Winter War, day by day.

[Dowly]

Extracts from a sergeant's war diary 4/5

Written by then sergeant H. Kolehmainen, translated using machine translation (w/corrections) from "Kansa Taisteli"-journal issue 1/1958.

4 March 1940, in Lyykylä

After leaving the intermediate position, we skied along the road leading to the
village of Kämärä. During the twelve days we had been in the intermediate
position, the scenery had become unfamiliar. All that was left of the forest
were ragged, jutting stumps. Grenades had ploughed the road into a lumpy field.

It is remarkable how your eyes adapt to "night life". When the moon was behind
a thin veil of clouds, it was hard to tell whether it was night or day. All
objects were clearly visible, even plain text was easy to read.

From Kämärä road we turned to the horse road leading to Pilppula and stopped
approximately in the midpoint of Kämärä lake. There we had to establish
delaying positions. The last of our own troops passed us. The day dawned, and
it was the first warm day of winter. It was very quiet at the front. It was
only in the afternoon that the first artillery shots rang in our ears.

The second platoon stayed in position by the road, the third platoon near
Kämärä lake and my platoon between them about 300 meters from the road. Each
platoon was reinforced with a machine gun. We prepared the positions from
packing snow. The terrain was hilly grassland where there had been a forest
fire a few years ago.

There was a sand pit in my team's area. We chose it as a fallback position,
where we placed our skis and backpacks. Our actual position was 70-80 meters
away on a small hill.

It would have been a great day to rest, but according to battalion orders we
were not allowed to pitch tents, and sleeping on snow even in warm weather is
no rest. This order was grimly cursed. The messengers told us that the
battalion headquarters slept in peace and quiet 7 or 8 kilometres to the rear
of our positions in some house.

But we couldn't sleep. We walked, shuffled and wrestled to stay warm. And so
evening came and night came. Still the same shuffling. We changed sentries and
shuffled. At night it became cold. Our wet clothes and boots froze. We stayed
awake and shuffled in our armour-clad clothes.

Finally, the tops of the trees began to turn red, a sign that the sun was
rising. At the same time, a swarm of fighter planes flew over us, and from the
direction of the road the sound of tanks could be heard in the distance. We
drank the soup sent by the sergeant-major to refresh our weary limbs and then
walked along the path to the position and began to wait.

There was gunfire and the sound of fighting from the direction of the road. A
tank had been set on fire as a tall column of smoke rose above the forest. We
waited and froze in our snow holes.

Then it appeared in front of us. A hundred and fifty metres away, a line of men
came towards us in two columns. Two large men in snow suits were in front,
side by side, knees high, trampling a path for those behind them. Our gunfire
erupted and the queues disappeared into the snow. But the approach did not
stop, but continued -- inside the snow. The Russians had learned the art of
"swimming" and "diving" forward in the snow. Occasionally one of them would
rise slightly and several guns would pop out at once to catch the unwary.

We were so engrossed in the stalking that we were not paying attention to what
was happening elsewhere. I happened to glance behind us and -- the blood
almost froze in my veins.

Along the path leading to our fallback position and very close to us, two tanks
roared in succession. The woodland in front of the one in front swept like hay
under a mower.

That's the end of it -- flashed in my mind. They're sure to run us over and
crush us under their treads. In a metre deep snow we can't outrun them. But
maybe they don't know about us -- hope whispered in my ear. "Take cover in
your holes!", I managed to yelp as the foremost tank was already roaring on
our positions and so close to one of the men that a piece of his overcoat was
chipped off under the track. The tank that followed stopped twenty meters
behind us.

What the hell am I supposed to do now -- I thought. Less than a hundred meters
ahead of us were Russians, swimming in the snow, getting closer by the minute,
behind us on our only path was a tank, and all around us was more than a meter
of snow.

I already had time to order the group on the extreme left to start trampling
the path diagonally backwards to the third platoon's position. It was at least
300 metres. When the first man stood up he was immediately shot in the chest.

I guess some instinct led me to the right decision. I shouted to the boys
"Follow me!", got up and headed straight down the path towards the tank -- and
there was no shooting. I passed the tank a meter away, came up behind it on
the path and the boys followed. At the edge of our fallback position, we set
up another fighting position. The Russians in the tank had mistaken us for
their own men.

