The Winter War Page 4

  Mother and Marko trotted beside the children's car the length of the platform, waving, while Nina and Jari pressed their faces against the window. Mother remained brave until the last car pulled away. Then she and the other women burst into tears. One young woman dropped to her knees in the snow and sobbed.

  Marko hugged Mother. “I should be with them,” she cried softly, “to look out for them.”

  Marko tasted the bitter acid of coal smoke in his mouth as he watched the light on the caboose fade into the darkness. There was no turning back now. Would he be of any use here on the home front? Or would folks laugh at him as the iron-legged boy who should have gone to Sweden with the babies?

  CHAPTER 7

  THE HOSPITAL

  The next morning Marko volunteered to help Mother at the hospital and refugee center that had been set up in the Virtalinna school. As they walked from the edge of town, they both carried a white sheet so they could lie in the snow and cover themselves up in case of an air raid.

  The only thing that looked different about the school was a Red Cross flag hanging above the door. But once they were inside, Marko saw that everything had changed. The main hall was piled with crates of medical supplies and linens. Carts were parked beside the classroom doors. Both nurses and Lottas in white-collared uniforms and caps hurried down the halls. Many of Mother's Lotta friends helped at the hospital, while others worked throughout the town as cooks, telephone operators, and aircraft spotters. Women had also filled the men's jobs at the ironworks and the sawmill.

  Marko began his day in the gymnasium helping serve bread, coffee, and milk to the refugees. They were mainly women and children from villages near the border, who had no relatives to take them in.

  As Marko handed a mother milk for her toddler, she asked,”Have you heard when the train will pick us up?”

  Marko didn't know what she meant, but a Lotta said,”The new list will be up this afternoon, Sonja. We'll post it on the bulletin board by the door.”

  The Lotta turned to Marko. “Families from all over Finland are volunteering to house people. As places become available, these folks are sent out on the train.”

  Through the morning Marko shelved supplies, went to the post office, and mopped the floor in his old Class VI room. The beds in the room were empty because the train had just taken several wounded soldiers to a hospital in central Finland.

  When Marko finished cleaning the floor, he looked out the window at Kronholm Castle. Through the gently falling snow he could see the blue cross of Finland and the gold cross of Sweden on the flags above the castle wall. This time of the year Mrs. Kronholm would normally be decorating her dining hall for her upcoming Christmas banquet. The vaulted hall, which used to be a chapel, had been Marko and Johan's favorite place to play when they were little. It had a twenty-foot-long table with two dozen high-backed chairs and a candelabrum as tall as a small boy. Handwoven tapestries covered the walls, and a three-story-high leaded-glass window overlooked the river. At Christmas the window was hung with spruce garlands and bright ribbons. But this year Kronholm Castle was draped in black.

  If only he could turn time back to the morning before the first bombs fell!

  A voice called,”All personnel report to the lobby immediately.”

  When Marko got to the front entry, the head nurse said, “I am sorry to report that the Russians bombed the hospital train.”

  “But how could they? The cars have big red crosses painted on the roofs!” a nurse said.

  “The first of the injured should arrive within the hour.”

  “That may be them right now.” Mother pointed out the window at two sleighs heading toward them.

  Marko met the first sleigh at the back door. The driver and the soldier were both dressed in whiteovers, camouflage against the snow. Their jackets and pants were crumpled and stained with soot and dirt. As Marko and the driver slid the stretcher under the soldier, he gritted his teeth. His face was ashen, his right thigh soaked with blood.

  When they carried the wounded man through the back door without bumping him, he looked at the driver and grinned. “Finally a smooth ride. Arvo must have hit every rut between here and Savolahti.”

  “You were at Savolahti?” Marko said.

  The soldier nodded and took a shaky breath. “We surprised the Russkies last night. Routed them. I was the only one hit.”

  “But we nearly got fitted for wooden overcoats on the way here,” the driver said.

