and stumbled to where the Kapteeni was lying motionless, his body strangely twisted. Mielonen knelt beside him, deathly pale, calling out in a shaky voice. “Medic …. Medic ….. Quickly, Quickly ….He’s bleeding ….. Quickly!”

Hakkarainen and the Medic from the Kapteeni’s HQ Sika arrived simultaneously. Hakkarainen carefully turned the Kapteeni over on his back and the men saw that one leg was bent unnaturally to the side. Kaarna had taken a direct hit and only the tattered cloth of his breeches kept the leg from falling off altogether. Dully, Mielonen mumbled as if to himself: “Got me in the arm too …. Got me, too ….. Medics …… where the hell are they …. Medics!”

A couple of the men moved Mielonen out of the way, cut the sleeve of his shirt, began to apply emergency dressings to his arm. The medic and Hakkarainen worked furiously on the Kapteeni, Hakkarainen frantically trying to remember his first aid training as the Medic issued instructions dispassionately. The medic had wrapped a tourniquet round what was left of Kaarna’s leg, stopping the bleeding, Hakkarainen was working to keep it on while one of the men applied a pressure pad to the stump. The Medic had found a vein, stuck a needle in and was frantically fitting a bottle of distilled water to the tube as one of the soldiers with medic training worked to reconstitute a 400cc bottle of freeze-dried plasma. The three minutes it took to reconstitute seemed like a lifetime, but the distilled water kept the blood volume up enough to keep his heart beating. As soon as the plasma was ready the medic had it hooked on to the drip with a second unit already being prepared. Kaarna’s eyes opened and looked around, his mouth working. Hakkarainen took one of his hands, leaned in above him. “You got hit sir, medic’s getting you stablized.” In the background, Hakkarainen could hear Lammio talking urgently into the Radio, then yelling at the men. “Clear the road and mark a strip, one of the Storch’s is on its way, be here in ten minutes.”

It was the longest ten minutes of Hakkarainen’s life as they poured unit after unit of reconstituted plasma into the Kapteeni, redid the tourniquet on his leg, dusted the stump with sulpha powder, reapplied pressure pads and bandages, injected morphine, checked for any other injuries. The Storch arrived in nine minutes, sinking down to the narrow strip of road and landing almost next to them. Even before it had stopped an armiejan doctor was out the door and running towards them, medical pack in hand, yelling instructions at the men to bring the stretcher from the Storch over. Kneeling beside them, he did a quick check, nodded his approval and opening his pack, retrieved a bottle of Fresh Whole Warm Blood from his cooler and swapped it in, removing the almost empty plasma bottle. By the time he’d pumped a couple of 1 litre bottles of real blood in, Kaarna was looking more like a casualty and less like a corpse. They moved him tenderly onto the waiting stretcher, strapped him down, waited while the Doc fitted another unit of Fresh Whole Warm Blood and then loaded him into the Storch, the Doc dancing attendance the whole time. He looked out at Hakkarainen just before they shut the door and grinned. “He’ll make it now,” he said. “You men did everything right., never lost a man yet that was in this good shape.” The door shut, the Storch lifted almost vertically, banked over the treetops and was gone.

Hakkarainen stood, looked around, realized his hands were shaking. Kersantti Lehto was beside him, his face as expressionless as ever, proffering a pack of cigarettes. Hakkarainen opened his mouth to say he didn’t smoke, then snapped it shut and started to take one, found he couldn’t get it out of the pack. Lehto flicked the bottom of the pack with one finger, Hakkarainen managed to take the cigarette that popped up, put it to his mouth and gratefully accepted the flaming match that Lehto held to the tip. The cigarette smoke was strangely soothing. Hakkarainen noted that his hands were no longer shaking. Lehto looked at him for a moment, as if checking that he was all there, then turned and walked away. Lammio was beckoning him over. “Battalion CO on the RT,” Lammio said sourly, “He wants a word.” Hakkarainen took the proffered headset and mike.
“Alpha One Leader acknowledging” he said.
Majuri Sarastie came up. “You’re in command replacing Kaarna. You’ve got a field promotion to Kapteeni. I’ve told Lammio. I’m sending you up a replacement for your Joukkue. Be prepared to move out in an hour.”
Hakkarainen blinked. “Alpha One Leader acknowledging, take command, be prepared to move out in an hour. Out.”
“Good man,” Sarastie said. “And good work getting Kaarna patched up. The Aid Post called in to say he’s good, they got him stable and he’s being moved to a Field Hospital for emergency surgery. Tell the men he’s going to make it. BUT! From now on, remember patching up the casualties is the Medic’s job, not yours. You should have taken command right away. No damage done so you’re forgiven. Once. And Kaarna, he’s going to be a hard act to follow, so don’t fuck up on me. Out.” He cut out.

Hakkarainen handed the headset and mike over to the waiting Sig. Lammio still looked sour. “Any orders Sir?” he asked.
Hakkarainen blinked. The log vehicles were arriving. “Get the Sika’s replenished, be ready to move out in an hour, your joukkue will take the lead. There’s a replacement officer for Second Platoon coming up, we’ll put them in the middle with my HQ section. Koskela will bring up the rear.” He looked around. “Where’s Korsumaki?” He breathed in the comforting cigarette smoke and realized it was almost gone, he’d smoked the entire cigarette without realizing it. Well, there was no chance of women out here. Wine possibly, if you counted the rotgut that Rahikainen no doubt had stashed away in his Sika somewhere. Song? Possibly, but singing didn’t really qualify as a vice. Smoking would just have to do for now. He realized he was still a little surprised at his sudden promotion and assumption of command. Kaarna would be a hard act to follow, he’d been an officer that the men admired. He’d led all of them, Hakkarainen included, in battle down the Isthmus to Leningrad and very few of them had been killed under his command. He refused to waste his mens lives with needless heroics. Not that he mollycoddled them, rather, he had been scrupulously fair and he made sure the officers and the NCOs led by example. That, the men respected. Enough woolgathering, there was work to do. He shook his head as Korsumaki’s voice behind him said “Sir?”

A day later, a day that seemed as long as a lifetime, Kapteeni Matti Hakkarainen looked from his perch in the back of his command Sitka back down the double line of vehicles drawn up on either side of what passed for a road. Three joukkueisiin of his Sitka’s plus his Headquarters joukkue, twenty Sitka’s altogether plus the two armoured trucks with additional fuel and ammo, an attached joukkue of six Kettu Armoured Cars, a couple of half-track Mortar Carriers, two Half-Tracks with the new vehicle mounted Flamethrowers that could fire a jet of the stuff out over a hundred metres, a dozen of the small light Bantam gun-buggies attached from the 1st Jääkäri Brigade that the Brigade CO, Jääkäri Lieutenant-Colonel Väinö Merikallio, had personally assigned to him. And the kicker was the Joukkue of four of the new 76mm Anti-Tank guns towed by their own little Bantams – “If you run into anything serious,” the Majuri Sarastie had instructed him, “fall back behind the anti-tank guns, fight a delaying action to pin them down while CAS hit them and the rest of the Pataljoona moves up in support. No mad charges into the teeth of any real opposition, that’s not what we’re here for, the tanks can do that better than us.”

Hakkarainen was confident that it’d take a lot to stop his Jääkärikomppania. Mind you, the Russkies did have a lot, he thought somewhat absently as he checked the vehicles and men for about the fiftieth time in the last hour. Each of the Sika’s bristled with a twin Lahti 20mm cannon and twin 12.7mm machineguns mounted on each side, each of the Kettu’s armed with their deadly little Bofors 37mm’s and a Lahti 20mm, even the Bantam Gun-Buggies had a twin machinegun and a pedestal mounted Lahti 20mm each and the four men in each bristled with an assortment of personal weapons, looking even more like pirates or bandits than his own men.

Already, Hakkarainen was inordinately proud of his not so little Jääkärikomppania. Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen – Assault Group Hakkarainen – as the men were already calling themselves somewhat cynically (the rather more cynical, he knew, were calling themselves Itsemurhapulja Hakkarainen – Suicide Group Hakkarainen), was ready to roll. The men themselves were mostly sitting in the shade or on the hulls of their Sika’s and Kettu’s and Bantams, eating kangaroo-tail stew from the Field Kitchen unit that had set up next to them. Some of the men were flirting with the Lotta’s, who were giving as good as they got. Rahikanen had been standing there talking to them since the girls had arrived. Matti grinned and spooned down his own stew before it got too cold. He’d come to like the Australian stew over time, and it never seemed to run out. In fact they’d never run out of food since the war started and the ships with food from Australia and New Zealand and Argentina had started arriving. He’d heard some of the men talking about that early on, in the Isthmus days. How they’d never been hungry since the war started. They’d also talked about what it was like in the years before, the Depression years of the early 1930’s. In a rare moment of talkativeness, Lehto, who was the same age as Matti, had told them how he’d lived on the streets of Tampere, going to the soup kitchen with an old tin which they filled with soup once a day. They’d been tough times for everyone back then. Absent-mindedly, Hakkarainen wondered how many kangaroos there actually were in Australia. Obviously more than enough to feed the entire Armiejan for months on end. And from what the Quartermaster had said there were warehouses of the stuff back home. He tried to visualise enough kangaroos to make that mush stew, failed, and laughed at his failure.

Somewhere ahead of them as they sat around were the sounds of battle – artillery firing, artillery shells exploding, rifles and machineguns crackling, occasional bullets whining overhead. The front wasn’t far away, the remnants of the fast moving battle – burning Russian tanks, trenches, shell holes, decomposing bodies bloated by the sun and swarming with flies, discarded weapons, the stink of sudden and violent death, lay all around them, ignored. After eight months of war, the debris of battle, the bodies, the smashed and burning vehicles, the flies and the smell, all of it was just a fact of life, something you ignored as best you could. Still, all of them were tense, they’d seen enough fighting in the last few months to know what lay in store for them. His own crew, except for Riitaoja, his Sig who was monitoring the Pataljoona radio net, not that he expected any radio calls, were no exception. Linna, the front gunner, was over in the sun reading a book, one of the half dozen he had stuffed away in his ruck. Beneath Hakkarainen’s perch high on the hull, Sihvonen, who was a real fighter, and Salo were seated in the shade, talking. Just the usual talk, a bit of grumbling, he’d be worried if they weren’t grumbling and complaining. That’d mean something was really wrong.
“Hope we get a longer rest. Sounds like the infantry are managing OK by themselves up on the Front-line.”
“Perkele, listen to that artillery fire!”
“I hear it.”
“Then don’t talk about resting. They’re having hard times up there.”
“Its war, not a party. Their turn today, ours tomorrow.”
“Maybe sooner than tomorrow.”
“Perkele! Don’t remind me.”

Behind him, down in the bottom of the troop compartment, Riitaoja, grunted. Riitaoja was a coward, everyone in the Company knew that. It was one of the reasons why Hakkarainen had made him a radio operator. Tucked down in the Sika where he could see nothing, he had no chance of running away and Hakkarainen could kick him if he balked. So far it seemed a good choice, he was happy not to have a gun to shoot or to have to fight, but it turned out he was meticulous with his radio equipment. And despite everything, he still complained. Hakkarainen wondered what he was going to come up with.
“You know we’re screwed, right Kapteeni? Out in front, dicks hanging in the wind. If the Russkies have anything major in front of us, we’re screwed, we’re all going to die.”
Despite his own nervousness, Hakkarainen couldn’t help grinning. “You’re right,” he said. “So you better be quick on the RT when the shit hits the fan, no screwing around, right!”
“Yes boss,” Riitaoja snivelled. Hakkarainen chuckled. At least with the Radios, Riitaoja was always quick to do his job, on the ball. It kept him away from guns. He’d been the Joukkue radio operator back from when they first got the new-fangled Nokia radios, and back then he’d grumbled about the weight, the reliability, the atmospherics,

He looked over his command once more. Talk about leading the way, he was at the front of the entire Division. Behind his Jääkärikomppania stretched the entire Jääkäripataljoona, a long line of Sitkas, Armoured Cars, some attached Tanks, Self-propelled Mortar Carriers and even some Artillery and the new Rocket Launcher half-tracks – fairly bristling with guns, some of the men hunkered down inside their vehicles, waiting. Other men outside, standing or lying in the sun wherever they could find somewhere comfortable. Some had their shirts off, some their boots, hardly one dressed in the regulation uniform. With sudden good humour he thought that although his men were a scruffy looking lot, nothing like the soldiers of the Brittiläinen kansainyhteisö divisoona that they’d passed through just yesterday as they moved up towards the starting point for the 21st’s attack. But they were really rather good at what they did which was perhaps why they were the leading company. When Hakkarainen had been a boy, he’d always thought of soldiers as being immaculately uniformed, saluting and standing to attention and obeying orders without question, brave and heroic.

