

The Winter Sniper

By James Mullins

©2020 James Mullins

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Chapter 1

Karelia Isthmus, Finland November 30th 1939

Hale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The steam from his warm exhaled air, slowly dissipated in front of him as his ears registered a sound. Is that them? He thought. His thumb unconsciously fingered the safety on his SK Nagant M/28-30 bolt action rifle. He could feel a hint of the cold metal through the thick fabric of his gloves.

He looked around at his immediate surroundings. The land was shrouded in a velvety blanket of whiteness broken by a seemingly endless number of trees. The trees, mostly birch, had lost their leaves to fall's chill several months prior. The branches of the trees were all tinged with the white of last night's snow fall. The tree's branches, intertwined to form an endless canopy as far as the eye could see. It was a breathtaking sight to behold.

Hale exhaled once more and watched the steam from his breath slowly dissipate in front of him. He felt a dull pain in his posterior, so he shifted his position on the large branch he sat on to relieve it. He sighed in relief as the pain ebbed. The faint sound continued to buzz in his ear. He asked himself again. Are they coming?

He sat in near silence for several more minutes as the faint noise transformed itself into a dull rumble. This is it. They're coming. He closed his eyes and imagined where he would be right now if it wasn't for them. Certainly not perched in a tree in the miserable cold of this late November morning, awaiting the invaders.

Reality fell away, and an image began to form in his mind of a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he sat on the floor in front of a warm fire. He was sipping a cup of hot cocoa. As he let his imagination take over, he could almost feel the hot liquid slide down his throat and fill his insides with its sweet tasting warmth.

He looked around the room. In front of him was a fire place. Within the fire place was a pair of logs. A warm flame crackled and occasionally snapped as he absorbed the warm glow. The heat created a ruddy red glow on the pale skin of his face.

From behind, he felt two arms wrap around him. He smiled and turned to see his little sister grinning at him. She was missing one of her front teeth. The tooth had recently fallen out. "Good morning." His sister Aina said.

Hale returned the smile and with a, "Good morning." Of his own. The smell of sizzling meat wafted over them. Turning toward the kitchen Hale added, "Smells like breakfast is almost ready. Would you like some of my hot cocoa?"

Aina's grin broadened into a full smile and she nodded vigorously, "Yes please!"

Hale turned to hand her the cup when a dull clanking noise pulled him back into reality. He opened his eyes and looked to his right at the lonely ribbon of mud and gravel that broke the seemingly endless rows of trees that surrounded him. Yes, that has to be them.

Hale removed the mask that kept his face warm and slipped it into his pack. He then set his rifle down gently in his lap and removed his left glove. Stowing it in the pocket of his thick overcoat he flicked off the safety with his left thumb. Despite the frigid cold, the well-oiled switch clicked into place without resistance. Remembering the day the rifle was given to him, he thought, Thanks Dad. He pulled the glove back onto his left hand and craned his head so that he could see as far up the road to his right as possible.

The dull clanking noise continued to grow in volume. A pair of stags bounded by below him heading away from the noise. He took another deep breath, looked up, and saw several squirrels dashing amongst the branches above him. They too headed away from the noise, North. Away from the invaders and toward safety.

Hale began to feel the ground shake as the large Soviet column came into view. A Russian T-28 tank, painted white to blend into the terrain and emblazoned with a large red star on its turret, slowly clanked and groaned as the metal monster made its way up the road. The steel beast belched black smoke out of its hindquarters and spat mud and gravel from its tracks as it chewed up the soil of his homeland, Finland.

The vehicle had tracks on the left and right side with two large wheels at either end, eleven small wheels on the lower half of the track, and three small wheels that touched the upper track. The two large wheels worked to drive the vehicle forward and the smaller wheels aided in holding the tracks in place.

Atop the tank, sticking out of a hatch in the turret was a man. He wore a green fur cap and a heavy green coat. The coat, also a dark green in color, disappeared below his chest into the hatch. His black gloved hands held a pair of binoculars which he used to scan the forest around him as the tank slowly lumbered forward.

As Hale watched, the next vehicle in the column slid into view it was a GAZ-MM. The GAZ-MM was a truck. The truck, had a cab in the front that could hold two people, and a canopy covered rear deck, where soldiers or supplies could be carried. He could see the faint outline of the driver's head through the glass in the door as the vehicle slowly made its way forward behind the T-28. The truck was painted a dark green and had a red star of its own emblazoned on the driver's door.

The canopy of the GAZ-MM was the same dark green color as the tank commander's coat. Hale took another deep breath and let it out slowly as he raised his rifle to his shoulder. This time he held his breath as he looked down the length of his rifle and drew a bead on the head of the tank commander with the iron sights.

Hale peered through the first sight which was a half square that stuck up out of the rifle at the base of the barrel just beyond the bolt mechanism. He did this with his right eye as he closed his left. The square had a small notch in it that he lined up with the pip on the end of the rifle. He moved the rifle until both the notch and the pip lined up with the tank commander's head. The head appeared as a small green dot within his gun sight.

He then shifted the rifle slightly forward, so that the head barely showed in the hole of the square on the right side and slowly applied pressure to the trigger of his gun. The rifle belched acrid smoke and flame as it roared to life. The sound of the single shot echoed off the thousands of nearby trees as the bullet traveled nearly instantaneously to the head of the tank commander and hit it.

The bullet carved through the man's fur lined cap, then his skull, next into the fleshy brain beneath, and finally out the other side as it continued on its course. Before the bullet ended its journey by striking the trunk of a tree situated somewhere behind the tank commander his lifeless body hunched forward, and the man's chin struck the edge of the turret ring he stood in and blood began to pool on the top of the T-28 contrasting sharply with the white paint. I have just taken a life. God please forgive me. Hale thought.

Before the column could react to Hale's shot, he pulled the bolt on his rifle and ejected the first bullet. As he slid the bolt back, the second bullet in his five-bullet magazine clicked into place. He then swiveled his rifle to the right, lined up the first truck driver's head in his sights, and squeezed the trigger again. This time his bullet shattered glass the moment before it struck its target. As the driver slumped forward, the bullet, now misshapen from its impact with both the truck's window and the driver's skull, began to tumble as it slammed into the body of the Russian sitting to the right of the truck driver.

The bullet penetrated the man's arm, just above the bone in his left bicep, and entered his chest. As it continued along its path the bullet cleaved the man's heart in two and exited out his right side before coming to rest in the passenger side door of the truck. The column lurched to a stop, as Hale pulled the bolt on his rifle again. A small puff of smoke emerged from the rifle as he did so. Like the first time he pulled the bolt action on his rifle, the spent cartridge was ejected. Hale's eyes followed the steaming brass metal for a moment as it began its journey to the forest floor below. Stay focused. He mentally chastised himself as he looked back up at the now halted column.

Several Soviet soldiers emerged from the rear of the canopy covered first truck in line. He drew a bead on the first man to emerge and squeezed the trigger. An instant later the soldier dropped to the snow-covered road. Hale quickly worked the bolt of his rifle twice more dropping the first man's two companions within the space of two heartbeats. Other Soviets who had emerged from the trucks behind the first one followed the sound of his rifle and began running toward him. He quickly tabulated the number of soldiers in his head, Three squads of eight men each. A full platoon. Too many.

Hale hit the tab on the bottom of his rifle that ejected the magazine. He caught the metal clip as it began to fall toward the earth and quickly slipped it into the left pocket of his white great coat. He reached into his right coat pocket and grabbed his next magazine. With a grunt he slammed it into place and pulled the bolt on his rifle to bring the first bullet into the chamber.

Hale took another deep breath as he drew a bead on the first man running toward him in his iron sights. He squeezed the trigger and his rifle roared to life as it bucked against his right shoulder and tried to leap out of his hands. With practice ease he held the rifle in place.

An instant later the lead soldier dropped to the ground. He operated the bolt quickly and expended the four remaining bullets in his clip. Each shot found its way into the head of one of the oncoming invaders. As more of the invaders emerged from their trucks the guilt he had been experiencing fell away and his heart hardened, Good riddance. He thought to himself.

As Hale coldly slapped his third magazine into place, the turret of the T-28 began traversing in his direction. He took a deep breath and held it, as he quickly took aim, and dropped four more of the Soviet invaders with his rifle. The barrel of the T-28 made him nervous as it slowly swung in his direction which caused him to miss a shot.

Dammit, he chastised himself mentally. He hit the tab releasing the magazine from his gun. Like before, he deftly caught the metal clip and quickly dropped it into his left pocket. He reached into his right pocket, grabbed his last magazine and slapped it into place. A faint click told him that the magazine had slipped into position and locked. As he raised his rifle to shoot again, his eyes focused on the black maw of the tank gun now pointed at him.

Time to go, he thought. He slung his rifle onto his left shoulder and leapt onto the trunk of the tree from the branch that he had been perched upon. With his arms wrapped around the trunk he quickly slid to the ground. The moment his feet touched the frigid snow the place where he had been sitting a moment earlier exploded into a ball of flames. The wood of the tree groaned as it shattered into a million splinters and caught fire.

The shock wave from the blast knocked him to the ground face first. The snow helped to soften the blow from the concrete like surface of the frozen ground beneath. As he sat up, he blinked for several moments as stars danced in front of his eyes and his hearing became muted. The crackling flames of the tree branches above him sounded dull, as if he were underneath the surface of a lake.

Hale's mind shifted out of reality back to another time. He stood shivering in the early morning air as he leaned up against a tree trunk. It was snowing. He glanced to his right in the direction that he knew his father stood. Like unmoving statues, they both waited for a moose or a deer to happen by.

Hale heard movement to his left, the sound of several paws striking the snow. He turned to face the sound and shivered as he met the steely gaze of a wolf running toward him. The beast's coat was a dappled mixture of white and gray. As it drew near, the creature curled its lips into a snarl revealing two sharp fangs and dozens of smaller pointy white teeth.

Hale raise his single shot rifle up to fire, it had been his grandfather's. Frightened, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. As his Grandfather's gun spat fire, the memory faded, and he snapped back into reality. Hale shook the cobwebs out of his head and slowly made his way to his feet.

Nearby he heard the sound of a branch snap. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder as he whirled around toward the sound. He caught sight of an enemy solider topping the ridge a hundred feet from him. Like the wolf, as he caught site of Hale, the man curled his lips to reveal his not so white teeth. The soldier's fur cap had a large red star emblazoned on it. As he saw Hale a hundred paces in front of him, he raised his rifle and squeezed off a quick shot.

The poorly aimed gunshot slammed into the trunk of the burning tree to Hale's left. Hale raised his own rifle and returned fire. He didn't miss. The next four Soviets to top the ridge quickly suffered the same fate as the first.

Hale slung his rifle over his shoulder again and glanced at the ground. He instantly spotted what he was looking for. My skis. He placed his booted feet into the skis and hurriedly strapped them in. As he drove his ski poles into the snow and started moving forward the crack from three rifles washed over him. A moment later three bullets impacted into the snow around his feet. The impact caused the snow to leap from the ground for a moment before falling back to earth.

As Hale built up speed, a group of Soviet's standing atop the same ridge where he dropped several of their companions moments before, fired their rifles at Hale's retreating zigzagging form. As Hale made his way up the opposite ridgeline bullets flew past him, some near enough that he could hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a wisp of wind as they passed.

