AH Vignette
When the Spring Comes
The general rode slowly through the large, muddy military camp, surrounded with the members of his small entourage. From high up on his horse, he could see that new reinforcements had arrived by train and were about to get settled in. Fresh-faced youth, a lot of them, the general reflected, but then it was probably that or no reinforcements at all. At least the young men were armed, with Russian Mosin-Nagant rifles slung on their shoulders. And they seemed fit and keen enough. The patriotic fervour of the early part of the war had now started to fade, and that meant that more effort would have to be made to maintain morale among the men.
The general was a great proponent of leading by example. He was quite particular about his uniform and boots, and his general carriage was that of a model Guards officer. Give them something to look up to, something to emulate, he always thought. And mind your mount as well, he thought now that he handed the reins of the thoroughbred to a military servant who knew that the horse would have to be groomed well indeed to not raise the general's ire.
What the general wouldn't have openly admitted was that some parts of his soldierly comportment sometimes appeared in the eyes of much of the ordinary men not so much as martial prowess but as aristocratic snobbery. He was smart enough to notice such sentiments among the men, though. While you could probably never root out such thinking, he made sure to at least at times make examples of those who flaunted their disrespect for their betters in a too open fashion.
The mud on the ground was a sure sign that the spring was coming. The general went through the map spread out on the table in the command post, showing the nearly encircled town. Encircled by the troops under his very command. Then he read through the orders yet again. The recent intelligence he had received said that the town's defenders were running out of both supplies and ammunition and that their morale was very low. Apparently, effort had been made the rally to local inhabitants to join into makeshift auxiliary units to bolster the defence lines, but that effort had mostly been unsuccessful.
And no wonder, the general thought. The enemy was losing. What ever presence it had in Ostrobothnia had been wiped out in the first weeks of battles, and while here in the south the enemy's initial advance had been more successful, by now its remaining forces were well-contained. They had been able to capitalize on surprise, on brutal cunning, at first, but that had been stopped short after the forces of law and order had rallied to answer to the call. To defend the nation against enemies both external as well as internal.
Rise up with your brothers and throw down the yoke of oppression, said the enemy's propaganda. They were expecting the Finnish people to take up a revolution, the general thought. Even if there had been limited success on that front, at first, they had been mostly frustrated in their efforts. The general believed that the Finnish people were too much of a legalistic bent, too big believers on the concept of constitutional authority to rebel in such a way.
But now the enemy was on its last legs in Finland. The general commanded troops that were superior in terms of numbers, armaments and organization, now nearly surrounding the last major stronghold the enemy had. Soon he would have them. The only thing that could complicate things now was the sea ice melting, making naval operations in the northern Baltic Sea feasible again. When that happened, the Germans would be sure to approach the Finnish coast this year as well. What would that mean for the position of the Åland islands, and what would it mean for the Finnish mainland? A German landing on the coast, maybe at Hanko, would have significant effects for the general's plans as well as the enemy's efforts in Finland.
Let us focus on the matter at hand, the general thought, absentmindedly stroking his immaculate mustache. There were still some preparations to be made. And he needed more information for that.
The general summoned the aviator to his presence. He was lucky enough to have a small aviation unit at his disposal, for reconnaissance purposes. The planes it flew were not the best possible – the so-called ”winter Farmans” were ungainly beasts and the general would have rather seen some of the newer French-made Nieuports used, but beggars can't be choosers. And this was, after all, a naval aviation unit, not an army air corps one. So there was no avoiding the Farmans.
The aviation lieutenant came in and saluted smartly. A shorter man than the general, he was considered an intelligent officer and and a good pilot. In other words, the man was a credit to Finland, like any other Finnish officer in the armed forces who like the general himself upheld the good reputation of Finns as faithful, brave and skilled military men.
” - Take your planes on a few passes above the town, lieutenant”, the general said to the man who served as his eyes in the sky, ”we need to know the exact dispositions of the enemy before we attack at dawn”.
The pilot acknowledged the orders and told his superior that he had as much as four of the naval biplanes to send on the mission.
” - The weather is good for a look-see, and I don't believe the enemy has any functional machines of its own to send against us”, he continued.
The enemy had sent some armed planes to do its own reconnaissance in the early part of the war, but now those were a lot more rare in the Finnish sky. And even if it came to an aerial battle, the general was still confident about the ability of his small band of aviators. After all, had not the very same air unit shot down a zeppelin above the Ålands in October?