Well, his men (and he too for that matter) were certainly nothing like that, although they were soldiers, but of a rather different kind. Rag-tag, no two in the same uniform, half of them wore boots taken from dead Russians (Hakkarainen did, for that matter, the Russian boots were better than the Maavoimat boots, although the boots from Australia and New Zealand were pretty good – if you were lucky enough to have been issued them), always complaining and grumbling and trying to put one over the NCOs and the Officers. But their weapons were immaculate, their machines were all well looked after, they could fight like devils when it got down to fighting with the Russians. Over by the next Sika, leaning on the side, Lehto grimaced and spat onto the ground. He must have been thinking much the same thing, because his next words echoed what Hakkarainen had been thinking. “Thirty million of us and we’d roll all the way to Vladivostok.” He spat again. “Still, I guess Leningrad will have to do for now.”

Out of sight down the road behind them was the rest of the Divisoona, columns of tanks, more infantry, more guns, the supply carriers and trucks, engineers, all the rest of the tail, all waiting to move. All waiting to follow his Jääkärikomppania down the road towards Leningrad. “Marskin Nyrkki” – The Fist of the Marshal – was getting ready to punch the Russkies in the balls once more. Hakkarainen wondered if he’d survive, then tucked the thought away. If you started to think like that, you’d catch one. He’d seen it all to many times over the months of fighting. His thoughts broke off at the sound of a motorcycle coming up the road. Eating halted. Spoons stayed between their mouths and the mess tins. A quick look at the neighbour and some wrinkling of foreheads was all the men did. The eating resumed, faster now. The sound of the motorcycle came closer and louder.

“Eat up fast!” That was Korsumaki’s voice, loud enough to be heard from one end of the komppania to the other. Hakkarainen waved and then jumped off the side of the Command Sitka to the ground as the dispatch rider drove over. The men knew without being told that this was the signal to move. They stood, stretched, drew on boots, shrugged shirts on, checked their personal weapons, some among them collected the dishes and spoons and passing them back to the Lottas who wished them luck and gave out a carton of cigarette’s for each of the vehicles. The men picked up their breadbags and threw them into the vehicles. Shrugged into their body armour, adjusting the straps and buckles, picked up helmets.“The company is to prepare for action to move forward through the gap the 8th Division has created. Move out at oh twelve hundred hours.” They’d already got clear orders. Knew what they were supposed to be doing. Knew what the objectives were, where they were supposed to halt for the relieving kompanie commanded by Helminen to pass through and assume the point. Knew where they were supposed to be replenished with fuel and ammo. And, unspoken, replacements if needed. And they all knew no plan survived contact with the Russkies. They also knew not many Russkies survived contact with the Armiejan. Especially so with the Ilmavoimat CAS boys flying support. There was an unspoken air of confidence among the officers, NCO’s and men as they readied themselves for the business ahead, grumbles now forgotten.

Hakkarainen checked his watch. Eleven forty five. Fifteen minutes. The Joukkue commanders and Sika commanders were already gathered. He turned to them. “Have the men mount-up, we move out at oh twelve hundred on my signal. You all know the plan, stick to it, everyone monitor the radio net. No radio chatter until we’re in contact with the enemy and then keep it to the point.”

He looked at his senior Luutnantti, then at the rest of them.
“Luutnantti Koskela takes over command if I am incapacitated. Everyone ready?”
There was a chorus of “Yes”. Lammio looked sour.
Hakkarainen looked at them. And suddenly and rather unexpectedly, he grinned. “Right, this one is going down in the history books so let’s go do it then, Leningrad or bust!” Most of them grinned back. A couple of the younger ones looked tense. Hakkarainen patted the new officer, Vanrikki Kariluoto, on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it Kariluoto,” he said, “if it looks like a Russkie, tell the men to shoot it still it stops moving. If it’s not moving, shoot it anyhow just to be on the safe side. What could possibly go wrong?” They all laughed then, mostly at his tone of voice, which implied that sure enough, everything would screw up. From experience, they all expected that it would. But then again, they were all taught to improvise. “No plan outlasts contact with the enemy” was a given in the Armiejan, and men that couldn’t improvise and adapt under fire didn’t last long in this war. Hadn’t lasted long. Everyone here was a survivor, they’d all fought their way down the Isthmus, even young Kariluoto who’d been an Officer Cadet back then, and lived to talk about it. The tenseness dissipated with the laughter and then they were all striding to their vehicles, last checks that nothing was loose, everything was ready.

His crew were already in the Sika, in their positions, looking around seeing that everything was in order, checking their weapons, cocking the machineguns, checking the ammunition belts. His driver, Maatta, started the big Cummins diesel up as Hakkarainen scrambled up the side and into his usual position tucked down in the front corner where the gunner could fire but he still had a good view. Exposed, but he could see everything in front. He plugged his headset in and tested the intercom. They all did. Ahead and behind, diesel engine after diesel engine rumbled into life, the throaty burbling music to his ears. Now that something was about to happen, not even Riitaoja was snivelling. Yet He checked his watch. Five minutes to go. And then they’d be leading the entire 21st Panssaridivisoona on a charge towards Leningrad through the hole had been carved in the Red Army’s frontline. Straight down the road, guns blazing, overrunning everything in their path. Hopefully! Ilmavoimat and Armiejan reconnaissance said the Russkies had thrown everything into the offensive, and then when that had been smashed, into holding the Svir. Now that they’d been forced back from the Svir and the front had been pierced, there was nothing much between the 21st Panssaridivisoona and Leningrad – and the objective was to hit Leningrad from the South before the Russkies could react, to show that they could, if they wanted, take Leningrad. A demonstration of strength, they’d been told, followed by an equally rapid withdrawal before the Red Army could regroup. Hakkarainen checked his watch. Almost time. He raised his arm high, held it high as the engines of the Sika’s and Kettu’s and Half-track “Hogs” and Bantam’s revved, counted down out loud.

And then it was time. Time for what men in future would come to call the Ukkosvyöry, the Avalanche of Thunder.

Ukkosvyöry, the Avalanche of Thunder

Hakkarainen held his arm high, watching the second hand on his watch. Precisely as the second hand hit 12. “Move Out.” He spoke into the RT, simultaneously throwing his hand forward. “Here we go boys,” Salo muttered on the intercom as Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen – Assault Group Hakkarainen – launched into motion almost as one, accelerating down the road, the rest of the Pataljoona rumbling into life and following. “Death or Glory.” Sihvonen pumped his fist in the air as he spoke. “Bugger off Sihvonen,” Vanhala snapped. He was about to add something further when “Tactical talk only,” Hakkarainen said drily, “Keep the chatter for the girls after we get back.” The speed had picked up, they were moving at around 30 mph, as fast as the battered road would allow, the men struggling to keep their footing as the Sika bounced and bumped through potholes, Määttä doing his best to weave around the worst. The RT remained silent. Behind the front, there was no real need to communicate and orders had been clear. Keep radio chatter to a minimum

Within half an hour they were nearing the frontlines, passing combat troops filing forwards along the sides of the road, rear area units off to the side, artillery batteries set up in clearings and firing intermittently. Passing a long file of infantry, slowing a little so as to minimize the dust, Vanhala leaned over the side. “Wish us luck” he called out to the soldiers. One of them turned away, spat to ground and pushed his hand towards Vanhala “to hell with you”. Vanhala laughed, raised his hand and waved a happy goodbye. “Bloody joker,” Salo grunted. He didn’t find Vanhala’s comedic antics particularly funny. Ahead, Lammio’s joukkue was beginning to wind up a small ridge. Hakkarainen checked the map, more out of nervous tension than any real need to know where he was. According to the latest brief, the frontline was over the ridge, some light fighting going on. The armeijan had pierced the Red Army front lines at the juncture between two different Corps, and the Red Army’s Corps coordination was at this stage of the battle not particularly effective. “Almost at the front” he said into the intercom. No need to repeat on the RT. Every one of the Sika commanders would be saying much the same thing to their crews about now.

The sudden tension was noticeable. Beside Hakkarainen, he could see Linna giving the twin Lahti’s a quick check. Sihvonen was doing the same with his twin 12.7’s. Vanhala was checking ammo belts. They passed an artillery battery, four of the 105’s off in a clearing to the side of the road, firing slowly. “Well, that’s a good sign,” Salo grunted again. “What is?” Riitaoja asked nervously from the bowels of the Sika. Down where he was, Riitaoja could see very little. The legs of the men in the fighting compartment, the radios, the backs of the driver and the drivers assistant. “The 105’s,” Salo explained, more patient with Riitaoja than normal. “They’re firing slowly, if they were going flat out, it’d mean the shit was hitting the fan up ahead, slow means nothing much going on.” Hakkarainen nodded, although of course it was all relative. “Slow” still meant they were shooting at something, which meant likely that something was shooting back.

Määttä changed down a gear, the engine was working harder. They began winding up the small ridge in their turn. Hakkarainen looked back. The rest of the komppania was keeping closed up tight. Another long column of infantry plodding along the side of the road, their faces grim, tight, nervous looking. Just as the faces of Hakkarainen’s men were tightening. They passed the column, ahead Hakkarainen saw a straggler, an older soldier who’d fallen out from his komppania on the march to the front. He was standing on the side of the road looking at them, heavy pack on his back, rifle cradled in his arms, his face masked with dust, inexpressibly tired looking, a man alone. He gave them a half-wave as they passed. Hakkarainen gave a quick half salute as Salo muttered “poor old bugger.”

Lammio’s joukkue was nearing the top of the ridge. Hakkarainen could see him standing. He looked back and waved at Hakkarainen and then he was gone, out of sight. “Floor it Määttä,” Hakkarainen hunched up a little behind the protective armour as they burst over the low ridgeline and followed the road down towards a small village several hundred meters away where the land flattened out. The cluster of small one story houses was in the centre of some scattered fields, meadows and small copses. It looked like any little village back in rural Finland, but more rundown, unloved and uncared for. The Sikas, Kettus and Bantams picked up speed as they plunged down the slope, the big Cummins engines snorting and roaring.

Without a word of command, the gunners were alert, keyed up, the machineguns and cannon cocked and ready, eyes scanning ceaselessly, alert for movement, alert for any threat. The shot that killed you could come from anywhere. From anything. Hakkarainen scanned the terrain through his binoculars. Small groups of Russian soldiers were running back towards the forest on the far side of the meadows and fields, mortar bombs were exploding along the far forest line, Finnish soldiers moving after the Russians, leapfrogging forwards in small groups, sporadic rifle fire could be heard over the noise of the engines. Now and then came the distinctive ripping snarl of the armeijan’s Sampo light machineguns. “Our guys in the ditch on the left ahead,” Linna spoke. “I see them,” Salo responded. “Russians by the big tree, ten o’clock, two hundred metres.” It was Salo again. He began to swing his 12.7’s. Then, sounding satisfied “Somebody got them.” The usual tactical chatter on the intercom. Hakkarainen was as used to it now as they all were. A constant rain of comments identifying friendly and enemy forces, landmarks, suspicious features, possible enemy movement, possible or actual threats that went on incessantly. Ignoring it, that wasn’t his job, Hakkarainen checked the komppania’s dispositions as they plunged down the slope.

