The Settler
Predictably early in the morning, Kalle the rooster woke up the farm to another bright summer day. The farmer himself had a light breakfast of oatmeal porridge and some wild strawberries, with his usual herbal tea. He then walked out of the main building, to see that his workers and hands were tending to their appointed jobs.
In truth, there was not that many of them. By the standards of this part of the province, his was a medium-sized farm. It was not uncommon for the farmer and his wife themselves take part in the daily work, milking cows and mending fences. The farmer himself liked to think it kept him close to the soil, and close to the workers to get his hands dirty daily. He liked to think it kept him honest.
This morning, all appeared to go well. The farmer was quite happy with himself, taking in the misty morning air, when he suddenly saw one of his farm hands ride into the yard at a gallop. The man dismounted in a hurry.
” - Sir”, he said, his face grim, ”east field's been hit again. The fences are broken and Mattila and his boys are gathering the animals, but I think at least three cows have been stolen.”
Somehow, the farmer thought, I should have realized something will go wrong. The morning was all too perfect so far. This was the third time in a month, and the bandits from across the border were getting more brazen all the time. He had no chance but to send someone to town to summon the sheriff.
There was a lot of things to do, and going around his holdings riding his sturdy black mare, with a pistol at his hip, the farmer was again struck by the beauty of the countryside around him. It was the country of gods, he liked to think, even if the locals had different beliefs from those of his. He loved the sight of the shady green forests around the fields, and the view to the great shimmering lake was breathtaking. While he sometimes missed the old country, he liked to console himself with the fact that at least here he could stay away from the tyranny and political repression that had taken it over, and raise a family in peace.
After the lunch, he went around to the chicken pen and was relieved to see that at least none of them had been stolen. He had started raising a new chicken breed and did not want his plans disrupted. When he returned to the yard, he could see a lone motor car approaching, kicking up some dust on the winding road. As the worn truck came close, the official lion logo and the legend Lääninpoliisi could be seen prominently displayed on the side. Three men sat in the cab, six more on the back. Everyone was sporting a firearm, most of them rifles and shotguns.
The man riding shotgun got out of the cab and acknowledged the farmer.
” - Good afternoon, Heikki”, the provincial police officer said to the farmer, and the two shook hands. They had known each other for a while and were almost exactly the same age.
” - Afternoon, Senior Officer Kekkonen”, the farmer said, always formal with the forces of authority. It was his upbringing and background that made him that way.
” - So the mere sheriff was not enough this time?”
The tall, bald man smiled to the farmer, shrugging.
” - Everyone's getting cross with the Red bandits. The provincial police chief has made us to step up efforts to catch them, and I hear Viipuri is even sending some special units down to address the issue. They say that the raids have been led by Arvo Halberg himself, the notorious Communist agitator. They hit that utopian camp run by, whatshisname, Grönhagen, outside Äänislinna and actually killed someone there two days ago. When they again start spilling blood... Clearly, the powers that be down south have had quite enough.”
The farmer looked at the men in the truck, bristling with weapons, and he thought about the paramilitary troops soon to come to help them.
” - I guess it would be too much to expect Petrograd to take care of their own side of the turf, what?”, he said to the officer, painfully aware that sometimes his foreign accent was still peeking out from behind his generally good Finnish.
The officer smirked slightly.
” - Ach ja, mein herr”, the senior officer said. Heikki knew his German was impeccable.
” - We can hardly expect Mannerheim to put his country in order if he can't even run his bloody capital.”
It was general knowledge in Karelia that of the White generals running the government down in Petrograd, the Finnish-born cavalry officer was currently considered primus inter pares. But it was also known that he did not have the clout of a Kornilov, or even a Denikin, because of his background, and considering his poor showing in putting down the Reds, he would be soon replaced by someone else at the top spot.
The officer looked at the farmer, with a curious look in his eyes.
” - Hell, under the circumstances, we could probably trust his help as much as you can trust Karl bloody Liebknecht, eh, Heikki?”
That was, probably, meant as a joke, but the farmer still felt the name like a red hot poker in his guts. That the damned Reds could not be trusted was why he had escaped the Räterepublik sixteen years ago in the first place.
He steeled himself and looked at the provincial police officer.
” - Just take your posse here and stop the bandits, officer. If you need any help, just ask me, but please do your job.”
Kekkonen just nodded, got up to the cab of his government truck which then turned back to the road.
Heikki Himmilä, the master of the Himmilä farm, turned around to face his domain. The traditionalist wooden main building was decorated with Karelian and Germanic wood carvings and various runes and symbols cut and painted in the roughly hewn logs. His blonde Finnish wife Alma, the mistress of the household in her plain Karelian dress, a good woman who had given him two strong boys and a pretty little girl, looked back at him from the front porch. Heikki knew it would be time for the afternoon coffee. Had he not been so inflamed by the police officer's words, and put off by his armed entourage, he might have even invited the man to drink some coffee with him.
Walking to his wife, Himmilä made a small prayer to all the Germanic gods to protect him and his family, and to stop the evil Reds trying to spread their unholy influence to also these northern songlands, the original home of the ur-Aryan races of Europe.
[filler]
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