The general started dismissing the pilot but then held up his hand. The enemy had its propaganda – but he needed to remember that he had his own as well.
” - Oh, and Mikkola”, he said to the Finnish aviation officer, ”take some of the flyers with you and drop them on the town centre. Maybe it will hasten their surrender some if they read them”.
The flyers, in Swedish as well as in Finnish, were his own idea.
To the defenders of Åbo, they said in large black letters.
Your resistance is futile. Raise a white flag and surrender. Enough brotherly blood has been spilled. We don't kill our prisoners like the Germans do. Send out a representative to a parlay with a white flag.
Mannerheim
As the pilot left the command post, the general asked his valet to bring him some tea. He had still some time for correspondence before visiting the lines. The general didn't really like fighting the Swedish on Finnish soil – they were too much like kin to him, and he couldn't help to feel some remorse for having to spill Swedish blood. But then, the Emperor himself had given Mannerheim the mission to take over the defence of sourthern Finland and to drive the Swedish Army from the Finnish mainland.
” - Do this for me”, Nicholas II had told him in the Winter Palace, ”and you'll inspire our Finnish subjects to keep faith with the Empire and not join the siren calls of the enemies to rebel and betray us”.
The general thought it was surprisingly level-headed from his sovereign to think of it all this way, though he believed that the decision had not been made by Nicholas himself, but rather by someone else with a better grasp of the realities of this Great War. Be it as it may – Mannerheim served the Emperor, and a Guards officer is not at a liberty to question the terms of that service, especially when under direct imperial orders.
The general walked out, with his aide-de-camp in tow, and his recently shined boots were immediately splashed with mud even before he had a chance to mount his horse.
Dirty affair, war, the general thought as the small knot of Russian officers rode off towards the front. Especially when the spring is coming. And especially when brother is forced to fight brother.
But tomorrow, March 16th in the Year of Our Lord 1915, there will be a great battle, and the Swedish occupation of Turku will be finally put to an end.
Despite everything, the thought of victory raised the general's spirits considerably.
(filler)
When the Spring Comes
The general rode slowly through the large, muddy military camp, surrounded with the members of his small entourage. From high up on his horse, he could see that new reinforcements had arrived by train and were about to get settled in. Fresh-faced youth, a lot of them, the general reflected, but then it was probably that or no reinforcements at all. At least the young men were armed, with Russian Mosin-Nagant rifles slung on their shoulders. And they seemed fit and keen enough. The patriotic fervour of the early part of the war had now started to fade, and that meant that more effort would have to be made to maintain morale among the men.
The general was a great proponent of leading by example. He was quite particular about his uniform and boots, and his general carriage was that of a model Guards officer. Give them something to look up to, something to emulate, he always thought. And mind your mount as well, he thought now that he handed the reins of the thoroughbred to a military servant who knew that the horse would have to be groomed well indeed to not raise the general's ire.
What the general wouldn't have openly admitted was that some parts of his soldierly comportment sometimes appeared in the eyes of much of the ordinary men not so much as martial prowess but as aristocratic snobbery. He was smart enough to notice such sentiments among the men, though. While you could probably never root out such thinking, he made sure to at least at times make examples of those who flaunted their disrespect for their betters in a too open fashion.
The mud on the ground was a sure sign that the spring was coming. The general went through the map spread out on the table in the command post, showing the nearly encircled town. Encircled by the troops under his very command. Then he read through the orders yet again. The recent intelligence he had received said that the town's defenders were running out of both supplies and ammunition and that their morale was very low. Apparently, effort had been made the rally to local inhabitants to join into makeshift auxiliary units to bolster the defence lines, but that effort had mostly been unsuccessful.
And no wonder, the general thought. The enemy was losing. What ever presence it had in Ostrobothnia had been wiped out in the first weeks of battles, and while here in the south the enemy's initial advance had been more successful, by now its remaining forces were well-contained. They had been able to capitalize on surprise, on brutal cunning, at first, but that had been stopped short after the forces of law and order had rallied to answer to the call. To defend the nation against enemies both external as well as internal.