Lammio’s joukkue in the lead was moving fast, Kariluoto’s Sikas were keeping up the speed, no one was slowing. Määttä floored the accelerator to keep up, the engine roared, they bucked over a series of ruts that almost had them airborne. Hakkarainen swore as he bounced off the side of the troop compartment. From the front, he heard a snicker. “Bit of a rough ride is it back there boys,” Rahikainen asked superciliously. “Piss off,” Sihvonen grunted. Lammio’s joukkue was pounding through the village now, Kariluoto’s Sika’s following closely, the men alert, guns twitching backwards and forwards as they looked for any threats. A quick glance backwards as Hakkarainen’s Sika entered the outskirts of the village. The little Bantams were keeping up, interspersed with the half dozen Kettu armoured cars, their commanders sitting up half out of the turrets, the drivers hatches open for better visibility, trading of protection for the ability to keep their speed up. Koskela’s joukkue bringing up the rear, the Third Komppania, Luutnantti Autio’s, was right behind them and the First, Kapteeni Helminen’s, immediately behind Autio, a long line of Sikas and Kettu’s pounding forwards. The small village seemed deserted as they entered it, the straggling line of houses untouched by war, yet uninhabited. A ghost village. No people were in sight, nothing moved. The houses were simple log or clapboard construction, unpainted, shabby and tired looking. We’re too bunched up, Hakkarainen thought. But they also needed to be able to attack en masse as soon as a threat was spotted. Win a few, loose a few. Except the losing could be final. Better to stay closed up for now.

Lammio’s voice on the RT over the Komppania net, relayed by Riitaoja. “Keep alert, watch for any movement.” “Teach your grandmother to suck eggs.” Somebody transmitted in clear, anonymously, it could only have been a Sika commander, the crews didn’t have access to the RT. Hakkarainen recognised the voice, Lehto’s. “Keep it tactical,” he snapped on the net. “No wiseassing.” Lammio for once said nothing. A wise move on his part, Hakkarainen thought. The komppania was halfway through the village, Lammio’s joukkue already leaving when Hakkarainen saw movement in a house ahead of them as Kariluoto’s Sika passed by doing thirty mph. Pointed. “All Hakkarainen elements. Bandits. Movement in the house my eleven o’clock.” Hakkarainen yelled a warning on the intercom and the Komppania radio net simultaneously. It was unneeded. More warnings on the RT, more movement sighted at different locations.

By the time Hakkarainen had finished speaking, Linna, on the twin Lahti 20mms, had caught the same movement, swung the twin-barrelled cannon with effortless ease and fired a long burst into the window all in the same motion. “In the upper window” Vanhala, at the back, swung his Rumpali round and without conscious thought pumped a grenade forward and through the window, reloaded and pumped a second out within seconds, aiming through the window of the next house. A body fell forward onto the windowsill, dropping a grenade on the ground. They all ducked just before it exploded. Harmlessly, although Hakkarainen heard a couple of piiiiings as grenade fragments whined off the armoured hull. “Ambush” he broadcast on the RT, “all Hakkarainen elements, return fire. No stopping.” The intercom was full of chatter, Salo, Sihvonen and Linna calling targets, Rahikainen calling instructions to Määttä, Riitaoja on the RT, passing on a quick sitrep to Pataljoona. Sihvonen opened up with the twin 12.7’s, hosing the house down as they passed, the clapboard sidings disintegrating, flames beginning to flicker from inside. A second Russian soldier stumbled out the door, uniform smouldering. Sihvonen cut him down in passing. Salo was firing from the other side, Linna was walking his fire down the houses ahead and to the left while Korsumaki’s Lahti-gunner walked his ahead and to the right.

Ahead of them, Kariluoto’s last two Sika’s opened up, stitching bullets through the last houses as they exited the village. A machinegun barrel poked out of a window ahead of them. Before it could fire, Korsumaki’s Lahti gunner, Jaakko, fired, the window and the logs around it disintegrating under the rain of 20mm shells. The Russians had ambushed them at their “weakest” point, just as the leading two joukkueet were almost through and with the HQ section and, the little Bantams and the Kettu armoured cars in the ambush zone. It made little difference in the end. Ahead, from the last of Kariluoto’s Sika’s and from Korsumaki’s Sika, which was leading Hakkarainen’s, lines of tracer from cannon and machineguns volleyed, grenade launchers thumped, houses began to burn almost instantly. Behind them, the twin 12.7’s and single-barrelled Lahti’s mounted on the little Bantam’s and the Kettu’s had a similar effect, while Koskela’s Sika’s were firing from the rear. The noise was deafening, an unending roar, lines of fire criss-crossing the old log houses, chewing them visibly to pieces. Hakkarainen’s Sika was no exception, Linna, Salo and Sihvonen were all firing aimed bursts, continually seeking new targets, calling targets between themselves as they continued forward without slowing. Vanhala had slammed his Rumpali back in it’s holder and was scrambling to feed new belts to Sihvonen. “Two belts of 20mm.” That was Linna calling for a reload. “Get your ass moving Vanhala.” Vanhala wordlessly shoved Hakkarainen aside as he passed up two 20mm belts.

“Alpha One to Alpha Leader.” That was Lammio on the RT. “Everything alright back there?” Salo laughed. Hakkarainen grinned mirthlessly as Russian machinegun bullets hit one of the little Bantams behind him, the four men inside jerking the chicken dance, the Bantam veering off the road to crash into the side of a house. A Russian soldier leaned out of the window above and dropped a grenade into the Bantam. He followed, cut down by a burst from a 12.7, his body toppling forwards over the windowsill, backlit by a spray of blood, then blown upwards again as the grenade exploded. “Alpha Leader to Alpha Two, it’s all fine back here. Keep going.” Behind him Salo cursed as he swing the 12.7’s and fired a long burst, cutting down a Russian as he poked a rifle through a window.. “Perkele, it’s all fine is it?” Another burst. “I’d like to see something that’s gone wrong then.” He fired again. Rumpali grenade launchers thumped, almost inaudible under the din of the cannon and the machineguns, houses began to burn almost instantly. Reloads done for now, Vanhala had picked up his Rumpali, switched to white phosphorous, was pumping grenades into the houses as they passed. On either side the 12.7’s continued to chatter viciously. “Ahh, shaddap Salo,” he called, ‘Willy Pete’ll make it right.” The white phosphorous burned viciously, flames were licking out of the houses as they passed them.

A Russian ran out of a doorway ahead of them, screaming, twisting, his back on fire, his arms flailing. Nothing put white phosphorous out, when it landed on you, the only way it stopped was if it exhausted itself, or you cut it out. Both were guaranteed to be painful experiences. Rahikainen cut the Russian down with a short burst. He fell forward. His back was burning and smoking as the wheels thumped over the body. Hakkarainen hoped for his sake he was a body. “Good hit Määttä, but Rahikainen got him first.” That was Vanhala on the intercom. “Funny boy.” That was Määttä, he sounded a bit breathless. Wrestling with the Sika’s steering did that, Hakkarainen knew. Bloody tank had been one of the more polite comments about the Sika’s steering. Ahead of them, the barrel of Russian anti-tank gun jutted outwards a few inches from the corner of a house. Somehow its crew had brought it out of hiding and moved it into a firing position. “AT gun,” Hakkarainen started to broadcast a warning but it was superfluous. The gunners in Korsumaki’s Sika had seen it too, Jaakko on Korsumaki’s Lahti 20mm and the 12.7 gunner opened up simultaneously, chewing the corner of the house to pieces. Linna shifted aim, firing past Korsumaki’s Sika. As they passed by the ruins of the gun and the scattered bodies of what had been its crew, Sihvonen opened up, firing down the alleyway between the houses, cutting down a squad that had moved out from hiding and were running forwards holding grenades and makeshift bombs. Behind them, another of the Bantam’s was hit by something, careering off the road, crashing into an already burning house, abruptly stopping, the men inside folded up like rag dolls, motionless. “Another Bantam down,” Salo reported emotionlessly.

A Kettu right behind them fired its main gun, the Bofors 37mm, on the move. The crash of the gun was deafening even over the Lahti’s and 12.7’s, the round passing just to the side of Hakkarainen’s Sika, crashing into the side of a house, taking out the corner of the upper floor. “Sataanaaaaa, that hurt,” Vanhala yelled. Blood was trickling from one of his ears. A machinegun seemed to cartwheel through the air in slow motion, bodies toppled out the hole that had been made and dropped limply to the ground. Salo stitched them while Linna blasted a long burst through the ground floor. A quick shake of his head and Vanhala put a grenade into the upper story for good measure. “Good shooting Kettu One,” Hakkarainen broadcast. Then, on the intercom. “Määttä, keep your foot down.” Then “All Hakkarainen elements. We’re going straight through. No stopping.” Hakkarainen ordered on the Komppania net. “Leave casualties for the followup units. Hakkarainen Out.” Nobody argued. Nobody perceptibly slowed. Hakkarainen had half expected somebody to disobey, the maxim that you never left your casualties was deeply ingrained within the men of the armeijan, too deeply ingrained for mere orders to overcome. Perhaps the limp unmoving finality of the men convinced the others that nothing could be done. Regardless, the remaining Bantams continued on.

Behind them, Koskela’s Sika’s were blazing away with everything they had. “Alpha Three to Alpha Leader.” That was Koskela. “Didn’t leave much for us did you?” Hakkarainen laughed. “Alpha Leader to Alpha Three, help yourselves to any leftovers.” Linna snickered. Behind them, coming down the hill off the ridge, left a little behind by the sudden downhill acceleration of Hakkarainen’s komppania, to Autio’s men it seemed that all hell had let loose in the small village. Ahead of them, Hakkarainen’s Komppania seemed to be surrounded by fire, lines of tracer from every Sika, Bantam and Kettu, houses suddenly bursting into flames, disintegrating, burning, showers of sparks, clouds of smoke. The village was a scene from Bruegel’s Hell and Autio’s Komppania was driving straight into it. “Autio to Hakkarainen, we’re coming right through on your ass, so don’t change your mind, alright. Autio Out.” “Roger that.” Autio marveled at how dry Hakkarainen’s voice could sound in the middle of a battle. “We’re surely going through. Watch out for one Bantam on the road side, middle of the village, second Bantam off the road far side, left. Hakkarainen Out.” Koskela’s Sika’s roared through, firing continuously, Rumpali’s thumping. Houses disintegrated, burned, collapsed, nothing living was left to move. The small village and its single street was a scene of devastation. As they moved out, the infantry behind them on foot were already running forwards, paralleling Auto’s Komppania in its Sikas as they rumbled through. The two Bantam’s with the eight men riding them were Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen’s only loss.

Behind, a destroyed and burning village. Ahead, empty fields and then the forest. The Russians were gone, vanished into the forest that lay ahead on the far side of the valley. Hakkarainen felt no sense of relief, no lessening of tension. The forest was more dangerous in its way than the open fields and meadows. “All Hakkarainen elements. Fast as you can. Out,” Hakkarainen spoke tersely into the company radio net. Half a kilometre to the forest and who knew if there was an ambush, soldiers and anti-tank guns waiting along the forest line, waiting for them to draw close, too close to miss. Sihvonen was singing under his breath as eyed the approaching treeline. Salo was muttering something. Never underestimate the Red Army. Hakkarainen was about to order the Forward Fire Controller to call in some artillery when four Close Air Support aircraft, the Blenheim gunships from a quick upwards glance, swept by fifty feet overhead, the noise of their engines a solid wall of sound, cannon blazing, bombs dropping into the forest line as they peeled up and away, explosions that shook the Sika’s even this far away, waves of flame, trees toppling, a wash of fire from the jellied petroleum bombs that everyone feared, the Russians most of all given that they were usually the targets. .