As soon as Hale topped the ridge and disappeared from the sight of the oncoming soldiers, he changed direction to the south. He continued in this direction for several minutes. He fell into a familiar rhythm as he made his way across the countryside. Right pole, right leg forward, left leg pushing, then left leg forward, and left pole to pull him forward.

Hale had gone several hundred feet before he heard the voices of several Soviet soldiers behind them. Unable to understand what they were saying; he imagined their confusion as he wasn't in sight. It won't be long before they see my tracks and figure it out. He thought.

He slipped back over the ridge in the direction of the road. Finding a large oak tree amongst the birch. He came to a stop and placed the trunk of the tree between him and his trail. He then knelt and opened his overcoat. Underneath, over his shirt he wore two belts that held dozens of 7.62 x 54R rounds for his SK Nagant.

Hale took his gloves off, dropped them into his lap, and then reached into his left pocket to grab one of the empty magazine clips. He wore his ammo belts inside his coat to keep the bullets warm. This enabled him to do this barehanded reload quickly. He slipped the end of the first bullet into the clip he held, then the second, the third, fourth and finally the fifth.

Task complete, he hit the tab on his rifle that ejected the magazine. He let that one drop into his lap, where it landed on top of his gloves, and slapped the loaded magazine into place. He quickly reloaded each of the clips until his right pocket was again filled with three full magazines of bullets.

As Hale completed loading his last magazine, the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow on the other side of the ridge behind him could be heard. He slipped his gloves on, and then pulled the bolt on his rifle, so that a bullet dropped into place in the chamber. Preparation complete he quietly stood up.

Hale heard the voice of the first soldier on top the ridge line. The man said, "Syuda." The voice sounded young like his own. Such a waste. We should all be inside by a warm fire, not trying to kill each other. He thought.

He peeked around the tree trunk he hid behind and quickly stole a quick glance at the enemy. The young Soviet soldier, who missed Hale's quick glance, looked much like the rest of the soldiers he had killed. Green fur cap, with a red star emblazoned on it, black leather boots and gloves, with a dark green overcoat that stretched down to the man's knees. A small lock of blond hair was visible hanging down from the hat, Same color as mine. Hale thought.

As Hale stepped out from the protection of the oak tree, the Russian soldier was looking back at his companions on the other side of the ridge. Hale quickly raised his rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the back young man's head with a dull smack and he fell backwards. His green cap and body fell separately, as they disappeared and tumbled down the hill. As the corpse came to rest at the bottom of the gorge, another senseless and nameless victim of Stalin's aggression, the lose lock of blond hair became matted in the young man's blood.

Hale quickly retreated behind the trunk of the tree to wait. He heard the voices of the man's companions as they talked hurriedly in Russian. After chattering excitedly for several moments, they came to a consensus on what to do next. Silent now, they began to creep forward toward the top of the ridgeline that separated them from Hale.

Hale heard the men crawling forward and then stop, What are they doing? Do they know where I'm at? He thought.

Before he could decide on his next course of action, the men rose up with a roar and began charging down the hill toward Hale's oak tree. Not knowing what else to do, Hale sat down so that he would blend in with the snow, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out his Lahti pistol. Next, he removed his gloves and checked the clip to ensure all was in order. The metal of the gun felt cold against his skin. Task complete, he held it with the barrel pointed skyward and his right index finger on the trigger.

Without warning, the squad of Russians barreled past him as they ran down the hill. As they rushed past, they seemed heedless of him as his white overcoat helped him blend in with the snow on the ground. Hale stood and stole a glance around his oak, back in the direction the Russians had just come from. There were two more of them standing on the ridgeline, I'm surrounded. He thought in dismay.

Not knowing what else to do, Hale raised his pistol and took aim at the Russian that was furthest away from him as the man charged down the hill and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The Lahti bucked in Hale's hand as the bullet found the back of the Soviet's neck. The unfortunate, fell face forward into the snow and slid for several feet before coming to a stop.

The seven other members of the squad dropped to the ground in reaction, as the single shot rang out. Hale managed to put a bullet into another of the green clad soldiers as they dove for the earth. The forest became silent save for the injured man's cries of pain.

The two Russian's behind him on the ridgeline conversed hurriedly in their native tongue, Trying to figure out where the shot came from. Hale thought.

Coming to a consensus, the two enemy soldiers started slowly creeping forward toward Hale. Panic ensued as the reality of the situation set in. What do I do now? I'm trapped between two groups and it won't be long before they figure out exactly where I'm at. Hale thought.

Hale's thoughts slipped away from reality as he remembered back to a time when he was in a similar situation. He glanced down at the cold water he stood in and shivered, Must stay quiet or they will find me.

He had sat in the cold creek for what had seemed like hours as two older boys, hunted him. Hale had made them look the fool in front of the other children at recess earlier that day in school and now they aimed to even the score. The sound of the trickling water from the creek reminded him that his bladder was full. The gurgling, bubbly, frothing water tormented him as he continued to try and out wait the boys that hunted him. He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to let it go. I'd never hear the end of it, if they found me, beat me up, and I pissed myself.

As one of the larger boys drew near, Hale crouched down further into the creek bed trying to make himself invisible. It didn't work. Without warning, two large hands painfully grasped his shoulders and jerked him to his feet as the voice behind those hands said, "I've found the little worm!"

Hale shuddered as his thoughts snapped back into reality. A Russian, another young man like himself, stood over him and yelled, "Bot Oh!"

As the Soviet's rifle swung upward, Hale took aim with his Lahti, and put a bullet in the man's head. The soldier, slain, fell backward as his rifle tumbled to the ground. Hale, hearing movement directly behind him, swung his pistol toward the noise and fired.

Another man, his eyes wide as his faced filled with a look that was one-part horror and one-part shock, was a mere three feet from his own. The man's stunned look and wispy hints of his first beard would forever be emblazoned in Hale's memory. As a scarlet spray exploded from the Soviet's neck. He stumbled back a step and tried to place his left hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding. It didn't work. Must have hit an artery. Hale thought.

Without warning a pair of arms grasped him from behind forcing him to drop his pistol. Oh God not again! The thought exploded into Hale's mind as anxiety took over.

At the same time, the dying enemy soldier in front of him staggered forward and raised his right hand to grasp him. Hale grabbed the knife from the bleeding man's belt with his left hand and thrust it over his right shoulder. The arms around him slackened and fell away without a sound. He then kicked the dying man in front of him in the stomach. The breath knocked out of him, the man Hale had shot tumbled down the hill. As he rolled, he tried to warn his comrades but all that came out of his mouth were red bubbles and a hiss as his lungs filled with blood.

Hale dropped to the ground to retrieve his pistol. He glanced to the right to confirm that the man he had stabbed wouldn't be a threat. The man would never be a threat to anyone ever again, as Hale's desperate thrust had put the knife right through the man's left eye. Hale glanced around and shuddered at the gruesome sight. The snow around him had turned red from the blood of his enemies.

He felt a pang of guilt before his heart hardened and his thoughts shifted to rage. The soil of my homeland will feast upon the blood of every last one of you filthy invaders.

A few shots rang out from the group that had ran past Hale in his general direction. He heard a few of the bullets slam into the trunks of nearby birch trees. Hale crouched down, careful not to get any of the blood on his white pants and great coat. He searched the body of the soldier he had slain with the knife. As he searched his hand wrapped around the cool metal cylinder he was hoping to find, a grenade. The word Bingo, flashed through his mind.

Hale took the grenade and twisted the cap, so that it was armed. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the wooden shaft and threw it down the hill toward the origin of the poorly aimed gunfire. Moments later an explosion erupted and the gunfire ceased. The grenade, created a large fireball that expanded and reached up toward the heavens.

Using the grenade explosion as a distraction, Hale immediately stood up and began using his ski poles to pull himself toward the top of the hill. Moments before he reached the ridge a shot rang out. Hale felt a huge crushing weight slam into his back which caused him to topple over the top of the ridge just in front of him. He lost his balance and tumbled down the hillside. Just before he reached the bottom of the gully, he crashed into a tree. Pain now wracked both the front and back of his body.

He took a few moments to take stock of the situation through his pain addled mind. I'm hit! He thought, his inner voice laced with panic as fear exploded in his mind.

Hale took a deep breath and removed his rifle from his shoulder. The pain in his back shifted to a dull throb. I thought being shot would feel worse than this.

He reached around with his left hand and felt the place on his back that throbbed. He brought his hand back around and stared at it for a moment, No blood?

Surprised, Hale then looked at his rifle. Just below the bolt, and right where the metal section joined with the wooden stock, was a faint indention on the metal. He breathed in silent relief and looked up at the sky, Thank you God.

His moment of reverie was abruptly ended by the voices of several Russians. They had returned to the top of the ridgeline that he had just tumbled from. The Soviets were hunting for him. As they gazed down the hillside, they saw his movement, raised their rifles, and simultaneously snapped off three shots in his direction. The bullets impacted the ground around him and kicked up snow. Hale, stayed low, and quickly checked his rifle to ensure it was in working order.

When Hale was done with his rifle, he looked up at the source of the gunfire. He saw three enemy soldiers. Their green forms were silhouetted by the gray sky behind them. He raised his rifle in the direction of the middle one and took aim. He pulled the trigger and felt his Nagant kick against his shoulder as it roared and sent death on its way. Nearly an instant later all three men dropped to the ground seeking cover. One of them would never rise again.

Hale pulled the bolt on his rifle ejecting the spent bullet. Two more shots rang out. This time the bullets were nowhere near him, Just trying to keep me down. They can't see me now that they are on the ground. He thought.

Hale released his boots from his skis and crawled around to the other side of the tree to put it between himself and the enemy. As he did so several more shots rang out. They were all too high, The cowards are scared to rise and take aim. Hale thought in amusement.

Without warning his mind slipped back to that day he hid in the creek bed. The two larger boys, one with red hair, the other with black, had pushed him up against a large elm tree. The largest, a boy of perhaps fourteen who had been far too fond of sweets, grinned at Hale and said, "Did you think you were going to get away with that little worm?"

Hale's eyes narrowed as he glared back at the fat boy and struggled against the arms that grasped him from behind before smiling and saying, "Of course, everyone knows you're the dumbest boy in the school."

The larger boy's plump cheeks flushed until they matched the color of his hair. Enraged, he let out a scream and slammed his fist into Hale's abdomen. Hale gasped as pain exploded in his stomach. The red hair boy's freckled face contorted into a menacing grin as he said, "I hope you enjoyed that you little shit. There is more to come. Much more."

The fat boy's voice trailed off as Hale looked down at the bully's shoes. He could see his reflection in their black well-polished leather. The reflection of his face taunted him. He looked back up at the red headed boy, smiled, and spat in his face.

Enraged at Hale's defiance, the overweight bully screamed, and threw punch after punch at Hale. Hale's mind exploded in anguish at the pain of that day as the memory faded and his thoughts returned to reality as another volley of bullets zipped by overhead.

Hale stood up and took a quick glance around the tree trunk. The attempt was awarded with a shot and a bullet that whistled by where his head had been a moment before. They've figured out my exact location. Hale looked at the forest around him. He sighed as he saw no avenue of escape, that left one option, I've got to take them down before they get me.

