DRAFT
Syväri
(Svir) 1944
 |
| Town of Svir, Karelian Isthmus, Spring. 1944. |
Spring
Floods and University Exams
In
the spring of ’44 there was a great deal of flooding at Syväri. The building
which housed the top command was so completely surrounded by water that we
could only get there by boat. Well — there are some photos of that too. The
Germans were hard-pressed in the Ukraine and elsewhere and we started making
preparations for pulling out as well. That fighting earned five place names in
my pass. Those were pretty tough times.
At
the same time as everything else was going on I tried to take my university
entrance exams. The only one I took was mathematics, and I did very well in that.
Due to a mis-communication I didn’t take any other exams which would actually
have been for my best subjects — languages. So I wasn’t able to pass my exam to
enter college; the timing for it didn’t seem to be just right.
Then
in the summer of ’44 we started out retreat. It was pretty void of any incident
until we reached Tuulos [Karelia] where the Russians made an amphibious landing
[from Lake Ladoga] and cut off the road. There our Battery unit had to abandon
6 guns on the road because the tractors weren’t able to maneuver in the deep
mud. We were already across the Finnish border by then — in Pitkäranta
[Karelia]. That’s where my unit, the Fire Control team — were converted into
the so-called Counter Strike unit, and thrown back to Tuulos and Vitele [Vidlitsa]
to guard the encirclements.
The
situation was uncertain. With a couple of other guys I was sleeping during the
night a short distance away from the rest of the group when in total silence
they suddenly changed locations. Because we had no idea where they had
disappeared to we had no choice but to go directly to the Strike Force
headquarters and get new orders from them. We were of the opinion that they
wouldn’t send us back, and that was the agreement we already had with
Lieutenant Soranto. But the Captain who was from the Third Batter, as I recall,
and had lost all of his guns, just barked orders for us to get back to our
unit. We were given extra rations of cigarettes for our men and we started back
for our former location. We found the Commander of the Counter Strike regiment
in his tent so we asked him for our unit’s new position. I was the senior
member of my team by rank — I was a Staff Sergeant — so I was in charge. The
Major pointed with his finger to the spot on the map where our unit was
supposed to be, and because I was good at land navigation I found our group
without any trouble.
Just
as we arrived there was a very heated argument going on whether the group
should go back and retrieve the body of one boy from the front lines where our
unit had stumbled into a Russian ambush and had been met with a hail of machine
gun fire. The fallen soldier’s brother [who was a member of our unit] was
pretty angry, and the Ensign in charge took the whole thing very personally.
The war of words intensified to the point that the Ensign grabbed his gun, at
which point I said, “Don’t do anything foolish, Ensign. We aren’t in that much
of a hurry!” He was ready to go and retrieve the body himself but I said that
why should he do something that useless — what was done was done, especially
when the Russians were now more vigilant that ever. We might have had much
greater losses because in truth we weren’t regular trained infantry men, jut
reserves. Well, the result was that my group was asked to go and secure the
road. There was nothing else for me to do but keep my eyes peeled, and if we
were to be surprised by the enemy I would be the first one down on the ground —
one way or the other. Nothing much else happened, but in the mud there were
footprints left by the Russian patrol which had crossed the raid we were on. We
were surprised by how small the footprints were until it dawned on us that
Leningrad had sent their children into battle!
Miracle
in the Midst of Battle
We
reached the road without any other incident, and then we turned around. After
we had been walking for a time the enemy fire started intensifying, and because
we were on a wooded slope that gently sloped toward the sea [Lake Ladoga] the
bullets whizzed by into the tree tops above our heads. Hearts were pounding pretty hard in every
chest —at least I was pretty anxious and scared. We stopped because the Ensign
felt that it was useless to take the whole unit back tour original position. He
took one man with him and the rest of us stayed behind to wait.
That’s
when one of those miracles occurred that a person is occasionally allowed to
experience during a lifetime. I can’t remember what I said, but afterwards I
was filled with a firm certainty that nothing would happen to me. A sense of
peace and serenity filled my being, and I sat down on a stump and said to the
others that we had nothing to worry about. A young boy — about 15 years of age
— came running toward us from the front lines — on his way back home. That’s
when I knew that Pitkäranta had been forced to conscript their youngsters and
old people alike to be the defenders so the army could make their escape. The
boy started to explain to me that he wasn’t afraid, but he couldn’t find the
rest of his unit. I told him, “Go home, boy! We may have a hard time getting
by, but we certainly aren’t going to start relying on children to defend us.” It fell on me then to be the one to make the decision. And I believe I made the right choice
letting the child go on his way.
March
Towards Tuulos River Bridge
I
wasn’t the most senior officer in our group since there were several Sergeants
and at least one Sergeant Major. After we conferred they decided among them
that we wouldn’t keep waiting for the Ensign — his name was Virtanen and I
believe he was also in the Postal Service — but that we would start walking
toward the road and the Tuulos River bridge. So we boys started marching
forward. There wasn’t even time to straighten out our foot rags. The result was
that the bottoms of my feet were totally bloody and raw by the time we reached
the river and hopped into the transport trucks. Our own vehicle was even there
to meet us. As we drove along we were met by a man dressed in the uniform of
the heavy artillery unit and he informed us that the bridge had already been
blown up and we’d have to swim across if that’s what we chose. We was walking
directly toward the enemy lines. He talked to me because the others wouldn’t
even give him the time of day. And so we parted, and the incident has bothered
my ever since. It was obvious he was a spy — a communist traitor — there were
plenty of them in those days. But the bridge was still intact and there was a
vehicle at the bridge waiting for us. Eventually the Ensign turned up as well
as did the soldier he took with him. I didn’t hear any more details about his
adventures, because he never forgave me for the fact that out there somewhere
near Tuulos in the darkness of one early morning I questioned his leadership
ability.