Rise up with your brothers and throw down the yoke of oppression, said the enemy's propaganda. They were expecting the Finnish people to take up a revolution, the general thought. Even if there had been limited success on that front, at first, they had been mostly frustrated in their efforts. The general believed that the Finnish people were too much of a legalistic bent, too big believers on the concept of constitutional authority to rebel in such a way.
But now the enemy was on its last legs in Finland. The general commanded troops that were superior in terms of numbers, armaments and organization, now nearly surrounding the last major stronghold the enemy had. Soon he would have them. The only thing that could complicate things now was the sea ice melting, making naval operations in the northern Baltic Sea feasible again. When that happened, the Germans would be sure to approach the Finnish coast this year as well. What would that mean for the position of the Åland islands, and what would it mean for the Finnish mainland? A German landing on the coast, maybe at Hanko, would have significant effects for the general's plans as well as the enemy's efforts in Finland.
Let us focus on the matter at hand, the general thought, absentmindedly stroking his immaculate mustache. There were still some preparations to be made. And he needed more information for that.
The general summoned the aviator to his presence. He was lucky enough to have a small aviation unit at his disposal, for reconnaissance purposes. The planes it flew were not the best possible – the so-called ”winter Farmans” were ungainly beasts and the general would have rather seen some of the newer French-made Nieuports used, but beggars can't be choosers. And this was, after all, a naval aviation unit, not an army air corps one. So there was no avoiding the Farmans.
The aviation lieutenant came in and saluted smartly. A shorter man than the general, he was considered an intelligent officer and and a good pilot. In other words, the man was a credit to Finland, like any other Finnish officer in the armed forces who like the general himself upheld the good reputation of Finns as faithful, brave and skilled military men.
” - Take your planes on a few passes above the town, lieutenant”, the general said to the man who served as his eyes in the sky, ”we need to know the exact dispositions of the enemy before we attack at dawn”.
The pilot acknowledged the orders and told his superior that he had as much as four of the naval biplanes to send on the mission.
” - The weather is good for a look-see, and I don't believe the enemy has any functional machines of its own to send against us”, he continued.
The enemy had sent some armed planes to do its own reconnaissance in the early part of the war, but now those were a lot more rare in the Finnish sky. And even if it came to an aerial battle, the general was still confident about the ability of his small band of aviators. After all, had not the very same air unit shot down a zeppelin above the Ålands in October?
The general started dismissing the pilot but then held up his hand. The enemy had its propaganda – but he needed to remember that he had his own as well.
” - Oh, and Mikkola”, he said to the Finnish aviation officer, ”take some of the flyers with you and drop them on the town centre. Maybe it will hasten their surrender some if they read them”.
The flyers, in Swedish as well as in Finnish, were his own idea.
To the defenders of Åbo, they said in large black letters.
Your resistance is futile. Raise a white flag and surrender. Enough brotherly blood has been spilled. We don't kill our prisoners like the Germans do. Send out a representative to a parlay with a white flag.
Mannerheim
As the pilot left the command post, the general asked his valet to bring him some tea. He had still some time for correspondence before visiting the lines. The general didn't really like fighting the Swedish on Finnish soil – they were too much like kin to him, and he couldn't help to feel some remorse for having to spill Swedish blood. But then, the Emperor himself had given Mannerheim the mission to take over the defence of sourthern Finland and to drive the Swedish Army from the Finnish mainland.
” - Do this for me”, Nicholas II had told him in the Winter Palace, ”and you'll inspire our Finnish subjects to keep faith with the Empire and not join the siren calls of the enemies to rebel and betray us”.
The general thought it was surprisingly level-headed from his sovereign to think of it all this way, though he believed that the decision had not been made by Nicholas himself, but rather by someone else with a better grasp of the realities of this Great War. Be it as it may – Mannerheim served the Emperor, and a Guards officer is not at a liberty to question the terms of that service, especially when under direct imperial orders.
The general walked out, with his aide-de-camp in tow, and his recently shined boots were immediately splashed with mud even before he had a chance to mount his horse.
Dirty affair, war, the general thought as the small knot of Russian officers rode off towards the front. Especially when the spring is coming. And especially when brother is forced to fight brother.
But tomorrow, March 16th in the Year of Our Lord 1915, there will be a great battle, and the Swedish occupation of Turku will be finally put to an end.
Despite everything, the thought of victory raised the general's spirits considerably.
(filler)
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