  “Wooden overcoats?” Marko asked.

  “Coffins.”

  Like Johan, wearing a wooden overcoat and sleeping in the cold, cold ground.

  “A fighter plane attacked us,” the driver explained.

  “That nearly gave me a double coronary to go along with this shot-up leg,” the soldier said.

  “You can't have a double coronary when you've only got one heart,” the nurse laughed.

  “I say a Russian fighter with machine guns blazing can give anyone a double heart attack.” Then the soldier whispered to Marko,”She's a cute one. You suppose you could line me up a date after the doc sews me back together?”

  “I heard that,” the nurse said.

  “I was hoping you would.”

  Before they had the last of the wounded soldiers in bed, the first victims of the train attack began to arrive. Twenty-seven people had been injured and six killed. Two of the dead were good friends of Mother.

  Marko was shocked as he helped carry in the wounded. One soldier had been cut so badly by shrapnel and glass that he reminded Marko of a rabbit run over by a hay mower. Another soldier who couldn't stop moaning had a bandage wrapped around his head and eye. An unconscious young Lotta had a thick bandage on her right hand. “A bad cut?” Marko asked the man helping him carry the stretcher.

  “Her fingers are gone,” he whispered.

  The burns were harder for Marko to take than the blood and the mangled limbs. Every time he leaned over a body the smell of smoke and burnt flesh made him gag.

  Most of the soldiers took their injuries without complaint. The bravest of all was a thin fellow whose stomach wound had been torn open during the attack. “I'm a no-good-luck soldier,” he said, trying to smile. “Those Russkies have my number.”

  Marko helped all night as they struggled to stabilize the patients while repairs were made to the tracks.

  When he and Mother walked home for a rest in the middle of the morning, Marko's leg was so sore that he had to swing his hip out to the side with each step. Wearing his brace so long had rubbed his leg raw.

  Marko said, “I didn't think hospital work would be so tiring.”

  “Men always think women's work is easy,” Mother said.

  At home she rubbed Marko's leg with a salve that she'd made out of pine tar, lard, and honey. After a short nap they were back at the hospital.

  When the rail line was opened in the afternoon, everyone helped take the wounded to the train station. As the staff stood on the platform, waving goodbye, Marko noticed a man was missing. “Where's the soldier from Savolahti?” he asked.

  “Not everyone made it,” Mother said.

  “He died?”

  She nodded slowly.

  Marko thought, How many more good men will be joining Johan and the man from Savolahti before this war is over?

  It was well after dark before Marko and Mother started home. “I feel like I've skied to Grandma's and back,” he said.

  “The patients appreciated every step you took today,” Mother said.

  Marko looked up at the stars. “I hope this clear sky doesn't bring more air raids.” The siren had gone off twice the night before, but the bombers had passed high overhead on their way to attack the interior of Finland.

  “Maybe they think Virtalinna is bombed out,” Mother said.

  “Let's hope—”Marko stopped when he saw a man in a black coat riding a horse at the top of the hill. It was their minister. He was the one who brought families the news when soldiers had been killed. Mark
o and Mother didn't breathe until the minister turned onto a side street.

  “Thank heavens it wasn't us,” Mother whispered. She looked to the north. “Let's pray that Father is safe tonight.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE LIEUTENANT'S BREAKFAST

  Two days later Marko stepped into the dusk to help carry in a wounded officer. As Marko approached the sleigh, the man slid off the back. His right arm was in a sling, and his whiteovers were stained with blood. “Let me help you, Lieutenant,” the driver said.

  “I wasn't shot in the leg.”The lieutenant grabbed the side of the sleigh.

  “Be careful, sir!”

  “I'm not an invalid.”The lieutenant stared at Marko. “That you, Koski?”

  “Mr. Juhola!”

  “For a minute I thought you'd forgotten your old teacher.”

  “No, sir,” Marko said. Should he salute? Mr. Juhola had been his toughest teacher.

