Chapter 13: Black Dawn

The early hours of the morning represent the lowest ebb of human physiology and the weakest point of the will. In the trenches, the only sounds were the howling of the icy wind, the suppressed breathing of the soldiers, and the occasional rustle of fabric as someone shifted in their sleep.

Juha snored away, clutching his machine gun like a dead weight; Eero, plagued by the pain from his wound, huddled beneath his blanket, letting out fitful whimpers.

The watch for the latter half of the night fell to Simo Häyhä and Walter.

Walter held his rifle close, huffing warm air onto his frozen fingers. Though his "Eye of Death" could enhance his dynamic vision, even he could not pierce the dense shadows of a pitch-black night spanning hundreds of meters.

Suddenly, Simo, who had been hunched over in a ball, snapped his head up.

"What is it, Simo?" Walter whispered.

"Listen."

Simo spoke only a single word. Walter held his breath and pulled back his thermal earflaps. At first, there was only the wind. But gradually, beneath that monotonous drone, discordant noises emerged.

Crunch... crunch...

The sound of countless heavy combat boots treading on packed snow.

Rumble... whir...

The low growl of heavy vehicle engines struggling to turn over in the sub-zero temperatures. There were metallic clanks, shouted orders, and even the muffled hum of human voices—hushed, yet vast enough in number to coalesce into a low buzz.

"Reinforcements are here." Simo grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it over his face. "Judging by the noise, it’s not just a few tanks and a company this time."

Without hesitation, Simo turned and began waking the sleeping soldiers one by one.

"Wake up! Everyone up!"

No shouting, just forceful slaps and low, urgent commands.

"Wh-what? Is it dawn?" Pekka sat up dazed, rubbing his eyes.

"If you don't want to die in your dreams, get your eyes open." Simo kicked Juha in the backside. "Full combat readiness! Check your ammo! Unscrew the caps on your grenades!"

The phrase "combat readiness" acted like a cold bucket of water. The groggy soldiers snapped awake instantly.

"Are we fighting again?" Antti asked, his voice trembling as he put on his glasses.

"The woods across from us are crawling with them," Matti said, clutching his Maxim. His tone was uncharacteristically tense. "I can hear them. Many... so many."

The atmosphere tightened to the breaking point. The crushing weight of impending doom felt suffocating to these recruits, who had only just tasted their first small victory the day before.

Simo sensed the rising panic. He didn't offer any grand speeches; instead, he walked to the center of the trench, took out a piece of dry bread, and broke it into chunks for everyone.

"Eat something," Simo said. His voice remained calm, carrying a steadying power. "A full stomach keeps the heart from fluttering. So what if there are many of them? The more there are, the less room they have to move."

He pointed toward the black expanse of snow in front of the trench.

"This area is only a few hundred meters wide. There’s a limit to how many can charge at once. As long as we hold the front, they’re just targets, no matter the number."

"Walter, is your aim still true?"

Walter took a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat to slow. He felt that familiar shiver, the surge of adrenaline.

"If I can see it, I can hit it." Walter cycled the bolt; the sound of the round chambering was crisp and melodic.

"Good." Simo patted the cold barrel of his anti-tank rifle. "Then get ready. If I’m not mistaken, this will be the darkest hour before the dawn."

Everyone took their positions at the firing steps. Silence fell. Walter stared through his scope into the darkness. Though he could see nothing, he felt it, deep in the gloom, a great maw was gaping open, ready to swallow this thin line of defense whole.

Thump... thump... thump...

It was the sound of Walter’s heart, and the ticking clock of war.

The hours from midnight until six a.m. felt like centuries to the men of the First Squad. A nameless anxiety filled the trench. Antti polished his glasses incessantly until the lenses gleamed; Juha checked the latch on his machine gun drums over and over, the click-clack sounding unnervingly sharp in the stillness. Even the usually steady brothers, Matti and Toivo, gripped the handles of the Maxim so tightly that the veins on their hands bulged.

Walter kept his eyes on the east. The sky didn't brighten as usual; it remained a sickly, ashen grey. Heavy clouds hung low, as if they might collapse at any moment. The humidity was rising, a precursor to a heavy snowfall.

Meanwhile, the noise from across the river died down. The clamor of voices and machinery vanished, replaced by a skin-crawling silence. This didn't bring Walter any relief. It only meant one thing: the enemy had finished their deployment. Ten thousand eyes were now lurking in the shadows of the forest, staring fixedly at them.