I realised that I had made an unforgivable mistake by leaving our skis in the
fallback position. It had actually been done without thinking, -- out of old
habit. I had been taught, and I in turn would teach, that when going to
fighting positions you leave your skis behind. Only luck had saved us from the
unfortunate consequences of that teaching.

Then a messenger of the company commander crawled towards us along the track
left by the tank. He had a rucksack on his back and it was visible above the
snow. Somewhere a machine gun cracked and the messenger's backpack jerked as
bullets hit it. And the boy laughed. Laughed truly as death scratched his
back. In the past, this boy had shown a downright contempt for death. There
hadn't been much of a shellstorm that he'd bothered to take cover unless a
superior told him to. And yet bullets and shrapnel seemed to skirt him. If he
had a normal self-preservation instinct, he kept it in check in an abnormal
way. The word 'fearless' can be used with perfect justification. Otherwise, he
was a man of silence, and no one ever heard him bite his tongue against even
his heaviest duties.

He brought orders from the company commander that these positions be abandoned
and the company move to a new delaying position one kilometre further back.

Through the forest we skied straight north for half an hour and then turned
sharply left. By chance we came to the spot where the company's roadside
element had taken up position. We were told that there had been some heavy
fighting on the road. The brigade's anti-tank platoon had been involved and
had destroyed four tanks. A corporal in the platoon had jumped on the rear
armour of a moving tank, placed a satchel charge at the base of the turret and
then jumped into the snow. The explosion had left him with minor scratches.

The Russians started attacking again, and the company commander sent me and my
platoon to occupy the positions near the Pilppula stop.

It was already afternoon. There were large rocks in the terrain, and we each
prepared a position for ourselves behind the rocks. The elements of the
company in front began to retreat to our level, and the engineers hurriedly
laid their mines. A few tanks could already be seen across the clearing. One
of the tanks broke away from the group and started to drive along the road
towards us. The engineers threw snow on their mines and jumped behind the
nearby rocks. The tank approached and -- explosion -- seemed to leap into the
air. It was out of action, but only one track was broken. The gun lowered and
a dozen rounds of rapid fire boomed out of the tank. The tanks behind them
approached in jerks. They moved in for a moment, paused to fire, and then
moved in again. The infantry tried to follow, but our fire forced them to
resort to swimming in the snow. The men left in the stalled tank were tired of
waiting. They opened the hatch and one after the other tried to jump behind
the tank. The first to try succeeded. He even managed to take the light
machine gun with him. But the next two got caught halfway outside the hatch.
In the course of this, Jäger Savolainen got too excited and raised himself too
high from his rock, and a bullet in the middle of his forehead extinguished
his enthusiasm. The sun was close to the horizon. The Russians drove a second
tank behind their immobilized tank and, under cover, managed to attach a wire
to the broken tank. A hundred meters away from us they were banging and
rattling on their tank. It would have been a great target for artillery or
mortars, but we had neither.

A messenger brought an order that the company would leave Pilppula and take the
forest road to Lyykylä. And the company went. But I had to stay with my
platoon for at least an hour to make sure the enemy couldn't interfere with
the march. A patrol from the light detachment would then stay behind to keep
an eye on the enemy's activities.

An officer-led patrol came, as was supposed to. We listened together for a
while to the enemy's repair efforts, and then, in the light of the rising
moon, I set off with my platoon after the company. At first we tried to carry
the body of Jäger Savolainen in a sledge with us. But the sledge also
contained ammunition and hand grenades, and the heavy sledge slowed us down.
The tired men grumbled against pulling the sledge. So we lifted the body under
the fir trees beside the road and folded the branches to cover him.

Early in the morning we arrived in Lyykylä. The village was full of troops, and
we had to ask at several houses before we found our company. Everyone was
asleep, and so we also got down on the floor with the others.

It was already afternoon when we woke up to the sound of an officer shouting
from the door of the house:
-"Wake the hell up! The Russkies will be here soon. All the other troops have
already gone and you are lying there like in an inn."
He was the commander of the burning detachment and was going around getting
the houses ready for burning.

The horses were put in harness and we moved a couple of kilometres towards
Karisalmi, where we stopped for lunch. We got to Karisalmi and were put in
reserve in our brigade.

[Dowly]

Extracts from a sergeant's war diary 5/5

Written by then sergeant H. Kolehmainen, translated using machine translation (w/corrections) from "Kansa Taisteli"-journal issue 4/1958.


