Norek The Winter Warriors

The epic, unforgettable, No. 1 BESTSELLING historical thriller...
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-916788-77-0
Verlag: Open Borders Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 448 Seiten

When the Soviet Union invaded Finland in November 1939, they were not expecting the Finns to fight back - much less to prevail. Olivier Norek's riveting, heart-pounding, epic historical thriller is a story of barely imaginable courage, astonishing resilience, and the best sniper the world has ever seen. `Impeccably researched and beautifully written, The Winter Warriors is perfect for fans of Ben Macintyre and Robert Harris´ Paula Hawkins `There are echoes of Vasily Grossman in this gripping, chillingly urgent story of the horrors and heroism of war´ A.D. Miller `A fascinating and gripping novel about a forgotten corner of the Second World War. Remarkable and revelatory´ William Boyd `A sniper's life, a thriller of the highest quality, as timely as it is gripping, by a very fine writer´ Philippe Sands ***Over 270,000 copies sold in French*** _____ November, 1939. A conscription officer arrives in the peaceful farming village of Rautjärvi. The Soviet Union has invaded, and for the first time in its history as an independent country, Finland is at war. Setting off into the depths of winter to face the Red Army, the small group of childhood friends recruited from Rautjärvi have no idea whether any of them will ever return home. But their unit has a secret weapon: the young sniper Simo Häyhä, whose lethal skill in the snow-bound forests of the front line will earn him the nickname 'The White Death'. Drawing on the real-life figures and battles of the Finnish-Soviet Winter War, The Winter Warriors is a riveting, heart-pounding, utterly epic historical thriller from one of Europe's most acclaimed crime writers. ____ `The plot revolves around a small group of village lads who are conscripted together, one of whom, Simo, becomes the so-called White Death, one of the world's most deadly snipers ... What makes it tick is the urgent, vital narrative as the Russians surge across the border and the Finns fight back with little more than grenades and rifles´ Bookbrunch `Chilling and distressing ... a genuine, breath-holding knock-out´ Le Parisien `A masterpiece´ Le Figaro `A dazzling success´ La Croix `Magificent´ L'Express `Captivating´ Télérama `Exhaustively researched, subtle, sensitive, and set against the background of a war which resonates with the present day. There are more than a few similarities between this story and the current Russian aggression in Ukraine´ France Info `Norek depicts with great humanity and profound empathy the courage and resilience of the Finns, fighting for survival in extreme conditions´ Actualitté `At once epic and intimate´ Radio Télévision Suisse **Winner of the Prix Jean Giono, the Prix Renaudot des lycéens and the Prix Le Mans - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry** **Finalist for the Prix Interallié** **Shortlisted for the Prix Renaudot, the Prix André Malraux and the Prix 'Les Visionnaires'** **Longlisted for the Prix Goncourt** ***Olivier Norek's thriller Between Two Worlds was The Times & Sunday Times Crime Novel of the Year 2024***

Olivier Norek served as a humanitarian aid worker in the former Yugoslavia, before embarking on an eighteen-year career in the French police, rising to the rank of capitaine in the Seine-Saint-Denis Police Judiciare. He has written six crime novels, which have sold more than a million copies in France and won a dozen literary prizes.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Norek, Olivier

Weitere Mitwirkende

Caistor, Nick

Leseproben

19

November 30, 1939, first day of the Russo-Finnish conflict

On the morning after Molotov’s declarations, you had only to read between the lines to understand that the storm was coming. Mannerheim had been whisked away to the centre of Finland, where, in the town of Mikkeli, Aksel Airo had requisitioned a cluster of buildings that were soon to become the main military headquarters. Aksel had genuinely believed he had more time, which is why he was now haranguing his daughters as they stood bewildered in their bedrooms with open suitcases and no idea what they should be packing.

“Hurry up, my darlings, I beg you, hurry up. I’ll replace anything you leave behind, I promise.”

*

A few hundred kilometres away in Russia, in front of the brand-new S.B.2 bombers lined up on the aerodrome tarmac, a commanding officer was also haranguing his pilots in ringing tones. The words he was uttering were those of the dictator. “While their soldiers are at the front, their eyes fixed on the border separating us, we will bombard the cities they have left unprotected, their houses, their women and children. We will strike at the heart of the enemy, to terrorise, paralyse, root out their resistance, smash what they hold dearest. No war will ever have been so short-lived.”

Stalin’s ultimate weapon was psychological. He was convinced that the more ruthless he was, the quicker Finland would capitulate. And to achieve this, the Finnish civilians were in his sights.

*

Aksel wasted precious time trying to convince his neighbours to leave, knocking on their doors, even offering to send them a car with a driver if need be. Then he looked at the seemingly endless lines of buildings to his left and right, and realised what a hopeless task this was. Did he expect to evacuate Helsinki all on his own? So he loaded his family’s suitcases into the boot of the car. His wife and daughters climbed into the back and he slammed the door, ordering the soldier behind the wheel to drive off as speedily as he could.

“The girls are scared stiff, Aksel.”

“That’s good,” he said, without turning round. “They are right to be.”

