Eight Men [fanfic]
Title: Eight Men
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: R
Characters: Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Prussia, Poland, America, Russia
Genre: Dark, History, Friendship, Drama
Pairings: SuFin, DenNor, GerIta, LietPol and hinted others
Warnings: Violence, extreme sexual situations, dark themes
Summary: August 1945. While the humans debate the proper end to the Second World War in Potsdam, the nations are already in Nuremberg, trying to decide what to do with Germany, Bulgaria, and Finland. For eight of them, Allied and Axis alike, this has just been the inevitable conclusion of history.
Chapter: Seven (Part 2 of 9)
Rating: R
Characters: Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Finland, Sweden, Karelia
Warnings: Intense violence.
Summary: January 1949. The Winter War rages on and Finland must use every tool he has, or lose himself
Eight Men
Historical Notes
Kollaanjoki - One of the first steps of Soviet Russia's expansionist policies into the Baltic arena was to request that states bordering the Baltic set up army bases for the Soviet Army. Finland was the only one of the counties approached that refused to do so, and so the Soviet Union declared war on Finland in December 1939. The Winter War continued until March 1940, when both the Soviet Union and Finland declared an interim peace before resuming hostilities.
Chapter 2: That Which Is Strong
January 1940 - Kollaanjoki, Pogostantie, Finland
From M. Herriot of the French Government, January 11th, 1940:
Far up in the north a tiny nation was fighting heroically against a regime which claimed the right to crush feeble nations. Finland did not only represent an outpost of Western civilization; her victory represented a first triumph of spirit over matter, of human values over brutality.[5]
To the sound of artillery fire, Finland slipped back in the snow. Like lightning, Ivan pressed the advantage, swinging the improvised water faucet around, its metal knob catching Finland in the side. Tino gasped, slid, and rolled back, hoping that the creaking white blanket and his white winter wear would confuse Russia.
Shots rang out to the south, and the short shivering screams of death signaled that the Soviet advance had broken through the human lines. Tino clutched at his side, trying to ignore the burn reaching his throat from under his lungs. Fumbling for a moment, Tino brought a revolver up. The leaden water faucet cut through the freezing air. One bullet boomed from the chamber, cracking through the cold air, and with the recoil jerk, Finland's arm covered his skull. Agony burst up and down the protective limb, and then slipped away as Russia fell, crumpling in red snow.
Gasping into his scarf, Finland scrambled back up the slope of the wind cut drift. Over the ice of the river, the trees toppled and fell to artillery bombardment. The Soviet positions held the advantage, but with Russia fallen-the bright blue of the sky darkened, and Finland looked up, only to see the old man drawing gray clouds in the wake of his cloak as he flew on the back of the wind. What Finland wouldn't give for it to warm up enough to snow. Snow meant that they were all but invisible.
Quickly dropping, in case he made too much of a target, Tino surveyed the area. Where was-movement by the treeline!
Berwald forced someone in a thick dark soviet coat into the open, his staff swinging in resolute arcs, combating a rifle in close range. That close, and the old weapon proved better than the new, forcing the wooden length of the rifle stock into an oversized feminine chest for protection. But the land loved the woman, and gave her the strength to plant her feet and fight as she had always fought.
Katyusha caught the pole with a quick twirl, flicking it against her stock for a second, powering forward, before spinning away. Berwald staggered with the swift, unexpected motion. That was all she needed. In a fluid movement, sweet Ukraine jammed the butt of the gun into his stomach. Berwald fell against the snow, and the rifle spun around.
Tino had jumped up once again, not caring that he was making a target of himself against the landscape. Like the echoes of a shout, the shots provided impetus to hurry. Tino had his own gun in hand, not really thinking, or understanding any thoughts that he might be having, because for some reason he had forgotten to use it until after his ally was lying in the snow, rolling, leaving a welter of pink on the white and gray.
His attack startled the Ukraine, making her scramble for the trees, and the men living and dieing on the other side of the river. It was only when she realized that there was just Finland that she stopped, and began to shoot.
Diving for Sweden, Finland managed to avoid the first two bullets. As Ukraine fumbled with a reload, Tino took the chance to drag Sweden toward the human lines and the doctors. If he did not look at the dark damp hole in his friend's stomach, Su-san was just asleep. Yeah. Asleep.
Thundering in his ears, a bullet snaked past his temple, just as Ukraine advanced a step out of the shade of the wood. The kind woman took the lethal blow in the the throat and dropped, her decent covered by artillery shells.
Looking back to the nearest ridge of snow, Tino could see nothing, but if people behind him were going to be shooting his enemies, it was not his place to complain. Thanking his savior quietly in his head, he put his back into lifting Sweden, and towing that large very slowly healing body like a deer carcass.
Could they become mortal? Without that acknowledged connection to Ruostin Kuningaskunta Berwald felt horribly light in his arms. Or that might just have been Tino's very over active imagination. Please let it be the imagination.
Suddenly, they were among legs. A small band, headed by a young girl. Human hands grabbed Berwald, helping Tino bear the awkward package, and unfortunately giving the nation time to think about blood and the blackness of the rich intestinal stuff. He stumbled a bit, and then they were hurrying back to their line. Managing to glance around, Tino noticed the young woman trotting by their side.
Tino winced to see her holding a rifle. "Karjala-,"
"Isi," she interrupted playfully, her cheeks dimpling under smile crinkled eyes. "Let's go back. Please?"
Winter tried to strike like a knife inside their lungs, and Tino concentrated on breathing properly, rather than reprimanding. They could have the fight about this later. She should not be putting herself in danger like this. That gun had been meant to go to one of her men.
They reached a ramshackle old forester's station hidden by the trees, and currently being used to house the wounded. Listening to the crackling squeak of snow under boots, Tino wondered how long before they would have to burn this rest shelter down, rather than give it to the Russians. He tried to ignore that, and concentrate on the immediate. He had a minor victory to report.
Relinquishing Sweden, the shorter country trotted to the side of the wooden box, where a raised roof had once protected wood piles from a snowy burial and now sheltering a desk. Right now, this little set up was high command for the area. Hopefully the men he was looking for-ah, they were there, heads bent together in consultation.
Trotting directly up to the group, Finland saluted smartly, his eyes shining. "Venäjä ja Ukraina ovat kuolleet vähän aikaa. Jos me suunnitelma takaisin alueella menetimme, nyt on ihanteellinen. [6]"
They nodded curtly, and then Finland was besieged from all sides by rapid fire questions, asking about troop movements, rates of healing, numbers of national spirits patrolling the front lines, and likely weather forecast. Falling in with the men, Tino outlined the answers, at one point sending some young private hurrying for paper and maps. Quick eyes dared around the circle, huddled together, planning. This was good. Better than good. Tino felt clear air in his lungs, and something ringing joyfully in his head. With these people, on this land, he could never lose.
At last, useful information extracted, and plans for troop movements outlined, Tino turned away from his men. Artillery had stopped. For now. If he never heard another Soviet shell, every other sound would be sweet.
Looking at the skyline, where the brushy dark green spikes of trees devoured gray clouds, Finland tried to hold the pride and joy he had in his humans close to him, and not think about the hospital behind him, where the same humans cried out in pain, or died in silence.
"Suomi?" Karelia's boots creaked through the snow. "What are we going to do about Ruotsi?"
Finland frowned at this. "I'd like to know what I'm going to do about you. You're putting yourself in needless danger! You could do so much, helping with the other women. When we put our energy into helping with the hospitals our people get better faster, and are ready to fight again. That is a necessary job, and I don't have the time and energy to devote to it as much as I should! You're needed to do that in my place. Not to mention, how are the men supposed to respect you when you charge around acting like-like Hungary? She is a nation, and has to do what she was made to do. You should do what you were made to do."