We are staying in a house on the edge of the woods. We don't know who we are
intruding on, as the host had already left the house before we arrived. They
had cleaned their house before they left, as if for guests. We have a good
sauna and it has steamed from dusk till dawn both nights. Everyone has already
had one bath, but it is a treat that I would gladly enjoy more than once in a
row now. The basement of the house is full of canned berries -- strawberries,
raspberries, currants -- you name it. It felt criminal to take them just like
that, even though common sense says they're in danger of going to waste if
unused.

The front line is 4-5 km away. Our brigade's II and III battalions are in
position there. The enemy has remained calm here, but there has been heavy
fighting a little further west on the isthmus between Lake Repola and Lake
Kärstilä.

8 March 1940

The reserve period was short. At noon we received a report that the enemy had
advanced on the railway line near the Tali station. We immediately had to
occupy blocking positions along the eastern shore of Lake Repola up to the
railway line.

The position was occupied. It is just a line on the map. There are not even ski
trails on the terrain. But there were grenade craters, and new ones were
constantly appearing. We huddled among the rocks and watched the Russians
march along the road on the opposite shore of the lake. With binoculars, the
Russians' activities were startlingly visible. Sergeant Potinkara positioned
his machine-gun platoon and fired a few belts with four guns. The Russians
didn't seem to mind, but we were immediately greeted by heavy artillery shells
on our heads.

Only one platoon was left in position for the night and the others were taken
to rest in a dugout that was still under construction. At midnight there is a
changeover and then in the morning everyone is back in position.


10 March

Yesterday we started digging positions. The terrain is almost a ruin of stone.
The enemy's activity has intensified. Twice already today they sent troops
across the lake, a company each time. The first attempt was repulsed halfway
across the lake, but the second time they had armoured shields with them,
which they pushed ahead on skis. This allowed them to get close to the shore,
as a rifle bullet could not penetrate the shield armour. The defence had to be
arranged so that we could shoot from the sides behind the shields. It worked
and the line of shields became motionless.


13 March

Peace. It seems unbelievable, but it's true. When the battalion messenger this
morning brought the news that peace had been concluded in Moscow and that not
a single shot should be fired after eleven o'clock, the announcement seemed
more like a joke than anything else. The Russian guns roared even more
fiercely. Their infantry attacked across the ice, as they had done yesterday.
Men were wounded. At half past ten, a horseman fell near the dugout under
construction. No -- we have been betrayed. A few minutes to eleven and still
the guns roared...

And then -- total silence. A lone enemy plane was returning to its own side.
Water droplets dripped from a nearby fir tree, and a pair of sparrows chirped
on a branch...

We cautiously climb out of our holes. Light a cigarette. Is this true after all
-- peace. The Russians who were on the ice have also emerged from behind their
shields and from their snow holes.

-- That's how close they were already!

The Russians wave their arms and raise their weapons. No one responds to their
gestures.

Then comes another order. One last look at the front area, backpack on and
silently we start to ski to the supply platoon. There, the sergeant-major has
the loads ready and the horses harnessed. We move to the road about a
kilometre away. The soup is ready. We eat. New troops arrive. Officers are
passing by. Even the battalion commander, who hasn't been seen since we left
Leipäsuo. We wait...

The hours go by. We are still waiting. What are the peace terms? Where will the
border be? There are rumours. Someone knows to say that Viipuri, Käkisalmi and
Sortavala must be left to the Russians -- supposedly having heard Tanner's
speech on the battalion headquarters radio. Nobody believes it. A lively
argument ensues on the road.

Finally comes the company commander. It's true. Nobody says anything. Not a word.

There is no order or command. The commander takes the lead, and the company
starts skiing after him.

We arrive in Karisalmi and stay in the same house where we stayed two weeks
ago. Everyone collapses on the floor and sleeps.

Windows are not covered. The lanterns burn without being dimmed. There is no
guard at the door. There is peace.

[Dowly]

"Counter-attack"

Translated from story told by Paavo Linnanterä, a company commander in Taipale area, in "Kansa Taisteli"-journal issue 1/1957.

The battle of Taipale in the Winter War reminds me vividly of the
counter-attack of 11 February.

The situation for me that day was that my company had been ordered to the
position at Karmankolo, that famous dugout, as a sort of fighting reserve.

