Fall of Giants

Once on the narrow path through the swamp Grigori’s platoon had to go at the same pace as everyone else, and he could not carry out his plan of falling behind. He began to worry. He did not want his men to be part of this crowd when the Austrians opened fire.

After they had gone a mile or so the path narrowed again and the pace slowed as the men ahead squeezed into single file. Grigori saw an opportunity. As if impatient with the delay, he moved off the path into the watery mud. The rest of his men quickly followed suit. The platoon behind moved up and closed the gap.

The water was up to Grigori’s chest, and the mud was glutinous. Walking through the bog was very slow, and-as Grigori had anticipated-his platoon fell behind.

Lieutenant Kirillov saw what was happening and shouted angrily: “You men there! Get back on the path!”

Grigori called back: “Yes, Excellency.” But he led his men farther away, as if searching for firmer ground.

The lieutenant cursed and gave up.

Grigori was scanning the terrain ahead as carefully as any of the officers, though for a different purpose. They were looking for the Austrian army; he was looking for a place to hide.

He kept moving forward while letting hundreds of troops overtake him. The Guards are so proud of themselves, he thought; let them do the fighting.

Around midmorning he heard the first shots from up ahead. The vanguard had engaged the enemy. It was time to take refuge.

Grigori came to a slight rise where the ground was drier. The rest of Major Azov’s company was now out of sight far ahead. At the top of the rise Grigori shouted: “Take cover! Enemy emplacement ahead to the left!”

There was no enemy emplacement, and his men knew that, but they got down on the ground, behind bushes and trees, and aimed their rifles across the downside of the slope. Grigori shot one exploratory round into a clump of vegetation five hundred yards away, just in case he had unluckily picked a spot where there really were some Austrians; but no fire was returned.

They were safe, Grigori thought with satisfaction, as long as they stayed here. As the day wore on, one of two things would happen. Most likely, in a few hours’ time Russian soldiers would come stumbling back through the swamp carrying their wounded, chased by the enemy-in which case Grigori’s platoon would join the retreat. Alternatively, toward nightfall Grigori would conclude that the Russians had won the battle, and take his group forward to join the victory celebrations.

Meanwhile the only problem was forcing the men to maintain the pretense of engagement with an Austrian emplacement. It was boring to lie on the ground hour after hour staring ahead as if raking the landscape for enemy troops. The men tended to start eating and drinking, smoking, playing cards, or taking naps, which spoiled the illusion.

But before they had time to get comfortable Lieutenant Kirillov appeared a couple of hundred yards to Grigori’s right on the far side of a pond. Grigori groaned: this could ruin everything. “What are you men doing?” Kirillov shouted.

“Keep down, Excellency!” Grigori shouted back.

Isaak fired his rifle into the air, and Grigori ducked. Kirillov ducked too, then retreated back the way he had come.

Isaak chuckled. “Works every time.”

Grigori was not so sure. Kirillov had looked annoyed, not pleased, as if he knew he was being fooled but could not decide what to do about it.

Grigori listened to the boom and clatter and roar of battle up ahead. He thought it was about a mile away, and not moving in any direction.

The sun rose higher and dried his wet clothing. He began to feel hungry, and gnawed on a piece of hardtack from his ration tin, avoiding the sore place where Azov had knocked out his tooth.

After the mist had burned off he saw German planes flying low about a mile ahead. Judging by the sound, they were machine-gunning the troops on the ground. The Guards, crowded onto narrow paths or wading through mud, must have made dreadfully easy targets. Grigori was doubly glad he had made sure he and his men were not there.

Around the middle of the afternoon the sound of battle seemed to come nearer. The Russians were being pushed back. He got ready to order his men to join the fleeing forces-but not yet. He did not want to be conspicuous. Retreating slowly was almost as important as advancing slowly.

He saw a few scattered men away to his left and right, splashing through the swamp back toward the river, some evidently wounded. The retreat had begun, but the army was not yet in full flight.