The sadness in the face that turned toward the snow tugged at Finland's heart. Karelia kept her voice quiet, which Finland had to admire her for, since he had been incapable of maintaining level tones. "I'm a better gunman than doctor, Isi. I was trying to make the best use of my talents. You don't mind when Lappi fights."
A mittened hand went to rub Finland's forehead in exasperation, as his shoulders slumped a little. "I do mind, but she's too contrary to pay me any mind. Please listen to me, I can't fight as effectively when I have to worry-," he was interrupted by a light laugh, that the blond girl quickly tried to stifle with her hand. Finland stared in stern disapproval. "You have something to say, Karjala?"
"Sorry," the girl managed to look properly abashed. "It was just, well, you always worry, whether I'm fighting, or not."
Okay, that much was true. Finland sighed, moving his hands behind his back, and staring at the treeline once again. "I suppose you have a point. However, that still does not excuse your reckless endangerment of yourself."
She nodded, her tight curls bobbing against her scarf. "I'm sorry, Isi. But-Ruotsi i-is he going to be okay? I'm just a region, well several regions, and I heal much faster than he is doing."
The worry in her voice made Tino smile, because she was calling the kettle black when she thought that he worried about people more than was good for him. "He'll be all right." Mittened fingers found themselves nervously tapping on the belt pouch holding his ammunition. Forcing his attention on the movement, the fingers stilled, and dropped to his side once more.
Clearly not believing him, Karelia fixed her eyes on the dark green of the tree line as well. "What will happen if we lose?"
The cold air tried to nip at Finland's ears. "A lot of humans will suffer. But that will happen when we win, too."
Silence stretched thin and thoughtful. Karelia was taking her role seriously. Or, maybe, it was better to say that she was thinking about all the implications and consequences. "I-It feels strange to fight like this. Like some piece of me is missing. I mean, I know that it is-but oh, I don't know. This war is so confusing. So many people from so far away suddenly walk my soil, and I-Maybe I lived in Venäjä's house too long [7]. I worry about them, freezing to death. What is wrong with their bosses, Isi? These humans are so driven, and even the other pieces of Russia and the Union-they feel different. I don't know if I even know them anymore. They're so proud, and so hard and cold. Even if we give it our all, will we lose? Winter can't last forever."
Gray shrouded and cruel, the killing frost moved among those trees both observed. The cold general won every day, to make up for the time he was forced to leave the world in peace. Finland coughed into his hand. "Yes. But we can still fight other lands, Karjala. Even when we lose, we can still fight other lands. Nothing can kill us. Nothing can stop us. We're nations. We can't fight the natural forces of the world, but that's it," taking the time away from his survey of the countryside, he smiled at her, trying to reassure the province that they had made the right deal with the proper devil. "Have I ever told you the story of Norja, after the Black Death ravaged him, and Tanska took that opportunity to add him into the new house that Tanska had built?"
"Many times," Karjala sighed, clearly not understanding the nonsequitur. "Why do you love such awful stories? And what bearing do old stories have on whether we win or lose?"
Finland, realizing that the sublime was lost upon the younger generation, just hook his head, and turned back to the shed. "Because they're the only ones that matter. When the war is over, Karjala, you'll see. We won't lose. So keep your head high, and let's not let that happen, right!"
Taking his cue, the girl followed, still troubled. "Yes, but the casualties are humans. I'm-What about us? What about you? The last wars were so awful, and we were just chess pieces. What will happen to the land?"
There Finland's confidence failed him. If he had the answer he would be one of the humans, and able to make these decisions. Things happened, and they had to tip the balance of power as well as they could. "I suppose that we will be forced to move into Russia's house. Like Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia, I suppose. They aren't doing too well. Remember that big argument that I had with Esti about those destroyers a few years ago? He didn't even dare to say no to what Russia wanted[8]. As for you-well maybe he will have given up on persecuting kulacks [9], and you'll just be another federated state within the borders."
He caught the door for the young girl, and waved her sober form inside. In return, her thankful smile lit the rough hospital. "Thanks, Isi. I'll visit here for a while, and then go check in with the guard positions."
Finland nodded, glad that she still had her responsibilities in hand. It was not until he sat down next to Sweden that he wondered if he should have pressed her harder not to get into needless danger. But then again, how was that possible in the middle of a war?
Worried, but trying not to show it, Finland turned his attention to Berwald. For an unconscious man, the representation of the neighboring country wore the grisly mess of dried blood that spattered his white and tan uniform very well. They had not even removed those glasses. The conscious nation almost smiled. Those things were practically part of his face.
"You certainly picked a fine time to get shot," Tino muttered, sitting his elbows on his knees. "What am I supposed to do with you, anyway, if you keep insisting on acting all human and doing silly things?"
Of course, from the nation who was still sleeping away his wound, there was no response. Just as there had been no response two weeks ago after Berwald got in the way of a tank shell. Tino could not remember what had happened the time before that. Probably it had been that counter ambush? Or, no, the grenade. That was it. A grenade that Berwald had seen before anyone else, and fallen upon.
Sighing, Tino picked up one broad hand covered by a knitted glove. "You're a liability, you know that?" he whispered, trying to transfer warm life into the body from hand to hand contact. "I love you, but you're a liability. Do you know what happens if we stay away from our posts for too long? I don't, but I would think that it would be pretty nasty."
Several silent minutes passed. Was he wasting time? He should be out being a nation. A nation was always needed somewhere, spreading his strength. At the same time, however, Tino could not think of a place he was needed more. He needed to confront himself. By rights, he could have sent Berwald home. Make Sweden be Sweden again. But having an indestructible soldier was more important. He was just Finland, fighting the might of the Soviet Union. Without Berwald, he became one nation against three. Admittedly, many other nations were lending their support in spirit, but they were not here on the front lines, except in flashes of movement when they had no other important things to worry about. Sweden should not be here on the front lines.
"Maybe you'll come to your senses, and save me the trouble of deciding between my humans and your well-being," Tino muttered, reaching over, and slipping the wire rims from the long, straight nose.
Berwald stirred uncomfortably, as black wire bows brushed his temples. The movement reminded Tino so much of the early days with those glasses, after the tall nation had gotten used to them, when he would fall asleep at his desk, or in front of the fire, placing himself in danger of breaking them, and Finland had to put him to bed. For a moment Tino forgot tightly knitted wool covering his fingers, and brushed his hand across the severe cheek.
That woke the other nation, causing a moment of bleary confusion, despite the fact that instinctively those large hands had gone to the pillow, and the top sheet. Easy weapons to rip off the bed, and foul an attacker long enough to find something useful. Some things, despite neutrality, never really changed. You could only be a warrior nation for so many centuries before it became ingrained in your soul. "What?"
Tino just grinned. "They left your glasses on when they gave you the cot." He waved the instruments as Berwald peered at them.
Laying his head back, the tall man stared at the ceiling. "Oh."
Silence wrapped around them. For Tino, it molded around his shoulders, hunching his body into the shape of that French sculpture. Troop movements, and the landscape flashed through his head. He was in the forest, as men skied through the rough barked trees. Every crash of shells into his soil shuddered through his skin, making Finland think of ulcers and exploding pustules covering deeper wounds. Villages burned. Humans died.