Sick
Leave and on to Lemetti
Our
Battery had a few days leave, and I received some sick leave because when the
bottoms of your feet are one huge blister there isn’t much you can do. But that
state of affairs didn’t last very long. The Russian troops threatened to pass
our troop positions by boat. Everything was flooded in the direction of Lemetti
because the flood gates at the dam had been opened to prevent the tanks from
being able to cross by any other route except the road. Our Fire Control team
was sent ahead to keep an eye of the island but since our big guns could only
fire directly ahead we weren’t able to turn them and shoot in that direction.
However our smaller artillery made up for it and so we averted that danger.
We
were moved toward the road where we dug a hole for our tent. Stationed there
were some young infantry units and they were a pretty self-important bunch.
They pitched their tents and dug their fox holes and fetched water for their
coffee out of the stream that ran in front of a small wooded area nearby. We’d kept an eye on the reconnaissance
balloon on the Russian side along the road, and I was a little apprehensive as
I watched the boys in their white shirts dipping water into their containers
from the stream. Well, we dug our own tent pit and were waiting for our food
rations when the Russians suddenly opened fire with their so-called “hectare
guns” which were new American rocket launchers that could fire about 50
grenades at a time. The Battalion Commander’s tent took a direct hit and there
sure was a lot of destruction in the midst of that battalion.
Everyone
started running for the back woods except for us.
With
us was the Battery Commander, Captain Aake Pesonen, and because it was
relatively safe down in our tent pit we crouched down in there. The boys were
all white as ghosts and my insides were churning too as we shivered down in our
half meter deep hole. It at least shielded us from the shrapnel, and since we
didn’t take a direct hit there really wasn’t much reason to be scared. I
offered one of my buddies a cigarette during a lull in the shelling, but it
didn’t appeal to him much, even though I was offering it to him for free. I
joke with the others about trying to casually lie on my back, but that it was
hopeless. My belly always ended down and tightly pressed into the sand. And
that no matter how hard I tried I would break out in a cold sweat. — My feeble
attempt at humor seemed to somewhat lessen the tensions in our little fox hole.
Volunteer
for a Reconnaissance and Rescue Mission
Then
Captain Pesonen started asking for a volunteer to go and inform the Battery
Command about our situation. No one seemed too keen to accept the assignment so
I said I would go. I found such reconnaissance and communication duties much
more interesting than just sitting and cowering stuck in some hole. As I
started on my way I had a clear view of what had happened to the Battalion
Commander’s tent.
Sirkiänsaari
Incident
The
road climbed up along the ridge so I had to constantly be on my guard in case
the Russians began firing on the road. Since they were feeling pretty powerful
right at the moment they could chase down one man while firing a dozen rounds
from their guns one after the other as happened to me once on Sirkiänsaari.
That’s where one Sunday several of us had started walking toward our field
artillery observation posts, even though we had the day off, to see what the
Russians were shooting at over there. We came upon a small clearing in the
forest where the Russians were waiting. There were only three of us: Ruhamo,
Ierikka, and I. When we arrived in the middle of that clearing we all three
threw ourselves down on the ground, more out of instinct that anything. Two
grenades struck the road only about 5 meters in front of us, ad since it was
late in the fall the road was so icy that the grenades which had been laughed
fairly swiftly just made a small crater in the road. It was fortunate that we
were so close because the pieces of shrapnel flew right over us. We immediately
scattered in different directions but we were all running for the clearing,
that is, toward the meadow. I was right
in the middle of the meadow, the others were closer to the edges of the forest.
I think I was the only one the sharp shooter could follow that whole distance.
As I ran for about 300 meters toward a small Russian type dugout village, I had
to throw myself down in the dirt at least one more time. I was so out of breath
that I almost passed out by the time I reached the village. The other guys
acted as if nothing had happened, but I felt like every bit of strength had
been sucked out of me. That evening as I tried to climb into the upper bunk my
left hand wouldn’t work. It may have been struck by a chunk of ice or a rock,
but whatever the cause the hand was numb and totally useless. I couldn’t see
any marks on my hand, however — not even a bruise. So, it’s best to beware of
the Russians when they are flexing their muscles!
A
Hero’s Medal
When
this beginning stage was finally over and we were back at the battery, we had a
medals ceremony during which I was awarded a Medal of Freedom, Second Class. It
may well be that I had exhibited my bravery to others, but it seems Pesonen certainly
had observed it. One young man who had acted as the fulfillment officer four
our tent had bolted out of the fox hole and wouldn’t return to it. He was taken
before a military court and probably sentenced to prison for his actions. So
there really isn’t that much difference between heroism and cowardice — a man
has the same probability of acting either way. I wonder what makes the
difference? Whatever way one acts may be the result of that particular moment,
and may be either the right or the wrong decision.