All of them smiled or otherwise reacted with satisfaction to the arrival of the CAS aircraft. “Good to know the boys in blue can hit the target and not us.” That was Kersantti Lahtinen on the RT this time. Someone else chuckled. The FFC came on the net. “We’ve got more on tap if we need ‘em, they’re stacked and waiting for the call, use ‘em or lose ‘em.” “Perkele, will you chaps keep it tactical.” Hakkarainen was getting annoyed and his upper class Helsinki accent was coming through. “Yes Mom.” He had no idea who that was, but after that last comment the RT chatter stopped. The intercom chatter continued, focusing on potential threats as they neared the forest line. As the CAS aircraft peeled up and away, artillery shells followed them, began to land either side of the road. Hakkarainen closed his mouth. He should have know better than to think about it. The Forward Fire Controller riding ahead in Korsumaki’s Sika had been with them all down the Isthmus, he knew what he was supposed to do without being told, went ahead and did it. They were already more than halfway to the forest line. The FFC came up on the Komppania net. “Artillery lifting …..NOW.” Fifty metres to go. Twenty seconds. The driver of Lammio’s lead Sika hadn’t slackened off the gas even momentarily. They too trusted the FFC completely.

The column plunged into the forest, which was burning to either side of the road. There were still Russians out there, a bullet whaaaaaanged off the Sika’s hull. “Paska,” Salo swore, jerked with shock. “That one nearly got me.” Ahead of them, one of Lammio’s Sika’s fired a burst of 12.7 into the trees. “Russian snipers, keep your heads down.” One of Lammio’s Sika commanders. “Keep your eyes peeled.” That was Kersantti Hietanen on the net this time. Everyone scanned their sectors continuously, either side of the road, ahead and behind in arcs that overlapped with the preceding and following vehicles, the machinegun and cannon barrels twitching slightly as the gunners moved, the intercom alive with warnings. “Watch that log on the left…….the black rock by the bush …… there’s a dip over there … “ On the road ahead, a Red Army soldier had been shot, he’d fallen on the road and the Sika’s ahead has run over him repeatedly. By the time Hakkarainen’s Sika hit it, the corpse had been flattened, the guts squished out. “Looks like squashed tomatoes back there,” Vanhala said as he looked back. “Watch out for Tomatoe Man,” Riitaoja announced on the komppania net. “Perkele Riitaoja,” It was Linna that kicked Riitaoja’s helmet. “What?” Riitaoja sniveled, “I didn’t invent it.” “Well Vanhala didn’t broadcast it to the world did he?”

The road wound through the forest. Forward visibility wasn’t great as the trees closed in around the road, with bends restricting line of sight. They were relying now on their speed to carry them through any hastily mounted ambush. The ground was more or less flat, the forest was well-maintained, not too much ground foliage which made watching for any enemy in the trees a little easier. Sika commanders were continually calling potential targets over the radio net as they passed, the gunners eyeballing any potential ambush site. Ahead, the side gunner of the lead Sika (the one commanded by Virtanen) spotted two men lying of in the trees to one side of the road. Virtanen called in the sighting as his gunner opened fire. The men took off running, both were carrying rifles. A long burst from another of Lammio’s Sika’s dropped them in their tracks. A little later Virtanen called in a truck of in the forest. “Light it up,” Lammio commanded on the RT. A ten second burst from the twin 12.7’s riddled the truck with armour-piercing and incendiary rounds. The truck burst into flames, then rocked as secondary explosions erupted inside. Nobody got out. They weren’t sure if anybody was in the truck, but nobody cared either. As long as it was no longer a threat, that was all that concerned them. After eight months of war, killing was impersonal; you shot everything that might be a threat without any thought, without any remorse.

Väijytys (The Ambush)

The road wound on and on through the forest. It wasn’t the best maintained road in the world. Highway would have been a misnomer, it was more of a leveled and metalled one-lane track. Ruts and potholes forced the speed down. Everyone found themselves being painfully battered against the interior of the Sika’s. “Perkele, try missing the potholes Määttä,” Salo grunted over the intercom as a larger than normal pothole caused the Sika to buck wildly. Hakkarainen found himself hanging on with both hands, hoping a wheel didn’t collapse or an axle break. If that happened, orders were to strip and abandon the Sika, but even that would cost them a few minutes, and minutes were precious. The difference between surprise and giving the enemy time to prepare. The difference between life and death. The difference between success and failure. “You can try yourself if you want.” Määttä sounded annoyed. “There’s more goddamn holes than there is road.” Hakkarainen grunted as another pothole jarred him mercilessly. “Fast as you can Määttä,” he said. “Try and keep up with Lammio’s joukkue”. “Doing my best,” Määttä responded between bumps. “Saatana.” That was Linna as his chin whacked into the Lahti. They stopped criticising Määttä, but the swearing continued. No doubt much the same thing was going on in every other vehicle, Hakkarainen thought wryly.

The Kettus’ were keeping up although Hakkarainen thought the men inside them were in all likeliehood worse of than the men in the Sika’s. The Bantams were small and maneuverable enough to drive around the potholes. Most of the time. Tthey were also keeping up, although from what he could see the men in them were having to hang on like grim death just to stay inside them. Riitaoja came up on the intercom. “Forward Air Observer Reports nothing they can see ahead of us for the next 5 klicks, its all forest and they can’t see much through the trees. There’s a bridge with a guard post and some trucks and AA guns at 5 klicks ahead, FAO says it looks like there’s a Russian infantry battalion moving up in trucks crossing the bridge and coming our way. Says they’re just sitting in their trucks.” “Roger,” Hakkarainen said. “Understood.” He passed on the observation over the Komppania net. “Paska,” Salo muttered, “a bleeding battalion is it.” Sihvonen turned his head to look at Hakkarainen, bared his teeth in a grin. “Let’s put Lehto in front, he’d love to meet them.” Hakkarainen grinned. “Watch your sector,” he said, but there was no bite to the command. He was thinking about the Russian Battalion, they’d have to deal with them, it’s not like the Russians would just sit there watching them drive past and then surrender. And an air strike as they crossed the bridge was out, the one thing they needed was that bridge. And he didn’t have long to think about it. Abruptly, he made up his mind. “All Hakkarainen elements,” he transmitted, “Väijytysasemaan! Lammio, pick a good ambush position and lead us in. All Hakkarainen elements acknowledge. Hakkarainen Out.” Lammio acknowledged immediately, Koskela and Kariluoto also within seconds. The Kettu joukkue CO responded also, then the other two Bantam joukkueet CO’s.

The Sika’s roared and bounced and bumped down the appallingly bad Soviet road – you really couldn’t call it a Highway Hakkarainen thought yet again. The FAO relayed the position of the Red Army trucks as they moved closer to Hakkarainen’s Rynnäkkökomppania. On the Pataljoona net, he could hear Autio’s Komppania, lagging a little. There had been a little opposition as they entered the forest but they were through that now, fifteen minutes behind Hakkarainen. Lammio came up on the RT. “All Hakkarainen elements, Move north of the road into the trees on my mark. Ambush formation…… Now. Lammio Out.” A series of clicks were the acknowledgements. No voice. With the ease of painfully repeated practice, the line of vehicles slowed and turned into the trees, men leaping out to guide the vehicles deep into the concealing trees, other men leaping out to conceal the tyre marks on the edge of the road as the vehicles, men pulling out their hukari and hastily slashing off branches for concealment, working as a synchronized team – a synchronization that was the result of that painful practice back at the training base outside Viipuri. Training that already seemed as if it was an eon past, rather than just a few days.

Now they were silent, no chattering, no yelling, no jokes. This was serious work, speed and silence were the rule. Where the men communicated, it was the flicker of hand signals and gestures. The four 76mm AT guns positioned themselves to form a chokepoint at the head of the ambush site, supported by the troopers in the other Bantam joukkue, the six Kettu’s positioned themselves in pairs interspersed between the three Sika ryhmät. It all happened in minutes, without any radio communication, with a minimum of confusion and with no drama. Just a matter-of-fact “get the job done and get it done right” pragmatism, fast and silent. The way they’d trained to mount an ambush. Just enough time to be ready shortly before the first Red Army truck drove into the ambush zone. Hakkarainen relaxed a little as the men completed their last checks and rushed to remount their vehicles. His own crew adjusted their positions, taking care not to move the guns once they’d aligned them on their sectors. Once in, no-one talked, no-one moved. Movement too soon gave you away, as they had long ago discovered. The sound of voices or radios could give you away as well. Silence and stillness, those were the rules. Those who hadn’t learned fast had died back on the Isthmus. Birdsong filled the trees once more. The scent of pinetrees and grass and ripe wildberries filled the air, a scene of pastoral tranquility and peace.

The engines of the Red Army trucks were faintly audible now, a rumble that grew closer and closer. They entered the ambush zone, rumbling on. The danger now was that something might give them away before the ambush was initiated. Hakkarainen was tense, so much could go wrong. But nothing did, the trucks continued on, passed by obliviously, closed up, seemingly unaware of the risk of being attacked from the air. That in itself indicated inexperienced officers in command, new to the fighting. After months of Ilmavoimat dominance of the skies over the battle area no Russian officer with any experience would have permitted a convoy to move in daylight closed up so closely. The Red Army infantry in the trucks that carried them towards the Syvari were seated facing outwards, back to back down the centre seats, seemingly bored, nervous, their faces smooth and baby-fat. “Puppies,” Hakkarainen thought to himself, “Puppies up against wolves, god help them.” They all looked very young. It was unlikely that many of them were going to get much older. And they were certainly going to need God’s help when the Lahti’s and the 12.7’s opened up. Halfway down the ambush position, standing in his Sika, Lehto had taken over the twin-Lahti gunner position, he was watching the trucks and singing soundlessly under his breath, a look of unholy glee on his face. Rokka, his Sika the last in the line, waited, his face grim. He too had taken over the twin-Lahti in his vehicle, he would take no pleasure in this killing but he would also give no mercy. Behind him, Kärkkäinen had already prepared additional belts of ammo. On the left hand 12.7’s, Tassu’s face was set, hands held the grips, ready to fire.

The Russian trucks trundled down the road. Nobody in the trucks saw the ambush, although they were within twenty metres of the strung out line of Sika’s, Kettu’s and Bantams hiding back within the trees. After what seemed to Hakkarainen to be half a lifetime, the first truck reached the end of the ambush zone. Hakkarainen (and everyone else in the ambush) knew that had happened when the four 76mm AT guns fired as one. Amateurs initiate an ambush with loud verbal commands and other unnecessary noise before they start shooting – this can give the ambushees a second or two of warning – enough time in fact to react to an ambush in ways that can reduce the initial casualties. Professionals on the other hand initiate an ambush with maximum firepower and everyone else, keyed up and ready, joins in. After surviving eight months of on-the-job training where, if you didn’t learn, you died (or didn’t die, which could often be a worse outcome), Hakkarainen’s men were all professionals. Even Riitaoja in his own snivelling way, buried in the bowels of the Sika with the radios.

