It was very cold up in the tree. It never changed. You could have pounds of winter ware on you, but when you're all alone hunting, you realize that being an anti sniper isn't all it's cracked up to be. You had no idea what was going on in the real fight. I reassured myself that a sniper wasn't very useful in combat, but then my eyes turned to my PPD-40, which was hanging on a branch. I had to stop lying to myself.

I jammed my hand into my pocket, and pulled out my map of Finland. When I opened it, I hoped that on one quadrant, instead of some Finnish city, it would say "enemy Captain here". No such luck. I would have to find him myself.

I reached backwards, trying my best to get my machinegun off of the branch. I grabbed onto the metal barrel, but the shocking cold made me lose my grip, which was not exactly good when you're 10 feet high in a tree and leaning backwards.

The soft sound of me falling in a deep snowdrift echoed briefly through the forest, before muffling. A family of birds flew away from the tree I was camping out in. Live with it birds. Your tree has my machinegun.

I was in a fix; either I would have to climb the tree again, or I could try to shoot it out of the tree. I didn't want to climb the tree, because it would cause lots of noise, seeing as there was with no branches low on the tree. I couldn't shoot the gun out, because it would cause way too much noice. Then the Captain I was trying to find would find me, instead of vice versa. I had to leave it, and set off looking for an unknown foe.

I moved slowly through the snow. My shoulder would occasionally brush against an evergreen, and I would get a face full of snow for my mistake. Mistakes like that can cost you your life. Another sniper who used to be in my platoon did one such thing, and ended up dead. He had wandered into an enemy's sights without even noticing. He probably wouldn't have been shot, but gave away his position by nudging a tree. Snow fell onto the ground, which gave the Finn who was watching him the opportunity to strike.

Movement is key on the battlefield, especially for a sniper. Never move while sniping, or expect a bullet to your head. I made that mistake, fortunately, the bullet ended up in my collarbone. Painful, but better than the alternative. However, if you move too often and too quickly, not only does that probably mean you're using a lot of bullets, but it means that while you're running like a chicken with its head up its ass, someone is going to target you. That's the secret. Move after your shots, but move slow enough to blend in. If you're sprinting across a snowy field, I don't care how good your camouflage is, someone is going to see you and pursue you. Then, the hunter becomes the hunted.

After walking in one direction, the sounds of battle got a bit louder than when I was perched in the tree. Still, the sound of trench mortars was faint at the least.
I stopped for a moment to get a drink. The water was freezing, not a surprise. What was worse was the metal canteen. It numbed my fingers just to touch. Not good when life or death relied on you pulling a trigger with your finger before the other guy. Not that I was afraid; speed was never an issue for me.

All of my kills, all 13 of them, were planned and executed perfectly. As of yet, I had no "in the moment kills." I didn't have a single kill that wasn't an officer; those were the only people I was sent to kill. All captains, lieutenants, and a few tank commanders. It was actually quite boring; no challenge in shooting a man who is standing still 300 metres away. The only thing left to do was aim for the head; 4th company had a pool to see who could get the most headshots. It was the one thing that brought a little light and humor to this waste of resources. I'm sure most of the Finns did the same things.

I swished the freezing water around my mouth. It froze my gums and teeth, but was pleasant. People don't seem to know that you can get dehydrated even in cold weather, as if the icy weather had some ability to keep water in your system.

The winter war wasn't turning out well. Both sides had suffered enormous casualties, but it was much harder for them than it was for us. We were invading them, and according to Intel, the entire country had 30 tanks. We had over 3,000. And yet, somehow, we were losing the war. Here, we outnumbered them 4:1 in manpower, 30:1 in aircraft, and 100:1 in tanks, and we were losing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the trees twitching. I raised my sniper scope to my eye. Something white was slowly moving through the thick woods. I waited a few more seconds, then, with my trigger hand, reached to the snow and shoveled a few scoops into my mouth. It would keep my breath from rising. The target was about 25 metres at 12 o'clock. I raised my rifle so his face was covered oh-so slightly by the thick crosshair. Slowly, I brought my lips together, and whistled a very low-pitched note. If he were part of the Red army, he would whistle back.

He didn't whistle. Instead, he froze and lowered his body, as to not present a full target. I could see now that he was Finnish - just a regular soldier. I took my time pulling my steel trigger. The cocking piece flew forward and a pink mist rose behind a large red hole in the white body armor of the Finn. I could see the agony in the face of the soldier. The shot echoed through the quiet forest, and a few birds twittered away as the sound grew fainter and fainter.

