Hershel Маk was walking behind the others, and was deep in thought.
"What are we going to do when we meet the enemy? When we were with the regiment, we knew what to do. . . . But we don't know the high military rules! Maybe, we shouldn't fight at all,—maybe, according to the high military rules it is necessary to retreat a bit ? . . . How is one to tell I'd like to know."
Just then on the opposite bank of the stream which in its overflowing formed shallow muddy puddles something dark began to flicker among the trees, and the enemy soldiers in light grey cloaks, and varnished helmets protected with linen covers came forward. This was an enemy detachment which had also strayed away from its regiment. A non-commissioned officer, husky and red-bearded, was in charge of it. The Germans' gait was also uncertain. They walked with rifles carried at charge, timidly looking about and were just going to stop to talk over their situation, when they noticed the reddish-grey cloaks and the bayonets.
"Halt!" yelled out a flaxen-haired Kostroma peasant.
