In the end, the donkey could hold on no longer.
Its steps grew heavier with every yard, each hoof sinking into the snow as if treading through thick mire, unable to pull free. Yet, this temperamental beast seemed possessed by a staggering obsession; it gritted its teeth in a final show of defiance. Burdened with the last of the supplies salvaged by Old Juhani, it stumbled over the final ridge and finally reached the edge of the concealed hollow.
"We're here... we made it..." Old Juhani's knees buckled, and he collapsed into the snow, his hand still deathly tight around the blood-soaked reins.
Within the hollow, the lurking shadows stirred instantly.
"Simo? Walter?" Juha's voice was low and trembling. Though the swelling in his wounds had subsided slightly, he remained weak and haggard, his left arm hanging against his chest like a dead branch.
Aalto was awake. He leaned against the earthen wall, his face as white as a sheet, eyes hollow as he watched the group tumble into the pit. This broken squad was gathered once more.
Walter slumped to the ground. His camouflage smock was in tatters, and his body was covered in lacerations from his earlier tumble down the scree slope. Although the bullet wound in his left forearm had stopped bleeding, the piercing, rhythmic throbbing brought on by the extreme cold made his hand twitch involuntarily.
Of the entire team, only Old Juhani and Simo still looked like whole men.
"Hee-haw—"
At the edge of the pit, the stubborn donkey let out one final, weak bray. Its massive frame, like a collapsing wall, heaved and toppled heavily onto its side.
The men climbed silently out of the hollow to surround it. It lay on the snow, gasping for air in great heaves, each breath accompanied by bloody froth bubbling from its mangled belly. Its eyes were large, reflecting the deathly white forest in the moonlight, and for a moment, the corners of its eyes seemed to shimmer with moisture. It no longer kicked; it no longer snorted in defiance. It simply looked at these Finns, the men it had carried across the line of death.
It had been the lifeblood of this unit, it had carried the field kitchen, it had carried the dying, but now, it could go no further.
"He's not coming back," Old Juhani whispered, reaching out a trembling hand to gently stroke the donkey's cooling muzzle.
In the silent, snowy woods, the donkey's agonized rasping was like a dull saw, grating against everyone's nerves. Wolf's pursuers would follow the blood trail at any moment. They could not leave a living creature here to suffer, nor could they allow its cries to betray their position.
Walter stood up, bracing himself against his aching knees. He said nothing, though a trace of rare, hidden pity flickered deep in his eyes as he looked at the beast. He walked over to the pile of cluttered weapons Old Juhani had rescued from the partisan base. After rummaging through them, he pulled out a reasonably well-maintained Browning M1903.
Click.
The sound of metal on metal was jarring in the cold night. Walter expertly filled the magazine, racked the slide, and chambered a round. He walked to the donkey's head and slowly knelt.
The donkey's gaze shifted to Walter. It seemed to sense what was coming, and its frantic breathing miraculously steadied. It looked at the young man, its warm, large eyes filled with a calm that bordered on deliverance.
"Thank you, partner," Walter whispered.
He pressed the cold muzzle of the pistol against the junction of the bone behind the donkey's ear.
Bang!
A flash of fire erupted, and the scent of cordite momentarily masked the heavy smell of iron and blood. The donkey's body gave one sharp convulsion before relaxing completely, its head lolling heavily into the snow. The moonlight hit its widening pupils, reflecting the final peace of this wasteland.
…
As the gunshot faded, the forest plunged back into a deathly silence.
Simo retracted his gaze and looked back toward the crimson trail that snaked up the slope. Though the snow was falling, it would take hours to fully cover this "Red Carpet," and Wolf would never give them hours. Simo could feel it, deep within the pitch-black sea of trees, several pairs of greedy, frantic eyes were already locked onto them.
"Pull yourselves together. That beast saved our lives; now it's up to us to save ourselves," Simo's voice was as hard as ice, snapping the men back from their grief.
They dragged their exhausted, stiff bodies back into the hollow. Juha moved with great effort, every breath tugging at his swollen wounds. Aalto was awake but his gaze remained unfocused, clearly incapable of intense movement. Everyone knew the truth: they couldn't run. With two heavily wounded men in the snow, they would eventually be overtaken by Wolf's fresh troops and picked off like targets at a range.
"Wolf is right behind us. Thirty minutes, at most," Simo said, laying a Suomi submachine gun across his knees as he quickly inventoried the ammunition Old Juhani had brought. Fortunately, the supply was sufficient; every weapon could be fully loaded.
Simo used the tip of a knife to scratch a few lines into the frozen earth at the bottom of the pit, a reckless determination gleaming in his eyes. "Since we can't run, we settle the score here."
He pointed to several positions and began issuing his final combat orders. "Juha, you can still use your right hand. Take this submachine gun and hold that tree over there; widen the line of fire. Old Juhani, take Aalto to the right. Ignore the front; keep your eyes peeled for any stragglers trying to flank us. I'll hold the center. Walter, you go—"
Simo stopped mid-sentence, realizing that Walter hadn't moved to leave as usual. Walter was sitting beside the donkey's carcass, which had not yet gone cold. His expression was unreadable under the moonlight.
Ignoring Simo's order, Walter slowly looked up. "Simo, in a head-on clash, we have almost zero chance of winning."
"Wolf isn't an idiot. He knows we're armed." Walter gestured to the hollow they were in. "He won't just charge in. He'll set up machine guns in the woods and plow this whole area with grenades first."
"Once we're out of ammo and broken by the blasts, he'll stroll over to finish the job. As long as Wolf is alive, this Soviet unit is a killing machine with a soul. But if he dies, the remaining soldiers are just a leaderless mob shivering in the cold. So, the best way is to take out Wolf."
"And what's your plan?" Simo frowned.
Walter didn't answer directly. He turned slightly and pointed to the massive carcass of the donkey lying on its side in the snow.
For a moment, the air seemed to freeze. Simo stared at the donkey, its belly torn open, still emitting faint wisps of steam. He processed the thought for three seconds; his pupils suddenly constricted, and his breathing quickened.
"You... you mean..." Simo's voice wavered, shocked by a notion so bold it was practically suicidal. But on second thought, in this coverless dead-end, it was indeed the only way to catch Wolf, the brain of the operation, off guard.
Old Juhani and Juha realized it too. They exchanged looks of pure shock and horror. This wasn't warfare anymore; this was playing the filthiest, most life-and-death game of hide-and-seek with the Reaper.
Walter didn't waste another word. He unslung his Mosin-Nagant and handed it solemnly to Simo. "You take this. Your aim is steady; cover the field for me. I only need one pistol."
He took the Browning M1903, tucked it behind his waist, and drew his sharp hunting knife.
Under the stunned gazes of the others, Walter knelt in the snow and, with a vacant expression, sliced open the donkey's already mangled abdomen. The sound of rending flesh was vivid in the cold night. He reached both hands into the viscous, hot mess of entrails, pulling out the steaming organs piece by piece and tossing them haphazardly onto the nearby snowdrifts.
Blood splattered across Walter's face, flash-freezing into dark red ice in the extreme cold. He stripped off his tattered camouflage smock and coat until he was left in only a thin layer of undergarments. Then, holding his breath against the nauseating stench and slime, he curled his body into a grotesque posture and forced himself into the warm, bloody remains of the donkey.
———————
Want to read ahead of schedule? Head over here ——— pa-tre-on.c-om/AlexandrusTL [remove the hyphen for normal access]