Through it all the frozen wind of the General keened, echoing in his ears constantly. A dirge for Russia. No, not for Russia. Russia had already died. Had died in the fires of the red star that he had become. Soviet Russia. Part of the strong union of millions, who could be wasted and exterminated like so many ants.
Berwald's mittened hands reached out, one finger slipping down the crease in Tino's forehead. "Y' thinkin' 'bout unpl'sent things?"
This prompted a small smile, and Tino endeavored to correct his frown. "Only inevitable things. I've decided that I'm going to christen my gun 'Death Hope.' What do you think?"
The startled and careful eying he received from Berwald filled Tino with smugness. Sweden never would know how much was joke and how much was intended. Still, the other man rose to the occasion magnificently. "'S fittin'. S'lf 'xplanitory."
In serious agreement, Tino nodded. "It was that, or Gorey Little Daisy of Autumn, but I thought that was excessive."
"I-i-indeed."
Leaning his hand on one cheek, Tino took the opportunity to gaze at the healing nation from under appraisingly possessive eyelashes. "I could name your weapons for you, if you like. Give them a bit of personality."
With a quick shake of his head, Berwald sat up. "We'pon's a weap'n."
Could not have said it better myself, Tino thought for a small moment. He looked around at the nurses, bustling around. "We're going to have to move out soon. The lines were broken through again. The hospital is in danger, even if we manage the counter attack as quickly as we hope."
Nodding, the old soldier swung his legs from the cot. A tightness in his jaw betrayed some pain, but the man reached for his long staff without a noise. Ice filled, those brilliant eyes slid in Tino's direction, daring the Republic of Finland to say anything.
Stubborn man, Tino wished he dared scowl. "I'm going to go check on Karjala first. She has been worrying me."
Berwald nodded, looking about distractedly. "Needa new coat. 'Nd m'glasses."
"No such luck with the first one, and as for the second," Tino tapped the cool glasses on his hand meaningfully. "Sit back down. I'll find you something to patch the coat, and then I'll be on my way."
The fact that there had been no protest from Berwald worried his old friend. The big blond just nodded, silent in the face of the creaking mattress bearing his weight once again. You would have thought that once the Swedish volunteers arrived Sweden the country would have been able to perk up. He had been doing a little better on the day that the bombers had taken down the Soviet columns marching to the south.
Was Tino that exhausted looking? He hoped not. It was his duty to give heart to people, and a walking shade of land with hollow eyes did not inspire confidence. Or, at least, it did not inspire his confidence.
Before his mobile face could betray his thoughts, Tino trotted over to the small cupboard and the supplies there. Nothing much was left. A roll of bandages that some human would need, and a pair of old sheets. The med kit revealed a large needle for an industrial sewing machine, though goodness knew why, but nothing else in the old wooden cabinet could have been used for sewing.
Looking over his shoulder at the groaning humans, Tino thought for a second. The ambush tools! He leaped for the upright closest where the ammo cases were stored. There, on the top shelf, where he had to jump up and down to get at it, was the roll that he had been expecting. Fishing line wasn't ideal, but it was better than using up the dissolving catgut needed for stitches. Not that Berwald technically needed to sew the hole in his coat. However, it was always good practice to keep a land outwardly presentable. Anything could affect the country, with all of the randomness of a thunderstorm.
By the time Finland returned, his companion had already divested himself of coat, and was peering through the damp hole in his shirt dejectedly. The raw pink flesh on his abdomen winked at Tino as another piece of green scab flaked off. Tino winced. Healing never took this long, and watching it happen in slow motion was just creepy.
"Sorry, we don't really have any thread. But I figure since we're abandoning the place the sheets won't really be missed," Tino began, biting into the sheet with his teeth, and tearing the cloth into strips.
Berwald took the roll of fishing line, and the over large needle. Fitting the silk line through the eye, he looked at the heavy braid skeptically. Then he shrugged. "It'll do."
Never give a full answer when half one can suffice. Tino grinned, taking his first makeshift bandage, and wrapping it around the rust brown and salmon pink of the abdomen. "We'll clean you up when we bed down for the night," he promised.
The corner of his friend's mouth twitched slightly. "In f'rty-two hours, then?"
Tino's reply was airy, tucking and looping the cloth over the injured muscles. It did not have to be neat. The bandage was protection against the cold, and his way of providing a charm against Kenraali Talvi rather than anything meant to hold together a damaged body. "Oh, that's just when we go off duty. Knowing our luck, we probably won't be able to go to bed for another five after that. You know crises. Arms."
Obligingly lifting the appendages, Tino was able to slip the white under shirt back over Berwald's head, followed by another strip of former sheet. The dried brown of blood disappeared under the thin layer of snow white. The shirt that Berwald had sighed over was quickly buttoned over the rest. Then another strip of bandage.
The smile hovering in his cold eyes, the tall blonde leaned forward enough to brush foreheads with his current doctor. "Y'tryin' t' make m'bullet proof?"
Tino shook his head, catching the smile. "No. Just making sure that when you fall to the ground again, you'll be so well padded that you'll bounce. If I'm lucky someone will catch it on film, and then we can laugh about it later."
The serious face could not help the menacing expression as it tried on some mock severity, but Berwald seemed to take it in good faith. "Y've gott'be 's lucky as 'Stonia, then."
Drawing back, Finland shook his head ruefully. "Oh, don't say that. That's the kind of luck who has to fall into piles of manure to find diamond rings. Not quite what I'm hoping for, you see."
Berwald reached out a tentative hand, tugging off his glove in the coolness of the cabin. "F'nger t' finger kiss?"
"I'm pretty certain that England had something to say about that," Tino laughed, his digits finding the cracks between the wounded man's fingers, and slipping between them, locking their hands together.
In response, Berwald merely shook his head. "En'land says lots o'things."
He did. Tino let their hands go. "You finish mending your coat. You'll be able to find me once you're done. Just follow the breadcrumbs and catnip I'll drop."
As hoped, the stern unhappiness broke into a chuckle. Berwald stared over his glasses, meeting Tino's purple eyes. "'ll be y'r kitten."
He couldn't have known. The shock filled Tino's spine with ice. All those decades ago, Finland had been a kitten. A nasty one, with claws like his old knives, but a kitten. A pet who knocked over vases. Berwald, of course, probably did not know, and it was not worth explaining anything. "Just make certain you're housebroken," Finland laughed, waving off any further contact.
He strode for the door. To the north, and deeper into the west than Tino cared to think about, he was needed, as Russians attacked Ilomansti. There were rail lines he could ensure were broken. There were Danes bombing Kronstadt and Baltiski [10]. Estonia had said that he could always use fewer Russian bases on his land, Finland smirked to himself.
He did not have the strength for so many fronts, however. Choosing the most hopeless battle, his boots screamed through the snow, as each step ate kilometers of his soil, reducing a journey to a walk through the proverbial house.
Planes whirred over his head. If there was more time he would have stopped them. Somehow. Why was it so hard to attack and retaliate against creatures of the air? Man had never been meant to fly. But then again, was that just denying a dream? Even in the cloudy gray of General Winter's curse Finland could look up into the sky, and for a moment wonder what it would be like to be truly free of all responsibilities to man and the Earth. No wonder Poland and Prussia preferred the air.
Up one snow bank, and on a churned road, widened by tanks. Finland took one step, and then another. On the third, he took a bullet to his shoulder, and threw himself behind the brick wall that the sudden village afforded. A young man stared at the gray sky, his white clothing helping his body to blend in with the ground, as his corpse began to freeze.
