Winter Sniper 03 Assaulting the Commissar, page 29
part #3 of Winter Sniper Series
Both men, too nervous to reply, simply nodded in understanding. As Hale pulled the bolt back on his PPD 34 and chambered a round he asked, “Ready?”
“We’re ready.” Tomas said.
Hale came to his feet and began firing. As he did so, Tomas and Markko hauled themselves up over the protective log and out of the foxhole. As Hale’s bullets found targets and began to rip through flesh, the two men sprinted forward. Ermel, and Cunnar both spotted Soviets taking aim at their comrades as they dashed for the two injured men. Acting quickly, both men aimed and hit their targets.
Tomas, less than one meter away from his destination, leapt forward leaving his feet. He flew through the air as he covered that last meter and landed on his chest, skidding to a halt right next to his injured comrades. Markko, a step behind him, was less lucky, as an explosion of blood and bone fragments erupted from his chest from the impact of a 7.62mm slug. The bullet instantly killed him.
Kuznetsov smiled as his well-aimed shot ended the life of one of the Fins. Those fools just keep taking my bait over and over again. With such devotion to their comrades they wouldn’t survive for a week in the Soviet Union. With luck maybe I can kill their entire force this way.
The Soviet sniper turned his attention away from the four men, out in the open back to Hale. He quickly operated the bolt on his rifle and centered his nemesis' forehead between the two horizontal and one vertical line of his scope. He took a deep breath and held it as he began to gently squeeze the trigger. Igor heeded his command and sent fiery death toward Hale Karhonen.
Hale screamed in despair as he watched another man he was placed in charge of die. Anger boiled through his veins as he held down the trigger on his PPD 34, ending the lives of another half dozen Red Army soldiers, and injuring another dozen. He screamed in frustration as the gun pinged, indicating that its magazine had been spent.
His gaze lingered on Markko’s corpse for a long moment before he started to turn and squat to grab his rifle. Suddenly, the supersonic boom of a bullet seared the corti of his inner ear filling his mind with the awful sound. A fraction of a second letter, the left side of Hale’s head erupted into searing pain.
Hale grunted as he felt a jack hammer slam into his head, causing him to fall backwards and collapse to the bottom of the foxhole. As he stared up at the blue sky overhead, waves of searing pain slammed into him causing a groan to involuntarily burst from his lips. The injured Fin put his hand on the left side of his head. The pressure from his hand helped the searing pain to morph into a sharp throb.
Cunnar looked down at him and spoke, but Hale’s mind couldn’t register the words. The entire world around him sounded muffled, as if his head was underwater. The gun shots, that a moment before were so loud that the sound hurt his ears, sounded dull and muted. What’s wrong with me?
As he removed his hand from the left side of his head and brought it into view, he gasped as the blood, his blood, dripped down onto his face. He stared at the red liquid slid off of his hand for several moments, transfixed by the sight. His mind registered the formation of ice crystals as the liquid began to solidify in the frosty air.
Suddenly, with a crash of sound, his hearing fully returned. He heard Tomas say, “The top of your ear has been shot off. Can you understand me?”
Hale slowly nodded in response. Cunnar smiled down at him, “Good, we’ve got to get you out of here, the Red Army is nearly upon us.”
“What about Kivi, Koskinen, and Tomas?” Hale asked.
“They’re right behind us.” Cunnar lied, “Let’s get moving.”
Turning to Ermel, Cunnar said, “Can you try to cover us as I get Hale to safety?”
The older man grunted an affirmative and turned back to face the advancing line of the enemy, now only fifty meters away.
Tomas, now lying on the ground with Sergeant Kivi and Koskinen, asked, “I can carry one of you to safety. Can either of you walk on your own?”
“I can, with some support, but I want you to take Koskinen.” Sergeant Kivi replied.
“No, I’m shot in the back of my knee. There’s no way I’ll be able to walk. You two must go, leave a rifle so I can try and cover you.” Koskinen said.
“No, I’ll stay and cover you two.” Sergeant Kivi said.
