The woods grew darker as massive silhouettes of trees blocked out the final vestiges of light.
Simo and Walter trudged through the snow, their footsteps heavy and uneven. Although the bleeding in Walter's left forearm had stopped, the entire limb was as stiff as a piece of timber. The cloth Simo had used to bind the wound had frozen together with snow spray, forming an icy crust that gripped the flesh like a vise.
Their weapons were little more than clubs now. Walter felt his pockets again. Empty. The drum magazine in Simo's submachine gun had long since been spent. Unable to return fire, they could only keep their heads down and backs hunched, weaving through the dense forest with desperate speed.
Simo glanced back at the path behind them. The forest was terrifyingly silent. He wiped the ice crystals from his face and urged in a low voice, "Keep up. We can't stop."
…
Wolf had not waited for reinforcements.
Having lost face in the previous skirmish, he was consumed by a single desire: to capture these two Finns with his own hands. Leading about twenty soldiers, he pressed forward, following the tracks in the snow.
"Look here, the prints are still fresh!" Wolf shouted, pointing at the depressions in the snow.
The beams of their flashlights cut through the chaotic snowy surface, clearly illuminating the jagged, deep tracks. Breaking character, Wolf ran at the very front, pistol in hand, his eyes locked onto the trail.
"They're out of ammo!" Wolf barked at the soldiers behind him. "They didn't fire a single shot when they went down the slope. Move faster! Capture them both, and you'll all be rewarded."
Driven by Wolf's sheer malice, the Soviet soldiers abandoned all pretense of stealth. They lunged through the snow with long strides, their combat boots crunching loudly against the frozen crust, a sound that carried far in the stillness of the night.
…
Walter heard the commotion behind them. The frantic thud of boots and Wolf's occasional Russian curses drew closer like a death knell.
"Simo, they're right on our heels," Walter wheezed. Every breath he drew felt like it tasted of rust.
Simo didn't say a word. He pulled Walter into a thicket of brush, using the terrain to double back and pivot, trying to shake their pursuers. But this group of Red Army soldiers was seeing red. Their flashlight beams acted like sabers, repeatedly piercing the darkness and sweeping wildly across the tree trunks.
"We're almost at the hunter's cabin," Simo whispered.
The pair crested the final rocky ridge. In the distance, the roof of a small cabin, half-collapsed under the weight of the snow, came into view. It was pitch black, devoid of any firelight, a cold, desolated sight that chilled the heart.
Behind them, Wolf's voice was now mere yards away. "I see you! You can't run!"
Simo grabbed Walter, and using the momentum of the slope, they slid down toward the cabin's main entrance. Simo dropped his shoulder and slammed into the door. With a heavy thud, the wooden door swung open, and a wave of frigid air rushed out to meet them.
"Inside!"
They stumbled into the dark cabin. Old Juhani, Juha, and Aalto, who were supposed to be standing guard, were nowhere to be found. The interior was a mess; straw mats were flipped over, and only the dust on the floor suggested that anyone had been there recently.
"No one's here?" Walter stammered, stunned.
Simo remained silent. Relying on memory, he lunged toward a table in the corner. The two of them felt around blindly in the dark until they finally located the wooden crate they had left behind.
Ignoring the pain in his arm, Walter grabbed the heavy cartridges and began pressing them into his Mosin-Nagant. Simo found his ammunition pouches, the sharp clink of metal casings echoing through the empty room. Here, they secured the most vital necessities: bullets and grenades.
"We've got it all. Let's go!" Simo growled.
Just as they burst through the front door, heading for the cover of the woods to the side, a faint rustle came from behind a woodpile outside.
"Walter! Simo! Over here!"
It was Old Juhani's voice, hushed to a desperate whisper.
The two spun around to see Old Juhani crouching in the shadows, his hand gripping the reins of that stubborn donkey with all his might.
"Where were you?" Walter asked, gasping for air.
Old Juhani wiped cold sweat from his brow and spoke rapidly. "Not long after you left, I heard something wrong in the woods. I knew trouble was coming. I led the donkey out just now and happened to run into you."
"There's a natural hollow back here, covered with branches and snow. Juha and Aalto are settled in there, it's solid. I stayed behind just to wait for you. Follow me, quick!"
Simo nodded, his eyes darting to the back slope. The chaotic sound of footsteps had already reached the eaves of the cabin.
"Found them!" came Wolf's shrill cry.
Immediately, a high-powered flashlight beam hit the cabin's front door. Wolf and his men had arrived, and he was already signaling his troops to encircle the building.
"Move! Don't let them pin us down!"
The three of them, donkey in tow, hunched low and vanished into the dense woods nearby. The moment they disappeared into the darkness, a thunderous explosion erupted behind them. Wolf was tossing grenades into the empty cabin; flames roared upward, tearing the wooden structure to splinters.
"There! Fire!" Wolf's enraged roar pierced through the echoes of the blast. He had spotted the figures flickering at the edge of the forest.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The Soviet light machine guns opened up in a frenzy, dense volleys of bullets shredding the trees and sending splinters flying like shrapnel.
"Return fire! Pin them down!" Simo bellowed. His Suomi submachine gun finally spat fire once again. The frustration he had suppressed the entire way out poured forth with the lead; a short burst sent the two leading Soviet soldiers sprawling into the snow.
Walter found his position as well. Though his left arm was as stiff as a rod, he tucked the buttstock firmly into his armpit. He cycled the bolt with one hand, held his breath, and pulled the trigger at the swaying beams of the flashlights.
Bang!
In the distance, a Soviet soldier holding a flashlight to guide their aim let out a muffled groan. As he fell, the beam of light stabbed vertically into the sky.
However, the enemy held the absolute advantage in numbers. Wolf was directing his men like a madman, ordering them to hurl grenades to completely wall off the forest with explosions.
Boom!
A grenade detonated not far behind the trio. The shockwave, accompanied by jagged shrapnel, swept through the clearing.
"Hee-haw—!"
The stubborn donkey let out a piercing, piteous bray. Its body lurched, nearly dragging Old Juhani to the ground.
"You beast! Move!" Old Juhani yanked on the reins with everything he had.
Walter caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, and his heart sank. A piece of shrapnel had sliced a jagged gash across the donkey's belly. Steam-hot blood was gushing from the grey fur, splashing onto the pristine white snow and rising in a startling mist of white vapor.
"It's hit! I can't stop the bleeding!" Old Juhani cried out, his voice breaking.
The donkey had a foul temper, but it had carried their wounded and their supplies, it was their lifeline. Now, though it kicked its hooves in agony, it stubbornly refused to collapse.
"Forget the wound! Pull it away! Move!" Simo roared, firing controlled bursts without looking back. "Walter, cover us!"
Walter gritted his teeth, ignoring the agony in his left arm as he rapidly chambered another round. With every crack of his rifle, another Soviet soldier hit the dirt.
The Soviet fire grew denser. Wolf's voice boomed from the rear: "Push through! Capture them!"
"Go! Go! Go!" Walter pulled out a freshly retrieved grenade, yanked the pin with his teeth, and hurled it toward the cabin.
Voom!
The explosion cut off the Soviets' path. Under the cover of the drifting smoke, Old Juhani half-dragged, half-carried the hemorrhaging donkey, stumbling deeper into the dark forest.
The donkey's steps grew more erratic from the sheer pain. Its large eyes were filled with terror and defiance. Even as the wound in its belly widened, it continued to force its hooves forward. Under the pale moonlight, the stubborn creature dragged its heavy body along, leaving a long, harrowing trail of crimson across the snow.
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