Finland looked for the cause of death, and found a bullet in his throat. At that angle-purple eyes gazed up a hill to see a salvaged tank shell. He barely registered movement before throwing himself into a roll. The ground exploded just as his shoulder screaming in agony. But Tino was up and diving for the protection of the next building. A school house once. Now a burned husk of bricks, just like so many here in this small village. The Soviets were probably setting up an outpost, defending their rear from revenge by Finns. Nothing could be more painful than seeing the home that you had made for years burned to the ground by your own hand [11].
Tino grabbed a rifle from a dead soldier. He could not do much here. Most of the men were dead. The counter attack would come. Just by virtue of his stopping here, the counter attack would come. But humans were not land, and they did not have the advantage of being every where at once.
This rifle was an old model [12]. Finland recognized it from the last war. He smiled grimly, unhooking the bayonet. There were no bullets in the chamber, but now he had a long knife, as well as his hand gun.
Unable to stifle his grin at the ludicrous thought of taking on the whole world with just a steel blade, Finland kept his wide smile as he eeled his way around the edge of the house. They were looking for his red blood against the white and gray. No way he would get away.
Whistling a snatch of an old song, Tino flattened himself against a pile of ruble that might once have been the post office. The wind howled in reply. As General Winter swept through pine and birch forest, Tino scrambled for the hillside. Snow cut through human skin in freezing flurries. Tino surged upward. It was a race between the fury of the weather and the steel of the bayonet.
He got the first man under the ribcage. The second fired blindly, making Tino wonder if the poor boy was one of those special people who saw more than any human should need to see, since General Winter had been in the direction that the bullets zoomed.
In the next moment, Finland forgot the speculation. Instinct and training left no room for anything else in his head. Nothing but movement. An elbow into someone's stomach. Whirl around to stab at the human face. Cleverly suicidal, acting on the same deranged instinct that was fueling the spirit of Finland, a huge Russian rushed Tino, as his friend drew his gun.
Shrieking in delight, the wind spoke for the oldest forces of nature. Gunfire rattled through the darkening afternoon. Tino took the wounds with a smile. Steel flashes, ripping through cloth, padding, and flesh. Once he had fought Christian knights at Venäjä's side, furious at Ruosti, before the idea of Tanska's Union was even a glow on the horizon of Suomi's icy world. He had charged down peasants, high on the power of the gold and blue. He had fought his own people, taking the side that he was not even sure of because it was the side furthest away from Venäjä.
The world cycled. New enemies in each engagement, but the same old reasons powered them through the snow to attack him. Oh, the words were changed, but it always came down to 'Your land must be mine!'
With a jerk, Finland realized that he was staring at a sightless corpse. He pushed the man from his bayonet, blinking at the wreckage. Too familiar. Far too familiar. A small patrol of Russians and a tank. Now blood effectively ruined any semblance of camouflage on his own body. These poor men had not been expecting an immortal county to visit his wrath upon their little worlds. They had not been expecting General Winter, who, dissatisfied with the meager pickings was rushing across the forest once more.
Finland breathed out, looking north, and then south. He was needed. He was needed in other places. He had to keep on his path. A wet cough interrupted the straggling train of thought. Hand flying to his mouth, Finland wondered what bullet had hit something that was bleeding internally. Please let it not be his people. Please let it be his body. Please. There were not enough humans, and there were not enough supplies, but there would always be nations. Forever, and ever nations.
He waited for a few moments, hoping for some healing calm. Maybe some company? Seeking Kenraali Talvi with strained eyes, Finland realized that the spirit would not be lingering. He might come to a whistled call, but he would never stay without struggling lives to hold his cold amusement. Tino felt sorry for the old man. It must have been a strange existence, and so long and lonely. Even the oldest of nations had been young when General Winter roamed as an old man across ice sheets.
Ilomansti waited.
Footnotes and Annotations
[5] - This was a common sentiment, when it came to the Winter War. The Soviets were the evil aggressors, and the rest of Western Europe could only look on in horror, thanks to the neutrality of Finland's neighbors. On this same day the Italians began negotiations with Germany to be allowed to give tanks and ammunition. As soon as it was discovered that the weapons had been bought before the war officially began, the Germans declared that there was nothing hostile about giving Russia's enemies their bought and paid for supplies.
[6] - 'Venäjä ja Ukraina ovat kuolleet vähän aikaa. Jos me suunnitelma takaisin alueella menetimme, nyt on ihanteellinen' is Finnish for 'Russia and the Ukraine have been dead for a while. If we plan to recover lost territory, now is the time.' As always, please correct if wrong.
[7] - Again, as pointed out by reviewer Anon: "North and South Karelia belong to Finland even today, the Karelian Isthmus and Ladoga Karelia were lost to Russia during the Winter war (but people who used to live there were evacuated elsewhere to Finland, so Finland didn't lost them), and the area that is usually referred as East-Karelia is and has always been Russia's." The Russians took the area of East Karelia during the Greater Wrath in 1717, although they, the Swedes, and the Finns have been fighting over that bit of land since time immeorial. Karelia, as the representative of the whole isthmus after Finland grew up and moved on to bigger and better things, has generally dealt with her situation by being very quiet and splitting her time between Finnish Karelia and Russian Karelia. She throws her support behind Finland now because the Finns really believed that they were going to get all of Finnish Karelia back from the Russians, and probably Russian Karelia as well.
[8] - When Russia was still feeling the ground of the second world war, it asked the Baltic states that bordered it if they would, as a friendly gesture, put up some Soviet bases. Please? Non-aggression pacts get so messy without proper housing. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania did so, which unfortunately did not stop the Soviets from invading and deposing the natively chosen government anyway. Finland, on the other hand, resisted, which lead directly to the Winter War. Once war was declared, Finland started shooting at Soviet destroyers in Estonian waters, and asking the Danish airforce volunteers to bomb the Soviet bases in Estonia. Things get a little hairier between Estonia and Finland once the Continuation War starts, and Germany enters the fray.
[9] - Even before the Winter War, thousands of Finnish Karelians had to flee Eastern Karelia, as they were seen to be White, or sympathetic to the Russian royalty, on the virtue of the fact that they had lead cushy borsousie lives. These Karelians came from a class of landowning farmers known as kulacks, who basically had the dvantage of having been freed from serfdom before the majority of their neighbors. Generally cushy borsousie types did not have calm, easy lives in revolutionary Russia.
[10] - Although there were not many Danish volunteers to the Winter War (actually there ended up being a lot more during the Continuation War, particularly the Danish Nazis, some who-as the humorists would have it-volunteered because the Finnish Front was warmer than the cold shoulder they recieved at home) the Danes did manage to lose their aircraft in a non-aggressive totally neutral way in Finnish territory. They couldn't help it if Soviet bases on Estonian soil looked an awful lot like bomb test dummys. Really.
[11] - As the Winter War dragged on civilian Finns were commanded to use scorched earth tactics as they retreated deeped into Finland. This did help freeze the Russians out of Finland, and these same tactics were used to withdraw Russians infront of the advancing Nazi army a year later.
[12] - This was very common among troops on both sides of the Winter War. Finland's army had very few weapons and military supplies. What they did have were mainly relics from the Civil War, which in of themselves had been slightly outdated technology from the perspective of the First World War. Russia was in the same state mostly due to the sheer number of troops that it was feilding. There were more recruits than factory output could supply. The Finns were initially worse off, technology-wise, but they desperately made up the difference between material "borrowed" from Swedish warehouses, what supplies from sympathetic countries made it though the complicated zones of nuetrality and war, and the majority of Finnish weapons which were stolen from the Soviets.