Hale pondered the situation for a moment. As he did so, another bullet slammed into the tree he was using as a shield between himself and the Soviet soldiers. I need a distraction. Hale took stock of everything he had with him, his rifle, pistol, magazines, clothing and coat. Everything he wore, save his pants, was the color of snow. Then his eyes shifted to the fur lined cap on his head and he grinned. Worth a shot I guess. Maybe two. He silently chuckled at his own pun.

Hale raised his rifle up with his left hand and rested the stock on his shoulder. With his right, he removed his hat, and then reached around the tree and threw it toward the two soldiers on the top of the hill. Two shots immediately reverberated through the trees as Hale dropped his own rifle into place and took aim at one of the figures sitting on the ridgeline. He took a deep breath and held it. Both men operated the bolts on their own rifles as they glanced nervously down at Hale's form taking aim at them.

As they started to raise their rifles, Hale fired his rifle. His target's green cap flew off his head as his bullet found its mark and he crumpled to the ground. The other man quickly returned fire at Hale. He missed. Unphased by the return fire, Hale quickly operated the bolt on his rifle as the hastily fired shot sailed past him. He took aim on the second man as he frantically operated the bolt on his rifle to drop another bullet into the chamber.

The rifle jammed, and the man's resolve broke. He stood to flee down the hillside behind him. He didn't make it. Hale crouched back down behind the tree he used to hide from the slain soldiers and listened. The only sounds that filled his ears was those of the woodland. Snowflakes striking the earth, and the sounds tree branches creaking in the wind. Gone was the sound of voices, footsteps, and gunfire. He was alone.

He sat there for several minutes just listening to the frantic beat of his heart as it thundered in his ears. When it finally slowed, he gathered up his skis and slowly made his way toward the corpses of his enemies. The first one he found nearby at the bottom of the hill in front of him. He searched it and found two things of interest to him, a bottle of vodka, and a grenade.

Hale slipped the grenade into his belt and stood. He unscrewed the cap off the vodka, and took a sip. As the vodka burned its way down his throat, he heard a shot ring out off to his north. He smiled and thought, The day was young and there were many more invaders that needed killing.
Chapter 2

Karelia Isthmus, Finland November 30th 1939

Hale's knuckles turned white as he clenched the steering wheel in front of him. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead as he drove the truck along the gravel road. As he glanced to his left, trees whipped by in a blur as his foot kept the accelerator pressed the to the floor.

As the sweat started dripping into his eyes, he released his left hand from its death grip upon the steering wheel. He glanced at his hand as he raised it up to his forehead to wipe away the beads of sweat, it was shaking. Sighing deeply, he glanced to his right at the empty cab. The other seat in the cab was empty except for the hand grenade that rolled around upon it.

How much longer? Hale wondered nervously. Despite his anxiety, the tree speckled white lands outside the truck's windows dulled his senses and his thoughts began to drift into the past.

"Hale! Press the clutch down to shift gears!" Sergeant Kivi barked into his ear gruffly.

As Hale attempted to shift into second gear the engine began to stall, "See-saw dammit!" Roared Kivi.

Hale nodded as he attempted to push down on the accelerator. At the same time, he kept his left foot on the clutch. Despite his best efforts, the truck, a Sisu sputtered and stalled, "Goddam it!" Roared Sergeant Kivi, "I told you to see-saw!"

Hale visibility shrank in his seat and said, "I'm sorry Sergeant."

"You goddammed right you'll be sorry! Screw this up again, and I'll bury my boot so far up your ass, you'll have to open your mouth, so I can scratch my toe!" Sergeant Kivi bellowed. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and added, "Start the motor and try again."

Hale nodded, shifted the gear back to neutral, pressed in the clutch, and turned the key on the ignition. Starting with a string of sputters, and coughs, the truck roared to life, "Now try again. Shift it into first gear, gently release the clutch, and slowly press down on the accelerator."

Hale nodded as he said, "Yes sir."

Hale reached out and grabbed the knob on the end of the shifter and tugged it downward and to the left, "Now give it some gas and start letting up on the clutch." Sergeant Kivi advised.

Hale let up off the clutch while simultaneously pressing down on the accelerator. With a lurch the Sisu began moving forward. Sergeant Kivi smiled, "That's it, you're doing it!"

Hale continued to slowly press down on the truck's accelerator as he let up off the clutch. He watched as the speed odometer on the dashboard in front of him slowly ticked up to 15 kph. As the truck passed 15 kph the engine began to roar, "It's time to shift to second." Sergeant Kivi advised.

Hale swallowed hard, as he nervously nodded in acknowledgement to the order. Holding his breath, he pushed down on the clutch with his left foot, grabbed the shifter, and moved it toward the dashboard in a straight line. With a lurch, the truck shifted into second gear, and the loud roar of the engine, immediately died down to a dull hum.

He gave the truck some gas and started letting up off the clutch. Sergeant Kivi slapped him on the back, smiled and said, "You got it. Take us up to 30 kph and level off. You need to practice keeping the truck on the road. Once you get the hang of that, we'll let you practice on a gravel road. If you ever have to drive, it will likely be on a gravel or dirt road."

Hale's thoughts faded back into the present, off in the distance, on the road ahead, he saw a blurry black dot. That has to be the column. Gritting his teeth and clenching the wheel, he kept the accelerator mashed to the floor as he quickly closed the distance between himself and the vehicle ahead. The engine of his Gaz-MM truck roared in his ears as the trees whizzed by.

The vehicle slowly morphed from a black shadow on the horizon into an olive drab green twin of the Gaz-MM truck he drove. Underneath the canopy that covered the truck's bed, he could see a squad of Russian soldiers huddling together for warmth. One of them glanced in his direction. After a moment, the Soviet man, smiled and waved. The truck bed and the men along with it, would occasionally bounce upward as the wheels struck a pothole in the gravel road.

Hale returned the smiled and saluted in the Russian fashion. He continued to close the distance to the last truck in the column. As he brought his vehicle within twenty feet of the canopied rear of the truck ahead of him, he reached over with his left hand and started rolling down the window. Finishing, he raised his right knee up to hold the steering wheel in place as he reached over and grabbed the cast iron RGD 33 hand grenade rolling and bouncing around on the bench next to him.

As his fingers clutched around it, he reached over with his left hand and twisted the top to arm it. The Soviet soldier that had smiled at him only a few moments ago forehead creased in worry, as he frowned at Hale's continuing approach. Switching the grenade to his left hand, Hale reached out of the window and tossed it toward the opening in the rear of the Soviet truck. Which was now only a few feet ahead of the front bumper on his own vehicle.

Hale's eyes followed the grenade as it lazily arced into the canopy covered rear of the truck in front of him. The man who had been watching him carefully eyes widened in shock. Reacting quickly, the man dropped to his knees. He frantically tried to grasp the grenade as precious seconds ticked by. Stubbornly the metal cylinder rolled around on the floor just out of his reach.

Mission accomplished, Hale, slammed on the breaks of his Gaz-MM. As the metal discs of the breaks screamed in protest, his wheels began to skid on the loose gravel. Trying to maintain control, he clutched the steering wheel as hard as he could. The truck fought him as it attempted to turn the steering wheel of its own accord and wrench it out of his hands.

As the rear wheels of his own truck began to skid to the side, and the front of his truck started to turn to the left, the Soviet truck, now some hundred feet or so in front of him, exploded in a hail of shrapnel. A moment later, a piece of smoldering metal penetrated the gas tank of the burning truck. The rear of the truck lifted off of the ground as the gas tank exploded into a reddish orange fireball.

The shockwave from the explosion caused Hale to lose what little control of his own truck he had, and the vehicle turned completely sideways as it skidded down the roadway. The Gaz-MM's center of gravity was hopelessly compromised as the vehicle rolled onto its side and began sliding down the road. This continued for nearly a hundred feet as Hale's truck came to rest just a few short feet from the smoldering remains of the enemy truck he had destroyed.

He rubbed his head and groaned. At some point during the chaos, his head had smashed into the steering wheel. How did I get here? Hale asked himself with his inner voice.

Fighting to stay conscious, the memory of the afternoon's event came flooding back to him. After he had broken contact with the Russians that pursued him that morning, he had used his skis to try and keep pace with the Soviet column on the road as they resumed their northward journey. For two hours he pushed his body as hard as he could to try and keep up.

His arms and legs became leaden with fatigue as his breath came in increasingly ragged gasps. The cold air burned the walls of his lungs as he was forced to breathe deeply of the frigid air to keep the pace. With no other choice, given the physical limitations of his body, he was forced to slow down.

Despite the freezing temperature, beads of sweat ran down his back beneath his great coat. This heat is miserable, but if I open my coat to cool myself off, I'll make myself sick, and then I won't be able to fight. Finland needs every last one of us to hold the line against these damned invaders. They are so many, and we are so few. His eyes shifted to a steely gaze as he continued his thought. Despite their numbers, they will learn what it means to earn the ire of a Fin.

As the sound of the column drifted away to the north, the air was filled with complete silence. It was as if all of the forest denizens somehow knew of the invading army and tried to remain as quiet as possible, so as not to attract the invader's attention. Hale decided to angel toward the road. Perhaps one of the bastards will break down, and I can use their truck to catch up with the column.

He held onto this hope for nearly two hours as he slowly made his way northward over the snow. As kilometer after kilometer slid by, he began to completely lose hope. Finally, his eyes caught a dark shadow up ahead on the roadway. He quickened his pace to close the distance to the strange shadow and discern what it was. Could it be? Hale thought.

He lost sight of the, whatever it was, as he dipped into a gully that lay across his path. As he emerged on the other side, the Gaz-MM, emblazoned with the Red Star of the Soviet Union slid into view. Hale dropped to the ground immediately so as not to attract any attention. Laying in the cold snow, he slowly removed his ski's, strapped them to his back, and began to slowly crawl forward.

He crawled on hands and knees for several minutes until he was two hundred feet from the truck. As he got close enough to pick out individual figures around the truck, he saw that the hood was raised, and someone's rump was sticking out of the opening as they worked under the hood, Just as I had hoped a breakdown. Hale thought.

Hale pulled his SK Nagant M/28-30 off of its resting place on his shoulder and slowly took aim at the posterior of the would-be mechanic. Satisfied he could make the shot; he moved his iron sight over another man slowly pacing around the stranded truck with a rifle in his hands. That would be the unlucky bastard who drew the short straw and therefore guard duty. There must be at least seven more men underneath the canopy out of sight.

Hale sat and waited. He watched as the guard continued his slow route around the truck. He could tell by the way the guard carried himself, that the man was bored and oblivious. Occasionally, he would catch a wisp of the mechanics voice, and the guard would scurry over to a tool box on the ground, rummage around in it for several moments, and pull out a tool. He would then hand it to the grasping hand of the mechanic sticking out from under the hood.

As Hale grew bored, he let his mind drift to a memory of a similar wait long ago. Hale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The deer he was watching a few hundred feet away, cried out in pain. It had slipped on the edge of a gully and plunged down the side. As it came to rest on the bottom of the trench, it has somehow broken its leg. Now it lay on the ground, unable to stand up, and blinded by pain.

Hale's Grandfather had taught him that opportunities should never be wasted. He remembered the old man telling him on one of his first hunts, 'If you come across an animal that can't move don't kill it. Though an easy dinner is assured, you can use the beast to draw in a predator or a scavenger and double your good fortune.'

