Morning came slowly to the valley of the Sha River.
Cold mist lay in the low ground like a pale sea. Only the tops of the hills rose above it—dark and motionless.
Cossack horses stood quietly beside their riders. Some men checked their carbines. Others tightened saddle straps or simply watched the distant valley.
Pavlo Skoropadskyi stood on a low ridge.
Below him the wide battlefield stretched toward the horizon.
Somewhere inside the fog the Russian infantry held their positions.
For several minutes everything was silent.
The mist shifted slowly across the valley.
From time to time dark shapes appeared inside it—artillery limbers, wagons, infantry columns moving toward the front.
Then the first artillery gun fired.
A deep thunder rolled across the valley.
A second gun answered.
Then a third.
Within seconds the entire horizon trembled with distant explosions.
One of the Cossacks said quietly:
—"It begins."
Skoropadskyi did not answer.
He watched the valley.
Dark columns of smoke began rising above the fog.
Another battery opened fire somewhere farther along the line.
Then another.
Soon the entire valley echoed with the continuous thunder of artillery.
The uryadnik rode up beside him.
—"The infantry is already fighting."
—"Yes."
A younger Cossack nearby said nervously:
—"They say the Japanese are attacking along the whole front."
The uryadnik gave a dry smile.
—"They always attack."
Below in the valley, on the opposite side, Japanese infantry was already advancing toward the Russian positions.
At first they were only shadows moving through the mist.
Then the fog began to lift.
Dark lines of soldiers appeared across the slopes.
They moved forward steadily.
An officer with a sword in his hand watched the slope ahead.
Russian rifle fire struck the ground around them.
He shouted sharply:
—"Forward!"
The soldiers ran.
Some fell.
But the others kept moving.
They advanced in small groups.
One group dropped to the ground.
Another rushed forward.
Then the first group rose again.
The officer watched the movement of the line calmly.
—"Do not stop!"
Another platoon emerged from a fold in the ground and ran forward.
Russian machine guns opened fire.
The harsh rattling sound cut across the battlefield.
Several soldiers fell.
But the line continued advancing.
On a hill behind the Russian positions stood an artillery battery.
The gunners worked without pause.
—"Shell!"
—"Load!"
—"Fire!"
The gun roared.
The barrel rolled backward on its carriage.
Smoke burst from the muzzle.
The second gunner quickly pushed a new shell into the breech.
The loader slammed it shut.
—"Ready!"
An officer watched through binoculars.
—"Twenty meters to the right!"
Another shot.
The shell burst among the Japanese infantry.
The explosion threw dirt and smoke into the air.
Several soldiers disappeared inside the blast.
But the attack continued.
The officer lowered his binoculars.
—"They are stubborn."
One of the gunners replied quietly:
—"That is why they keep advancing."
Below, at the base of the ridge, Russian infantry lay in shallow trenches.
The earthworks had been dug quickly during the previous night.
The soil was still loose.
Bullets hissed through the air.
An officer raised his binoculars.
—"One hundred fifty meters."
He lowered them.
—"Fire!"
The entire trench line erupted with rifle fire.
Soldiers fired quickly, barely raising their heads above the earth.
The recoil of the rifles shook the wooden trench supports.
Empty cartridges fell into the mud.
A machine gun to the right thundered again.
The Japanese line dropped to the ground.
But after several minutes it rose again.
The officer swore quietly.
—"Hold the line!"
The soldiers fired again.
Smoke from the rifles drifted slowly along the trench.
Somewhere to the left a shell exploded.
Earth collapsed into the trench.
One soldier shouted in pain.
A medic crawled toward him.
But the firing never stopped.
On the ridge Skoropadskyi watched the field carefully.
He had seen enough battles to understand the pattern.
The Japanese were pressing the front.
The Russian infantry was holding.
But the line barely moved.
The battle had turned into a slow grinding pressure.
One of the Cossacks said quietly:
—"They have been fighting for hours."
The uryadnik shrugged.
—"They will fight the whole day."
Skoropadskyi slowly shook his head.
—"Maybe longer."
By midday the mist had completely disappeared.
The valley lay open beneath the pale autumn sun.
Gunfire echoed constantly across the hills.
The battlefield had become fully visible now.
Across the valley Russian trenches stretched along several low ridges.
Between them ran shallow communication trenches where runners and stretcher-bearers moved back and forth.
Japanese infantry continued pressing forward.
They advanced slowly, using every fold of the ground.