~ MF
Links to Other PartsGo Back a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part One
Go Forward a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part Three
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: R
Characters: Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Prussia, Poland, America, Russia
Genre: Dark, History, Friendship, Drama
Pairings: SuFin, DenNor, GerIta, LietPol and hinted others
Warnings: Violence, extreme sexual situations, dark themes
Summary: August 1945. While the humans debate the proper end to the Second World War in Potsdam, the nations are already in Nuremberg, trying to decide what to do with Germany, Bulgaria, and Finland. For eight of them, Allied and Axis alike, this has just been the inevitable conclusion of history.
Chapter: Seven (Part 2 of 9)
Rating: R
Characters: Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Finland, Sweden, Karelia
Warnings: Intense violence.
Summary: January 1949. The Winter War rages on and Finland must use every tool he has, or lose himself
Eight Men
Historical Notes
Kollaanjoki - One of the first steps of Soviet Russia's expansionist policies into the Baltic arena was to request that states bordering the Baltic set up army bases for the Soviet Army. Finland was the only one of the counties approached that refused to do so, and so the Soviet Union declared war on Finland in December 1939. The Winter War continued until March 1940, when both the Soviet Union and Finland declared an interim peace before resuming hostilities.
Chapter 2: That Which Is Strong
January 1940 - Kollaanjoki, Pogostantie, Finland
From M. Herriot of the French Government, January 11th, 1940:
Far up in the north a tiny nation was fighting heroically against a regime which claimed the right to crush feeble nations. Finland did not only represent an outpost of Western civilization; her victory represented a first triumph of spirit over matter, of human values over brutality.[5]
To the sound of artillery fire, Finland slipped back in the snow. Like lightning, Ivan pressed the advantage, swinging the improvised water faucet around, its metal knob catching Finland in the side. Tino gasped, slid, and rolled back, hoping that the creaking white blanket and his white winter wear would confuse Russia.
Shots rang out to the south, and the short shivering screams of death signaled that the Soviet advance had broken through the human lines. Tino clutched at his side, trying to ignore the burn reaching his throat from under his lungs. Fumbling for a moment, Tino brought a revolver up. The leaden water faucet cut through the freezing air. One bullet boomed from the chamber, cracking through the cold air, and with the recoil jerk, Finland's arm covered his skull. Agony burst up and down the protective limb, and then slipped away as Russia fell, crumpling in red snow.
Gasping into his scarf, Finland scrambled back up the slope of the wind cut drift. Over the ice of the river, the trees toppled and fell to artillery bombardment. The Soviet positions held the advantage, but with Russia fallen-the bright blue of the sky darkened, and Finland looked up, only to see the old man drawing gray clouds in the wake of his cloak as he flew on the back of the wind. What Finland wouldn't give for it to warm up enough to snow. Snow meant that they were all but invisible.
Quickly dropping, in case he made too much of a target, Tino surveyed the area. Where was-movement by the treeline!
Berwald forced someone in a thick dark soviet coat into the open, his staff swinging in resolute arcs, combating a rifle in close range. That close, and the old weapon proved better than the new, forcing the wooden length of the rifle stock into an oversized feminine chest for protection. But the land loved the woman, and gave her the strength to plant her feet and fight as she had always fought.
Katyusha caught the pole with a quick twirl, flicking it against her stock for a second, powering forward, before spinning away. Berwald staggered with the swift, unexpected motion. That was all she needed. In a fluid movement, sweet Ukraine jammed the butt of the gun into his stomach. Berwald fell against the snow, and the rifle spun around.
Tino had jumped up once again, not caring that he was making a target of himself against the landscape. Like the echoes of a shout, the shots provided impetus to hurry. Tino had his own gun in hand, not really thinking, or understanding any thoughts that he might be having, because for some reason he had forgotten to use it until after his ally was lying in the snow, rolling, leaving a welter of pink on the white and gray.
His attack startled the Ukraine, making her scramble for the trees, and the men living and dieing on the other side of the river. It was only when she realized that there was just Finland that she stopped, and began to shoot.
Diving for Sweden, Finland managed to avoid the first two bullets. As Ukraine fumbled with a reload, Tino took the chance to drag Sweden toward the human lines and the doctors. If he did not look at the dark damp hole in his friend's stomach, Su-san was just asleep. Yeah. Asleep.
Thundering in his ears, a bullet snaked past his temple, just as Ukraine advanced a step out of the shade of the wood. The kind woman took the lethal blow in the the throat and dropped, her decent covered by artillery shells.
Looking back to the nearest ridge of snow, Tino could see nothing, but if people behind him were going to be shooting his enemies, it was not his place to complain. Thanking his savior quietly in his head, he put his back into lifting Sweden, and towing that large very slowly healing body like a deer carcass.
Could they become mortal? Without that acknowledged connection to Ruostin Kuningaskunta Berwald felt horribly light in his arms. Or that might just have been Tino's very over active imagination. Please let it be the imagination.
Suddenly, they were among legs. A small band, headed by a young girl. Human hands grabbed Berwald, helping Tino bear the awkward package, and unfortunately giving the nation time to think about blood and the blackness of the rich intestinal stuff. He stumbled a bit, and then they were hurrying back to their line. Managing to glance around, Tino noticed the young woman trotting by their side.
Tino winced to see her holding a rifle. "Karjala-,"
"Isi," she interrupted playfully, her cheeks dimpling under smile crinkled eyes. "Let's go back. Please?"
Winter tried to strike like a knife inside their lungs, and Tino concentrated on breathing properly, rather than reprimanding. They could have the fight about this later. She should not be putting herself in danger like this. That gun had been meant to go to one of her men.
They reached a ramshackle old forester's station hidden by the trees, and currently being used to house the wounded. Listening to the crackling squeak of snow under boots, Tino wondered how long before they would have to burn this rest shelter down, rather than give it to the Russians. He tried to ignore that, and concentrate on the immediate. He had a minor victory to report.
Relinquishing Sweden, the shorter country trotted to the side of the wooden box, where a raised roof had once protected wood piles from a snowy burial and now sheltering a desk. Right now, this little set up was high command for the area. Hopefully the men he was looking for-ah, they were there, heads bent together in consultation.
Trotting directly up to the group, Finland saluted smartly, his eyes shining. "Venäjä ja Ukraina ovat kuolleet vähän aikaa. Jos me suunnitelma takaisin alueella menetimme, nyt on ihanteellinen. [6]"
They nodded curtly, and then Finland was besieged from all sides by rapid fire questions, asking about troop movements, rates of healing, numbers of national spirits patrolling the front lines, and likely weather forecast. Falling in with the men, Tino outlined the answers, at one point sending some young private hurrying for paper and maps. Quick eyes dared around the circle, huddled together, planning. This was good. Better than good. Tino felt clear air in his lungs, and something ringing joyfully in his head. With these people, on this land, he could never lose.
At last, useful information extracted, and plans for troop movements outlined, Tino turned away from his men. Artillery had stopped. For now. If he never heard another Soviet shell, every other sound would be sweet.
Looking at the skyline, where the brushy dark green spikes of trees devoured gray clouds, Finland tried to hold the pride and joy he had in his humans close to him, and not think about the hospital behind him, where the same humans cried out in pain, or died in silence.
"Suomi?" Karelia's boots creaked through the snow. "What are we going to do about Ruotsi?"
Finland frowned at this. "I'd like to know what I'm going to do about you. You're putting yourself in needless danger! You could do so much, helping with the other women. When we put our energy into helping with the hospitals our people get better faster, and are ready to fight again. That is a necessary job, and I don't have the time and energy to devote to it as much as I should! You're needed to do that in my place. Not to mention, how are the men supposed to respect you when you charge around acting like-like Hungary? She is a nation, and has to do what she was made to do. You should do what you were made to do."