Hale had listened to his Grandfather's words and taken the lesson to heart. Thinking about it didn't make the wait any more interesting. He yawned as he fought to stay awake. As the minutes slowly ticked by and the ever present cold began to creep into his bones, he waited for the down on its luck deer to attract some interest from a hungry predator.

Hale's eyes snapped open, How long had I been asleep? Anxious that he had lost his deer, he quickly located the poor animal, it was still alive. As the wait dragged on, snow began to fall. The snow shrouded the Sun in clouds, as the orb drew close to the western horizon.

The snow eventually petered out, and the clouds moved off to the south. The Sun came out and cast its rays about as it touched the western horizon. It was in this moment that Hale noticed the two eyes staring at the deer. They glowed yellow, reflecting the fading rays of sunlight. The rest of the animal was shrouded in shadows. A wolf. There is rarely just one wolf. Are the others near? Hale thought. Nervous, he checked the bolt on his rifle to make sure all was at the ready.

Hale slid the bolt back on his rifle and saw the bullet within. Letting out his breath slowly, he raised the rifle and took aim at the yellow eyes. Before he had the opportunity to complete his aiming process, the wolf sprang from the underbrush and dashed for the deer. Hale followed the movement of the wolf as the animal dashed across the frozen earth. Unwilling to take the difficult shot, he waited until the wolf reached the dear. Sharp teeth were exposed as the wolf opened its mouth and tore into the deer's neck.

The deer cried out in agony as the skin on its neck was shredded by the sharp teeth of the vicious predator, and then fell forever silent. With the wolf relatively motionless, Hale completed aiming, took a deep breath and held it. Confident, he squeezed the trigger of his old Lee-Enfield rifle. The ancient firearm, a relic from the Boer War, roared as it flung the bullet in its chamber toward the wolf.

A moment later the bullet struck the wolf in the side of its head. The round penetrated the wolf's skull and entered the animal's brain. The unfortunate animal died instantly. Slain, the once mighty predator's corpse collapsed onto the deer it had just killed. Blood from the two slain animals intermingled upon the snow-covered ground.

Hale quickly worked the bolt on his rifle and another round popped into the chamber. There was always more than one wolf. His grandfather's words echoed in his head. He heard the undergrowth rustle to his right. Turning toward the noise he began raising his rifle just as a shadowy figure launched itself at Hale's chest. Hale, desperate and unable to get a shot off, raised his rifle to block the incoming animal. The wolf, a large bitch, surprised by the rifle, bit down upon the wood and metal, instead of the soft flesh of Hale's neck.

The momentum of the beast slamming into his chest, sent Hale falling backwards. As he landed on his back, the wolf opened its mouth to free its teeth from the rifle and lunged at Hale's now unprotected neck. Hale could feel the warm breath of the animal upon his neck as it drew close. His nose registered the fetid odor emanating from the creature's mouth as its sharp teeth drew within an inch of his neck.

It was at that moment that Hale, plunged his knife into the skull of the wolf. The thick bone refused to yield to his desperate thrust and slid downward along the side of the skull. Luckily, the blade sank into the wolf's ear canal and plunged into the exposed flesh beyond killing the wolf. With his heart thundering in his chest from reliving such an intense memory, Hale's awareness slipped back into reality. We ate well that night.

Hale reached up and placed the palm of his left hand, where underneath his great coat, sweater, shirt, and undershirt, the right paw of that first wolf kill lay. It was attached to a leather cord which hung from his neck. Touching the paw of his first predator kill gave him comfort, These woods are filled with so many predators. Hale thought nervously. He sat for another hour, shivering in the ever present cold, as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

Having lain on the frozen earth for too long, he began to shiver as his body fought to maintain its internal temperature. After what seemed like an eternity to Hale, the mechanic clambered from underneath the hood, climbed into the truck, and cranked the engine. The Gaz-MM, stubborn in its unwillingness to start in these temperatures, sputtered and coughed for at least thirty seconds before the mechanic gave it more gas and the engine roared to life. Good, they fixed it finally. Hale thought.

The mechanic hopped out of the cab of the Gaz-MM, gathered up his tools, and slammed the hood of the truck shut. With a loud thump, the hood caught the latch and closed. The guard, grateful that his duty was finally completed, took the toolbox from the mechanic, walked to the opening in the canopy covered rear, and passed the toolbox off to someone inside. He then slung his rifle onto his shoulder and pulled himself up into the back using the handholds built into the tailgate.

The mechanic, who was apparently also the driver, put the truck into gear and gave it some gas. As the vehicle slowly lurched forward, Hale raised up his rifle and took aim at the left rear tire. He took a deep breath and held it, as he lined up the shot. The truck continued to accelerate away from him. Satisfied he had the shot; he squeezed the trigger and his rifle roared to life.

A moment later, the rear left tire on the Soviet truck exploded in a burst of flying debris. The rubber of the disintegrating tire was flung in all directions as the truck skidded to a halt. Hale heard the driver exclaiming loudly, "Chert poberi!" As the truck slowed to a stop.

As soon as the truck stopped moving, the driver flung his door open and jumped out of the cab. As his booted feet struck the snow-covered surface of the road, he looked to his left and saw the source of his problem, the disintegrated tire. Letting out what must have been another loud curse, he put his hands on his hips. Whatever he said attracted the attention of one of the men underneath the canopy. The man, threw a leg over the tail gate and began to make his way down to the ground.

As the driver stood and waited, Hale raised his rifle up and took aim at the man's head. He worked to line up the shot despite his shaking arms. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This helped him to relax and still his uncooperative appendages. He took another deep breath and held it. Satisfied the shot would hit, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked and slapped his shoulder with the force of the recoil.

A moment later, Hale's 7.62mm bullet struck the man's forehead. As the bullet smashed through the bone of his skull, it was deflected and bounced around inside the unfortunate's head. Outwardly, the driver's uncovered head, appeared to exploded like a melon smashed by a giant fist.

Before the driver's body hit the ground, Hale worked the bolt on his rifle, took quick aim at the other soldier, and squeezed the trigger. The driver's corpse gained a companion. A Soviet soldier inside the canopy covered rear deck of the truck, stuck his rifle out from behind the canopy and fired a shot. As soon as he pulled the trigger, another man jumped to the ground. Losing his balance as he leaped, the man's fur covered cap came off his head as he struck the frozen ground. Thinking quickly, he rolled to absorb the impact.

Hale waited patiently for the man to sort himself out and stand up. As the man reached his feet, someone from within the canopy covered area, tossed him a rifle. The man turned toward the movement, as Hale took aim, he saw a skin tone that he was unfamiliar with. The man's coloration was darker than anyone he had ever seen in the frozen tundra of his Finnish homeland. Where is this guy from? Hale thought. Could he be one of those China men I read about?

Not wasting any more time to think about what he was seeing; Hale pulled the trigger of his rifle. The bullet penetrated the left eye of his target, causing his luckless victim to drop the rifle he had just caught. The man wavered for a moment, then dropped to his knees and fell face forward into the snow.

Hale was forced to duck, as a shot rang out from the back of the truck. He quickly worked the bolt on his rifle and crawled over to the nearest tree. Using the tree's trunk as a shield, he stood up, raised his rifle, and peeked out from behind the tree. He nearly ate a bullet as the sound of a Soviet rifle rang out and the bullet struck the tree mere inches from his head. This one has some skill.

Hale tried to take a moment to identify the shooter from the shadowy interior of the truck. Not wanting to linger as his unseen assailant worked the bolt on his rifle, Hale squeezed the trigger. His rifle barked and he heard a Russian yell out in pain as his bullet found flesh. As he started to grin, a second rifle report rang out and the bark of the tree he was leaning against fractured less than an inch from his face showering him with splinters.

Apparently, the shooter is still alive and well. I must have hit someone else. Hale worked his bolt quickly, and fired his fifth and last round into the opening in the canopy. This time he did not hear anyone cry out in pain. A miss. Worth a shot, especially with that enemy sniper in the back. Hale grinned at himself over the use of a pun in his internal monologue.

Hale ducked back behind his tree, removed his thick gloves, popped his magazine lose, and caught it with his left hand as it fell toward the ground. He then slipped it into his left pocket, and reached into his right for the reload. His fingers closed around the cold metal clip. Pulling it out, he slapped the magazine into place on his rifle. The clip of five bullets easily slipped into position with a click.

He heard the sounds of several voices and what was likely the sound of boots hitting the snow-covered road. If I stick my head out, that Soviet bastard will likely take it off. Sighing deeply, Hale slipped his gloves back on, slung his rifle onto his shoulder, dropped to the ground, and began crawling to the south.

As Hale slowly worked his way along on the ground, the surviving members of the Soviet Squad, cautiously made their way toward his last known position. Hale would occasionally pause his own movements, to listen for the Soviets. Each time he heard the sound of their boots crunching in the snow, still at a distance, he continued crawling.

After about two hundred feet of crawling across the frozen ground, Hale decided that he had put enough distance between his original position and his current location. Remaining prone on the ground, he slowly worked his way around until he was facing in the direction of his former position. He took the rifle from his back, and checked it to make sure there was a round was in the chamber. Satisfied, he took aim at the position he recently occupied as he dealt death to the Russian invaders.

The Soviets, moving cautiously, took another ten minutes or so to reach the location that Hale had slain half their number from. It took them only a moment to spot his trail, and one of them pointed in his general direction. It was the last act he would ever take in this life. The other two men dropped to the ground, as Hale worked the bolt on his rifle to chamber another round.

Hale raised his rifle back to his shoulder and attempted to take aim at his two surviving opponents. From his position on the ground, Hale could not see them. Deciding to take a chance, he crawled forward and stood up behind a tree trunk. From somewhere off to his right, a rifle cracked. He felt the warm breeze of the bullet travel closely by the back of his neck.

Not wanting to wait around for a second shot, Hale threw himself on the ground. It saved his life. Two more shots rang out from the soldiers in front of him. As soon as he dropped to the ground, they had stood and taken careful aim at him, They have me in a cross fire!

The sound of Hale's heartbeat thundered in his ears and his body flooded with adrenaline. Trying not to panic, he tried to follow his training and remain still. As he did so, his mind slipped back to his training. "If the bastards know where you are, but don't have a shot remain calm. If you panic, your blood be feeding the trees." Sergeant Kivi said.

Hale made eye contact with the Sergeant's pale blue eyes as he continued to speak, "Be patient and sit still. This will buy you time, and most importantly make the enemy nervous. A nervous enemy makes mistakes. Especially half trained Soviet farm boys who can't wipe their own ass without permission from their political officer." Sergeant Kivi said.

"How do you know so much about the Soviets?" Dal, a private standing a few feet away from Hale asked.

Sergeant Kivi, unconsciously raised his hand to his face and fingered the jagged scar on his left cheek before replying, "I volunteered to fight the communist in Spain. Over the course of the war, the Nationalist's International Brigade, which was made up of volunteers from every country that wasn't Germany or Italy, had several engagements. Several of those engagements were with a brigade of Soviets fighting for the Republicans. None of the Spanish Nationalists could go toe to toe with the Soviets, so we got ordered into their path frequently."

"How did they perform?" Hale asked.

"They were well equipped with the best the Soviet Army had to offer at the time. As a group, they fought much more ably than the Spanish peasants did."

"And individually?" A private named Leo asked.

Sergeant Kivi laughed for several moments before replying, "Individually, they are as dumb as a fence post. They haven't been trained to think for themselves you see."