*

During the interminable negotiations and the sterile exchanges the two nations exchanged after the “attack” on the Mainila garrison, Finland had been rapidly preparing for war, without really believing it would come. The sites of public underground shelters were signposted on city streets, and a person in charge of evacuation had been appointed for each building. The anti-aircraft guns transported to the rooftops were primed, everything was ready, and yet doubt still lingered. Helsinki, the obvious first target, had been but half evacuated, and then only voluntarily.

Gazing up at the lowering sky through the windscreen of their car, Aksel could make out the bombers’ menacing shadows high above the clouds. Their dark outlines seemed to him like those of legendary sea monsters gliding beneath the boat of some unfortunate fisherman.

When at precisely 09.30 the sound of sirens blared out all over the city, Wilhelmina covered her elder daughter Aila’s ears. Aila covered those of Anja, her sobbing younger sister.

“It’s begun,” Aksel muttered.

All around them, the Finnish capital was plunged into Hell. Each of the twelve aircraft in the first Russian wave dropped 100 kilos of bombs – that is, more than seven tonnes of incendiaries. Whole neighbourhoods were swiftly reduced to ashes.

The car sped on, the fires reflected in its windows and on its bodywork, the driver swerving as best he could to avoid rubble and bodies. Inside the car, the family could feel the heat from burning buildings, and the air became impossible to breathe. Wilhelmina was praying softly; Aksel stretched his arm into the back for her to take his hand.

Rivers of fire ran down the streets of the Finnish capital. Where before there had been air, now there were flames.

The driver slammed on the brakes when part of a three-storey building collapsed in front of them, exposing here the interior of a dining room, the table laid for breakfast, there a bedroom with rumpled sheets and toys strewn around, a sign of the lack of concern that had reigned until only a few moments before. The thick clouds of dust from the collapsing building made it impossible for them to continue. Through the dense grey screen, the orange glow of explosions and the yellow of flames were still visible. Their car could be hit at any moment, and only luck could save them.

Aksel snapped the driver out of his daze, and he set off again at top speed, turning down the only clear street.

Broad strips of adhesive tape had been stuck on the windows of apartments and shop fronts to lessen the impact of the explosions. Everyone had imagined the war would be at a distance, not believing that the Soviets would dare to attack the capital directly.

Their vehicle skidded round the corner of a street where stacks of newspapers had been bound together in two-metre-high barriers to create makeshift shelters that were about as solid as children’s cabins.

The second Russian squadron was met with anti-aircraft fire that hit two aircraft and made the others turn back.

Whereas the cloudy skies were useful to conceal the Russian bombers’ approach to the city, when it came to aiming properly they quickly became a hindrance. Almost guessing, a pilot in the third wave released his bombs and destroyed the Soviet Legation building.

Burnt-out vehicles, ruined buildings with smoke rising from them, craters seven metres deep: for 20 metres around the Aksel family’s car, all that remained was the debris of things that no longer existed.

As the bombers turned back into Russian air space, the sky suddenly became calm again – too suddenly, leaving behind a city mute from fear.

Then cries of pain, calls for help, and desperate wailing rose into the sky together with spiralling black smoke. In the midst of this carnage, life reappeared in spite of everything, while elsewhere, even more terrifying, was the silence of soot-blackened buildings; noiseless, devastated streets where nobody had survived.

Weeping children were taken in by adult strangers until their parents could perhaps be found. Bewildered silhouettes with charred clothes and blistered skin wandered around, stepping over lifeless bodies.

Then, after no more than a few minutes, the sound of thousands of footsteps weighed down with luggage echoed round the capital in a muffled murmur. Helsinki had capitulated, and was fleeing. The bolder and more fortunate leaped on board cars and buses, and took the railway station by storm. The destitute loaded prams, horses, wheelbarrows and headed for the nearest forest, the nearest village, where cousins or friends would be waiting for them.

“What about them?” Anja asked as they passed a line of evacuees.

“Look straight ahead,” her father told her.

Only families separated by the bombardment were still wandering the streets, hearts in their mouths. Kept in the city by the love uniting them, they searched for a son, daughter, husband, mother. Every silhouette they saw in the distance through the black shrouds of smoke became a hope. Lost children were collected by firemen and brought to a school that had been spared. The little ones became a list added to with each new arrival and read out over the radio. Their names were repeated one after another throughout the day like a litany. And when, thanks to a fortuitous stroke of good fortune, people who had accepted the worst occasionally found themselves being hugged or kissed by a loved one, there was an explosion of pure joy that was almost indecent, a joy never before seen.

When they reached the railway station, the stripes sewn onto Aksel’s uniform allowed him to jump the queues and be escorted to the train, already being filled to overflowing. He helped his wife, Anja and Aila into carriage number 6, following them along the platform as they walked down the corridor. They settled into their compartment opposite a woman and her son, who was barely three years old. Wilhelmina lowered the window and Aksel took out a small cloth bag and handed it to her.

“I’ve collected everything of value. Money and jewels. Spend as much as you need. I’ll write as soon as I can, Mummo is expecting you.”12

They forgot to embrace and Aksel was swallowed up, as if drowning in a human wave.

*

The boy in carriage number 6 had his face pressed against the window, staring at the crowds thronging the platform without really understanding what all the commotion was about. People were pushing and shoving, separating families to keep their own together, cursing one another as much as helping them. To try to make room, the station guards were refusing to accept suitcases, but some people sneaked their luggage in through windows on the left-hand side just as others threw it out on the right. Without...