Twelve days…
We'll be done in twelve days at the most…
We have but to raise our voices, and they will cower…
Fire one shot and they will raise their hands in surrender…
Ivan's grip on his gun tightened. These were high expectations his leaders had. Finland was weak, this was true, but one should ever boast like that before a battle…
It often came before a failure.
But the Russians had tanks. They had men doubling in the millions. Finland was sure to be the one to fall. An eerily childish grin formed on his face. 'He will become one with Russia once more. And the others will follow. No one can stay away forever.' This was the thought that kept him striving through this war, through every war.
They will all become one with Russia.
Only the first chill had begun to streak through the wind, but Russia wasn't concerned. His only objective was winning without losing too many. His people were his children after all.
The men began to march.
The tanks began to roll.
The winter war had begun.
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The November skies were grey, laden with clouds that would soon release more snow. The season would last until mid-April at least, without the temperature peaking 0 degrees once. Daylight would be limited, and snow would pile high.
And Finland loved it.
Or at least, he was used to it. His people had long since accepted that sort of winter as a part of their life. A part of their heritage.
And he loved his heritage, (he has even gone as far as to choose his surname after the hero of his national epic) so he loved the winter. And he had been willing to fight Sweden for it, so he would fight Russia any day. He had a long-held grudge against the man that he was almost eager to go to war.
Almost.
"How does our artillery stand?" He asked, hoping the panic he felt didn't show in his voice. He knew Russia was incredibly powerful.
"Not good." Came the general's reply. "They've got the heavy-artillery tanks, and the most we have are a few lightweights, but that's it. It doesn't look good."
The smaller blond murmured something, a strong gleam starting in his eye.
"Excuse me? Could you repeat that?"
"Sisu." He knew the word well enough. Knew what it meant. But still.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"It is how we will win. They are stronger, and greater in numbers. But we have Sisu. We are the greater nation, the greater fighters. We will win."
And he believed it. He had believed it would come to war long ago, and even then he had known the Finns could win.
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"Our best chance for winning is to snipe on skis." Mannerheim declared suddenly.
"What?" Finland asked, blinking in surprise at the general. Where had this come from?
"Think about it. We have no tanks, and no heavy artillery. But every Finn has skis. With both winter and the Russians on the way, this is our best hope for mobile attack!" He sounded almost as giddy as a child on Christmas. It reminded him of Russia. But he shook that thought from his mind. He couldn't go comparing his people to that bastard; it would only hinder his judgment.
Finland thought about it, and the more he did so, the more appealing the idea sounded. It was true, if every soldier were to move individually, across territory he knew, and Russians didn't, it would give them the upper hand. They were marching with tanks. That would slow them down exponentially…
His face broke into a smirk, that didn't look quite right on his normally gentle face. "Let's do it."
Finland pulled the goggles over his violet eyes, not taking them off of the border for an instant.
Ivan was coming, he knew it. The same chill ran down his spine that had done so that day…
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"We wish for Finland to fight with us against Germany." Russia said formally, though there was a cocky glee in his voice that Finland had only heard once before, when he had demanded his independence. He opened his mouth to argue right away, only to be silenced by a raised hand. "If you agree to do so, I can assure you the full aid of our military, as well as the assistance in stabilizing your economy."
He clicked his mouth shut. It was a good deal. All of his problems gone, just for fighting Germany. He knew that what the Germans were doing was wrong, but if it meant making his position known to Russia and Sweden, he'd fight with anyone. He smiled and shook his head slowly. "I cannot accept your request."
The Russian gritted his teeth, but remained civil. "I hope you are aware that if you remain adamant in that decision, you will face an attack from the Soviet Union."
"I know." Was the only reply he could manage.
"I assure you, Finland may not remain neutral in this war. It is impossible."
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The day was November 30th. The snow was already thick on the ground, and the Finnish soldiers lay in wait for the announcement that would set them in motion.
And just like that, the wait was over. Hundreds of thousands of Russian soldiers made their way across the border. They were well trained, but disorganized, was Tino's first evaluation. He did a final check to ensure his skis were secure, and hefted his gun from its place in the snow.
"There are so many Russians." The young man, a boy, really, whispered. "Where will we bury them all?"
He tried to laugh, but in all honesty, he was terrified. This would be his first major war since independence, and the last thing he wanted right now, was to lose. "Alright. To your positions." He murmured, setting himself up to move out, parallel to the invading forces.
The men obeyed, letting the single word course through all of them like a unified heartbeat.
Sisu.
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Hardly the first Russian soldier had stepped over the border, when an explosion rang through the air. Mines were everywhere.
Russia glared across the land of his enemy, but there were none in sight. They were all currently camouflaged in the snow, making their way towards the startled Russians.