“Then we’ll all die. Dammit there’s no time. GO!” Koskinen insisted over the roar of gunfire.
Tomas, took his rifle off his shoulder and handed it to Koskinen, “I’ll see you on the other side my friend.”
Koskinen took the rifle from Tomas and said, “May you give me lots of Russian company before that day comes.”
Tomas handed the medic a grenade and said, “So they can’t take you alive.”
“Thank you, my friend.” The medic replied before he turned away from Tomas and Kivi. As he took aim at the advancing line of enemy soldiers, now only thirty meters away he urged, “You must move now!”
Tomas, brought Kivi to his feet and began leading the big man toward Hale’s foxhole and safety. Koskinen, ignoring the pain in his leg that threatened to overwhelm his senses, took careful aim at the advancing Soviets. Fire, operate the bolt, fire, operate the bolt. As Koskinen provided what cover he could, Tomas helped Kivi to slowly cover the ground between them and temporary safety.
“What’s this, the little mice are trying to escape from my trap. Tsk, tsk. That cannot be allowed.” Kuznetsov said out loud.
As the Soviet Sniper spoke, he centered his cross hairs on Tomas’ right leg. He took a deep breath and held it as he closed his left eye. The world seemed to fall away as his perceptions narrowed to his rifle, and the target. Neither his screaming countrymen, the roar of guns as they fired, or the snap, and crack of bullets flying through the air registered.
Satisfied that he was going to hit his target, his lips turned slightly upward, and he began to depress the trigger. Instead of the rifle heeding his command to fire, his world collapsed into searing pain as his left arm suddenly erupted into agony causing his shot to go wide.
Tomas was startled by a bullet that kicked up the snow right in front of his right leg, That was close.
Only one meter from the safety of the foxhole he urged Kivi, “Just a few more steps.”
As the two men reached the five-meter trench that had been chipped out of the frozen ground of Karelia, an explosion erupted behind them. Tomas ignored the conflagration and focused on helping Kivi down into the hole. Kivi, ignoring Tomas’ attempt to push him into the hole, turned around and saw Koskinen disappear into a cloud of flame and smoke as the leading elements of the 5th Guards Regiment reached him.
“We will die if we try to stay here. Let’s keep going.” Sergeant Kivi urged.
Pekka smiled as he lowered his rifle and watched his target fall to the ground, I don’t care what Hale says about using a tree as a firing position, the view is just too good to pass up.
A moment later he was distracted by an explosion right in front of the first line of defense. One of my men just died. The veteran sniper thought somberly.
He shifted his gaze to the forward foxhole as he saw Hale, aided by Cunnar, exit, and run towards the next line of defense. Simultaneously, Sergeant Kivi, aided by Tomas, limped around the trench, about five meters behind Cunnar and Hale. Pekka’s eyes fell on Ermel Kannien, the sole member of Hale’s team still in the trench, as he provided covering fire with his Mosin-Nagant at the Soviet horde. The leading elements of the 5th Guards Regiment emerged from the smoke of the explosion.
Ermel shot down several of the Red Army Soldiers, as they ran forward howling for the blood of the Fins who had killed so many of their comrades. Using the leather strap attached to the weapon, Pekka placed his rifle securely on his right shoulder. His primary weapon secured, he then reached for his PPD 34 from which hung from his left shoulder. He pulled the bolt back on the submachine gun and began laying down fire as he screamed, “Ermel get out of there!”
The gray haired private, ignored Pekka and continued to fire until his rifle ran out of bullets. He then pulled two grenades from his belt and threw one at the advancing horde. The grenade exploded a few seconds later creating a large gap in the enemy line, as a dozen men went down.
Sensing victory, the rest of the Soviets continued forward heedless of their safety as Pekka’s bullets started to find flesh and bone. The newly promoted Lieutenant, desperate to save his oldest subordinate, cut down nearly two dozen men from his advantageous vantage point before his weapon pinged, signaling the exhaustion of his bullet supply. Several enemy soldiers stopped, and took aim at Pekka, who hurriedly descended from his perch in the tree as bullets peppered the bark around him.
