Still raining. Raindrops bounced off from of tree crowns.
The battle apparently froze. Troops have constantly changed positions, cursing at staff officers.
Cholera! A Pole said. Polish officer, a colonel on the staff of General Vandamme. I get wet 1.5 hours!
Me too. The second officer nodded. Wiping the rain drops from the nose, face.
Russians as they went, so they stood ... shouted, developed to the lines, bayonets flashed ... stand, stare and soak in the mizzle. Said yet.
And very well. Said the commander in chief. Look, Messieurs!
Their cavalry, guard cavalry rode to the our ranks, get a few volleys, dozens have fallen. Applause for the General Division Philipphon. Counterattack, exactly by their infantry, on town Straden, failed! Artillery, an honor for you. Their some cavalry encircles us, trying to get the town Schanda. But chasseurs and lancers are watching for them.
Maybe looking for food? Yyy ... Take a prisoner! I wanted to say! Quickly corrected some officer.
Calm down, Messieurs! Retorted the general. If a soldier doesn't fight, it is hungry! Always! Thought. Collation awaits at Teplitz, perhaps in Priesten! Heard positive smiles. Messenger to General Philipphon! End this picnic! Get ready for attack!
When the tramp of horses fell silent, in dark mountains still rained.
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