The four leading trucks blew apart as the 76mm rounds hit them, bodies, engines, chunks of metal flying in all directions. No further orders were needed. The Lahti’s and 12.7’s opened up almost instantaneously and certainly before the Russians could react, if indeed they had been trained to react, the entire Komppania firing as one. There was sudden alarm on the faces Hakkarainen could see in the truck parallel to his Sika. Alarm that ended almost instantly as Linna’s twin Lahti’s blazed a line of fire down the truck, bodies disintegrating in a welter of blood and body parts as the 20mm cannon shells fired at point blank range tore them apart. The fuel tanks ignited, the truck began to burn. “Must be petrol engines” Hakkarainen thought absently as the truck abruptly turned into a fireball. Somehow surviving the rain of shells and bullets, half a dozen blazing figures stumbled from the inferno, Rahikainen, in the driver’s assistant seat, dispassionately cut them down with his machinegun without a word. More of an act of mercy than of war. Everyone knew what to do, no orders were needed. Hakkarainen found himself a mere spectator as his men dealt out wholesale slaughter. For that was what it was.

The Bofors 37mm guns of the Kettu’s barked sharply at almost the same moment as the 76’s, adding their share to the mayhem. The Lahti’s and Dshk 12.7mm’s roared, lines of tracer criss-crossed along the road, the 76mm AT guns fired a second round each, trucks burnt or stopped where they had crashed when the bullets or shells hit them and the drivers died. Bodies and parts of bodies lay sprawled in the rag-doll finality of death. To Hakkarainen’s right, Sihvonen’s 12.7 and one of Korsumaki’s had hosed down another truck. Not a man had escaped from the truck, the driver lay on the steering wheel, in the back the bodies lay piled as the machineguns had left them, blood trickling out of the tray onto the dusty road, a wet stain that the dirt and dust soaked up, it would soon dry under the summer sun. Up and down the road, the same act had been repeated again and again. Here and there, a Russian soldier had miraculously been missed. Some picked up their rifles and fired aimlessly into the forest. Here and there other survivors of the initial carnage leaped from the trucks and started to run towards Hakkarainen’s men. They died. A few, more than likely by sheer luck, ran into the forest on the other side of the road. Desultory rifle shots showed than some of these were fighting back. Not enough to make any difference to the outcome.

The volume of fire had been such that there were very few wounded survivors, and they were not Hakkarainen’s concern in any case. Lammio came up on the net, advising the rearmost trucks had been outside the ambush zone and were attempting to turn and run, some of the men in them had abandoned the trucks and bolted into the forest. His joukkue was pulling out to engage. He repeated that some Russians had escaped into the forest. “All Hakkarainen elements, move out,” Hakkarainen ordered. “Formation Aarne.” The same as they had been in. “Don’t stop for the enemy trucks Lammio, just shoot them up and keep moving. All units take any surviving Russians under fire as we pass.” Riitaoja was already relaying a sitrep on the Pataljoona net, warning of the surviving Russians in the woods and advising that they were moving on. Both Autio and Pataljoona HQ acknowledged. Hakkarainen grinned as he heard Majuri Sarastie instructing Autio to put his foot down and catch up. Fifteen minutes after they’d pulled off the road, Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen was back on the road, in formation more or less and accelerating. He checked his watch. It was only 1pm. They were five kilometers into the Russian rear and they’d wiped out a Battalion that had had no idea they were there. Certainly it had been a better ambush than any they had staged in training. “Train hard, fight easy,” he muttered, feeling slightly ill as he took in the carnage they had wreaked. Then, keying on the RT, he broadcast, “All Hakkarainen elements, well-done!”

At the back in the column, the men in Rokka’s Sika’s were alert as they passed by the long line of destroyed Russian trucks and windrows of bodies. The burning trucks were the worst, the smell of burning paint and metal and meat. They’d long learnt to ignore that particular scent of the battlefield. There were worse, after all. Unburied bodies in mid-summer for example.
“Good start to the day.” Rokka sounded grimly happy.
“Not for those Russians, poor devils.” Tassu was matter of fact.
“Well, it’s them or us,” Kärkkäinen chipped in. “Speaking for myself, mind, I’d rather it was them.”
Jaakko laughed. “Can’t argue with that,” he said.
“Sniper near the big grey rock” came over the RT. Everyone ducked. Eyes scanned the trucks, the forest on either side of the road. No-one slowed down. One of the Sika’s ahead fired a burst into the trees. Then another. “Got him.” The voice on the RT sounded satisfied. The small fighting column was quickly picking up speed again, men reloading the guns, checking each other for any unnoticed injuries, quick status reports. In his Command Sika, Hakkarainen checked the maps. The bridge was close now, the Forward Air Observer reported no signs of any change in status. “They must have heard the shooting,” Hakkarainen said, half to himself. He must have transmitted to the FAO without thinking about it. The FAO responded. “No sign they heard a thing, they’re all just sitting around, not even shooting at me.”

As Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen sped towards the bridge, the tip of the 21st, the tip of the spearhead, heavy fighting spread outwards in their wake, flaring up to both the north and south as the Red Army belatedly realized a gap had been opened between two Corps and was being forced wider by the hour. Behind and to the north, closer to Lake Laatoka, there was heavy fighting. The Red Army had been pinned in place by the Divisions on front of them, the 12th Division was rolling them up from the south, reporting strong opposition as they defeated the Red’s in detail, Osasto Nyrkki units were deep within their rear attacking headquarters and logistical units whilst any Red Army unit that attempted daylight movement was pounded from the air by Ilmavoimat CAS and Bomber groups. Another Armeijan Division was moving laterally across the rear of the 12th, moving forward in an attempt to encircle the Reds. The Russians were putting up a grimly determined defense, as they always had, but experience, superior firepower, speed and total dominance of the air above was having its effect.

To the south west, where the 8th Divisoona was rolling up the flank of the Red Army units south of the Syvari, there was also continual fighting, with further armeijan Divisions moving to exploit the gap and surge into the rear of the Red Army. Supreme HQ was aiming for nothing less than the annihilation of all Red Army units between Lake Laatoka and Lake Aanisen. But between the Red Army Corps to the north of the 21st and the Corps to the South, there was a gaping hole in the Russian defences – a hole that was being ripped wider by the hour. Instructions from Supreme Headquarters, and from the Headquarters of the Army of Eastern Karelia, were to exploit to the greatest extent possible, halting only when determined resistance in strength was encountered. Kenraaliluutnantti Ruben Lagus, Commanding Officer, 21st Panssaridivisoona, intended to obey that order fully. His orders to his subordinate units had been crystal clear, an inspirational clarion call to many of his officers and men. To others of the men, those orders had been a source of somewhat cynical amusement.

“Thinks we’re going to go running headlong at the enemy does he?” Kersantti Lahtinen had said.
“Well, that’s what we’re doing isn’t it?” Vuorela had laughed at him.
“Paska! You’re right.” Lahtinen had shaken his head.
And all the while, they were driving deeper and deeper into the Soviet Union. And thus, while Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen led from the front, seemingly out on their own, panicking, joking and laughing, alert most of the time, behind them an entire Army was in motion, Division after Division on the move. Infantry, Artillery, Pioneeri, Armour, all the logistical support. One hundred and fifty thousand men and women, hundreds of tanks and armoured cars and armoured fighting vehicles, hundreds of guns, all of them on the move.

One of those men on the move, a straggler from his Company, had watched the column of Sikas, Kettus and Bantams of Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen rumble past him only a couple of hours earlier. Jalmari Lahti, unskilled labourer by profession, walked on alone, his unshaven face furrowed by fatigue. He’d slowly climbed up the small ridge as vehicle after vehicle, tank after tank, batteries of guns, half-tracks, truck loads of infantry, all had rumbled past, were still rumbling past in an unceasing line that stretched as far as he could see in either direction. And on the road, long columns of men trudging forwards, rucksacks on their backs, rifles and machineguns carried any old how. Tired and exhausted as he was, the sight still stirred his pride. To think that little Finland could put together an Army like this and thrash the Russians. “Serve the damn Russians right”, he thought as he struggled on over the ridge, step by step, pausing to look down at the burnt out Karelian village in the valley below, piles of logs still smoldering in the midst of small yards full of summer flowers. “Why the hell couldn’t they just leave us alone.”

On the far side of the little valley, the forest still burned, smoke rising into the shimmering blue summer sky, a fresh harvest of bodies scattered across the fields and meadows. A long thread of vehicles crossed the valley, disappearing into the forest on the far side, groups of men crossed the fields, heading into the forest. It occurred to Jalmari Lahti that one of those groups of men was probably his infantry company, how he would find out where they had got to he had no idea, but no thought of turning back crossed his mind. If he couldn’t find his Komppania, he’d just join another one. They were all going to fight the Russians after all. Behind him, the artillery thundered, their shells screaming overhead, who knows what they were firing at, but someone was getting it hard. Above, waves of Ilmavoimat aircraft, who knew what their missions were but wave after wave they passed overhead, ruling the skies. Whenever he saw them, he thought of his son, now a pilot in the Ilmavoimat. Perhaps he was flying one of those aircraft flying so confidently in the skies above. God knows, he’d been shocked speechless when his oldest son had returned home way back before the war started and told them he’d been selected for pilot training. The son of a ditch digger was now a Pilot in the best Air Force in the world. That was something to be proud of.

His thoughts turned to home as he walked on. His daughter had written a letter not to long ago, telling him things at home were well, his army pay was going to his wife, not that it was much, but it was enough to live on and his wife had a job cutting hay. The last letter that his daughter had written said that she’d joined the Lottas now she was old enough and that she was about to go away for the military training they gave the girls now. She had said she wanted to join one of the Rocket Artillery Battalions. Who would have thought they would train the girls to fight. But he’d seen his daughter back when he’d had some leave, she’d been in her last year in the Cadets back then. It wasn’t like the old days that was for sure. Now the girls wore uniforms just like the boys, they learned to shoot and they were all taught that new-fangled stuff where they punched and hit and threw each other around. And knives. They taught the girls to knife fight. He didn’t think that was right, teaching the girls to fight like that. But his daughter had had her own damn puukko and her own hukari that she kept razor sharp – he’d tested it himself and it was as sharp as his – and a rifle she brought home, one of those crappy Italian ones that Mussolini had given them, and kept by the door of the cabin with her uniform which was just like a mans. He shook his head, almost forgetting his aching feet for a moment. Girls in the Army, fighting. Who’d have thought it. But then, a Finnish girl with a rifle and a hukari was worth ten of these damn Russians. Half smiling at the thought, he dragged himself on.

By the time he’d reached the forest on the far side of the valley, he no longer looked up. He no longer cared much about the war either, the pain in his back had returned, his feet were blistered and sore, he was hungry, exhausted, hoping he would eventually catch up with his Komppania, although he had no idea where they’d got to. Further down the road he came to a Field Kitchen Unit, seemingly on its own, manned by a group of young Lotta soldiers, Sumoi SMG’s and rifles slung over their shoulders as they dished out food and water to the passing soldiers. Jalmari Lahti gratefully stopped and took the bread and hot stew one of the Lotta’s handed him, slightly surprised that they were so close to the fighting. He said so to the girl ladling the stew into his tin. She grinned cheerfully and patted her Suomi with one hand. “They train us to use these now,” she said. “Besides, there’s all you men around and we’ll be moving on before it gets dark.” She filled his tin to the brim. “It’s that australialainen kangaroo stuff again”, she said apologetically, “it seems to be all we get these days”. He smiled in good humour. “Better than I used to get at home,” he said before finding a spot under a tree in the shade to seat himself and eat. After he’d finished, he climbed to his feet and dragged himself onwards stubbornly, one of a long line of soldiers walking along the dusty Karelian road.

Like Jalmari Lahti, almost all the men pouring through the gap in the Russian defence were reservists. But now, after eight months of war, they were some of the toughest, most experienced soldiers in the world, whether they knew it or not. The men here, men like Jalmari Lahti, they were not the disciplined stormtroopers of the German Army, or the spit-and-polish soldiers of the British Army. There was little or no military spirit, they gave not one damn for the Army or for pressed uniforms and shining boots, they sang obscene songs rather than the patriotic marching songs beloved by the officers. But their Lahti-Saloranta SLR rifles, their Suomi submachineguns and their Sampo LMG’s, their artillery and their tanks and anti-tank guns, they, were some of the best fighting weapons in the world and these men knew how to use them. They had the confidence that came from victory after victory against enormous odds, they had been killing Russians for months now, these men, and they would go on doing so until they had won, however tired and worn they felt.