The sadness in the face that turned toward the snow tugged at Finland's heart. Karelia kept her voice quiet, which Finland had to admire her for, since he had been incapable of maintaining level tones. "I'm a better gunman than doctor, Isi. I was trying to make the best use of my talents. You don't mind when Lappi fights."
A mittened hand went to rub Finland's forehead in exasperation, as his shoulders slumped a little. "I do mind, but she's too contrary to pay me any mind. Please listen to me, I can't fight as effectively when I have to worry-," he was interrupted by a light laugh, that the blond girl quickly tried to stifle with her hand. Finland stared in stern disapproval. "You have something to say, Karjala?"
"Sorry," the girl managed to look properly abashed. "It was just, well, you always worry, whether I'm fighting, or not."
Okay, that much was true. Finland sighed, moving his hands behind his back, and staring at the treeline once again. "I suppose you have a point. However, that still does not excuse your reckless endangerment of yourself."
She nodded, her tight curls bobbing against her scarf. "I'm sorry, Isi. But-Ruotsi i-is he going to be okay? I'm just a region, well several regions, and I heal much faster than he is doing."
The worry in her voice made Tino smile, because she was calling the kettle black when she thought that he worried about people more than was good for him. "He'll be all right." Mittened fingers found themselves nervously tapping on the belt pouch holding his ammunition. Forcing his attention on the movement, the fingers stilled, and dropped to his side once more.
Clearly not believing him, Karelia fixed her eyes on the dark green of the tree line as well. "What will happen if we lose?"
The cold air tried to nip at Finland's ears. "A lot of humans will suffer. But that will happen when we win, too."
Silence stretched thin and thoughtful. Karelia was taking her role seriously. Or, maybe, it was better to say that she was thinking about all the implications and consequences. "I-It feels strange to fight like this. Like some piece of me is missing. I mean, I know that it is-but oh, I don't know. This war is so confusing. So many people from so far away suddenly walk my soil, and I-Maybe I lived in Venäjä's house too long [7]. I worry about them, freezing to death. What is wrong with their bosses, Isi? These humans are so driven, and even the other pieces of Russia and the Union-they feel different. I don't know if I even know them anymore. They're so proud, and so hard and cold. Even if we give it our all, will we lose? Winter can't last forever."
Gray shrouded and cruel, the killing frost moved among those trees both observed. The cold general won every day, to make up for the time he was forced to leave the world in peace. Finland coughed into his hand. "Yes. But we can still fight other lands, Karjala. Even when we lose, we can still fight other lands. Nothing can kill us. Nothing can stop us. We're nations. We can't fight the natural forces of the world, but that's it," taking the time away from his survey of the countryside, he smiled at her, trying to reassure the province that they had made the right deal with the proper devil. "Have I ever told you the story of Norja, after the Black Death ravaged him, and Tanska took that opportunity to add him into the new house that Tanska had built?"
"Many times," Karjala sighed, clearly not understanding the nonsequitur. "Why do you love such awful stories? And what bearing do old stories have on whether we win or lose?"
Finland, realizing that the sublime was lost upon the younger generation, just hook his head, and turned back to the shed. "Because they're the only ones that matter. When the war is over, Karjala, you'll see. We won't lose. So keep your head high, and let's not let that happen, right!"
Taking his cue, the girl followed, still troubled. "Yes, but the casualties are humans. I'm-What about us? What about you? The last wars were so awful, and we were just chess pieces. What will happen to the land?"
There Finland's confidence failed him. If he had the answer he would be one of the humans, and able to make these decisions. Things happened, and they had to tip the balance of power as well as they could. "I suppose that we will be forced to move into Russia's house. Like Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia, I suppose. They aren't doing too well. Remember that big argument that I had with Esti about those destroyers a few years ago? He didn't even dare to say no to what Russia wanted[8]. As for you-well maybe he will have given up on persecuting kulacks [9], and you'll just be another federated state within the borders."
He caught the door for the young girl, and waved her sober form inside. In return, her thankful smile lit the rough hospital. "Thanks, Isi. I'll visit here for a while, and then go check in with the guard positions."
Finland nodded, glad that she still had her responsibilities in hand. It was not until he sat down next to Sweden that he wondered if he should have pressed her harder not to get into needless danger. But then again, how was that possible in the middle of a war?
Worried, but trying not to show it, Finland turned his attention to Berwald. For an unconscious man, the representation of the neighboring country wore the grisly mess of dried blood that spattered his white and tan uniform very well. They had not even removed those glasses. The conscious nation almost smiled. Those things were practically part of his face.
"You certainly picked a fine time to get shot," Tino muttered, sitting his elbows on his knees. "What am I supposed to do with you, anyway, if you keep insisting on acting all human and doing silly things?"
Of course, from the nation who was still sleeping away his wound, there was no response. Just as there had been no response two weeks ago after Berwald got in the way of a tank shell. Tino could not remember what had happened the time before that. Probably it had been that counter ambush? Or, no, the grenade. That was it. A grenade that Berwald had seen before anyone else, and fallen upon.
Sighing, Tino picked up one broad hand covered by a knitted glove. "You're a liability, you know that?" he whispered, trying to transfer warm life into the body from hand to hand contact. "I love you, but you're a liability. Do you know what happens if we stay away from our posts for too long? I don't, but I would think that it would be pretty nasty."
Several silent minutes passed. Was he wasting time? He should be out being a nation. A nation was always needed somewhere, spreading his strength. At the same time, however, Tino could not think of a place he was needed more. He needed to confront himself. By rights, he could have sent Berwald home. Make Sweden be Sweden again. But having an indestructible soldier was more important. He was just Finland, fighting the might of the Soviet Union. Without Berwald, he became one nation against three. Admittedly, many other nations were lending their support in spirit, but they were not here on the front lines, except in flashes of movement when they had no other important things to worry about. Sweden should not be here on the front lines.
"Maybe you'll come to your senses, and save me the trouble of deciding between my humans and your well-being," Tino muttered, reaching over, and slipping the wire rims from the long, straight nose.
Berwald stirred uncomfortably, as black wire bows brushed his temples. The movement reminded Tino so much of the early days with those glasses, after the tall nation had gotten used to them, when he would fall asleep at his desk, or in front of the fire, placing himself in danger of breaking them, and Finland had to put him to bed. For a moment Tino forgot tightly knitted wool covering his fingers, and brushed his hand across the severe cheek.
That woke the other nation, causing a moment of bleary confusion, despite the fact that instinctively those large hands had gone to the pillow, and the top sheet. Easy weapons to rip off the bed, and foul an attacker long enough to find something useful. Some things, despite neutrality, never really changed. You could only be a warrior nation for so many centuries before it became ingrained in your soul. "What?"
Tino just grinned. "They left your glasses on when they gave you the cot." He waved the instruments as Berwald peered at them.
Laying his head back, the tall man stared at the ceiling. "Oh."
Silence wrapped around them. For Tino, it molded around his shoulders, hunching his body into the shape of that French sculpture. Troop movements, and the landscape flashed through his head. He was in the forest, as men skied through the rough barked trees. Every crash of shells into his soil shuddered through his skin, making Finland think of ulcers and exploding pustules covering deeper wounds. Villages burned. Humans died.
Through it all the frozen wind of the General keened, echoing in his ears constantly. A dirge for Russia. No, not for Russia. Russia had already died. Had died in the fires of the red star that he had become. Soviet Russia. Part of the strong union of millions, who could be wasted and exterminated like so many ants.