The pressure on the front line was high. At noon, Major Saarelainen arrives,
very winded. I hear the call for me in my dugout and then the words of Major
Saarelainen:

-" We must go now, quickly. The situation is getting difficult!"

While we were running out of that dugout, a soldier between us got a bullet
through his nose. The man was left to the care of the others, we had to hurry
on foot towards Base 3. What had happened. Saarelainen said that the base crew
was dead to the last man, and my job was to prepare for a possible attack soon
to retake the front line.

After some time, the 3rd Company was ordered to retake this base. Later I heard
that this company had been beaten back in a bloody fight, and the casualties
had been heavy.

After dark, I was ordered to retake the base. The battalion commander briefed
me on the situation in his dugout. He did not give any instructions, he just
said "do what you want, but we have to get the base back". After a moment's
deliberation, I expressed my wish to receive as many hand grenades and
submachine gun magazines as possible.

We were in a situation where first the defenders of the base had fallen to the
last man, then 3rd Company had tried to retake the base, but without success,
and now I would be the third to try to do the same. It was quiet in that
dugout after the briefing. The men around me, many of whom were strangers to
me, looked on in silence, many of them holding out their hands and silently
wishing me luck.

Coming out of the dugout, I crossed my hands, praying for God's protection for
this company of mine, who had been given a very difficult task. After all, we
had to start by attacking over an open field some 700 metres wide.

A battle plan was then drawn up. From the remnants of the Third Company, I
remember I got 16 men, and from some of them, some of my own company, a
assault group was formed to try to get into the trenches. The main part of the
company was to use a false attack to draw the enemy's attention to itself in
order to make the task of the assault group easier.

Standing there in front of the company at the briefing, my men may have sensed
my silent thoughts about the difficulty of the mission. But since in Taipale
it had become accepted that an order is an order that must be carried out,
there was also a husky remark from the rank and file, after the situation and
the mission had been explained:

-"It's a clear order, that's all we can do."

Thus, this was the start of this attack, for which artillery preparation had
been promised. But there was a great shortage of grenades, and so the
assistance of the artillery was limited to five or six grenades.

When the fighting started, I was with the main part of the company. So there
were two assault groups from the company pushing into an enemy-held base. I
think I have never been under such machine-gun fire as I was then, and like a
mole I tried to crawl out from under the fire. Soon, too, I found that the
charge into the base had already begun. With waving and shouting I tried to
get the company there. I succeeded, and inch by inch we then began to roll the
positions held by the enemy. This was done one bend in the trench after
another, and took perhaps four or five hours. My men had more than their share
of difficulties, loading and carrying the magazines of the submachine guns was
no easy task in that battle, where the defenders were tough, but even tougher
were my men, who had been through the fire and were experienced.

What sticks in my mind from that battle is the action of a soldier who had come
from near Joensuu as a replacement as a submachine gunner. When the trench was
cleared, I remember how he was wounded twice and still had visions, explaining
that the enemy was still in the area. I tried to reassure him and get him to
the first aid station, but he was still so intent on his mission that even
wounded he could not bear to give it up. Finally, I went to the front of the
line to the "enemy" he claimed was there, thus demonstrating that there was no
one there. The man calmed down and got over his shock.

In particular, I would like to mention the activities of Lieutenant Toiviainen
as the platoon leader of the 3rd Company. During this counterattack, he was
the leader of the assault group whose achievements led to the capture of the
trench.

The company was hit hard by the loss of two platoon leaders, of whom the fall
of Lieutenant Seitola in particular was a heavy blow, not only to me, but to
the whole company. He was a brave, well-liked leader. He was not found, in
spite of all the searching, until the early hours of the morning, bent over on
his knees in front of the base. There he had received a bullet through the
heart.

Steady, silent, heads bowed, in icy snowsuits, we then marched to the Jyväshovi
terrain, where we were greeted with hot juice and maybe a drop of alcohol.

This happened during the morning hours, between 6 and 7 am. I assumed that now
we could get a proper sleep after all we had endured. But -- it wasn't long
before a messenger arrived in the dugout with an order:

-"To the front line, for another counterattack!"

Note: The writer appears to misremember the base (Kirvesmäki 3) his troops attacked against. From the war diary of Infantry Regiment 21, it seems the base in question was Base 1 (Kirvesmäki 1). See aerial photo below.