And around Jalmari Lahti, who was just one ordinary soldier among many thousands, the entire 21st Pansaaridivisoona continued to advance at breakneck speed westwards towards Leningrad, with more Infantry Divisions and Armoured units moving up in support. And at the very tip of the armoured spearhead, Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen led the way, as ignorant of Jalmari Lahti as he was of them – but the stubbornness and the determination to beat the damn Russians until they finally gave in was something they all shared.

The entire 21st Pansaaridivisoona was advancing west towards Leningrad at breakneck speed

And for anyone wondering, this is what a Dshk 12.7mm looks and sounds like…..

Silta (The Bridge) …

Hakkarainen had moved his Command Sika forward in the column as they moved away from the ambush site. Lammio’s joukkue was in the lead but Kariluoto’s ryhmää had gotten itself slightly disorganized as they pulled out of the ambush site and Hakkarainen had moved up, leaving Korsumaki with the log trucks and the half-tracks and positioning himself at the rear of Hietanen’s ryhmää. The Kettu’s and Bantam’s had moved out quickly, shaking themselves into column march order without any delays, and Koskela’s joukkue was once again bringing up the rear. Hakkarainen was busy checking the map as they moved out, the next objective was key, a concrete bridge across a small river that was reportedly un-fordable for kilometers either side of the bridge. It wasn’t so much the river that was the problem, as the wide swatch of swamp that lay either side, impassable for vehicles and difficult for men. Thus, capturing the bridge intact was critical to continuing the rapid advance of the 21st. “No pressure then,” Hakkarainen muttered to himself.

The Forward Air Observer was on the radio, reporting in. The river itself was small, the bridge was a solid concrete structure with a sandbagged blockhouse at either end, a guard kiosk and wooden barrier at either end of the bridge itself and something like thirty houses straggling down the road, either side of the river in roughly equal numbers. There were half a dozen sand-bagged AA positions but the FAO reported they seemed to be unaware of the destruction of the battalion that had recently passed them by. The gun crews were reportedly lazing around the guns, although the FAO did report one of them had taken a couple of shots at him when he got a little too close. A band of swampy ground a couple of hundred meters wide lay either side of the river, north and south – the only access to the bridge was down the road, which was basically a causeway across the swampy ground. The only real chance they had was taking the Russians by surprise. Hakkarainen grimaced. If the Russians clued in, that was going to cost heavily. He was about to start issuing orders when the Forward Artillery Controller came up on the RT. “Boss, got a schwarm of Tyrmääjä on tap, they just called up, can I use them to support our attack?.”

Hakkarainen smiled. He’d seen the Tyrmääjä in action once before. Just once, but that was enough to know that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of their attacks. “Bring them in along the river from the north moving south, have them hit the Russians just as we come out of the forest,” he instructed the FAC, keeping the FAO in the net. “Ask them to do a low flyby so the men can see what they look like, most of us haven’t seem them before, don’t want to shoot at them by accident. Hakkarainen Out.”
“Roger that,” the FAO responded. There was a brief pause. “They see us, doing a fly by in one minute, warning the kompannia.”
The FAO came up on the komppania radio net immediately. “All Hakkarainen elements. We have a schwarm of Ilmavoimat Tyrmääjä doing a flyby in one minute so you can see what they look like. Don’t shoot at them. Out.”
Beside Hakkarainen, Linna whistled. “Tyrmääjä hei, what did we do to get so lucky?”
Hakkarainen shrugged. “Damned if I know, but never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Overhead he heard a slow “Thwoppa …. Thwoppa …. Thwoppa…” Looking back down the line of vehicles, he grinned. “And there they are,” he said, “take a good look men, you won’t see these too often. Be happy they’re ours.

Moving up from behind, parallel to the road, just above the tree-tops and only slightly faster than the column of vehicles were four of the Ilmavoimat’s ground-attack gyrocopters, the Maataistelutykkikone (literally, “Ground Battle Gun Plane”), more usually referred to as the “Tyrmääjä” (very literally meaning “Knockout-striker!” – technically, a boxing term, it was a more than apt description of the devastating result when these aircraft attacked). They flew so close to the column that Hakkarainen felt he could almost reach out and touch them. Long and lean, a predatory look enhanced by the shark’s mouths painted on the noses with their protruding 37mm gun, he could see the multi-barreled machinegun pods, the 7.62mm Lahti-Konekivääri “Yliveto”, one mounted each side of the fuselage, bombs and rocket pods under the short stub wings with their two engines, the weirdly shaped cockpit with one pilot sitting behind and above the other in front of the huge propeller that held the machine aloft instead of wings. It looked predatory, and dangerous even at its slow speed, keeping pace with the column, although he still found it hard to believe such a machine could fly without wings. Hakkarainen could see the face of one of the Pilots, turned to look at him. He waved, saw the white of teeth as the pilot smiled, gave him a thumbs up, and then the four machines banked away, picking up speed, disappearing from sight and from hearing.

“Glad they’re on our side,” Lehto muttered.
He watched the four Tyrmääjä bank away over the treetops, keeping in a tight formation. Hakkarainen too watched them for a few seconds, almost wistfully, half-wishing he was up there with them in the clear clean skies where the fighting and dying was divorced from physical proximity. But instead he was down here on the ground with the mud and the guns and the ever-present reality of blood and death. The four Tyrmääjä disappeared from sight. Hakkarainen spent the next five minutes on the radio with the joukkue CO’s, the FAO, the FAC and the Tyrmääjä schwarm leader issuing orders. The plan itself was fairly simple, as such plans should be, complexity lending itself to screwups as it does. The FAO came up on the RT. “You’re five hundred metres from the forest edge, repeat five hundred metres. Loppu.”
Hakkarainen acknowledged the FAO. Then “All Hakkarainen elements, prepare to engage. Attack plan Eemeli. Repeat. All Hakkarainen elements, prepare to engage. Attack plan Eemeli. All units Acknowledge. Hakkarainen Loppu.”
The acknowledgements came in quickly. As they did so, Lammio’s joukkue accelerated, pedal to the metal, the rest of the formation accelerated after them, pounding down the road, guns ready, adrenalin surging, hearts pounding as they approached combat yet again.

In Virtanen’s Sika, the first in the column, the very point of the Spear, Sotamie Uusitalo’ heart was pounding in his chest. He’d been taught the breathing exercise to prevent this from happening, but his training was failing him. He was new to the Komppania, a replacement straight out of training who’d joined them after they’d been pulled out of the Isthmus and were about to be trained on the Sika’s. The Newbie in the Sika, the only combat he’d seen was on the way to the front and he was very very nervous. As the loader and the “spare man”, he didn’t have anything to do yet and he was standing next to Niskala, who was on the the right-hand gun. Uusitalo was already experiencing a loss of peripheral vision, his vision narrowing, like looking through a pipe. He was starting to experience “auditory exclusion,” his sense of hearing “tuned out” as his brain focused all his attention towards his vision, the brain’s primary sensory organ when bringing in survival-focused data. The front-gunner, Korpraali Niskala, was whiling away the time by passing on some wisdom from his time as a volunteer with Pohjan-Pojat in Spain. “Kyllä Newbie, you betcha,” said Niskala, “I swear it’s true. If ya put a coat of olive oil on your bayonet blade, then the blade won’t stick in the enemy, it just slides in and out, real easy like.”
“Really, Korpraali?” squeaked Uusitalo.
“Niskala,” Virtanen scowled. “How about just telling the Newbie to twist the blade as you pull it out? You think that might work too?!”
“Uhh, yeah, Kersantti, I reckon that’d work. . . .”
On the right hand gun, Järvenpää snickered audibly. He too had been in Spain with Pohjan-Pojat, the volunteers.
“Perkele, you talk some shit Niskala,” he said.

“All right you lot, listen up! Look at me! Look at me, Uusitalo!” roared Virtanen, looking around at him and catching his eye. His glare was concentrated essence of NCO. “Don’t let your mind wander, newbie. It’s too small to be out on its own!” A ripple of nervous laughter went through the Sika, easing the tension. Uusitalo was able to shake off the spell of tunnel vision and auditory exclusion, he remembered his training and began to take slow, deep breaths. “Listen up lads, we’re going in first, those Tyrmääjä are going to start hitting on the Russkies just before we come out of the forest, get their attention, so don’t shoot until we’re on them or they start shooting at us. And when you shoot, shoot low, it’s a hot day and the heat shimmer is gonna distort their image and make it look a little higher than it really is. And some of you sorry bastards tend to overshoot when you shoot downhill.” He looked at Immonen on the left-hand gun. Järvenpää snickered again, but nodded along with everyone else. Virtanen was pleased that his voice sounded calm and steady. Unlike his heart, which was pounding in his chest. Virtanen reached out for his training and breathed deeply and slowly. Just as his they had been taught back in Suojeluskuntas training. He could hear his own Instructor’s voice. “In through the nose, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out through the lips, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four.”

In extensive tests during the involvement of Pohjan-Pohjat in the Spanish Civil War, Johannes Lindberg, the founder of the Finnish military martial art, KKT (KäsiKähmäTaistelu) had discovered that the autonomic nervous system, or ANS, which controls your heart rate, perspiration, and adrenal flow couldn’t be consciously controlled. But in doing so, Lindberg had also identified that breathing is the one ANS mechanism that could be brought under conscious control. As the individual slows their breathing down, the whole autonomic nervous system, including heart rate and adrenal flow, come down with it. There’s also a tendency in humans to place their breathing in sync with the person they’re watching. As Virtanen took his deep breaths, Uusitalo unconsciously did so too. Virtanen’s calm was contagious and the men relaxed a little, loosening themselves up, checking their guns. Uusitalo checked the ready ammunition, making sure he had belts available for all three gun positions.

The Tyrmääjä schwarm leader came up on the Komppania radio net, working to synchronize his attack with the appearance of the Sika’s out of the forest. The schwarm had split into two pairs, one trailing the other. In the trailing Tyrmääjä pair, Pilot Officer Jorma Lahti concentrated on maintaining formation as he decreased power and dropped back, increasing the gap between his pair and the schwarm leader’s. They were flying up the river now, moving slowly, only feet above the water, the rotors lower than the treetops on either side, the engines a mere whisper of sound at low power, hands and feet working the controls as they followed the bends and turns. In the leading Sika, Virtanen had jammed himself into the corner of his Sika, binoculars held steady, scanning the area around the bridge as they burst from the trees. The Russians were as unprepared as the FAO had stated and he relayed that immediately on the radio net as they charged down the causeway at sixty kph. “No shooting until we see the whites of their eyes,” he growled into the intercom, sensing Niskala on the twin Lahti’s beside him tensing up. “Tell that to the flyboys,” Niskala growled back. Virtanen took the binoculars away from his eyes. The first thing he saw was a pair of Tyrmääjä rising rapidly from the river in line abreast, inaudible even at this short distance. The Russians must have noticed them about the same time. It was as if a stone had been thrown into a beehive. Bodies boiled upwards and outwards, leaping to their feet, running for gun positions, running for trenches and blockhouses. But the Tyrmääjä were already firing their rocket pods, the scream of the rockets and then the explosions as they hit the Russian AA gun positions, that was audible. The distinctive buzzsaw sound of the “Yliveto” gun pods firing their 6,000 rounds per minute audibly illustrated the reason why they had that particular nickname. The tracer rounds made it look like a solid stream of flame flickering out to touch the Russians each time they fired. Lines of fire walked through the Russian positions even as the rockets arrived, a deadly rain from each of the multi-barrelled machineguns mixed in with the blossoming flowers that were the rocket warheads exploding.