Berwald's mittened hands reached out, one finger slipping down the crease in Tino's forehead. "Y' thinkin' 'bout unpl'sent things?"
This prompted a small smile, and Tino endeavored to correct his frown. "Only inevitable things. I've decided that I'm going to christen my gun 'Death Hope.' What do you think?"
The startled and careful eying he received from Berwald filled Tino with smugness. Sweden never would know how much was joke and how much was intended. Still, the other man rose to the occasion magnificently. "'S fittin'. S'lf 'xplanitory."
In serious agreement, Tino nodded. "It was that, or Gorey Little Daisy of Autumn, but I thought that was excessive."
"I-i-indeed."
Leaning his hand on one cheek, Tino took the opportunity to gaze at the healing nation from under appraisingly possessive eyelashes. "I could name your weapons for you, if you like. Give them a bit of personality."
With a quick shake of his head, Berwald sat up. "We'pon's a weap'n."
Could not have said it better myself, Tino thought for a small moment. He looked around at the nurses, bustling around. "We're going to have to move out soon. The lines were broken through again. The hospital is in danger, even if we manage the counter attack as quickly as we hope."
Nodding, the old soldier swung his legs from the cot. A tightness in his jaw betrayed some pain, but the man reached for his long staff without a noise. Ice filled, those brilliant eyes slid in Tino's direction, daring the Republic of Finland to say anything.
Stubborn man, Tino wished he dared scowl. "I'm going to go check on Karjala first. She has been worrying me."
Berwald nodded, looking about distractedly. "Needa new coat. 'Nd m'glasses."
"No such luck with the first one, and as for the second," Tino tapped the cool glasses on his hand meaningfully. "Sit back down. I'll find you something to patch the coat, and then I'll be on my way."
The fact that there had been no protest from Berwald worried his old friend. The big blond just nodded, silent in the face of the creaking mattress bearing his weight once again. You would have thought that once the Swedish volunteers arrived Sweden the country would have been able to perk up. He had been doing a little better on the day that the bombers had taken down the Soviet columns marching to the south.
Was Tino that exhausted looking? He hoped not. It was his duty to give heart to people, and a walking shade of land with hollow eyes did not inspire confidence. Or, at least, it did not inspire his confidence.
Before his mobile face could betray his thoughts, Tino trotted over to the small cupboard and the supplies there. Nothing much was left. A roll of bandages that some human would need, and a pair of old sheets. The med kit revealed a large needle for an industrial sewing machine, though goodness knew why, but nothing else in the old wooden cabinet could have been used for sewing.
Looking over his shoulder at the groaning humans, Tino thought for a second. The ambush tools! He leaped for the upright closest where the ammo cases were stored. There, on the top shelf, where he had to jump up and down to get at it, was the roll that he had been expecting. Fishing line wasn't ideal, but it was better than using up the dissolving catgut needed for stitches. Not that Berwald technically needed to sew the hole in his coat. However, it was always good practice to keep a land outwardly presentable. Anything could affect the country, with all of the randomness of a thunderstorm.
By the time Finland returned, his companion had already divested himself of coat, and was peering through the damp hole in his shirt dejectedly. The raw pink flesh on his abdomen winked at Tino as another piece of green scab flaked off. Tino winced. Healing never took this long, and watching it happen in slow motion was just creepy.
"Sorry, we don't really have any thread. But I figure since we're abandoning the place the sheets won't really be missed," Tino began, biting into the sheet with his teeth, and tearing the cloth into strips.
Berwald took the roll of fishing line, and the over large needle. Fitting the silk line through the eye, he looked at the heavy braid skeptically. Then he shrugged. "It'll do."
Never give a full answer when half one can suffice. Tino grinned, taking his first makeshift bandage, and wrapping it around the rust brown and salmon pink of the abdomen. "We'll clean you up when we bed down for the night," he promised.
The corner of his friend's mouth twitched slightly. "In f'rty-two hours, then?"
Tino's reply was airy, tucking and looping the cloth over the injured muscles. It did not have to be neat. The bandage was protection against the cold, and his way of providing a charm against Kenraali Talvi rather than anything meant to hold together a damaged body. "Oh, that's just when we go off duty. Knowing our luck, we probably won't be able to go to bed for another five after that. You know crises. Arms."
Obligingly lifting the appendages, Tino was able to slip the white under shirt back over Berwald's head, followed by another strip of former sheet. The dried brown of blood disappeared under the thin layer of snow white. The shirt that Berwald had sighed over was quickly buttoned over the rest. Then another strip of bandage.
The smile hovering in his cold eyes, the tall blonde leaned forward enough to brush foreheads with his current doctor. "Y'tryin' t' make m'bullet proof?"
Tino shook his head, catching the smile. "No. Just making sure that when you fall to the ground again, you'll be so well padded that you'll bounce. If I'm lucky someone will catch it on film, and then we can laugh about it later."
The serious face could not help the menacing expression as it tried on some mock severity, but Berwald seemed to take it in good faith. "Y've gott'be 's lucky as 'Stonia, then."
Drawing back, Finland shook his head ruefully. "Oh, don't say that. That's the kind of luck who has to fall into piles of manure to find diamond rings. Not quite what I'm hoping for, you see."
Berwald reached out a tentative hand, tugging off his glove in the coolness of the cabin. "F'nger t' finger kiss?"
"I'm pretty certain that England had something to say about that," Tino laughed, his digits finding the cracks between the wounded man's fingers, and slipping between them, locking their hands together.
In response, Berwald merely shook his head. "En'land says lots o'things."
He did. Tino let their hands go. "You finish mending your coat. You'll be able to find me once you're done. Just follow the breadcrumbs and catnip I'll drop."
As hoped, the stern unhappiness broke into a chuckle. Berwald stared over his glasses, meeting Tino's purple eyes. "'ll be y'r kitten."
He couldn't have known. The shock filled Tino's spine with ice. All those decades ago, Finland had been a kitten. A nasty one, with claws like his old knives, but a kitten. A pet who knocked over vases. Berwald, of course, probably did not know, and it was not worth explaining anything. "Just make certain you're housebroken," Finland laughed, waving off any further contact.
He strode for the door. To the north, and deeper into the west than Tino cared to think about, he was needed, as Russians attacked Ilomansti. There were rail lines he could ensure were broken. There were Danes bombing Kronstadt and Baltiski [10]. Estonia had said that he could always use fewer Russian bases on his land, Finland smirked to himself.
He did not have the strength for so many fronts, however. Choosing the most hopeless battle, his boots screamed through the snow, as each step ate kilometers of his soil, reducing a journey to a walk through the proverbial house.
Planes whirred over his head. If there was more time he would have stopped them. Somehow. Why was it so hard to attack and retaliate against creatures of the air? Man had never been meant to fly. But then again, was that just denying a dream? Even in the cloudy gray of General Winter's curse Finland could look up into the sky, and for a moment wonder what it would be like to be truly free of all responsibilities to man and the Earth. No wonder Poland and Prussia preferred the air.
Up one snow bank, and on a churned road, widened by tanks. Finland took one step, and then another. On the third, he took a bullet to his shoulder, and threw himself behind the brick wall that the sudden village afforded. A young man stared at the gray sky, his white clothing helping his body to blend in with the ground, as his corpse began to freeze.