"Why does that matter?" Dal asked.

"Because private, if you don't have a sergeant to direct your inexperienced ass when it's time to shoot the enemy, or seek cover, you'll just stand there with a dumb look on your face." Sergeant Kivi replied.

"So, the Soviets are at their worst, if we can break them down into small groups?" Hale asked.

Sergeant Kivi smiled and said, "Well I can see that at least one of you isn't an idiot. Yes, that's correct Hale."

The memory faded from Hale's mind as he drifted back into the present. The recollection of that warm fall day, a few short months ago, was much more pleasant than the frigid cold of his current reality. Hale continued to lay on the icy earth waiting for the Russians to lose their patience and make a mistake. He sat still and listened. For an hour all he heard was the sound of the faint wind pushing the smallest of the tree branches about overhead. The stiff branches, frozen from the extreme cold, made noise as they stiffly moved about.

Finally, his ears registered a sound that didn't belong. Off to his right he could faintly hear the sound of boots crunching in the snow, The sniper.

Hale, slowly used his right hand to reach the holster on his right hip. He unsnapped the flap and drew out his pistol. If I remain still and silent, I can surprise him.

The sounds of the crunching snow disappeared for a time as Hale sat wondering. Was I hearing things?

Hale's doubts slipped away, as the sniper began slowly moving forward again. The sound of the crunching snow under the man's boots grew ever closer. Every few minutes the sniper would pause and listen. When the man was satisfied, he would start moving forward again.

As the Soviet Sniper drew closer, the passage of time seemed to slow to a crawl in Hale's mind, Where is he? Hale thought for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes. The sniper paused again, and grew silent. By Hale's reckoning he was maybe twenty feet off to the right.

Hale began to sweat despite the bitter cold. Did the bastard see me somehow?

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity to Hale, the man started moving forward again. Careful to not make a sound, Hale unbuckled the strap of leather that secured his knife to his left hip. The knife sheathe, like the pistol holster, rested on his hip. Step by step the man drew closer, until he was just on the other side of the large tree trunk that concealed Hale from his sight.

The sniper chose that moment to stop and listen, Oh come on! Just one more step and I'll have you. Hale lamented.

The seconds slowly ticked by as Hale did his upmost to remain still and not make a sound that would give away his position. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his knife, planning to stand up and stick it in the man's chest as soon as he rounded the tree in front of Hale.

The Soviet Sniper satisfied that no one was near, finally took that step. Unfortunately for Hale, the man chose to walk around the back side of the tree, and immediately spotted Hale's legs laying in the snow. As the Russian brought his rifle up to put a bullet in Hale's posterior, Hale released his hold on the holstered knife, rolled over, and slapped the sniper's rifle away with his free hand.

The enemy soldier's rifle thundered in Hale's ear as the man put a bullet into the ground a mere inch from Hale's right knee. If I hadn't of let go of the knife and spoiled his aim, I'd be dead now. Hale thought.

Hale scrambled to his feet and moved around the front side of the tree, pistol in hand. The man took a step back and frantically worked the bolt on his rifle to chamber another round so he could take another shot. Before the Soviet Sniper could finish, Hale emerged from the other side of the tree with his pistol raised.

The sniper met Hale's eyes with his own, they were hazel, and gave him a faint smile. He dropped his rifle and raised his hands up and said, "Sdacha."

What am I supposed to do with him? They never told us anything about prisoners. Hale thought. A shot rang out, it must have come from the other two Soviets nearby to the north. A moment later the Soviet sniper clutched his chest, and collapsed to the ground.

Hale threw himself to the earth, as a second shot rang out, The other Russians. I forgot about them! A moment later the bullet slammed into the tree that Hale had been hiding behind earlier. Was I seen, or was the second rifleman just taking a guess? Hale asked himself.

Fueled by a shot of adrenaline from his near death, the sound of his heart sounded like a run away freight train in his ears as his blood pressure increased. Trying to calm his frayed nerves, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Quieting the drum in his ears, he sat perfectly still for a minute and listened intently for the Soviets. The only thing he heard was the sound of silence.

Satisfied that the two men weren't rushing him, he crawled over to the twitching corpse of the sniper. Searching him, he found a small bottle of vodka, a grenade, and a picture of the man's sweetheart. Hale placed the bottle and grenade into his pack. With this much vodka, I'll be very warm tonight.

He took another moment to listen for the other two Russians. Once again, his ears were greeted with silence. Satisfied, he looked down at the picture. The woman, slender in appearance, with high cheekbones, and a small nose looked back at him from whatever moment in time the photograph was taken. She wore a floral printed dress, that showed off her figure, which bulged and curved in all the right places. I guess you'll be in the market for a new man soon.

The picture reminded him of a happier moment and Hale's thoughts slipped away from the present back to his last day at home. Germany had invaded Poland and thanks to the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact the Soviet Union was given a free hand in Eastern Europe which included Finland. To prepare, Finland had mobilized its small army and called for volunteers. Hale had heeded the call.

It was a bright and warm early September afternoon. His last full day at home before he boarded the train that took him to the army. Looking up he saw his beloved Nea walk into the barn, "What are you doing?" She asked.

He put down the shovel he was using to muck out the cow's stall, and met the gaze of her green eyes, A man could get lost in those eyes forever. "Mucking out the barn." Hale replied.

"This is your last day before you have to leave for the army. Shouldn't you be doing something a bit more fun than shoveling cow dung?" Nea asked.

Hale took his gloves off and turned to face her, "Probably. Did you have something in mind?"

"How about a walk? The leaves are starting to turn." Nea replied.

Hale nodded and took her hand. They walked out of the barn and quickly found their way onto a nearby path that led into the forest. Hale marveled at how closely Nea's red hair matched the color of many of the turning leaves. As they walked, his eyes slowly traced the lines of her creamy colored neck as her skin disappeared into the folds of her dress.

As his eyes continued to trace the lines of her body beneath her dress, she stopped walking, and turned to face him. Surprised by her sudden stop, he jerked his eyes upward as she met his gaze. Too late. He thought.

"Getting an eyeful?" Nea asked.

Hale smiled down at her sheepishly and nodded feeling dumb. Still holding his hand, she tugged him to her. She looked up into his eyes as Hale used his left hand to brush away her crimson bangs. Oh God, there's those eyes again! A man could swim forever in those emerald orbs, and she smells so good.

He heard the sound of his heart pounding in his ears as he desperately thought, What do I say?

Nea, ended his conundrum by tilting her head upward and pressing forward with her lips. He lowered his own chin, and their lips met. They kissed briefly, and both of their cheeks took on a scarlet hue as the two stepped back and averted their eyes from each other.

Recovering quickly, Nea smiled up at him reassuringly and said, "Hale, it's ok."

She took a step forward and without hesitation he wrapped his arms around her slender frame and pulled her close. His lips sought hers and they kissed. This time the kiss was more insistent. It seemed to go on forever as they explored each other with their tongues. Breathless, they finally broke the contact.

Nea, threw him a smile and dropped her eyes to his waistline and took in the growing bulge beneath his pants. Smiling, she took him by the hand and led him into the trees. Hale's thoughts snapped back into reality. He was still holding the picture of the unknown woman in his hands. Sighing he looked down at it. Unable to gaze upon the woman anymore he flipped the picture over, on the back was a name and an address. I can tell her what happened. He thought. At least this one wasn't my fault.

Hale slipped the picture into a coat pocket just as his ears registered the sound of snow crunching. Listening, he was able to discern two sets of boots as they made their way through the snow toward him, They think I'm shot. He surmised.

The edges of his lips turned up slightly as he thought, They are going to pay dearly for their mistake. He crawled around the base of the tree until he was positive that the trunk was between him and the two approaching men. He then stood slowly to maintain his silence.

He peeked out from behind the tree and spotted the two Russians. They were perhaps thirty feet away from him. They kept walking toward him without breaking stride, They didn't see me.

Hale brought his rifle up and rounded the tree opposite to the Russians. As the two Soviets registered his presence, he put a bullet in the face of the soldier on his right. Horrified, the other man stood there with a dumb look on his face as Hale worked the bolt on his rifle.

Snapping out of his shock, the man started to raise his own rifle up to take aim at Hale. He never got the chance. The silence of the forest was pierced for a second time as Hale pulled the trigger on his rifle. At this range Hale couldn't miss, and the unfortunate dropped to his knees and then toppled sideways over onto the body of his slain comrade.

Hale approached the two men and quickly searched them. Unfortunately, they lacked both grenades and vodka. Poor bastards. Quickly forgetting about his victims, he started walking quickly towards the truck, I hope it won't take to long to change that tire. . .
Chapter 3

Karelia Istumus Afternoon November 30th 1939

Hale awoke. His head throbbed as he rolled over and wondered. Where am I?

Steeling himself for reality, he opened his eyes. His vision filled with a brown padded bench seat overhead. Groaning, he closed his eyes as a wave of nausea passed over him. Fighting the urge to vomit, he steeled himself and opened his eyes again. The first thing he noticed was the light. It was dim. The sun must be setting for the light to be so low.

A shiver ran through his body from the intense cold. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, his vision blurred and another wave of nausea hit him. He clinched his eyes shut and tried to will the demon in his gut to remain silent. This time he failed and narrowly avoided making a mess of his white overcoat. As he leaned forward, the contents of his stomach burst forth from his mouth. Finished, he sighed in relief as the nausea dissipated.

Seeing spots, Hale blinked his eyes several times trying to clear the stubborn dots from his vision as he removed a glove. He reached up with his hand and rubbed his temple trying to relieve the pain he felt in his head. Despite the pain, he was finally able to focus his mind enough to once again ask, Where am I?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them, his vision finally sharpened enough to register where he was, the cab of a truck. Looking down at his chest, which was covered in shattered glass, he asked himself, How did I get here? I don't remember what happened.

Before he could search his mind for an answer to his question, he heard the roar of an engine. The noise, drew his eyes to the back window of the truck. Spots danced in his eyes as he was blinded by the dull yellow glow of twin beams. The dull yellow glow caused his vision to swim and his mind drifted. Losing consciousness again, the next thing he remembers is looking up into the barrel of an SVT-38, "Pokazhi mne svoi ruki." A voice barked.

Hale's addled mind raced as he drifted back to his brief lesson in the Russian language given to him by the Army. "Repeat after me." Oda, his instructor, a stern looking woman of around thirty-five said, "Ya podchinyauys. I surrender."

Along with the rest of the class, Hale's tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables of the Russian language. The strange words were so very different from his native Finnish.

From the back of the classroom Sergeant Kivi roared, "You sound like a bunch of drooling simpletons!"

Oda, their Russian language instructor, cast the class a stern look from behind her horn-rimmed glasses, slapped a ruler onto her desk and said, "Focus! Again, repeat after me. Ya pochinyauys. I surrender."

Hale dutifully repeated the words. When they finished Sergeant Kivi nodded, "Better, but you still sound like a donkey with a tree branch up your ass."

Oda's forehead creased as she cast an irritated glare at Sergeant Kivi. "Repeat after me, Ya pochinyauys, I surrender."

This time the class uttered the phrase in near unison, "That's better. Maybe you fools aren't as stupid as you look." Sergeant Kivi said.

From somewhere in front of Hale a voice said, "No sir. We are plenty stupid. Otherwise we wouldn't be here training to fight a foe that out numbers us ten to one."