Occasionally a group of soldiers rushed forward twenty or thirty meters before dropping again under rifle fire.
The attack moved like a tide across the valley.
Slow.
Relentless.
Skoropadskyi watched through his field glasses.
To the right he saw a Russian battery firing almost without pause.
Each shot shook the hill beneath the guns.
The gunners worked like machines.
Shells were carried forward.
The breech slammed shut.
Another shot.
Smoke rolled down the slope.
But still the Japanese advanced.
One of the Cossacks beside him muttered:
—"They never stop."
The uryadnik answered quietly:
—"That is why they are dangerous."
Suddenly several heavy explosions erupted along the Russian line.
Japanese artillery had found the range.
Black columns of earth shot into the air.
Through the smoke Skoropadskyi could see soldiers climbing out of one damaged trench and moving to a second line behind the ridge.
But the line held.
For now.
He lowered the binoculars.
The battle would continue for many hours.
Perhaps longer.
Skoropadskyi turned toward the uryadnik.
—"Send patrols south."
—"How many?"
—"Ten riders."
—"Understood."
Within minutes several Cossacks mounted their horses.
They moved quietly along the reverse slope of the hill and disappeared between the southern ridges.
Skoropadskyi watched them go.
Now everything depended on reconnaissance.
Hours passed.
The sun slowly descended toward the western hills.
The battlefield changed little.
The Japanese continued their pressure.
Russian artillery continued firing.
Occasionally the infantry lines shifted slightly, but neither side gained much ground.
The valley had become a place of constant thunder and drifting smoke.
By late afternoon the guns had been firing for so long that even the horses had grown used to the sound.
They no longer jumped at every explosion.
Instead they stood quietly, heads lowered, occasionally stamping the ground.
The Cossacks waited.
One of them cleaned the barrel of his carbine.
Another quietly sharpened his saber with a whetstone.
No one spoke loudly.
They all understood that cavalry rarely spent long watching a battle.
Sooner or later they would be needed.
At last, near sunset, riders appeared from the southern hills.
The patrol was returning.
They approached quickly.
Dust covered their uniforms.
One of them dismounted and hurried toward Skoropadskyi.
—"Your Honor… we found something."
—"What?"
—"A supply camp."
Skoropadskyi frowned.
—"How large?"
—"Wagons. Ammunition crates. Food stores."
Another rider added quietly:
—"And many soldiers."
The uryadnik immediately asked:
—"How many?"
The Cossack hesitated.
—"Five hundred… maybe more."
Silence fell over the ridge.
The distant thunder of artillery continued below.
Skoropadskyi looked back toward the battlefield.
Japanese infantry still advanced across the valley.
The Russian trenches continued firing.
One of the officers said quietly:
—"If those supplies burn, their attack slows."
Another replied:
—"If we try, we lose everyone."
The wind carried the distant sound of gunfire across the hills.
Skoropadskyi stood motionless.
He thought about the infantry fighting below.
Thousands of men holding the line in the valley.
The uryadnik said quietly:
—"It is dangerous."
Skoropadskyi answered:
—"Yes."
He looked down at the map spread across his saddle.
The patrol had already marked the location of the camp.
A narrow valley south of the battlefield.
A road running between two low hills.
Perfect ground for a raid.
He traced the southern valley with one finger.
Then he raised his head.
—"We attack tonight."
The officers looked at him.
One asked quietly:
—"Against five hundred?"
Skoropadskyi answered calmly:
—"Against their supplies."
The sun was already sinking behind the hills.
Long shadows stretched across the ground.
The Cossacks began preparing.
Some checked their carbines.
Others sharpened their sabers.
A few men quietly filled their ammunition pouches.
Horses shifted quietly on the ground.
The uryadnik walked along the line inspecting the men.
—"Keep the carbines loaded."
—"Check your saddles."
—"No noise once we move."
One of the Cossacks said:
—"If the camp is really that large…"
The uryadnik replied calmly:
—"Then there will be many wagons."
Another Cossack smiled grimly.
—"And plenty to burn."
Skoropadskyi walked to his horse.
He checked his carbine.
Then tightened the belt holding his saber.
The metal of the hilt felt cold in his hand.
The uryadnik approached.
—"The men are ready."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
—"Good."
He mounted slowly.
For a moment he looked down toward the valley once more.
The battle of the Sha River still raged below.
Smoke drifted across the slopes.
Guns thundered along the entire horizon.
But tonight another battle would begin.
And it would begin in the darkness.