After all the birds stopped tweeting, a deafening silenced followed. Then, a loud, deep moan came from the Finn's direction. Next, heavy, heavy breathing followed up the low cries.

I marched over to where the poor soldier. He wasn't in great shape; reddish snow surrounded the Finn, and he shook around sluggishly as if bees were stinging him. A wide hole was bleeding freely right above his naval. I looked at my Mosin Nagant; I needed to clean out the barrel if the bullet was curving that badly. I pulled the bolt back, and a steaming cartridge landed right on the Finn's wound. He writhed in pain at the heat of the shell.

In flawless Russian, the Finn cursed me out in between gasps. He must have seen the shock on my face, because he added a very twisted grin to his list of insults. I immediately smirked and pulled out my pistol. That shut him up in an instant. I held the pistol at his head for just a moment. After his grin vanished and pain set in, I put the pistol back in its holster and knelt down right next to the poor man.

"What is your name?"

For a moment, he didn't say anything. When he seemed to notice that I wouldn't kill him, even with the threat of my pistol literally hanging by his head, he grit his teeth and spat out, "Tero Halsa."

"And why are you in a forest while a battle is going on a mile," I paused and looked into the sky. Despite heavy cloud coverage and a light snow, I could see the slight glow of the sun to my right. I was facing south, and a battle was going on in the west. At least I knew where I was going now. "A mile westward. Why are you here when the real fight's a mile to the west?"

Tero grunted as he twisted his torso and brought his legs to his chest. "I got lost."

He was bleeding badly. The white camo on his chest was becoming a deep crimson, and the snow near him was melting, revealing a moist, squishy soil. I could see he was trying to push blood to his face to numb the pain, get himself light-headed, but from his twisted complexion, it probably wasn't working.

I contemplated what to do. This trooper could be useful for finding the Captain I was supposed to be stalking. If I saved him, or at least kept him alive, he would be able to tell me (or lie to me), the location of the Captain.

I rummaged through my pack. Somewhere between the ammo, charger clips, and shells I picked up from some of my kills, a bandage was waiting to be used. As I dove deeper into the bag, bullets started cutting my hand. I could feel warm blood starting to gently drip down it, and the cartridges pushing into the open wound. Finally, the tip of my pinky grazed a soft cloth. Moving my hand through the bullets, I pulled out the dressing.

I whipped my hand out of the bag, my fingers still grasping the cloth. Before unraveling the bandage, I took a quick look at them. My hand was covered in a smudged reddish color, and one big cut extended from the beginning of my finger to the very edge of my palm, and my thumb was cut up all around, but not bleeding badly; both injuries just stung a little bit.

I unwrapped the bandage and approached the Finn. He flinched, but seeing the bind let him know that I was only trying to help him.

As I fastened the ends together in a crude knot across his chest, the Finn murmured, "Why?"

There was no need to ask what he meant. Why would I help an enemy and why waste a shot on a person if you're just going to try to help them the next second?

"You are going to tell me where your company commander is," I grunted out, and tightened the bandage.

Upon hearing this, he gave me another twisted grin, and spat at my face. His bloody spit came an inch from my temple, and I was tempted to slam the butt of my rifle in his face, but refrained.

"Finn, don't do this to yourself. I just want to know where your captain is."

"Blow me, *******. Why should I tell you ****?"

I laughed at the Finn for a second, and then realized he was serious. "Let's see Tero. You're in the middle of nowhere. It's cold. Not to mention that this beauty right here," I tapped on my Mosin, "blew a hole clean through your chest."

The Finn shook his head. "What don't you understand, Commie? This is Finland. I'm not in the middle of nowhere. I'm at home."

This time, I actually slammed my foot into the Finn's face. Right before my foot made contact, I figured kicking the S.O.B wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had. I tried my best to slow my boot, but the force was still enough to cause Tora to curse in a stream of Finnish and Russian.

Sitting against a tree, I hunched over so my chin rested on my knee. My eyes were unblinking as I focused only on Tero, who was leaning against a tree, legs drawn up to his chest, just like me. He wasn't able to lean forward towards me, but his eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It had been like this for about two hours, not one word spoken between the two of us.

I finally broke my leer and looked down to my canteen. As soon as I did, Tero laughed and said, "I win."