Finland looked for the cause of death, and found a bullet in his throat. At that angle-purple eyes gazed up a hill to see a salvaged tank shell. He barely registered movement before throwing himself into a roll. The ground exploded just as his shoulder screaming in agony. But Tino was up and diving for the protection of the next building. A school house once. Now a burned husk of bricks, just like so many here in this small village. The Soviets were probably setting up an outpost, defending their rear from revenge by Finns. Nothing could be more painful than seeing the home that you had made for years burned to the ground by your own hand [11].
Tino grabbed a rifle from a dead soldier. He could not do much here. Most of the men were dead. The counter attack would come. Just by virtue of his stopping here, the counter attack would come. But humans were not land, and they did not have the advantage of being every where at once.
This rifle was an old model [12]. Finland recognized it from the last war. He smiled grimly, unhooking the bayonet. There were no bullets in the chamber, but now he had a long knife, as well as his hand gun.
Unable to stifle his grin at the ludicrous thought of taking on the whole world with just a steel blade, Finland kept his wide smile as he eeled his way around the edge of the house. They were looking for his red blood against the white and gray. No way he would get away.
Whistling a snatch of an old song, Tino flattened himself against a pile of ruble that might once have been the post office. The wind howled in reply. As General Winter swept through pine and birch forest, Tino scrambled for the hillside. Snow cut through human skin in freezing flurries. Tino surged upward. It was a race between the fury of the weather and the steel of the bayonet.
He got the first man under the ribcage. The second fired blindly, making Tino wonder if the poor boy was one of those special people who saw more than any human should need to see, since General Winter had been in the direction that the bullets zoomed.
In the next moment, Finland forgot the speculation. Instinct and training left no room for anything else in his head. Nothing but movement. An elbow into someone's stomach. Whirl around to stab at the human face. Cleverly suicidal, acting on the same deranged instinct that was fueling the spirit of Finland, a huge Russian rushed Tino, as his friend drew his gun.
Shrieking in delight, the wind spoke for the oldest forces of nature. Gunfire rattled through the darkening afternoon. Tino took the wounds with a smile. Steel flashes, ripping through cloth, padding, and flesh. Once he had fought Christian knights at Venäjä's side, furious at Ruosti, before the idea of Tanska's Union was even a glow on the horizon of Suomi's icy world. He had charged down peasants, high on the power of the gold and blue. He had fought his own people, taking the side that he was not even sure of because it was the side furthest away from Venäjä.
The world cycled. New enemies in each engagement, but the same old reasons powered them through the snow to attack him. Oh, the words were changed, but it always came down to 'Your land must be mine!'
With a jerk, Finland realized that he was staring at a sightless corpse. He pushed the man from his bayonet, blinking at the wreckage. Too familiar. Far too familiar. A small patrol of Russians and a tank. Now blood effectively ruined any semblance of camouflage on his own body. These poor men had not been expecting an immortal county to visit his wrath upon their little worlds. They had not been expecting General Winter, who, dissatisfied with the meager pickings was rushing across the forest once more.
Finland breathed out, looking north, and then south. He was needed. He was needed in other places. He had to keep on his path. A wet cough interrupted the straggling train of thought. Hand flying to his mouth, Finland wondered what bullet had hit something that was bleeding internally. Please let it not be his people. Please let it be his body. Please. There were not enough humans, and there were not enough supplies, but there would always be nations. Forever, and ever nations.
He waited for a few moments, hoping for some healing calm. Maybe some company? Seeking Kenraali Talvi with strained eyes, Finland realized that the spirit would not be lingering. He might come to a whistled call, but he would never stay without struggling lives to hold his cold amusement. Tino felt sorry for the old man. It must have been a strange existence, and so long and lonely. Even the oldest of nations had been young when General Winter roamed as an old man across ice sheets.
Ilomansti waited.
Footnotes and Annotations
[5] - This was a common sentiment, when it came to the Winter War. The Soviets were the evil aggressors, and the rest of Western Europe could only look on in horror, thanks to the neutrality of Finland's neighbors. On this same day the Italians began negotiations with Germany to be allowed to give tanks and ammunition. As soon as it was discovered that the weapons had been bought before the war officially began, the Germans declared that there was nothing hostile about giving Russia's enemies their bought and paid for supplies.
[6] - 'Venäjä ja Ukraina ovat kuolleet vähän aikaa. Jos me suunnitelma takaisin alueella menetimme, nyt on ihanteellinen' is Finnish for 'Russia and the Ukraine have been dead for a while. If we plan to recover lost territory, now is the time.' As always, please correct if wrong.
[7] - Again, as pointed out by reviewer Anon: "North and South Karelia belong to Finland even today, the Karelian Isthmus and Ladoga Karelia were lost to Russia during the Winter war (but people who used to live there were evacuated elsewhere to Finland, so Finland didn't lost them), and the area that is usually referred as East-Karelia is and has always been Russia's." The Russians took the area of East Karelia during the Greater Wrath in 1717, although they, the Swedes, and the Finns have been fighting over that bit of land since time immeorial. Karelia, as the representative of the whole isthmus after Finland grew up and moved on to bigger and better things, has generally dealt with her situation by being very quiet and splitting her time between Finnish Karelia and Russian Karelia. She throws her support behind Finland now because the Finns really believed that they were going to get all of Finnish Karelia back from the Russians, and probably Russian Karelia as well.
[8] - When Russia was still feeling the ground of the second world war, it asked the Baltic states that bordered it if they would, as a friendly gesture, put up some Soviet bases. Please? Non-aggression pacts get so messy without proper housing. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania did so, which unfortunately did not stop the Soviets from invading and deposing the natively chosen government anyway. Finland, on the other hand, resisted, which lead directly to the Winter War. Once war was declared, Finland started shooting at Soviet destroyers in Estonian waters, and asking the Danish airforce volunteers to bomb the Soviet bases in Estonia. Things get a little hairier between Estonia and Finland once the Continuation War starts, and Germany enters the fray.
[9] - Even before the Winter War, thousands of Finnish Karelians had to flee Eastern Karelia, as they were seen to be White, or sympathetic to the Russian royalty, on the virtue of the fact that they had lead cushy borsousie lives. These Karelians came from a class of landowning farmers known as kulacks, who basically had the dvantage of having been freed from serfdom before the majority of their neighbors. Generally cushy borsousie types did not have calm, easy lives in revolutionary Russia.
[10] - Although there were not many Danish volunteers to the Winter War (actually there ended up being a lot more during the Continuation War, particularly the Danish Nazis, some who-as the humorists would have it-volunteered because the Finnish Front was warmer than the cold shoulder they recieved at home) the Danes did manage to lose their aircraft in a non-aggressive totally neutral way in Finnish territory. They couldn't help it if Soviet bases on Estonian soil looked an awful lot like bomb test dummys. Really.
[11] - As the Winter War dragged on civilian Finns were commanded to use scorched earth tactics as they retreated deeped into Finland. This did help freeze the Russians out of Finland, and these same tactics were used to withdraw Russians infront of the advancing Nazi army a year later.
[12] - This was very common among troops on both sides of the Winter War. Finland's army had very few weapons and military supplies. What they did have were mainly relics from the Civil War, which in of themselves had been slightly outdated technology from the perspective of the First World War. Russia was in the same state mostly due to the sheer number of troops that it was feilding. There were more recruits than factory output could supply. The Finns were initially worse off, technology-wise, but they desperately made up the difference between material "borrowed" from Swedish warehouses, what supplies from sympathetic countries made it though the complicated zones of nuetrality and war, and the majority of Finnish weapons which were stolen from the Soviets.
~ MF
Links to Other PartsGo Back a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part One
Go Forward a Section: That Which Is Strong - Part Three