A moment later, the leading elements of the regiment reached the Fin’s forward foxhole and leaped into it as they thrust their bayonets at Ermel. Ermel gazed skyward and smiled serenely, I’m coming at last my love. He thought as multiple bayonets pierced his chest. He felt searing pain from the wounds as several fountains of blood erupted from the new holes in his chest staining his iron gray hair red. As the strength faded from his hands, he released the grenade he had been holding.
The grenade, which Ermel had cooked for eight seconds before he held down the handle to prevent detonation, exploded, ending his pain forever, along with a half-dozen enemy soldiers. A single tear ran down Pekka’s face, as he completed the descent from his treetop perch and joined Hale, Kivi, and Cunnar in their withdrawal to the next line of defense.
The advancing tide of the 5th Guards Regiment broke upon the Finn’s first line of defense. As the men emerged from their battle rage, they looked about in shock at their fallen comrades. Disgusted at his men’s lack of aggression, Commissar Volkov raised his pistol in the air, fired three shots and yelled, “Forward you fools, they're getting away!”
Several of the men turned and glared at the despised political officer. Volkov quivered in rage at their defiance, raised his pistol, and shot the nearest three gawkers in quick succession. Anger rippled through the men as several of them realized they could easily overpower the merciless officer.
Volkov, sensing a dangerous change in the men’s mood. Dashed out in front of the line, turned to face them, and raised his pistol into the air until the barrel was pointing towards the heavens. He fired another shot, turned toward the enemy, and roared, “Charge!” As he broke into a run in pursuit of the fleeing Finns.
The men, seeing their reviled leader actually leading from the front, drew heart from the act, roared their approval, and resumed their advance. Volkov, consciously slowed his pace as the men of the 5th Guards Regiment caught up with him. Now one amongst many, he darted in front of a large tree and stopped running as he watched the regiment eagerly charging forward towards the main line of the Finns.
Kuznetsov groaned as he looked down at his injured left arm. He watched as the free-flowing blood began to slow from a steady stream into a trickle. The sub-zero air quickly began to coagulate the blood of his wound. Within two minutes, the blood stopped altogether.
Ignoring his wound, he peered through his telescope trying to find the man that had shot him. As he slowly scanned the area behind the now captured Finnish foxhole, he cursed as his search revealed no one, The bastard must have fled when the first Finnish line fell.
He stood and gazed at his now nearly useless left arm. At least this accursed cold helped to stop the bleeding quickly. He thought as he started following his advancing comrades.
Hale and Cunnar reached the second Finnish line first. This position was much more elaborate than the first, which had been no more than a simple trench five meters wide and a meter deep. In contrast, the second line was twenty meters wide. Instead of a single log laying in front of a trench, logs of two different sizes had been driven into the earth vertically to form a wall. The different log methodology compensated for the shallowness of the trench. To create gunports, every fourth log was only a few hand spans tall. This enabled a soldier to comfortably stand in the trench behind the logs and rest their weapon upon the shorter logs for support.
Within the trench stood the eighteen surviving members of Pekka’s platoon. Each man had a rifle, and three clips of ammunition to reload their SKT Mosin-Nagants. Cunnar led Hale past this line and continued on toward the tent. When Hale tried to object, Cunnar said, “We need to get you to the first aid kit, so we can stop your bleeding and get you bandaged up.”
Hale shook his head in disagreement, “That can wait. We need to stay and help the platoon.”
“You’re no good to anyone in your current condition. Let’s get you patched up and then you can come back.” Cunnar countered.
“Very well.” Hale said, as they passed the firing position.
Hale met the gaze of several of the men in the trench. Worry was etched on their faces as they saw the young Sergeant’s wound and blond hair matted with blood. The moment passed and the advancing tide of the 5th Guards Regiment came within firing range. The men turned away from Hale and began pouring fire into the advancing tide of Red Army soldiers.
When the Finns started firing, it was as if an invisible hand reached out and slapped the leading element of the advancing regiment. Nearly simultaneously, eighteen men were struck by the invisible force and collapsed to the ground. The horde, at first, was heedless of this resistance to its advance.