I nearly chocked mid-gulp. What he said wasn't funny, but it was an interesting way of looking at things.

"I didn't know it was a competition," I retorted.

He gave me a tiny smile, so incremental that in most cases, it would be ignored. But in this case, the smile meant something. I handed the Finn the canteen. He opened it and tilted his head back, downing the rest of the freezing water.

"How's the chest?"

Tero looked at me in a weird way, and I realized that my statement must have sounded extremely bizarre. After all, you don't walk up to someone you barely know and ask them how their chest is.

Tero shook his head, and we both dropped back into our staring contest. I could only look at him for about a minute until I started snickering in laughter. Tero turned away and tried his best to muffle a snicker.

I pressed the small lull to ask more questions. "Where did you learn your Russian? It's good."

Tora looked at me, figuring it wasn't a question he couldn't answer. "I worked in Archangelsk. Until the beginning of the winter war."

"No kidding! My uncle worked in Archangelsk," I stated proudly.

Tero looked at me with some disbelief, as if he couldn't even perceive that I just said that.

"Wow. I'm impressed. You had an uncle who worked in a densely populated city! No way."

He made a psh sound, and I called him a dick. There was a short, awkward silence, and then Tora asked, "Who taught you shoot? I thought I completely minimized my body so only a headshot would get me. Not to mention I made almost no movements. How could you have even seen me? And why couldn't I see you?"

I cleared my throat, and started my long explanation. "I was born in the Caucasus. My dad taught me how to shoot deer during the winter. For a few months, my dad would rely on me for food, just to see if I was a good enough shot to feed the family."

"Where's your dad now?" Tora interrupted.

I shrugged. "Probably somewhere in Finland."

"So he's fighting too?"

I nodded, and Tora continued. "My dad left us for Moscow before I was born. Once I was born, my mom didn't see much reason to live. She lasted about four years, and then killed herself. Drank herself to death. Poor thing."

I pressed it. "Is that why you joined the military? Get the feeling of family?"

Tora looked quizzically for a moment, and then bobbed his head.

I continued my explanation of how I tagged him. "So, I saw you because a pile of snow fell off of a tree. I think you might have bumped it with your shoulder."

Tora closed his eyes and let out an "ah."

"I put some snow in my mouth so you wouldn't see my breath. And that was it. You didn't respond to my whistle, so you weren't friendly. What I'm wondering is how you're still alive? A shot like that should have opened you up."

Tora grinned and flipped his head towards his rifle, laying dejected and frozen on the ground. In the wood butt, a large splintered circle surrounded a bit by blood nearly burned a hole in my eyes. It was so obvious; the bullet passed through the stock. It wouldn't kill the person, but would certainly knock them on their ass.

It was starting to get dark. The overcast sky became darker and darker into a grayish blue mass of white snow. I stuck my tongue out to catch a flake, and felt the slight burn of the speck. I gave an airy laugh, and heard Tero snore a tiny bit. It was undoubtedly a hard day for him; bullets do that to you.

The snow started to fall heavier, and branches started to fold from the crystals. In a matter of seconds, I was nearly surrounded by white, perfectly fluffed powder. I had to start moving around just to get the snow out of my boots. In the distance, movement was happening all over the horizon. It was my worst nightmare; everywhere, snow was falling, causing the perfect distraction for a sniper. You can't see something if something else is blocking the way.

I got up from the snow-mass and shook the snow off of Tero. He woke up with a cough and looked at me questioningly.

"Let's get outta here. We need shelter. Its getting snowy."

Tora brushed off most of the snow on his form and tried to get up. He grabbed onto the bark of the tree he was leaning on, and used it as a grip, but his legs wouldn't respond.

"Damn it..." he growled ever so softly, and I outstretched my hand.

He looked at it for several moments, before I interrupted him. "It's a hand. Use it."

He stared at me, then my hand, and clasped it with one of his. It was cold, even through the fingerless gloves I was wearing. I heaved him up to his feet and let go. He staggered, and then started to fall. I caught him before he tipped, and flung his arm over my neck. With my free hand, I bent down and picked up his rifle, and let him use it as a crutch. I wasn't worried; I had emptied it as afternoon became night.

We walked for a few minutes, trying to find a rock or cave to sleep in for the night. Tero harshly whispered, "What's your name?"