(Hard to do a WW2 Tyrmääjä, but think of a WW2 version of the Apache as being fairly close…..)

At sixty kph, the five hundred meters to the bridge was covered in thirty seconds of jarring pounding down the potholed road. A very very long thirty seconds for Virtanen and his men. Long enough for the second pair of Tyrmääjä to appear and work over the Russian positions with a further spray of rockets and streams of fire hosing into the Russians before they too peeled away over the treetops, staying low, leaving a lot faster than they arrived and beginning to circle back. Virtanen’s Sika was almost at the bridge, the last Tyrmääjä just peeling away as Hakkarainen’s command Sika emerged from the forest. Hakkarainen took in the situation at a glance. There wasn’t time for detailed orders. There wasn’t time for any orders for that matter. Thank God for training, Hakkarainen thought, although the thought didn’t bring any relief from the concern that gripped him as Määttä floored the accelerator to keep up with Hietanen’s ryhmää just ahead of them. The rockets from the four Tyrmääjä had destroyed most of the AA gun positions, the Tyrmääjä had almost completed circling back to the Russian positions, prepared to engage in their deadly ballet, prepared to angle down to snap out short bursts from their “Yliveto” gun pods at any surviving Russians that threatened the men in the Sikas below.

The Russians hadn’t been deployed for action. The soldiers had indeed been lazing around the blockhouses and the AA gun revetments. Lammio’s Sikas held their fire to the last moment, until they were almost on the Russians and the Tyrmääjä had banked away for the last time to circle overhead. It seemed that under the rain of fire from the Tyrmääjä, the Russians hadn’t even noticed the approaching Sikas. Whichever way you looked at it, the result for the Russians was bad. The surviving Russian’s didn’t notice the six Kettu’s fanning out either side of the road, at the edge of the forest either, or of they did, they could do nothing about them. The Kettu’s fired within seconds of stopping, pumping out 37mm AP rounds targeting the AA gun positions seconds before Virtanen’s Sika reached the Russian positions. The four 76mm guns and the two Half-track mortar carriers deployed behind the Kettus and began to set themselves up to provide supporting fire if needed. Kariluoto’s joukkue passed them by as they pulled of the road, Koskela’s bunched up tight behind, all of the drivers keeping the speed as fast as possible.

Virtanen’s Sika reached the scene of death and destruction that the Tyrmääjä schwarm had left in their wake. Bodies lay sprawled on the ground, surrounded by pools of spreading red that the earth drank up like a sponge, parts of bodies, wounded men screaming, gun positions shattered, AA guns destroyed. But still men had survived. Here and there men had reached gun positions, leapt into trenches or bunkers, other were running for cover. One soldier knelt in the open and fired his submachinegun at Virtanen’s Sika, the bullets ricocheting of the armour, some hitting the gunshields. One hit Virtanen, exploding the back of his head outwards, spraying Immonen with bits of brain and skull. Immonen, busy firing his guns, didn’t notice. Virtanen collapsed limply onto the floor of his Sika without a sound. Uusitalo looked down at him, stunned. It was the first time he’d seen death up close and personal. The Russian died a second later, cut to pieces by the 12.7mm rounds from Immonen’s guns, but it was a second too late for Virtanen, who was already dead. The Sikas of Lammio’s joukkue dealt out death wholesale to the Russian soldiers who, moments before, had been lazing in the sun. And dealing out death, they passed on, charging madly for the bridge. One of Lammio’s Sika’s was hit. Russian machinegun bullets at close range from somewhere must have penetrated the side armour. The Sika slowed, ran off the road, crashed into a house and stopped. Someone inside was still shooting, kept on shooting even after the Sika had crashed.

Virtanen’s Sika led the charge onto the bridge. Niskela had taken over command, yelling instructions even as he fired the twin Lahti’s. A Russian ran out of the kiosk at the near end of the bridge, aimed his rifle at the oncoming Sika and fired. The bullet sparked off the front armour. The gunners ignored him, busy firing at Red Army soldiers taking cover in the sandbagged revetments around the AA guns on the far side of the river. The Sika ran the Russian down, thumping into him as he tried to dive out of the way at the last second, failing, falling under the Sika which jolted as one of the front wheels passed over him. The Sika jolted again as the rear wheel went over him. Uusitalo almost fell onto Virtanen’s body, caught himself in time. Virtanen’s Sika crashed through the wooden barrier at the foot of the bridge, roared across the single lane of concrete, the rest of Lammio’s joukkue following, guns firing short controlled bursts at any Russian soldiers in sight, the twin Lahti 20mm’s hammering away at the sandbagged gun positions and at the bunkers. From their position at the forest edge, the four 76mm guns were already firing at the two concrete blockhouses. A bullet rang of the hull of Hakkarainen’s Sika as he watched Lammio’s joukkue rumble across the bridge, guns firing quick bursts. A Russian soldier ran out of the kiosk on the far side of the bridge, waving his empty hands wildly in the air. He was running towards the Sikas rather than away from them. Not that it mattered much. A burst from a machinegun cut him down before he’d taken more than half a dozen steps, throwing him to the ground in a spray of red. Just one more body among many.

Even after the pounding they’d taken and with all the fire being directed at them, the Russian resistance was growing. A Russian machinegun began to chatter from the nearest blockhouse, fortunately not doing any damage that Hakkarainen could see, although that meant nothing in the heat of battle. In a move that was as perfect as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times, one of the two attached flamethrower half-tracks roared past Hakkarainen’s Sika, treads throwing back a long roster tail of dirt and gravel, a long tongue of flame licking outwards to envelope the nearest blockhouse. The machinegun stopped. Even over the guns and the engines, Hakkarainen could hear screaming. A figure emerged, running out of the blockhouse entrance, a figure in flames, a blackened caricature of a man, running straight towards his Sika. Beside him, Salo swung his guns, fired a burst but missed. Blackened hands clawed at the hull of the Sika, scrabbled upwards, a black and featureless face, soft as a tar babies, split by a blackened opening surrounded by white teeth, screamed horribly, red cracks appearing through the charred surface, then fell away to writhe on the ground behind them, still screaming. Vanhala’s fist hit the back of Hakkarainen’s head, hard, jolting him. Hakkarainen realized he’d been screaming himself without knowing it, shook himself, shivering. “Saatana,” he gasped. “Saatana, what a way to go.” Vanhala slapped the back of his head. “Snap out of it Boss,” he growled, for just a moment he was no longer the comedian, just a soldier doing his job and making sure his officer did his.

By an effort of will, Hakkarainen did just that. His Sika was almost across the bridge by the time he’d focused back on the battle. Hietanen’s ryhmää.had passed through Lammio’s joukkue and was on the causeway heading for the forest on the far side, the rest of Kariluoto’s joukkue in hot pursuit. Koskela’s joukkue was mopping up the rear, moving through the Russian positions behind them, finishing off any resistance, clearing out any holdouts, some of the men dismounting, clearing sandbagged positions with Suomis and grenades. Lammio’s joukkue was fighting hard, meeting the most resistance, the blockhouse on the far side still had men inside and they were fighting back. Nobody could fault the courage of the Red Army soldiers. A group of screaming civilians, at least they were men and women and they weren’t in uniforms, ran out of one of the houses, straight into a burst of 12.7mm rounds that left them scattered on the ground. The 12.7mm rounds at this range simply tore bodies apart, fragmenting them in a spray of flesh and blood and bone whenever they hit. A single woman was left standing, armless, her face a mask of shock until another burst left her headless and threw her backwards onto the dirt. The Russians in the blockhouse broke as the second of the two flamethrower half tracks moved off the bridge towards them. Half a dozen of them bolted from the blockhouse, only to be cut down as they ran. A burst of flame into the blockhouse and all resistance ceased. The screaming continued for some time. Hakkarainen ignored the noise, searched the battlefield with his eyes, but Lammio had everything well in hand.

The guns died away fitfully. Kariluoto called in to report establishing a defensive perimeter inside the forest’s edge on the far side of the clear ground with no enemy in sight. Hakkarainen felt a surge of elation as he got onto the RT and released the Tyrmääjä schwarm leader, then ordered the Kettus and 76’s to move up in support of Kariluoto while Lammio and Koskela’s men conducted a sweep around each side of the bridge and secured the positions. Here and there shots rang out, grenades exploded as the men ensured positions were clear. They’d lost men earlier in the war by failing to take such precautions. A Russian soldier would hide until the last minute and then fire a round as you jumped down into a trench or peered into a bunker to check it was clear. Now, they took no chances. A grenade or a burst from a Suomi went in first, often both. Any Russian survivor (there were very few) without both hands in the air, was shot on sight. Intent to surrender had to be expressed clearly to be accepted. The rules of war on this were clear, and Finland followed the Rules of War strictly, even if the Red Army didn’t. Still, half a dozen prisoners were taken, their faces expressing the shock of survivors of the sudden and overwhelmingly violent attack. The Tyrmääjä schwarm circled their position slowly one last time, then swept off low over the trees, engines powering up as they accelerated away. Hakkarainen reported the successful capture of the bridge to Majuri Sarastie on the pataljoona net as his men were carrying out a final sweep through the Russian positions on the far side of the bridge.
“Hold in place and secure that bridge,” were his orders. “The rest of the pataljoona will move through you. Stay in place until you’re relieved. Divisoona will assign a unit to takeover, after they do, catch up with us. Sarastie Loppu.”

Hakkarainen acknowledged, passed on the instructions, instructed Lammio and Koskela to post guards, sent the two Komppania log trucks up to Kariluoto’s positions to ensure they were topped up with fuel and ammo. Even as he was on the RT issuing instructions, Autio’s komppania was already moving over the bridge. Autio gave Hakkarainen a wave as his command Sika passed by, his leading joukkue already accelerating westwards along the causeway towards the forest and the slope that marked the far side of the valley. Behind Autio’s komppania came pataljoona HQ, then the Second Company commanded by Kapteeni Helminen, then the log vehicles, half a dozen of which peeled off to join Hakkarainen’s Sika. Replenishment got underway immediately. Hakkarainen took his Sumoi from the clip inside the Sika and jumped out, walked over to join Korsumaki by the log vehicles.

Halfway over, a Russian soldier sprang upwards, seemingly from out of the ground, rifle in hand. Hakkarainen snapped into “slow-motion time” and hunter vision. Every event happened slowly and with incredible clarity. It seemed to take forever to swing his Suomi up and round. “____!” He pulled the trigger, the Suomi flashed, but he didn’t hear a sound or feel the recoil. The Russian spasmed backward in his death dive, but a second came from behind the first, bayonet-tipped rifle extended and it seemed like there was all the time in the world to step aside and fire another burst, throwing the second Russian backwards. And then half a dozen of his men were there, rifles and Suomis pointing in all directions. Linna dropped a grenade into the hole in the ground the Russians had emerged from. There was an explosion beneath their feet, but nothing else, no sign of any more enemies. Startled by the close encounter, although not his first by any means, Hakkarainen looked around, taking in the carnage that surrounded them. “Make sure we do a thorough sweep,” he said to Korsumaki, who saw to it before moving on to organise the replenishment of the Sikas.

