Chapter 31: Keeping the Tryst

Walter Ilves and the others stumbled deeper into the dense forest, the sound of gunfire dogging them like a shadow, each crack of a rifle sounding like the tolling of a funeral bell.

"Aalto! Don't you dare sleep!"

Simo and Juha propped up Aalto, wading laboriously through snow that reached past their knees. The bandages wrapped around Aalto's thigh had long since been soaked through; in the extreme cold, they had frozen into a stiff, crimson husk of ice. With every step he took, a trail of red spots marred the pristine white of the snow.

"I... I can't make it..." Aalto's face was deathly pale, his lips a bruised purple from the cold. "Put me down... I've got grenades..."

"Shut up!" Simo growled, the veins on his forehead bulging with the effort. "If you can move, you walk!"

They didn't even have time to stop and re-dress Aalto's wound before the elite Soviet units, pursuing them like rabid dogs, closed the gap.

Crack! Crack!

Several precise shots thudded into the tree trunks beside them, sending splinters flying.

"They're flanking us on the left!" Walter shouted. He quickly shoved Aalto behind a pine tree and raised his rifle to return fire.

The Eye of Death activated instantly.

Wrrr—

The wind and snow seemed to stagnate. He saw a Soviet soldier attempting to skirt around a boulder, his body leaning forward in a charging stance.

Lock, lead, fire.

Bang!

A mist of blood erupted from the soldier's chest as he collapsed backward. Simultaneously, a shot rang out from Simo's position. A Soviet machine gunner who had just poked his head out was dropped with a clean headshot, silencing the DP light machine gun for a fleeting moment.

But it was a drop in the ocean. The enemy outnumbered them several times over, and their firepower was overwhelming.

Dada-dada-dada—!

The machine gun that had just gone silent was immediately taken up by another soldier. The renewed, ferocious suppression pinned Walter and Simo down. Bullets poured in like a rainstorm, forcing them to keep their heads low.

"Argh!"

Juha let out a gut-wrenching scream. His left arm, already injured and cradled against his chest, had been struck again by a stray bullet.

"My hand!"

Sweat poured down Juha's face despite the cold. He tumbled into the snow, and Aalto, whom he had been supporting, rolled away with him. Both crashed into a snowdrift.

"Juha!" Walter tried to lunge toward them but was driven back by a wall of lead.

"Don't worry about me! Run!" Juha thrashed in the snow, reaching with his right hand for his dropped submachine gun, but the agony left him without even the strength to grip the weapon.

"Damn it!"

Walter gritted his teeth, forcing the Eye of Death open once more.

Wrrr—

This time, the familiar sense of cold clarity didn't arrive. Instead, he was hit by a wave of violent dizziness and nausea. It felt as if a white-hot needle had been driven into his brain; the pain turned his vision black. He had overused it; his mental stamina was pushed past the breaking point.

But he couldn't stop.

Within that brief, flickering window of clarity, he saw two Soviet soldiers using the covering fire to rapidly close in on the fallen Juha and Aalto.

"Go to hell!"

Walter endured the splitting headache and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

One Soviet soldier dropped. But before Walter could cycle the bolt, the other had already raised his rifle, aiming the dark muzzle at Juha's head.

Bang!

This shot didn't come from Walter. It was Simo. The veteran leaned out from the other side, taking out the threat from an impossibly tight angle.

"Walter! Take them and go! I'll hold them off!"

Simo tossed aside his empty rifle and snatched up Juha's submachine gun from the ground, his eyes filled with a grim finality.

"Simo! We go together!" Walter shouted.

"We won't make it together! Now get out of here!" Simo roared, his voice hoarse. "That's an order!"

He squeezed the trigger, the submachine gun spitting tongues of flame that forced the advancing Soviets back. Walter looked at Simo's small, resolute silhouette. His heart sank, but he knew this was no time for hesitation.

He lunged forward, hoisting Juha up and then bracing Aalto. "If you're still alive, get on your feet!"

The three of them, supporting one another, fled deeper into the forest. Behind them, the sounds of battle grew more frantic, yet more distant. The blizzard intensified again, masking their tracks and veiling the lonely figure standing his ground.

In this frozen white hell, they had paid a staggering price, yet not a single glimmer of hope for survival remained in sight.

…

Walter shouldered Juha, while Juha used his one good hand to drag a semi-conscious Aalto. The three of them trudged through the drifts.

"Put me down... Walter..." Juha panted, his face ash-grey. Though his re-injured arm had been cinched tight with a leather belt by Walter, blood continued to seep through.

"Shut up! Save your breath for breathing!" Walter growled. His legs buckled, and he nearly fell to his knees.

He was spent. Days of forced marches, hunger, and combat, compounded by the violent backlash of overusing the Eye of Death, had turned his mind to mush.

But they couldn't stop. The gunfire behind them had thinned, but it hadn't ceased, which meant Simo was still fighting.

"Someone's ahead!"

Juha stopped abruptly, pointing forward in terror. Walter jerked his head up, leveling his heavy rifle. Through the driving snow, a large, dark shadow was shifting in the gloom of the trees.

"Don't fire! It's me!"

A familiar voice called out. The shadow stepped out from behind a tree, wrapped in a tattered greatcoat and leading an equally bedraggled donkey.

It was Old Juhani, who had been separated from them in the earlier chaos.

"Old Juhani?!" Walter was stunned.

"The beast spooked, dragged me halfway through the woods before it finally hit a tree," Old Juhani said with a wry smile.

Though the supply-filled field kitchen had been lost in the carnage, the donkey remained. For them, it was a miraculous lifeline of transport.

"Quick! Get Aalto on the donkey's back!"

Walter didn't waste words. He and Old Juhani hoisted the semi-conscious young man onto the animal. The stubborn donkey let out a snort of protest but stood firm under the weight.

"Juha, lean against the donkey and hold the rope." Walter handed the lead to Old Juhani. "Old Juhani, you support him."

With the donkey's strength to lean on, the group's pace picked up slightly. But Walter did not move forward with them. He stood his ground, letting the snow lash his face, his gaze fixed on the path they had just walked.

The gunfire from that direction had become intermittent, like a flickering candle in the wind.

"You three go on."

"What are you doing?" Juha asked weakly, leaning against the donkey, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Simo isn't back yet." Walter checked his ammunition pouches. Only two clips remained, about ten rounds.

"Are you insane?! It's crawling with Russians back there!" Juha's eyes bulged as if looking at a madman. "Going back is suicide! Simo told you to take us away, not to go back and die with him!"

"I know," Walter said softly.

He paused, a glint of absolute resolve flashing in his eyes. He turned to Old Juhani, his gaze brooking no argument.

"Old Juhani, these two are in your hands. Head west and don't look back. If we haven't caught up in a little while..."

Walter didn't finish the sentence, but a self-deprecating smile touched his lips.

"Then don't wait."

Without waiting for their reactions, he turned and stepped into the blizzard. His silhouette looked frail against the white void, yet every stride was unshakable.

He wasn't going back to die; he was going back to keep a tryst.

"You'd better live, you bastard!" Juha's voice, thick with tears, cried out from behind him.

Walter didn't look back. He merely raised his right hand and gave a wave.