  “So how's the leg?”

  “Fine, sir,” Marko said, embarrassed that his teacher would mention his leg.

  “Here we are back at our old schoolhouse.” The lieutenant started up the steps.

  As Marko held the door open, Mother ran forward. “Why is no one helping this man?”

  “My fault,” Lieutenant Juhola said. “I ordered them not to.” Now that they were inside, Marko noticed he was very pale.

  “Well, we're in charge in this hospital,” Mother said. She put the lieutenant's good arm around her shoulder and steered him into a room.

  He smiled. “They're demoting me to Class I, Koski. I never was patient enough to work with the little ones.”

  His last words were slurred, and he suddenly slumped forward.

  “Just as I thought.” Mother tipped him onto the bed as he passed out.

  Marko said, “He acted like there wasn't anything wrong.”

  “Officers are always the worst patients. They're very bad at following orders.”

  The sleigh driver nodded. “Soldiers get so hopped up in the rush of the battle, they can't even feel they've been hit. Once the adrenaline wears off, they collapse.”

  * * *

  The next morning Mother said, “You can bring the lieutenant his breakfast.”

  “Can I wait on someone else?”

  “You should be proud to help your teacher,” Mother said.

  “But—”

  “It makes no difference that he wasn't your favorite.”

  As Marko picked up the bread and coffee in the kitchen, he thought back to how much he'd disliked Mr. Juhola's class. The only thing Juhola cared about was sports. Before he became a teacher he had qualified for the national track team, and he was a training partner for the Olympic champion Paavo Nurmi, the Flying Finn.

  Sports were difficult for Marko in his brace. Skiing was the only sport he could do well, because he could glide forward. But they didn't teach skiing in school.

  Mr. Juhola was an army reserve officer, and each morning he put the class through a series of exercises. He was fond of saying,”We must be prepared if the need ever comes to defend our homeland.” During the afternoon recess he coached the class in the current sport.

  In the fall Mr. Juhola focused on pesäpallo, Finnish baseball. He said the motion of throwing the ball was the same as tossing a hand grenade, and that base-running was like the rush of an attacking infantryman. He chose the two best players as captains to pick the teams, and Marko was always the last boy chosen.

  * * *

  “But the doctor has ordered bed rest.” Marko heard a voice as he walked down the hall. Marko reached the lieutenant's room as a Lotta came out.

  “Good luck with him.” She rolled her eyes.

  When Marko stepped into the room, the lieutenant was standing at the window and looking down on the bridge and Kronholm Castle. A gentle snow was falling outside.

  “Good morning, sir,” Marko said.

  Juhola turned. “Morning, Koski. It feels odd to be in our old school. I get the urge to write the day's lessons on the chalkboard.” He stood ramrod straight, and his piercing blue eyes were bright.

  Marko handed him a plate with a slice of rye bread covered with jam.

  “Lingonberry?”

  Marko nodded. “Is your arm feeling better, sir?”

  “Good as new. The doc set the bone—I told those medics at the front to snap it back in place and save me a sleigh ride, but they wouldn't do it. Doc sewed up the bullet holes, too.”

  “You were shot?”

  “Just two small wounds in the shoulder. The doc did fine for a Swede.”The lieutenant grinned. “Speaking of Swedes, how's your buddy Johan?”

  “He was killed in the first bombing raid.”

  “No!”Juhola looked shocked.”I'm sorry to hear that. I liked Kronholm.” He sat on the bed and sighed, shaking his head. “Not young Johan … I used to think the Russian pilots were killing civilians because their aim was so bad, but now I'm convinced they're following orders.”

  “Bombs have destroyed more than thirty homes,” Marko said. “But at least they haven't knocked out the bridge.”

  “I don't believe they've tried to hit it.” The lieutenant sat thinking. “Johan. I am so sorry.” Finally he took a bite of bread.

  Marko handed him a cup of coffee. “They could trap us on this side of the river if they blew out the bridge.”