The next pataljoona, the one commanded by Kapteeni Usko Lautsalo, he whom they nicknamed “The Storm of God” began passing through, some of the men waving to Hakkarainen’s men as they passed by, an unending stream of vehicles. Hakkarainen found himself wishing he had a nickname like that, a thought that was forgotten as quickly as it occurred to him. Even as the komppania scrambled to top up their fuel tanks and replace ammunition, an AA battery pulled of the road and began to set up in the destroyed Russian positions, clearing the Russian guns out of the way, moving the bodies to one side, filling sandbags, digging in to protect the bridge from any Russian air attack. Hakkarainen’s medic was busy taking care of casualties. Virtanen was dead. So were two men in the Sika from Lammio’s joukkue that had been shot up. The bodies were wrapped up and put to one side for removal later. Three of the others were injured, an ambulance truck was called forward to take them back. Three men from the crashed Sika were untouched, Hakkarainen reassigned them. The crashed Sika wouldn’t be going anywhere fast, the radio, guns and ammo were stripped out, thrown into one of the Log trucks. Guns were stripped down and cleaned, the men working fast. An artillery battery, four of the 105’s with a long chain of ammunition trucks, joined them, swinging into position and setting up off to one side with ready ammunition. Then an infantry company, dismounting from the trucks that carried them, moving to take up guard positions on the causeway and around the bridge. A panzer pataljoona moved past, tanks, half-tracks, tracked infantry carriers, trucks, all rumbling slowly across the bridge, passing them by in a growing haze of dust and exhaust fumes. More infantry, more guns, an endless line of vehicles that never ceased. Hakkarainen worked with his men, they only stopped when a Mobile Field Kitchen unit attached to the Artillery Battery rolled up and the girls jumped out, setup and began serving food to all and sundry. Hakkarainen ordered his men to stop and grab something hot while they had the chance, who knew when the next opportunity to eat would be. After they’d eaten, they would move out. “It’s that australialainen kangaroo stuff again,” the young Lotta said apologetically as she filled his mess tin. Hakkarainen laughed.

Off to one side, Uusitalo sat staring blankly at his messtin. He was finding it hard to eat. Kersantti Virtanen was dead, in command and talking one minute, dead the next. Maybe it could happen to him. Maybe it would be him next. He shivered, wondering why the others seemed to be so unaffected. Beside him, Järvenpää stopped eating for a moment.
“Hei Uusitalo,” he said, “could have been any one of us bought it, Virtanen’s time was up, that’s all.”
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a flask, passed it to Uusitalo.
“Drink this, it’ll help.”
Uusitalo took the flask, lifted it and drank blindly, then choked and coughed and splutter, tears running from his eyes as liquid fire burned its way down his throat.
“Perkele,” he gasped when he could breathe and talk, “what the hell is that?”
Järvenpää laughed. “My Dad’s moonshine,” he said. “Keep it around for medicinal purposes don’t we Niskala?”
Niskala grimaced. “Needed a lot of that stuff in Spain, Uusitalo,” he said. “Just like now.”
Uusitalo suddenly realized it was the first time since he’d joined them that they’d called him by his name, not calling him “newbie.” He’d survived his first real battle and suddenly he felt like he belonged. He looked at the flask in his hand. Raised it.
“Here’s to Kersantti Virtanen,” he said.
He swallowed and passed the flask back to Järvenpää as the liquid fire burned its way down. Järvenpää looked at him gravely, said nothing, drank from the flask and passed it to Niskala. The flask made its way round the men and back to Järvenpää, who slipped it back in his pocket.
“Hop to eating your bloody kangaroo, Uusitalo” he said, “and stop pissing around.”

An excerpt from “Kalmaralli: Puna-Armeijan tuhoaminen syvärin rintamalla, Elokuu 1940” (“Death-dance: The Destruction of the Red Army on the Syvari Front, August 1940”) by Robert Brantberg, Gummerus, 1985.

“…….As we have seen in the preceding chapter, the turning point in the fighting along the Syvari from the defensive to the offensive was the establishment of a bridgehead across the Syvari and the subsequent capture of Lodeynoye Pole by the British Commonwealth Division, the xth Infantry Division and units of the Parajaegers in late July. This bridgehead was then expanded rapidly as reinforcements poured across the Syvari and the battle was carried to the enemy. The rapid expansion of the bridgehead and the equally rapid breakout into the Red Army’s rear appeared to have taken the Soviet Command by surprise. The destruction of Timoshenko’s Headquarters by an Osasto Nyrkki unit, together with the accompanying death of Timoshenko, left the Red Army headless between Lakes Laatoka and Aanisen. It was in fact some days before a replacement was appointed and in this period, the Army of Eastern Karelia exploited the lack of direction and coordination to the full (this was also substantially aided by Osasto Nyrkki attacks on Corps and Divisional Headquarters together with interdiction strikes on Red Army logistical units by the Ilmavoimat).

To the east and west of the Syvari bridgehead, armeijan divisons worked to pin the Red Army units facing them in place while breakout units of the Karjalan Armeija (Army of Karelia), commanded by Kenraali Erik Heinrichs, moved the offensive deep into the Red Army’s rear. Repeated Finnish artillery and air strikes shattered Soviet resistance at selected points whilst Ilmavoimat CAS aircraft made any attempt at daytime movement a hazardous venture for Soveit forces. Red Army units were largely restricted to attempting movement during the limited hours of the short summer nights – and without effective coordination such movements often ended chaotically. Orders to the Red Army to hold on to their defensive positions at all costs and not to retreat cost the Red Army dearly. Added to this was the NKVD penchant for executing Red Army officers who attempted to use their intelligence and fight tactical withdrawals rather then standing firm and being annihilated. The Osasto Nyrkki units that operated behind Soviet lines dressed in NKVD uniforms, speaking fluent Russian, and carrying out their own selective execution programs were more or less the icing on the cake for the Red Army, so to speak.

On the 31st of July, Finnish reconnaissance flights resulted in the identification of a widening gap between the Red Army’s xx Corps to the north, abutting Lake Laatoka, and the xx Corps to the East. This was the opportunity Kenraali Heinrichs had been holding his strategic reserves in waiting for and immediate exploitation was ordered. Armeijan Infantry Divisions poured into the gap and proceeded to roll up the Red Army flanks in either direction while a task force made up of the 21st Pansaaridivisoona (under the command of Kenraaliluutnantii Ruben Lagus), 2 Polish Divisions and a Finnish infantry Division moved southwards on what is now Highway P36, reaching and capturing the town of Tikhvin on the 5th of August. Heinrich’s objective was twofold – the primary objective was nothing less than the annihilation of all Red Army forces between Lakes Laatoka and Aanisen. The secondary objective was a “deep penetration” raid towards (and opportunity permitting, into) Leningrad, threatening the birthplace of the Bolshevik Revolution itself. The strategic objective was to pressure the USSR to the negotiating table by demonstrating that the Finnish military could, after ten months of war and the amassing of enormous Soviet military manpower, crush the massive Red Army offensive that had been launched and inflict severe damage on one of the USSR’s major cities, even to the extent of capturing Leningrad so it so choose. In the event, the primary and secondary objectives would be achieved whilst the strategic objective would be a complete fail.

Following the capture of Tihvinä (Tikhvin) on the 5th of August, temporary defensive positions were hastily established in a large semi-circle around the town, taking advantage of low-lying swamps to the south. The 21st was ordered to turn north and west and move as rapidly as possible towards the town of Volkhov, with it’s bridges across the Volkhov River. The 22nd Pansaaridivisoona was to move behind the 21st in support. On reaching Volkhov, the 22nd together with a number of Infantry Divisions strung out behind would continue north to Lake Laatoka where the encirclement of the Red Army XX Corps would be completed, after which the intent was to completely and rapidly destroy these encircled units. Meanwhile, the 21st and further supporting units would cross the Volkhov and lunge towards an almost defenceless Leningrad. Infantry Divisions would establish a front stretching from Tikhvin to Volkhov along the eastern bank of the Volkhov river and hold this for as long as it took to accomplish the mission. While this was occurring, the large electricity generation station, hydroelectric dam and aluminium plant in Volkhoc would be destroyed. Needless to say, “Booty” units would be assigned to transfer all useful military and non-military material from Soviet supply dumps and battlefields to the Finnish rear-line positions behind the Syvari.

Those were the Plans. Needless to say, plans and reality have a way of diverging. We will now look at what actually happened over the next two weeks. ………

An excerpt from “Ukkosvyöry: Tuulispäänä Leningradiin” (“Avalanche of Thunder: Whirlwind Ride to Leningrad” – an account of the part played by Rynnäkkökomppania Hakkarainen in the raid on Leningrad, August 1940

In the end, it was the next morning before Traffic Control allowed Hakkarainen’s Komppania to enter the non-stop stream of vehicles. By then, the whole of the 21st was far ahead of them. Hakkarainen’s orders were to proceed towards Tihvinä, which was reportedly expected to be captured within a day or two as the 21st was meeting very little resistance. The rest of the day they were part of a long line of vehicles that seemed to stop and start at random, jerking forward, then slowing, sometimes stopping, then dashing madly forwards before stopping again. All around Hakkarainen’s Komppania, units from other Divisions were being directed south and north, east and west. The mood was electric. Men were tense but it was with the tense excitement of anticipated victory, not the tenseness of those grim days on the defence at the start of the war. News percolated through the units like wildfire, each new victory, each battle, bringing a new flood of rumours. Hakkarainen did his best to monitor the radio net as they moved down the road, but from the coded battle chatter, it was just as hard to identify what was happening, or what had happened as it was from the flood of rumours that seemed to move faster than the vehicles. The first real news they got was when they finally reached Tihvinä two days later.

A day after it had been captured, the small Russian town was a hive of activity. Infantry Divisions were pouring in along the road Hakkarainen’s men had played their part in opening, then heading straight out again to establish defensive lines to the south and west in an extended arc. Ilmavoimat construction units were already establishing an airfield on the outskirts of the town, as they drove past Hakkarainen could see revetments being built to protect the aircraft. Already, fighter and close air support aircraft were landing and taking off, combat missions were being flown. At the Town Hall, which had been commandeered for use as a military headquarters, Hakkarainen and the CO’s of his attachments finally managed to get in touch with the 21st and receive updated movement orders. The 21st was halfway to Volkhov, and moving fast. Orders were to catch up as quickly as possible. To Hakkarainen’s disappointment, his attachments were now detached and sent on their own way. No more Bantams, no more Kettu’s, no more half-tracks. Hakkarainen was disappointed to loose all that firepower. The 76’s and the flamethrower half-tracks in particular. He shook hands with the CO’s of the attachments, thanked them for their work, wished them well. He hardly knew them, they’d only been fighting together for a couple of days, but it was as if one was saying goodbye to family members.

By the time he’d made his way back to his Komppania, the men were alive with news of the war. “To hear Rxxx tell it, the Russkies are on the verge of folding,” Linna said to Hakkarainen as he returned. The men were mostly sitting around beside their Sikas gossiping and eating or sleeping or smoking some of their cigarettes. Linna offered Hakkarainen a Karjala. “The Lotta’s are already here, setup a Canteen in the building over there. One beer per man they gave us, we saved yours Sir.”

Hakkarainen flipped the cap of the bottle. “Kiitos Linna,” he said gratefully. Then, raising the bottle, “We’ll take Karjala back one Karjala at a time.” Linna grinned. A couple of the others laughed and raised their bottles in turn. Lahtinen looked doubtful. “This ain’t Karjala, Kapteeni.”
Hakkarainen drank. God, it tasted good. It was even cold. He grinned at Lahtinen. “Well, maybe not strictly Karjala, but all this land here used to be Finnish a thousand years ago.”
Vanhala put his head in his hands and groaned. “You’ve done it now Lehtinen, didn’t you know the Kapteeni went to University, he’s a full-fledged member of the Academic Karelia Society, we’re all gonna get a lecture on that Greater Finland shit.”
Hakkarainen laughed, took another drink from the bottle.
“No shit?” Linna said, sounding interested. A couple of the others drew closer.
“Here we go,” Vanhala groaned. Still, he didn’t walk away. Hakkarainen kept hold of his Karjala while pulling a large-scale map from his pocket.
“And thus the lecture begins,” he stated. “All those who wish not to be educated may drink elsewhere……”

(To be continued……..)

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