I did a quick double take and then realized that, in fact, I hadn't told him my name. "Vitaly. Vitaly Rozagov."

"Thanks, Vitaly. What do you want out of this war?"

I thought for a second, and then said softly, "I want to go home."

I kept my eyes peeled for a white stone or dark cave, but there was only forest. Occasionally a stack of cut wood would be heaped near a bunch of trees, or a pile of large stones separating people's properties. No shelter.

"Vitaly, wait. Vitaly!"

Tero started breathing heavy, and let out a cry of pain. Then I saw it. A collection of rocks. A perfect place to rest. We were there.

"C'mon Tero? What's wrong?"

Tero gave another cry of pain, then gritted his teeth and shouted, "My chest! Oh my god! My chest!"

I took one last look at the refuge, and placed Tero down. He clutched the hole in his chest and thrashed around. "Hold still, damnit!"

Then it happened. The Earth quaked, and a whistling sound filled the air. A mortar hit the ground behind me and I was pushed forwards. The trees shook off all of their snow as the mortars kept raining down.

Tero, through screams of pain, shouted, "Jesus Christ, why can't I die today?"

I looked into Tero's wound. The bandage I had used on him hours ago was, for lack of a better word, crusty. With extreme difficulty, I untied the tight knot on his back and was met with a spray of blood to my eyes. Tero's woulds had gotten worse, much worse, over the past few hours. I could see his veins cut, but still pulsing blood into his entrails with every heart beat.

As mortars exploded, I searched for what Tero was shouting about. After moving around body parts and arteries, I found a little wooden bastard stuck between his stomach and liver. It was piercing both organs.

Then the end came. The world ended, not with a whimper, but with a bang. Quite literally. A mortar landed right next to Tero's head, and my eyes instinctively shut. I didn't feel much, but I could sense that I was tipping over onto my back. I open, or tried to open my eyes, but only my left eye managed it. I was falling. The trees that surrounded me were flying out of view. In front of me, someone's hands were flailing. The index and middle fingers of the person's right hand were cut off, and the left was covered in crimson.

The world was fading. And I was dying. It didn't hurt. The worst part was my inability to do anything. I could see the sky fading, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't keep my eye open. It was frustrating.

Then, as the world got colder, as the sky got blacker, I heard the words of an old Lieutenant. During some skirmish or another, a Maxim hit one of our men. We all ducked and dragged his unconscious figure to some cover. While we all tried to help bring him back, our Lieutenant kicked us out of the way and started shouting words at the man.

"You have two choices! You can get up, or you can just die! Because those are the two people in this war! The dead, or those who will live to see another day to die! Make your choice, soldier!"

The man died, but none of us forgot what he said.

The crashes of artillery shook the Earth again and again and again. The dark sky kept getting lighter. And my head became clearer. I realized that I was alive, but not for long until I found cover. I remembered the shelter I had wanted to take, and tried to push myself up. I rolled like an egg until I reached a tree, then jammed my legs close to my chest, and pushed with them. The motion brought me to my feet, and I sprinted to the collection of rocks. Each time my right hand was brought close to my face, I saw I was missing my trigger finger and my middle fingers were cut off at the topmost joint. I couldn't imagine what happed to the rest of Tero.

I dove into the cave and turned my head. I couldn't see much because of all the dirt and dust the mortars were kicking up. I curled up into a little ball, and waited for the bombardment to end.

I didn't have to wait long. In about two minutes, fire became sporadic, and then only the echoes of explosions rocked the forest. The sereneness of the quiet woods was truly beautiful, and I wondered why anyone would want to destroy a place like this. Why were we fighting?

I couldn't find Tora. Not even the tiniest shred of him. Only large, blackened craters. With no avail, I called his name, and felt incredibly light-headed and very foolish. Tero was gone. No doubt of it.

I had suffered too. The mortars had ripped my right eye, and the fingers on my right hand were cleaved off. But I had known that.

I walked through the destroyed timber, searching of the two perfect pieces of wood. It didn't take too long, and soon I headed to a wide-open area surrounded by stumps of cut down trees and dirty snow.

Using some ripped off uniform, I tied the two sticks together into a cross, took out my knife, and carved, "Here is the resting place of a true soldier."

I searched around for my rifle. I knew I couldn't use it, both because I wasn't left handed and it was pretty trashed, but I had a job to do. The Finnish captain wasn't going to hunt himself.

Copyright 2007 Timmy Dee
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