His men would later call the Finns 'cowardly' and 'the masters of foul play' for planting mines in almost every conceivable location, but for now, the soldiers were nervous. Every step they took, every door they opened in villages, could kill several of them, without the Finns even firing a single shot.
They were good. The Finns who weren't racing by on skis had machine guns in position from trenches. Suddenly, it was the Finns who had the upper hand.
Until the tanks came in. They shielded Russia and his men from the stream of bullets that came from the Finnish trenches, and pushed on to drive them out. His anger gone, now he only felt eagerness to fight. To him, tanks meant power. They meant victory.
To Finland, they only spelt death.
He watched the tanks advance from the trees by the road, carefully hidden. They couldn't find a clear shot without immediately announcing their presence, so they could only wait until nightfall. Their first day of combat really wasn't looking up.
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Ivan stood at the edge of their small camp, watching the dark woods warily. He could feel Finland's presence, but couldn't find a single trance of the blond. "Where are you малютка?" He whispered to the shadows, watching his breath billow above his head.
From the other side of the camp, the snipers made their move. They slipped out of their skis, and crept up to the camp, and began to fire. Russia jumped at the sudden noise, and whirled around, watching his startled men fall. The white hood of one of the offenders fell down, and goggles hung off of his neck carelessly.
Finland.
"Bastards!" He roared, raising his own gun, and firing, striking several white-clad soldiers down. His eyes locked with Finland's and he saw them widen. He turned and shouted something to the small group of men with him in their own language, and they made for the woods once more.
Not if Russia could help it. He lifted his gun once more, but they were already gone. Scowling, he tossed it aside, and took after them on foot in a blind rage. The cowards had the gall to attack him during the night, being too weak to do so in daylight. They would regret it.
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He only had his first ski on when Russia caught up. "Perkele!" He snapped when he heard the man crashing through the trees behind him. He released his leg, and turned to meet the opposition… and a fist to the head.
Finland went flying into the powdery snow behind him, barely an inch away from hitting a pine tree. He could feel a small trickle of blood flow from his temple, where the knuckles had broken the skin. Wiping it away with a swift motion, he stood up, and glared at the Russian. "I won't let you win this!"
Russia grinned menacingly. "You don't have a say in the matter. Why not make it easier on yourself and surrender now? I'm sure Estonia would be thrilled to see you."
He turned and spat in the snow at Russia's feet. "Not like this."
The grin disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "Then run back to your fellow cowards. Hide in the snow, and wait until our treads crush your pathetic skulls." And with that, he turned, and made his way back to the camp, unconsciously pulling his coat closer. He would never admit it, but it was getting really cold, even for him.
Finland didn't feel a thing. He was numb with shock as he slid into his own camp. He had stood up to Russia at least three times now, and each time he felt like the life had been drained from him, leaving only fear. "Where were you?" One of his men called from a fire. "We thought they'd gotten you!"
He forced a weak smile. "Like I'd ever let that happen Matti."
"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost, just a Russian."
Matti laughed, and made his way back to the others, who were sitting down for their meal. He would join them, just not yet. The chill of fear still clung to him like he was standing barefoot in the snow. He needed a sauna. One of the few things his men insisted on having everywhere, whether they be in a town, or camping in the woods, was a sauna. God's given gift to Finns indeed.
He thought about what Russia had said before leaving, that they would be crushed by the tanks. True, the tanks posed a huge problem, and the Finns had no way of eliminating them. Germany had promised to send some anti-tank rifles, but that had posed the threat of breaking the treaty he had with Russia, so he never came through on that. All that left was…
Finland gave the three behind him the signal to move, and aimed his gun carefully in the direction of the advancing Russians. They nodded, and grinned, racing straight at the nearest tank, launching two lit 'Molotov cocktails' as they were now calling them, into the air vent of the metal beast. Finland kept careful aim in case any enemy soldiers spotted them, but Ivan's men seemed too preoccupied with the cold to notice.
A moment's pause and the tank burst into flames. Russia jumped at the sudden explosion, and wall of heat that followed. Just behind the flames, he could make out Finland's pale face.
His violet-blue eyes gleamed with amusement.
The sight made Russia's blood run cold.
He had never been truly afraid until he saw that expression.
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The Finns were winning one fight after another. Russia winced from the wounds that now covered his body. They were losing focus from the cold, and the hunger, they'd already eaten a few horses, which had died in the cold. He despised how low they'd fallen. It just made him want to beat Finland all the more.
Speak of the devil; the blond was leading his men into another attack, looking determined, yet oddly cheerful for one risking death.
That was what annoyed Russia the most. The Finns weren't cocky at all. If anything, they were even more modest than usual, but they were incredibly carefree, and confident. 'And they shouldn't be! They should be scared! They should be losing!' The voice in his head hissed fiercely. He silenced it with gunfire, losing himself in the chaos, unaware of how clearly his fear showed on his face.
