Chapter 26: Donkey Cart Drift

The curtain of night hung low, and the biting wind grew even more piercing.

Inside the Soviet camp, several bonfires had been lit. Most of the soldiers, having had their fill of food and drink, had crawled into makeshift tents or snow dugouts to rest. Only a few sentries paced the perimeter with their necks tucked into their collars. The field kitchen sat lonely in the center of the camp, the donkey hitched beside it dozing off.

Simo led the others as they crept toward the eastern side of the camp, the upwind position. Meanwhile, Walter, Old Juhani, and Aalto lay in ambush in a thicket nearest to the donkey cart, less than fifty meters from their objective.

Walter gripped his Finnish hunting knife, slowing his breathing.

"Ready?" he asked the two behind him with a sharp glance.

Old Juhani nodded, tucking his pipe into his waistband while tightening his grip on his rifle, its stock worn smooth and shiny. Aalto's hands were shaking, but he gave a forceful nod, even swallowing hard, whether from nerves or the thought of that pot of hot porridge, it was hard to say.

At that moment, a crisp gunshot rang out from the woods to the east.

Bang!

The lantern hanging from a tree in the center of the camp shattered and went dark.

Immediately following were two thunderous booms as grenades detonated near the ammunition pile at the edge of the camp. Flames surged upward, dyeing half the night sky a brilliant orange-red.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

The Soviet camp instantly boiled over into chaos.

Soldiers tumbled out in various states of undress, some wearing only one boot, others failing to even pull up their trousers, firing blindly toward the source of the explosions. Machine gunners began spraying the treeline aimlessly, tracer fire streaking across the dark sky.

"Now! Move!"

Walter let out a low growl and lunged from his hiding spot, sprinting toward the field kitchen.

Startled by the explosions, the donkey was braying in terror and spinning in circles, trying to snap its tether. Walter leaped onto the driver's seat, grabbed the reins, and bellowed with all his might:

"Hiya!"

However, the donkey clearly had ideas of its own.

It didn't bolt as Walter had envisioned. Instead, its four hooves planted firmly into the ground like nails. It lowered its head stubbornly, refusing to budge no matter how hard Walter yanked the reins.

"Damn it! You stupid mule! Move!"

Sweat poured down Walter's face in his desperation. He grabbed a whip from the floorboards and lashed it hard across the donkey's rump.

"Hee-haw—Hee-haw!"

The donkey didn't run; instead, it threw its head back and let out a world-shaking bray so loud it practically drowned out the distant gunfire.

"Good God! Is this donkey a Soviet mole?!"

Old Juhani, following behind, stomped his feet in frustration. He saw several Soviet soldiers notice the commotion and begin running toward them, rifles leveled.

"Move! Let me!"

Old Juhani rushed to the donkey's head. Forgetting all sense of animal welfare, he swung his rifle and delivered two heavy thumps to the stubborn creature's forehead.

Thud! Thud!

This proved far more effective than the whip.

The donkey saw stars, finally realizing that if it didn't run now, it was likely to end up as donkey stew. It shook its head, snorted loudly, and finally kicked into gear.

"Get on!" Walter shouted.

Seeing the donkey move, Old Juhani was overjoyed and prepared to hop onto the sideboards.

However, this vengeful donkey had no intention of letting the man who just struck its head off the hook. Just as Old Juhani placed one foot on the cart, the donkey suddenly whipped its head around, opened its large mouth, and bit down hard on the calf of Old Juhani's leg.

"AAAGH—!!!"

A scream even more wretched than the donkey's bray echoed through the camp.

Old Juhani tumbled off the cart in agony, rolling in the snow while clutching his leg. "Let go! You cursed beast! Let go!"

That yell successfully drew every Soviet soldier in the vicinity.

"Over there! Someone's stealing the field kitchen!"

"Catch them! That's our dinner!"

The Soviet soldiers, who had been firing blindly, now charged like madmen, their eyes turning bloodshot. They were utterly incensed. They could tolerate Finnish ambushes and snipers, but stealing the kitchen? That was a bridge too far!

"Stop howling! Run!"

Walter hadn't expected such a disaster. He whipped the donkey frantically while trying to pull Old Juhani aboard. But the donkey seemed to realize that as long as the old man wasn't on the cart, it could run faster. Its hooves flew as it began a frantic gallop, dragging the heavy field kitchen behind it.

"I'm not getting on! It'll kill me!"

Old Juhani limped to his feet, looking at the donkey's slobbering mouth with lingering dread.

"I can't get on either! The cart is too full!" Aalto looked at the massive pot filled to the brim, added to Walter and the insulated containers; there was simply no room to stand.

"Then run! Run behind it!" Walter roared.

The donkey cart finally picked up speed.

But this donkey was no professional racehorse. It didn't run in a straight line; instead, it moved like a staggering drunk, veering left and right. The massive field kitchen rattled violently over the snow with a thunderous clatter-clank, resembling an out-of-control tank. It flattened two tents, crushed countless supplies, and even snagged a Soviet laundry rack, dragging a string of frozen trousers and socks as it burst out of the camp.

"Stop him! Someone stop him!"

A portly Soviet cook chased after them brandishing a large ladle. Seeing his beloved kitchen receding into the distance, he slammed the ladle into the ground in a rage. "That's my pot! You damned Finnish bandits! You're even stealing the pots!"

Bang! Bang!

Simo's covering fire arrived.

The two lead pursuers dropped instantly, but this didn't deter the enraged Russians.

"Ura—! Get the pot back!"

They bellowed, some even attempting to flank the cart through the trees.

Walter gripped the reins for dear life, struggling to maintain his balance on the bucking cart. He felt as though he were driving a race car with no brakes and a broken steering wheel.

"Left! Left! Trees ahead!"

Old Juhani sprinted behind the tail of the cart, dodging Soviet bullets while panting out directions.

Walter yanked the reins hard.

To his surprise, the donkey cooperated perfectly, executing a sharp turn. The massive centrifugal force caused the entire cart to swing sideways, carving a perfect drift arc into the snow.

Screeeech—!!!

The wheels kicked up a massive spray of snow like a white tidal wave, plastering the faces of the nearest pursuers.

"Beautiful!"

Aalto cheered excitedly, tossing a grenade toward the chasing pack.

Boom!

The explosion severed the Soviet pursuit route.

The donkey cart plunged into the dense forest.

Walter stole a glance back. The giant pot was steaming; though much had spilled, more than half of the hot porridge remained, its aroma filling the air. Meanwhile, those two poor souls, Old Juhani and Aalto, were panting heavily behind the cart, their legs churning like windmills.

"Run faster! If you don't keep up, you don't get any porridge!"

Walter laughed and cracked the whip.

The stubborn donkey seemed to have found its rhythm, letting out one last triumphant bray.