Oda snorted, trying to stifle a laugh at the words. Sergeant Kivi's cheeks turned a deep crimson as he leaped to his feet and roared, "Who said that?"

The enraged Sergeant was met with silence as he stormed up and down the aisles of the simple classroom. Stopping next to Hale, he pulled on his shoulder, spun him around in his chair to face him, and bellowed, "Was it you?"

Hale, barely succeeded in fighting down the urge to urinate upon himself at the sight of the enraged Sergeant. It was his second day of training and he hadn't figured out if the Sergeant was God Almighty or a Demon sent from the foulest bits of hell to torment him. He looked up at Sergeant Kivi's with wide eyed fear etched on his face as the big man loomed over him. The Sergeant's scarlet hued face crinkled in rage as his blue eyes bored into Hale's hazel orbs. It's as if he is looking into my very soul. Sweat began to glisten on the Sergeant's forehead as he roared, "I asked you a question soldier. Was it you?"

Hale wiped Kivi's saliva from his face with his left sleeve as he replied, "No sir!"

Sergeant Kivi's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he glared at Hale. The younger man could almost see puffs of flame emerging from the Sergeant's nostrils. After several long moments, the Sergeant turned and walked up the aisle. Finding another victim, he bellowed the same question. Hale took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Relieved that the Sergeant was gone, and that he didn't piss himself before he turned his attention elsewhere.

Oda, met Hale's relieved gaze and gave him a faint smile of encouragement before she turned back to the class and said, "One more time, repeat after me, Ya pochinyauys, I surrender."

The class dutifully repeated the words as Sergeant Kivi spun another hapless victim around and yelled, "Was it you?"

The older man, his faded blond locks turning to gray and his face etched by many years of exposure to the sun and the wind smiled up at Sergeant Kivi and said, "Yes it was me."

Sergeant Kivi glanced down at the nametag on the man's uniform and said, "Corporal Pekka, I trust that you will stop disrupting the class so that my privates can focus on their lessons."

Corporal Pekka reared back in laughter and said, "If you'd stop being such an ass from the back of the room, perhaps they could focus."

Sergeant Kivi, grabbed Corporal Pekka by his uniform shirt and pulled him up out of the chair as a voice from the doorway barked, "That's enough Sergeant, Corporal Pekka with me." Lieutenant Riku said.

Corporal Pekka threw Sergeant Kivi another smile and gently removed the Sergeant's hands from his uniform. The Sergeant's hands dropped wistfully to his sides as Corporal Pekka made eye contact with Lieutenant Riku and said, "At once sir."

"Class, I think you have this one. Let's move on to the next phrase." Oda said.

The remaining members of the class, all privates under the guiding hand of Sergeant Kivi said in unison, "Yes ma'am."

Oda smiled, "Good, now repeat after me, "Pokazhi mne svoi ruki. Put your hands up."

Hale's mind slipped back into the present as the voice on the other side of the gun yelled again, "Pokazhi mne svoi ruki!"

Obeying the command, Hale slowly raised his hands up. The man holding the gun took a step back and another set of hands reached in and unceremoniously pulled Hale from the cab. The man with the SVT-38 gestured upward with the gun barrel as he said, "Vstavat."

Getting the message, Hale nodded and slowly came to his feet. As he reached his full height, his head swam, causing him to stagger. The same arms that had pulled him from the truck reached out and steadied him.

"Nazovite sebya!" Barked the Russian with the two triangles on his coat collar that indicated his rank of Sergeant.

I guess angry and loud sergeants are universal. Hale thought.

The Soviet Sergeant took a step forward and punched Hale in the gut with his right hand and yelled, "Nazovite sebya!"

Hale, surprised by the blow, crumpled and dropped to his knees. What does he want? Hale desperately wondered. His mind tried to go back to his brief half day lesson in Russian, but before he could. The Sergeant slapped Hale in the side of the face with his open palm. The blow caused stars to explode into Hale's vision and he toppled sideways striking the ground.

As the cold embrace of the frozen snow greeted him his foggy mind thought, The cold feels good.

The Sergeant took another step forward. He loomed over Hale, leaned down over him, while placing his hands on his knees and once again yelled, "Nazovite sebya!"

The Russian raised his gloved hand to strike Hale again. Bracing himself for the blow, Hale closed his eyes. Before the enraged Sergeant could land the blow, another voice barked, "Dovol'no"

After several seconds and no blow came, Hale opened his eyes to see what was happening. A hand was wrapped around the Sergeant's raised arm. Like the Sergeant, the newcomer wore an dark green overcoat with a fur lined cap. The cap was emblazoned with the red star of the Soviet Union.

The Soviet caps Hale had seen thus far sported a Red Star of varying size, made out of cheap red thread. This man's cap, had a shiny red star fashioned out of metal and painted a bright cheerful red. In addition to the difference in the Red Star, instead of an enlisted man's triangles, the man's collar sported three red squares, An officer! Hale thought, I'm really in the shit now.

Surprisingly the newcomer addressed Hale in his own language, "You'll have to forgive the Sergeant's enthusiasm. Like most men of the Soviet Union, he is a simple peasant who doesn't understand any language other than force. What's your name?"

Hale made eye contact with the man's pale blue eyes which were much like his own and said, "Hale."

"I'd say it's nice to meet you Hale, but I believe you have some explaining to do. Let's start with why you are in a wrecked truck belonging to Mother Russia." The officer asked.

Ignoring the question Hale asked several of his own, "Who are you and what are you going to do with me?"

The officer signaled to two nearby men who unceremoniously pulled Hale to his feet. The Soviet took a step forward, and leaned in until their faces were a few inches apart. He smiled wickedly and said, "You appear to be in possession of Soviet property. I'd say you are a spy and you deserve to be shot for your crimes against the revolution."

As he said the last words, he leaned in close so that their faces were a mere inch apart. Hale could smell his foul breath which reeked of garlic, tobacco smoke, and vodka. Fighting back the darkness that threatened to engulf him as his head swam, Hale said, "You're in Finland. That makes the truck mine."

The Soviet officer tilted his head back and laughed heartily. Finishing, he met Hale's look of defiance with amusement and gestured to the Sergeant with a tilt of his head. The Sergeant smiled malevolently as he reared back with his arm and punched Hale in the side with all the force he could muster.

Hale nearly bit his tongue as the blow took him by surprise. His knees gave out and he began to topple to the ground. Two firm sets of hands reached out and prevented his collapsed, "I will ask you this once. You will start giving me answers, or I will let the Sergeant have his way with you. I imagine you would want to avoid being beaten to death, yes?"

Hale nodded, "Good. Now tell me are you a Finnish soldier?" The Officer asked.

"Yes."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it Hale?" The Russian replied. His inflection on the H made it sound more like he said Whale.

"How did you learn to speak my language?" Hale asked.

"My mother was Finnish." The Officer replied.

Hale opened his mouth to speak again but the Officer slapped him across the face with a glove, "Enough! I ask the questions here. You provide the answers."

"How did you gain possession of this truck?" The Soviet asked.

"I found it abandoned on the side of the road." Hale replied.

The man looked skyward and let out a hearty laugh, "You found it abandoned on the road." The man paused to laugh again. Once he was able to bring his mirth under control he asked, "And how many warriors of the revolution did you slay in the vicinity of this truck?"

Hale tried to take on a countenance of mirth himself as he said, "Warriors you say? I don't recall there being any warriors around this truck. Just illegal invaders trespassing on Finnish soil."

Enraged by Hale's flippant tone, the Sergeant moved to slap Hale across the face. Before he could strike, the Officer reached out with his hand and stopped the assault, "Dovol'no!"

The Sergeant threw the Officer a glare before nodding curtly and stepping back. Using his loose black leather glove, the Officer once again slapped Hale in the face with it. The stiff leather caused a sharp prickly pain to erupt in Hale's cheek. Starting to enjoy the anger he was evoking, Hale fought down the urge to cry out and remained silent.

"Day mne vintovku." The officer snapped.

From somewhere behind him, a soldier passed Hale's rifle to the officer. The man turned to Hale, held up his rifle and said, "Judging by this rifle I'd said you are a cuckoo. I imagine many sons of Mother Russia have perished from this instrument of cowardice."

"Bird's don't use rifles." Hale replied.

"There is another word for it." The man closed his eyes and his face crinkled as he slipped deep into thought. Finally, he opened his eyes, met Hale's gaze, and said, "I believe the word in your language is sniper."

Hale met the Russian's gaze impassively and tried to look disinterested. He failed. The officer smiled, thrust Hale's rifle into his face and asked, "How many soldiers of the Revolution did you slay with this to gain possession of this truck?" The lieutenant asked.

"Sadly, not all of them." Hale replied with a smile.

Turning to the Sergeant the Soviet officer gestured at Hale and said, "Komik. Zastaqvit' yego krovotochit' nae tot raz."

The Sergeant nodded curtly and said, "Da"

Turning to Hale, the Sergeant smiled malevolently, cocked his arm back and punched him in the face with all of his strength. Hale's nose exploded in a gout of crimson as it crumpled under the mighty blow. His mind swam, and spots appeared in his eyes as the intense pain radiated from his nose. He tried to fight back the light headedness he was feeling. Failing, the edges of his vision grew dark and then faded altogether. Giving in to his overwhelming sense of fatigue, he lost consciousness.

The Lieutenant sighed in disgust, turned to the sergeant, and said in Russian, "Idiot, you hit him too hard." He paused a moment to register the darkness and the blocked roadway, before adding, "The sun has set let's set up camp here, we can unblock the road in the morning. Ensure that he is tied up and placed in a dark tent. I want him to be disorientated when he wakes."

The Sergeant stiffened to attention, saluted, and said, "Yes comrade Commissar!"

An indeterminant amount of time later Hale awoke. Keeping his eyes closed he listened. His ears picked up the faint sound of the wind rustling through the stiff tree branches of the Karelian forest above. He focused on that sound for several minutes thinking back to the moment it was last this quiet, The hours before the Russians came. Hale thought.

His reverie was destroyed by the sound of a man starting to snore. Even in slumber they assail my ears with their endless racket. As Hale became fully aware, he felt the harsh sting of the rope against his bound wrists as he began to struggle against them, They have tied me up!

Trying to choke off the panicked thoughts flooding his mind, he tried to move his legs. Like his hands, they were bound up. How did I get here? Hale's mind raced as his desperate thoughts overwhelmed him. Must escape!

Adrenaline exploded into Hale's veins as he grew frantic. The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears as the adrenaline released into his bloodstream gave him strength and clarity. For the first time since he was captured, the fuzziness in his mind melted away. With strength born of desperation, he tugged at the ropes that bound him. I can't get out!

After several minutes of fruitless struggle, Hale was no better off than when he had started. In fact, he was lucky that they Russians had tied the rope over his white overcoat. Otherwise his wrist and legs would be bleeding from his fruitless efforts to escape.

He sat there for several more minutes. His breath, fueled by his panic, whistled and rasped shallowly from his lungs. After what seemed like an eternity to him, lying there alone in the darkness, his mind quieted and a wave of fatigue washed over him.