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When had he been separated from the others? Tino couldn't remember, but suddenly, there wasn't a single soul around.
"Hello comrade."
He stiffened at the voice behind him. Stiffened, but not frozen. He dropped his rifle, and reached for the handgun and his waist, only for a gloved fist to make contact with the back of his head, knocking him foreword in the snow.
"Your men are skilled, but you, you are weak." Russia sneered, waiting for Finland to scramble to his feet.
Finland's skilled eyes saw the way the taller man held himself. He was hunched slightly, trying to keep as much body heat as he could. 'I can use that.' He thought with a smirk. "You'll regret invading this land."
"I've never regretted such a choice, and I do not intend…" He was cut off as Finland launched himself foreword, landing a solid punch to Russia's gut.
He doubled over at the blow. He hadn't been expecting such a quick or strong retaliation. "Start regretting." The blond hissed, pulling back for a second punch.
Russia couldn't remember the last time he'd been beaten like this. The cold seemed to make each strike send a sharp pain throughout his entire body, and he couldn't even move to retaliate. He'd never felt so useless.
Somehow, his hand closed around Tino's wrist. "That's enough малютка." He murmured, tasting blood. There. The Finn was looking nervous. That would soon turn into the fear he desired.
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Neither knew how long they'd fought for, neither seemed to grow tired, and both were determined to bring the other to his knees. But somehow it was nearly dark when some white-clad Finnish soldiers ended up in the clearing with them.
"Hey! I found him!" One called, waving the others over, and Finland felt himself being lifted to his feet, and he reluctantly let go of Ivan's jacket, which was now spattered with blood from both of them.
Russia staggered to his feet, ready to attack all of the others, and then finish his brawl with the blond, but another soldier yelled in broken Russian, "Go back with the rest of the cowards Ruskie! It's over!"
Tino blinked in surprise. "It's over?" He managed to mumble through swollen gums.
"Yeah!" Another boy cheered. "We did it. Now all that's left is the cleanup, and we can leave that to the losers!"
Finland grinned despite his pains, and the cold. "Yeah, we won. Let's go home."
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"No! You can't take Karelia! That place is home to so many!" Finland cried, outraged at the very idea.
"They may still live there. They will simply be Soviets." Russia offered, smiling in a way that appeared civil, even peaceful to the humans in the room. But the two nations knew better. The smile was a wicked, spiteful grin of triumph. It was Russia's way of saying that he'd won, and there was nothing Finland could do about that.
"You bastard! To even think my people would give up everything about their heritage for their land…"
"Stop this. It is the only way to end this war. You honestly believe we can keep up what we've done this far? If we continue to fight, the Russians will win. You have to see that." His boss pleaded. He looked thin, Tino suddenly realized. They all did. This war alone had had so much impact on everyone.
He sighed, and sat back down. All of his efforts to protect his nation seemed worthless now. Russia got what he wanted, and he would just be left with debts and fallen soldiers. The treaty was signed, and everyone went home alive. It felt like he had lost, even when he had been celebrating victory with his men mere hours before.
"Comrade…"
"Don't call me that!" Tino snapped, making his way out of the room. "You had no right to take what you did. I won Damnit!" He whirled around to face the larger nation, fury flashing across his face.
A flicker of something resembling fear could've been seen in Russia's eyes in that moment, but Finland was too angry to notice, let alone enjoy it. He had said his piece, and then turned and continued on his way out.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "My people and I would never have caused harm to the Finns. I hope you recognize that." The Russian murmured.
His anger melted into horror. Twenty-five thousand dead and over twice as many injured, and he wouldn't have hurt anyone? He lost land, and his people lost homes, and what would've happened was his only consolation?
He wanted to scream. To cry or run until he couldn't move. Instead, he managed to calmly walk out, and go home. Only when he was lying in bed, alone in the dark, did he let the tears come out.
(Present Day)
"Something has been bothering me."
Finland looked up from his notes from the meeting they had just finished. Russia was sitting in the previously vacant seat beside him. "Oh? And what's that?" He asked coldly. He only ever used such a tone of voice where Russia was concerned. No one else would ever believe he could sound like that. Not even Sweden.
"During that war…" Neither one of them needed telling what that war was. "You had every odd stacked against you."
"As you constantly see the need to remind me."
"How did your people fight, and win? How were they so happy in everything they did, even when they were in the midst of a war, one that they were destined to lose?"
"Simple. It was Sisu." He stood up to leave. "It's a Finn thing, you wouldn't get it."
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Thanks for reading~!
Hey! I fixed it! It's formatted now! It's edited a bit! It won something at the Anime North fanfiction contest!
I just wanted to get my fixed version up before the convention. :) And I thought that a big oneshort would work better than the four insanely short chapters it was. Hoped you liked the edits if you've read it before, and if you're new, hope you just liked it as it was :D