"Here they come," Simo said, tucking the stock into the hollow of his shoulder.

Almost the second the words left his lips, a sliver of light finally tore through the night. The first pale rays of morning illuminated the positions. But this light brought no hope, it only illuminated despair.

Just as Simo had predicted, as soon as there was enough light to make out silhouettes, the forest across the way erupted like a bursting dam. An endless, black tide of soldiers poured out.

If the previous days' attacks had been a stream, this was a tsunami. Brown greatcoats spread across the white snow, so dense it triggered a visceral sense of dread. Amidst the sea of men, there were not just T-26 tanks, but several strangely shaped armored cars spewing black smoke.

"Fire!"

It was Walter who broke the silence.

Bang!

The first bullet precisely pierced the chest of a Soviet officer waving a pistol. The poor soul didn't even have time to finish his "Ura!" before faceplanting into the snow. Walter didn't pause. Bolt back, chamber, fire. His movements were so fast it was like playing a macabre allegro.

Bang!

Second target: a non-commissioned officer with a whistle, jaw shattered.

Bang!

Third target: a radioman with a pack on his back, shot through the spine.

But this was only the beginning. The Soviets had clearly learned their lesson. When the third officer fell, the remaining commanders didn't stand around like sitting ducks.

"Get down! Crawl forward! Suppressing fire!" someone roared in Russian.

The Soviet officers who had been charging upright dropped into the snow or ducked behind tanks and armored cars. The hundreds of soldiers followed suit. They were no longer a mindless mob of targets, but a pack of cunning wolves.

Crouching or prone, the Soviet soldiers used tank tracks and craters for cover. Their rifles and light machine guns began pouring a frantic volume of fire toward the Finnish lines.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The sound of hundreds of guns firing at once merged into a metallic storm. Bullets lashed the lip of the trench like rain. Frozen earth shattered into flying debris, pinning the men of the First Squad down.

"Dammit! I can't see a thing!"

Walter yanked his head back. A bullet had just grazed his helmet, and the resulting spray of mud and dirty snow had coated his scope. He tried to wipe it with his sleeve, but the greasy grime only smeared.

"Useless!" Walter cursed, decisively unscrewing the mounting bolts. He ripped the expensive Zeiss scope off and shoved it into his pack. At this range, since the enemy wasn't giving him a chance to snipe, he’d fight them with iron sights!

"Matti! Where’s the machine gun?! Make them shut up!" Juha screamed while swapping drums on his light machine gun.

"I can't get a shot off! The fire is too heavy!" Matti’s honest face was slick with sweat and anxiety. The moment he and Toivo showed their heads, the Maxim’s gun shield was peppered with a dozen hits, sparks flying. This heavy machine gun, once a reaper’s tool, was being suppressed by the Soviets' vehicle-mounted guns. Any attempt to fire drew a lethal swarm of lead.

"They’re coming up! Less than a hundred meters!" Pekka screamed in despair. He had risked a peek and was nearly decapitated by three rounds.

The battle took a sharp turn for the worse. The Soviet advance was no longer chaotic; it was steady and cruel. Tanks ground forward, crushing everything in their path, while infantry moved in alternating cover, slowly tightening the noose.

"Hold steady! Don't break!"

Simo Häyhä became the anchor in the storm. He abandoned the heavy anti-tank rifle and took up his old Mosin-Nagant. He didn't spray fire blindly like the others; he used every corner of the trench, shifting positions like a ghost.

Bang.

A Soviet soldier trying to lob a grenade was hit in the wrist, screaming as the bomb exploded among his own men.

Bang.

A machine gunner was headshot the moment he peeked.

Each of Simo's shots bought his comrades a moment to breathe.

"Juha! That crater on the left! Suppress it!"

"Eero! Throw those grenades! Don't just sit on them like eggs!"

"Antti! Fire! Shoot anything that moves!"

Under his command, the crumbling First Squad managed to weave a desperate web of fire. Juha's captured light machine gun barrel was glowing red as he mowed down the encroaching crowd, screaming filth. Eero was still shaking, but in this life-or-death moment, he could only close his eyes and hurl grenades one after another.

Walter, now using iron sights, lacked his previous surgical precision, but with the reaction speed granted by the "Eye of Death," he remained a razor-sharp blade in close quarters. Every soldier who tried to cross the fifty-meter line was ruthlessly picked off.

Yet against such absolute numerical superiority, it all felt like trying to stop a flood with a handful of sand.