He awoke sometime later in the darkness. The sound of men snoring and occasionally making wind filled his ears. Hale listened for a time, and picked out the individual voices within the chorus of slumber. There were four different men that he could discern snoring. What must have been a large man nearby, probably that brute of a Sergeant, sounded as if he was drawing all of the air in the forest in. When he finished, it burst out with such volume, it's a wonder they didn't hear him all the way in Helsinki.

A bit further away, the other three men, seemingly clustered together, pierced the night with their own, lesser versions of this racket. As Hale listened to the disharmony piercing the forest outside of his tent, his mind slipped back to a past memory. His thoughts left the tent and the cacophony of Soviet snoring and returned to the barracks he occupied during his special operations training in the fall.

Hale awoke in the middle of the night. He had thrown his blanket off at some point, probably during a bad dream, as he was covered in sweat. The chill air of the unheated cabin, that he lay in, along with forty other men had caused him to start shivering, which woke him. He pulled the coarse wool blanket over himself up to his neck, and curled up into a ball, trying to warm up. As he slowly stopped shivering and warmth crept back into his limbs, he was struck by how loud a room full of forty men were, when they were asleep.

The silence of the night was pierced by a cacophony of sounds erupting from the denizens of this cabin. Snores, coughs, and often other noises that would result in smells that made one's eyes water would erupt from the slumbering men. In between these noises, the steps of the guard could be heard as he slowly made his way back and forth across the room, watching over the sleeping men.

As Hale warmed up, his thoughts turned to the day ahead. Sergeant Kivi. The Sergeant had singled Hale out and humiliated him in front of the other men of the unit. Why does he have it in for me? Hale thought.

Before Hale could explore the memory further, he was brought back to awareness. He registered the faint sound of fabric tearing nearby. Curious, he focused his senses on the sound. It's coming from behind me.

He quietly shifted his position to turn his head in the direction of the sound. As a result of his movement, the sound paused for several moments, before it resumed again. The impenetrable darkness of Hale's prison shifted slightly as a sliver of faint light appeared. Hale studied the growing shard as the tearing sound continued. Over the course of several minutes the hole slowly grew larger.

From time to time, he noticed the edge of a blade as it slowly sawed away at the fabric. Who's on the other side? Are they here to rescue me? Hale's thoughts began to race as he considered the possibilities. For the first time since he awoke, despair gave way to hope.

The sound abruptly stopped. From somewhere outside Hale heard the telltale crunch of boots on frozen snow as someone approached the tent from the opposite side of the growing hole. A few feet away from the tent the man came to a stop and listened. Please God, don't let him notice the hole, and whoever is making it.

The seconds slowly ticked by. For Hale each one seemed like an anxiety filled eternity in which his benefactor might be noticed. The Soviet guard, took another step forward toward Hale's tent. This time the impact of the man's booted foot upon the snow was much quieter than it had been, He must have heard something and become suspicious. Hale thought.

Suddenly the darkness was broken, as the guard threw back the tent flap and peered into Hale's prison. The light of the full moon shone into the tent. Hale squinted and blinked in reaction, as his eyes adjusted to the unexpected glare. Over several seconds Hale's eyes adjusted and he met the gaze of the guard glaring at him.

Like all Soviet soldiers, the man was dressed in a dark green overcoat. Upon his head was a matching green cap with a large red star emblazoned upon it. The star was faintly visible as the man's shape was silhouetted by the light of the moon. Seeing Hale's eyes upon his own, the man smiled to reveal several missing teeth. Those that were still present were a mixture yellow and often speckled with black marks.

Hale, hoping the man would just go away, met the Soviet's gaze impassively, trying not to attract any further attention. He failed. The man, lowered his head and stepped into the tent with Hale. The enemy soldier reeked of stale tobacco smoke and a hint of something else. Vodka? Are these Russians ever sober? Hale wondered.

Before he could further contemplate the state of sobriety amongst soldiers of the Soviet Union, the man fell to his knees in front of Hale. He began roughly pawing at Hale. Reaching into his pocket he found the picture of the woman that Hale had taken from the Russian Sniper.

Raising it up into the light, the man smiled and whistled softly as he gazed upon the attractive woman in the picture. He reached down to touch himself as his growing admiration for the woman's form manifested itself. His musing was interrupted, as a shadow cut off the moonlight from somewhere behind him. Surprised, the man started to turn as a puukko was slowly drawn across his neck. Simultaneously, before the hapless guard could cry out, a hand was placed over his mouth.

Following the slight snick sound of the blade being stowed in a metal holster, another arm appeared and wrapped itself around the soldier's torso as he struggled against it. The Russian tried desperately to break the grasp of the man that had slit his throat. This went on for about a minute as his efforts became weaker and weaker. Finally, the light left the guard's eyes and what remained of him was quietly lowered to the ground.

Behind the guard, was a slender form dressed much like Hale in white overcoat and gray trousers. Recognition dawned on Hale's features, as he looked at the man in the silvery moon light. Hale whispered, "Corporal Pekka?"

The Corporal's well lined and weathered face crinkled as it broke into a smile, "Keep quiet, there are perhaps a half dozen Russian pigs within ear shot. Can you walk?"

"I think so." Hale replied.

Corporal Pekka nodded in response. He paused a moment to clean the blood of his puukko using the slain guard's coat and then set about sawing at the rope around Hale's wrists. The snoring outside the tent continued unabated as the corporal finished up freeing Hale's arms. With a faint snap, the ropes around his wrists loosened and fell away.

The corporal handed Hale the puukko and said, "Take care of your legs. I'm going to search this fool. Do you know where they have your weapons?"

Hale shook his head, "No. When I awoke, I was in this tent."

Pekka sighed deeply, "It's almost daylight, so we don't have time to search the camp for them."

The corporal, quietly pulled the slain guard's rifle from the man's back and passed it over to Hale, "Here, you can use this one."

"Thanks." Hale said as he looked down at the gun. It was a Mosin-Nagant carbine style weapon.

Corporal Pekka continued searching the corpse. He smiled as he pulled out a metal flask and opened the cap, "This will help keep us warm." As he sniffed the contents inside the flask, he frowned at the odor coming from inside, "Why don't these bastards ever get the nice vodka? Why is it always the crap?"

Hale shrugged his shoulders in response. Finishing his task, the Corporal said, "Here take these, you'll need them."

A faint smile flashed across Hale's face as he took the 7.62mm bullet magazines from Pekka's hand, three in all. "Did he have any bullets on him?" Hale asked.

"No, all he had was the vodka and these magazines." Pekka replied.

Hale quietly slung the rifle onto his shoulder and reached down into the darkness. He pawed around the slain Soviet's corpse until he found the man's hands. He pried the right one open until it loosened and revealed the picture of the Russian woman. He slipped the picture into a pocket.

"What's that?" Pekka asked.

"A picture of a woman I got from a sniper's body." Hale replied.

"You hoping to have a nice time with yourself later over that?" Pekka snapped, his gaze accusatory.

"No, it has an address on it. I was going to send it back to the address along with a note of how he was slain." Hale replied.

"That's overtly nice of you. You a choir boy or something?" As Hale opened up his mouth to answer, the Corporal held up his hand and said, "Never mind. Let's stop wasting time and go. The horizon is already turning gray."

Hale wordlessly nodded and quietly stood up. Corporal Pekka turned and silently slipped out of the tent. Hale, right behind him, paused for a moment as they emerged and looked up at the moon. The moon is almost full. The wolves will sing tonight after the sun sets.

Corporal Pekka turned to Hale and whispered, "There's no time to daydream, we've got to get out of this camp." He pointed at the ribbon of gray light on the eastern horizon and added, "It will be daylight soon."

"What time is it?" Hale asked.

"Nearly eight am. The Soviets made a late night of it because of you, so they are sleeping in." Pekka replied.

Hale nodded and followed the Corporal. The pair of men very slowly and silently crept through the trees away from the camp. After about two hundred feet, the grizzled veteran held up a clenched right fist. The signal to stop. He turned and looked at a large birch tree off to their left. The immense old tree had thick branches that could support a man's weight. As Hale's eyes followed the trunk upward, he noticed that the topmost branches of the tree, was shrouded in the golden light of the rising sun.

"This will do." Pekka said.

"What did you have in mind?" Hale asked.

"We need to get your gear back. You're not much good with that crappy little carbine we lifted from the Russian corpse." Pekka said.

Hale grinned, "The bastards took my puukko. My grandfather gave me that knife, and my father gave me my rifle. What's your plan?"

"There's only eight of them left. Six men, the sergeant and the commissar. As soon as they start moving around, I'm going to start putting bullets in them." Pekka replied.

"That's going to draw them here. You won't have long, we're only two hundred feet or so outside of their camp." Hale replied.

The Corporal smiled knowingly, "Indeed, that is where you come in. You'll be down on the ground ready to ambush them with your little pea shooter there."

Hale frowned and cast a disdainful glance at the Russian made carbine. "I won't be able to hold them off with this piece of crap." Hale replied.

Pekka pursed his lips as he contemplated the dilemma. Arriving at an idea, he smiled faintly and started rummaging through his pack, "Here. I was saving this for a special occasion."

Hale took the item by its wooden handle and smiled, "Where did you get a German grenade?"

Pekka smiled as he winked at Hale, "Do you expect me to give up all my secrets on our first date?"

Hale's mouth dropped open as he cast Pekka a look of confusion, "This isn't a date."

Pekka laughed, "Sure it is. It's our first date killing Soviet swine together. Isn't that romantic?"

Hale's confusion deepened at the Corporal's statement. Pekka let out another faint chuckle and said, "Never mind. I guess the joke is lost on you. Kivi seems to have drummed all the humor out of you." He paused for a moment and pointed back at the Soviet camp, "Once I start killing them, they'll come straight at me. Set yourself up for an ambush well forward of my position and surprise the bastards. With luck, we'll be eating their breakfast soon."

Hale nodded in response. As he turned away from the corporal to follow his instructions, he could hear the faint sound of the older man grunting as he pulled himself up into the birch tree. Hale carefully crept forward looking for an ideal spot from which to spring an ambush. He found it in the form of a thick trunked oak tree about halfway back to the Russian camp.

He put the tree between the camp and himself. Leaning up against it with his back, he slid downward to a sitting position on the frozen earth. His mouth watered as the smell of sizzling pork from the Russian camp washed over him. Taking the carbine off of his back, he laid it across his lap. He then watched patiently as the reflection of light grew in the metal of the weapon. Every time he exhaled the weapon momentarily disappeared as the steam from his breath shrouded the weapon in a blanket of gray.

As his thoughts began to drift, he was jerked back into the present by the crack of Pekka's rifle as the weapon roared. The faint voices he could hear from the camp stopped, and turned to shouting. A moment later, the sound of Pekka's rifle once again pierced the forest. Within the camp, the sounds of confusion intensified.

Several shots boomed out from the enemy camp in random directions, The bastards haven't figured out where he is a yet. Hale thought.

Several minutes passed as Hale watched the golden light of the sun slowly make its way lower and lower down the birch tree in front of him. Cold from sitting in the snow, he shivered as his mind began to slip into a memory of a warm summer day. His day dreaming was interrupted as another shot rang out from Pekka's direction.

Back in the Soviet camp excited voices erupted. A moment later they returned fire. All the shots went in the direction of Pekka. They've figured out where he's at. Hale thought. The gunfire, a mixture of single shot bolt action rifles and a higher pitched automatic, reached a crescendo, then fell silent, They'll be coming soon.