When the Finns fired a second and then a third time, in the span of a few seconds, nearly fifty men were hit. As the casualties mounted, the charging horde first slowed, then stopped, and finally sought cover as the fourth volley added fifteen more casualties to the fifty men already writhing on the ground in agony.
The Soviet soldiers, using the trees, terrain, and fallen logs as cover, began to return fire. The Finns, well protected by the fortifications of their prepared position, lost two men, as their accurate fire accounted for another fifty Soviets over the ensuing five-minute time span as bullets were exchanged. The next five minutes saw three more Finns fall, along with thirty more soldiers of the Red Army.
As the two sides grappled with each other, Pekka reached the position prepared for him. It was a platform hastily erected between two trees that were less than a meter apart. He quickly ascended to the platform and took stock of the situation. The 2nd line of defense was holding, but he saw the still forms of several of his men in the trench.
Shifting his gaze to the Soviets, he saw that using the cover afforded by the terrain, that they were slowly moving forward, We aren’t going to be able to hold.
Pekka ejected the spent magazine on his PPD 34 and replaced it with a fresh one, They’ll be within the effective range of fifty meters for this weapon soon enough.
Next, he took his rifle off his shoulder and started putting fire into the advancing horde. Over the next several minutes, the Soviets were cut down in twos and threes by Finnish rifle fire. Their seemingly limitless numbers could easily digest these losses, whereas each loss of a Fin was felt very keenly as the small company of men slowly dwindled.
The next Fin to fall was Tauno. A bullet found Walden’s chest as he took aim to fire. The impact spun the young man around. As the strength in his legs faded, he slowly slid to the ground. As his posterior struck the earth, his awareness began to fade as he called out to his mother to make the hurt go away.
Within the command tent Hale cried out in pain as Cunnar dabbed at his wound with a wet rag, “If you’d stop squirming, I could get this done.”
The young sniper glared up at his subordinate and said, “Maybe if you would stop jamming the rag into my open gunshot wound, I wouldn’t have to squirm so much.”
The flap to the tent’s entrance was pulled aside as Tomas, supporting Sergeant Kivi, came into the tent. Seeing his old teacher limping, Hale asked, “What happened?”
“What does it look like? I was shot in the damn leg!” Kivi growled.
As Hale stood up to assist Tomas with his burden, Cunnar, surprised, brushed against Hale’s wound with the rag as he worked to clean off the side of his head. The injured sniper, hissed as a sharp pain bored into his head, like a sharp arrow, “Let’s put him on the cot.”
Working together, Tomas and Hale, helped Kivi lay down on the cot. Hale then picked up the already open first aid kit from the map table and handed it to Tomas, “What’s the situation?”
“Not good. The main group was holding, but I’m not sure how long they can last. The enemy is just too numerous.” Tomas answered.
“You two start working on Kivi, I’ve got a call to make.” Hale said as he strode over to the radio, picked up the microphone and said, “Asgard Actual this is Loki do you copy?”
Volkov smiled malevolently as he watched his men slowly advance using their disciplined fire team technique. The constant fire kept the Finnish defenders off balance. Though their casualties were horrendous, the Soviets sensed that the Finns were beginning to waver as they pressed home their attack, I smell victory.
The Commissar picked up a rifle from one of his fallen men and started to take aim at the thin line of defenders. He aimed his rifle at one of the firing ports in the Finnish fortification and waited. Within a few seconds he was rewarded with the appearance of a defender. Volkov closed his left eye and quickly took aim. Satisfied his shot would hit, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared to life as the wooden stock slammed into his right shoulder.
A moment later he was rewarded as the bullet he fired hit the defender in the right shoulder, Not bad, though I was aiming for his head. With more practice I could get good at this. Volkov thought as adrenaline pumped through his veins filling him with a sense of exhilaration.
Just a handful of meters away, Kuznetsov, had taken aim at a target of his own. This target was standing on a platform a few dozen meters behind the main Finnish line. As the Soviet Sniper watched, the man dropped his rifle and picked up a submachine gun sitting at his feet.