  “They'd be trapping themselves, too.”

  “Why would—” Marko stopped and thought. “Unless they planned to cross the river right here.”

  “Everyone thinks the Red Army will keep hitting the southern front until they break through our defenses on the Mannerheim Line. But they've already thrown a crack regiment at us here. If they can drive through Virtalinna and into central Finland, they could cut our supply lines and use our railroads to move their troops behind our southern forces.”

  “Bypassing the Mannerheim Line altogether,” Marko said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Isn't a regiment two thousand men?”Marko asked.

  “Two thousand seven hundred.” Juhola sipped his coffee. “But our lone battalion has stopped them cold so far.”

  “A battalion is only five hundred men!”

  “We have to hold this front at all costs. Luckily, we have a friend the Red Army hasn't factored in.”

  “Another country is sending troops?” Marko snapped to attention.

  The lieutenant shook his head.”Sweden, Britain, and America are all afraid of Stalin. Right now we're standing alone.” He walked to the window. Snow was falling from the gray sky. “No, the friend I'm talking about is right out there. Winter is a familiar companion to us, but for the city boys from Moscow and the poor recruits they ship in from the south it will mean white death.”

  CHAPTER 9

  JUST THE WAY IT IS

  The next morning Marko returned to Juhola's room with breakfast, anxious to ask him if he'd heard any news from the north, where Father was stationed. The patient was dressed and shaved. “You're not leaving already?”

  “I've got to get back to my men. It's not right for me to be pampered by the nurses while my men are sleeping in tents.”

  Mother walked in behind Marko. “You should be in bed.”

  “There's a war going on,” the lieutenant said.

  “Your arm hasn't mended. There's a risk of bleeding or infection.”

  “As much as I appreciate your concern, I have no choice. But I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to talk with you.”

  “About what?” Mother asked.

  “I could use Marko's help.”

  “Hasn't he been taking good care of you?”

  “He's been doing a fine job, Mrs. Koski,”Juhola said. “In fact, with your permission I'd like to sign him on as a messenger with my command group. We need someone who knows the area around Savolahti.”

  “Marko? He's too young!”

  “Athletes make outstanding messengers.”

  “I'm no athlete,”Marko said.”I was lousy at basebal
l and every other game you had us play.”

  “But I noticed how well you and Johan did in those weekend orienteering contests. You have a good sense of direction, you can read a compass, and you ski fast.”

  “You followed those events?”

  “I did my share of orienteering when I was your age.”

  “What about Marko's leg?” Mother asked.

  Marko said, “You told me to never use my leg as an excuse.”

  “Not the front lines!” Mother said. “I couldn't bear it.”

  “You've always said I can do anything I set my mind to.”

  “I'd keep him well back from the action, Mrs. Koski,” the lieutenant said. “He'd be delivering messages for our company.”

  “But—”

  “Mother! This would be my chance to serve Finland!” Marko said.

  “Exactly,” the lieutenant said. “The thing I admire most about Marko is that he never gives up. A struggle always brings out the best in him.”

  Marko was shocked. Praise from Juhola? He turned to Mother. “Father would be proud that I could do my part.”

  She looked at Juhola. “There's no way you could keep him safe out there.”

  “Life doesn't come with guarantees, Mrs. Koski, but I'd do my best. And there is no greater honor for a man than to serve his country.”

  “He's just a boy.” Mother looked at Marko and her eyes welled up with tears.

  “You've always taught me to believe in myself. If I can beat polio, I can deliver a few messages to the soldiers.”

  “You don't have anything more to prove!” Mother said.

  “Mother—we're fighting for freedom, for honor!” Marko said. They looked at each other.

  Finally Mother said, “I never dreamed … not my Marko.” She turned to Juhola. She was crying now. “You'd promise to watch out for him?”

  “I knew you wouldn't stand between a man and his duty to his country.”

  A man! Marko thought as Mother hugged him.