Chapter 12: The Captain’s Inspection

The Soviet observation posts at the forest’s edge didn't quiet down after wounding Eero. It seemed they were determined to give these Finns, who had just gained the upper hand, a taste of their own medicine.

Boom! Boom!

High-explosive shells shrieked from the mortar positions across the way, detonating just in front of the First Squad's trench. Frozen earth and black smoke billowed into the air once again. This time, however, the bombardment wasn't dense; it felt more like a spiteful act of retaliation.

"Everyone, get down!" Simo pressed a hand on Juha, who looked ready to fire back. "Don't waste ammo. Let them blast away."

The shelling ended as abruptly as it began, lasting only a few minutes. Aside from leaving several smoking craters in the snow, it caused no actual casualties. As the last wisps of gunpowder smoke were scattered by the biting wind, both sides fell back into a suffocating silence. Only the dull, distant thud of artillery from some unknown location reminded everyone that the war never truly stopped.

…

Near dusk, a figure clad in a dark grey greatcoat appeared at the end of the trench.

It was the company commander, Captain Aarne Juutilainen.

The Captain looked even more haggard than he had a few days prior. His eyes were deeply sunken, his jaw was covered in dark stubble, and his once-sharp uniform was stained with mud and soot. He wasn't followed by an adjutant; instead, he walked alone, carrying a Finnish military saber usually reserved for parades. His leather boots made a rhythmic click-clack against the frozen ground.

"Captain on deck!" Simo stood immediately and saluted.

Juutilainen waved a hand, signaling for them to forgo formalities. His gaze first swept over the spoils of war piled at the entrance of the dugout—two light machine guns, over a dozen rifles, and crates of ammunition.

"Good work, Simo." A rare flicker of satisfaction crossed Juutilainen’s stone-cold face. "I heard you repelled a tank and an entire company’s assault?"

"We got lucky, sir," Simo answered calmly. "That tank overextended itself."

"In war, luck is a form of strength." Juutilainen nodded. His gaze then fell upon Eero, who was huddled in the corner with a thick bandage wrapped around his head.

When Eero saw the Captain’s hawk-like eyes, he flinched, instinctively trying to cover his mangled ear.

"What happened here?" Juutilainen asked.

"Took a round from the Soviets while clearing the field," Simo said dismissively, omitting the shameful detail of Eero wetting himself. "He learned a lesson. Next time, he’ll know to stay prone."

Juutilainen walked over to Eero and looked down at the trembling recruit.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes... sir..."

"It should." Surprisingly, Juutilainen pulled a small silver flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Eero. "Take a swig. It’ll dull the pain in the wound and sharpen the courage in your gut."

Flattered and overwhelmed, Eero took the flask with shaking hands and gulped down a large mouthful. The harsh liquor sent him into a coughing fit, but a hint of color finally returned to his pale face.

"And the others?"

After checking Eero's injury, Juutilainen turned back to Simo. His gaze swept across the remaining faces in the trench, his tone returning to its professional coldness.

"Are these the men you’ve trained? What can that big one do besides smirk? And the two woodsmen?"

Simo stood tall, reporting on his men like a proud craftsman describing his tools. "Sir, Matti and Toivo are natural heavy machine gunners; the Maxim never stops singing in their hands. Juha is reckless, but he’s got the guts to chase Russians with an axe. Antti might be slight of build, but he’s a promising talent."

"Mhm." Juutilainen nodded noncommittally. Finally, his eyes rested on Walter Ilves, who was busy wiping his scope.

Simo paused for a rare moment, then turned to give Walter a deep, meaningful look.

"Sir, if not for him today, we might not have held." Simo’s voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the wind. "He was the first to spot the Soviet commissar, and he took him out with a single shot."

At this, a flash of genuine surprise finally flickered in Juutilainen’s sunken eyes. He walked with measured steps toward Walter, sizing up the young man.

Walter immediately snapped to attention.

"Private Ilves."

"I’ve heard the rumors about you, but I thought it was just fresh recruits bragging to one another." Juutilainen reached out with a leather-gloved hand and clapped Walter firmly on the shoulder. "Fine work, son."

Afterward, Juutilainen signaled for Simo to follow him to a secluded corner of the trench, away from the eyes of Walter and the other soldiers. This section of the fortification was piled high with sandbags, blocking the wind and muffling their voices.

The Captain’s expression turned grave. He pulled out a cigarette but didn't light it, simply holding it to his nose to catch the scent.

"Don't get too comfortable," Juutilainen lowered his voice, a hint of unavoidable exhaustion leaking through. "Your side held, and you did it with style. But the situation in the other sectors... it's bad."

"How bad?" Simo frowned.

"The 3rd Company's sector was breached. They lost two forward positions. If the artillery hadn't sacrificed themselves to provide support, the entire line might have been torn open this morning." Juutilainen sighed, fiddling with the cigarette. "The Soviets have too many tanks. Their tactics are rigid, but they simply don't care about their losses."

He pointed toward the ground they stood on, a key point on the map marked as the left flank of the Taipale River.

"Regimental HQ just sent a warning. If the 3rd Company on our flank can't retake those positions, this section of the line is at risk of being bypassed. We'll become an island."

Simo’s eyes sharpened. "Does that mean we’re being hung out to dry?"

"Watch your phrasing, Corporal," Juutilainen shot him a look, though his tone wasn't truly angry. "No retreat order has been issued yet, but I need you to be prepared. If we can't hold, we fall back to the second line of defense, the Suvanto Heights behind us. There are better anti-tank bunkers there. That is our true final fortress."

"Are we retreating?" Simo’s voice sounded a bit dry.

"It’s a 'strategic transition,'" Juutilainen corrected, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But before that, we are going to bleed the Soviets for every drop we can here. That is Field Marshal Mannerheim’s order—trade space for time, and blood for lives. We will make the Russians pay tenfold for every step they take forward."

With that, Juutilainen tucked the unlit cigarette into Simo’s tunic pocket.

"Keep this for yourself." Juutilainen patted Simo on the shoulder. "Simo, I know it’s hard. But whether these green recruits live or die... that's all on you."

"Understood, sir."

The Captain turned and departed, his upright yet solitary silhouette disappearing into the twilight. Simo touched the cigarette in his pocket. He looked back at Walter, who was resting against the trench wall with his eyes closed, and then toward the forest across the river, a woods growing darker by the minute, as if hiding ten thousand eyes.