Scattered bullets began flying amidst the wet trees, and wild
outcries filled the air. The bullets hissed far over the forest and
sank with a swish into the clay; birch leaves, quietly circling, were
falling to the ground where three light-grey figures were writhing in
convulsions of pain and horror.
The husky non-commissioned officer was the first among these to cease
stirring. He lay there with his face stuck in the cold mud of the
stream. A volley of bullets, still more uneven than the first answered
it, and presently single shots, interrupted by furious outcries of
pain, by groans of the wounded and rattling of the dying came from
both sides.
Pale flames flickered everywhere; the bark was being ripped from the
small birch trees; here and there were seen ghastly distorted faces
and shivering hands hurriedly fussing with the guns. The biting odour
of blood and gun-powder filled the air, and a bluish smoke rose slowly
to the sky, passing through the twigs shivering, as it were, with
fear, and under the birches there lay two groups of men, charging
their guns, shooting, slaying one another, and strewing the wet earth
with crippled, writhing, moaning bodies.
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