Silence once again descended upon the forest as the two opposing groups reached a stalemate. Hale shivered as he waited patiently for the Russians to work up the nerve to charge Pekka's position. He didn't have to wait long.

Suddenly, a wave of automatic weapon's fire erupted from the Soviet camp and a handful of screams pierced the silence. Pekka responded to the wall of lead with a single shot. As the guns fell silent for a moment Hale could hear the sound of the enemy soldier's boots crunching in the snow moving toward him. He took the carbine from its spot resting on his knees, ensured a round was chambered, and made ready.

Another round of automatic gunfire erupted from the camp in the direction of Pekka. This time there was no response, Did they get him? Hale wondered.

Before he had a chance to do anything, three soldiers of the Soviet Union in their dark green overcoats, rushed past his position. The group was so focused on reaching Pekka, they failed to see him as they ran by. There should be at least one more man out there. The one with the machinegun is he still in the camp? Hale wondered.

Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach over the missing man, Hale was forced to take action. He stood and carefully took aim at the back of the soldier closest to Pekka. Satisfied that his shot would fly true, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. He was startled as the carbine exploded to life a moment before his own rifle would have. Despite the surprise, Hale's aim was true. The man closest to Pekka toppled forward, face first, into the frozen earth.

The other two men dove for the ground as a shot rang out from Pekka. Hale saw some snow spring up from the ground next to one of the prone Soviets. Pekka missed! The two Soviets were gazing in the direction of Pekka. My gambit of shooting the lead man worked. They think my shot came from Pekka!

Hale took careful aim at one of the Russians who was unaware that he lurked behind them. He carefully drew a bead on the back of the man's head with the iron sights of his carbine. Satisfied he had a good shot, he held his breath and started to squeeze the trigger. He was interrupted as two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around.

Before Hale could bring his carbine up to shoot this interloper, a large fist smashed into his face. Momentarily stunned, he staggered back and dropped his weapon. As the carbine hit the snow packed earth, he looked into the grinning face of the Soviet Sergeant. Hale dove for the weapon. Before his hands could reach the gun, the Sergeant grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and punched him in the face again.

Hale's head swam as he staggered back. The Sergeant, with a look of pure delight on his face, stepped forward, snatched up Hale's rifle, and threw it away.

"What the hell?" Hale muttered.

The sergeant held both his of his hands up in front of his body and gestured with his fingers for Hale to come toward him with a smile and said, "Srazis' so mnoy!"

Hale, wanting to avoid a fair fight reached for the pukko in the sheathe on his belt. It wasn't there. The Russian grinned at him, pulled the pukko from his own belt and said, "Ishchu eto?"

Hale, not knowing what the Sergeant just said, seethed with rage, as the Russian held the blade his Grandfather had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Two more shots behind him thundered across the forest. They were of a slightly different pitch than Pekka's gun. Pekka must be alive! The two soldiers just tried to kill him.

Losing his patience with Hale, the sergeant stepped forward and tried to stab Hale with the knife in his right hand. Anticipating the move, Hale dropped to one knee, as he simultaneously slapped the side of the Russian's arm with his left hand sending the pukko thrust just past his left ear. He then rolled to his right side and came up on his feet. The Sergeant turned and faced Hale as two men started circling each other warily searching for an opening.

Without warning, the Sergeant lunged at Hale. Surprised, Hale failed to avoid the Soviet's grasping left arm as it swept him up and pulled him close. Hale attempted to break the grip of the stronger man, and failed. He caught a whiff of the Sergeant's foul breath as the man grinned down at him.

Hale saw his own death in the man's eyes as the Sergeant raised the pukko blade to deliver a killing blow. Hale, managed to wiggle one of his arms loose and tried to break the grasp of the Russian. It didn't work. As the blade began to descend towards Hale's face a single shot rang out. A spot of red blossomed on the large man's forehead and he collapsed to the ground dragging Hale with him.

Another shot pierced the silence and slammed into the oak tree behind Hale, missing him by an inch. It was one of the soldiers that had charged past him. As the man worked the bolt on his rifle, Hale grabbed a pistol out of the dead sergeant's holster and shot the enemy. The other Soviet had turned to face Hale and was taking aim with his rifle.

Hale wouldn't be able to bring his pistol up before the man fired a shot. Fortunately for Hale, a bullet slammed into the back of the man's head. This sent him toppling forward as he fell to the earth. Hale saw that the back of his head was a misshapen reddish goo. Thank you Pekka. Hale thought.

Out of danger, Hale took his pukko from the dead sergeant's hand and slipped it into his belt sheathe. He then searched the corpse. He found the expected bottle of vodka, a wad of rubel bank notes, and a pair of dice. Curious, he cast the dice on the ground and they both landed with the six-side facing up. A lucky throw. Hale thought. Deciding to try his luck again with the dead man's dice, he cast them one more time. He rolled another double six. Now I understand why you have so many banknotes.

Pekka looked down his nose at Hale on his knees amusing himself with the dice, "If your done fucking around. We still have one more of the bastards to kill, the officer cowering in the camp with the SVT-38."

"That's the automatic weapons fire we heard as the soldiers charged?" Hale asked.

"You go to the head of the class." Pekka replied

"I'm famished let's go get some breakfast." Hale replied.

The two Finns crept warily forward toward the Soviet encampment. As they drew close to the Russian tents, they quickly fell into a rhythm. One man would silently creep forward, while the other man covered him. In this way they were able to cover each other as they slowly advanced. Much to their surprise, they reached the camp unopposed.

"Where did the Commissar go?" Hale asked.

Pekka didn't answer. Instead he circled around the camp until he settled on a pair of footprints, "Look here at these prints. They are the only ones that leave the camp in a different direction."

"Back toward Russia." Hale said.

"I guess the cowardly bastard has had his fill of Finland." Pekka replied.

"Perhaps. He told me last night, in Finnish, that he was half Finn and half Russian." Hale replied.

"I hope the bastard has enjoyed his homecoming so far. Hopefully he'll freeze to death before he reaches the border." Pekka replied.

Hale walked over to the dying fire in the middle of the camp. Sitting over the smoldering flames was an iron pot with a lid upon it. Steam leaked out of the lid's edges and slowly wafted up into the sky. Hale, with his gloved hand, grabbed the handle on the top of the pot and raised it. A pleasant smell of boiling pork, rice, and vegetables filled his nose, "They made stew for us."

"Let's take the pot and go. I don't want to risk that cowardly commissar getting the drop on us." Pekka said.

"I wouldn't worry about that, he's a bully. He wouldn't try anything without at least a squad of soldiers between us to keep him safe." Hale argued.

"Let's at least use the truck to pull the wreck out of the way so we are clear to make our escape should the Commissar find friends."

"Then after that?" Hale asked.

Pekka looked up the road to the north, then back at the dark green Gaz-MM emblazoned with the red star of the Soviet Union, thought about the possibilities and smiled, "I'll drive."

Afterword

Thank you for reading The Winter Sniper Chapters 1-3 preview. The idea for the story, first occurred to me about a few years ago when I was in Barnes and Noble waiting for my better half to pick out some books. Being an avid reader myself, and a writer one would think that having to wait in Barnes and Noble wasn't such a bad thing, right? Well yeah, but who actually buys physical books these days? Certainly not this guy. Being in Barnes and Nobles is a bit like being on a diet while surrounded by candy you can't sample because you are trying to lose weight.

Despite my misgivings about being in my version of the candy store, I found myself wandering, as I always do, to the section on military history. I let my eyes scan the rows of books trying to stifle a yawn, medieval books, done that, Ancient Rome, I could probably write my own book on that subject, World War II, yawn. What history nerd hasn't read eight million books on the biggest conflict in history? Then it happened, my eyes landed on Osprey's Finland at War. Hello, what are you?

So, I picked the book up found a seat and started reading it. I got about twenty pages in before I was collected by the Mrs. and it was time to go. Fast forward to November of 2018, where once again I found myself in Barnes and Noble. This time instead of my beautiful spouse, I was waiting on my parents who I was visiting for the Thanksgiving Holiday. Rinse and repeat, guess where I ended up and continued where I left off? You got it, Finland at War.

At the time I had just finished writing Book 3 in the Byzantium Infected Series Emperor's Errand. I was on a writing break, while my editor did his thing to make it a better book. By the time my parents collected me to leave, I was hooked on the plight of little Finland facing off against the giant Soviet Union. During my break from hungry zombies bent on making a meal out of the Medieval Roman Empire, I decided to write a short story about Finland's Winter War. The result of that initial thought became a short story that I released.

After the short story received a warm reception I thought, Could you turn this into a novel? The answer was absolutely yes, as I had only described the very first day of the war from Hale's perspective. Once I wrote and released the fourth book in the Byzantium Infected Series Emperor's Errand Part II, I turned my focus to breathing life into Hale's exploits. The end result was a full novel covering the first week of the conflict.

If you enjoyed this preview, go to your search engine and search The Winter Sniper by James Mullins. The full novel will appear in the search results. Both an electronic version for $.99 cents and a paperback ($9.99) are available for purchase.

If you just search The Winter Sniper without my name, you'll get a lot of information about the greatest sniper that ever-lived Simo Haya of Finland. In the course of a four-month conflict, Mr. Haya generated over 500 confirmed kills, making himself the most effective sniper in history.

I appreciate you taking the time to read this preview and hope you enjoyed it. I'd love to hear which parts you like, and of course which parts you didn't. We writers learn more about writing from the thing's readers don't like, versus hearing about the parts that you did. Buy hey if you loved every sentence don't let that stop you from reaching out! I like to hear about how great it was too.

While you're at it, I would very much appreciate it if you left a review where ever you encountered this book, Good Reads, or if you are feeling really ambitious everywhere it is sold! There is a lot of bad self-published books out there. Therefore, independent authors like myself rely on you the reader to voice your opinion and let other readers know that this book is worth their valuable time. Let me thank you in advanced for leaving a review, or simply clicking like if that is an option wherever you got the book.Thanks a bunch! You Rock! Great job!

If you enjoyed my style of writing and happen to enjoy military themed zombie novels taking place in the 7th Century Eastern Roman Empire. Before you ask, Yes I do have a problem writing stories set in small niches. Anyways if the 7th Century Zombie Apocolypse sounds intriguing to you, then check out my series of full-length novels in the Byzantium Infected Series, Scourge of Byzantium, Damascus of the Damned, Emperor's Errand Part I, Emperor's Errand Part II. If you don't want to buy four separate books at $.99 each. Check out the Byzantium Infected compendium. You'll get all four books in the series for only $2.99!

If you're not sure about committing to a series set in a niche lost to history and the majority of readers, check out some of my free material set in the Byzantium Infected Universe, Jibreel's Curse, and the Nasir and Maarika Chronicles. Jibreel's Curse and the Chronicles (four Episodes as of today), are all available for free on multiple platforms. The first three episodes of the Nasir and Maarika Chronicles are three chapters straight out of Scourge of Byzantium that formed a story within the bigger story. The fourth was a part of the second novel in the series, Damascus of the Damned. A fifth chapter is on the way and should be released sometime in the month of February 2020.

If you want to reach out to me and let me know your thoughts. You can email me at Jamesmullinsauthor@yahoo.com Or connect with me on Social Media at:

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 https://www.facebook.com/James-Mullins-174236536279317/

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Thanks for Reading!

James Mullins

