One or two soldiers had stopped beside Pierre looking all amused and friendly. It was as if they hadn’t expected him to talk like other people, and when he did they were delighted.
‘Yes, but this is our job. We’re soldiers. You’re a gentleman. Takes the biscuit that does, you bein’ a gentleman an’ all that!’
‘Back to your stations!’ called the little boy officer to the soldiers who had gathered round Pierre. This boy could not have been doing more than his first or second turn of duty and he was taking things very seriously and being very officious towards the men and his senior officer.
The constant thunder of the cannons and the rattle of musketry were getting louder all over the field, especially on the left in the region of Bagration’s flèches, but from where Pierre was standing almost nothing could be seen because of the smoke. In any case, he was completely absorbed in observing this little family group up on their battery, cut off from the rest of the world. His first instinctive surge of excitement at the sights and sounds of the battlefield had given way to another feeling, especially since he had seen that soldier lying all alone in the hayfield. He now sat there on his slope and took stock of the figures moving about him.
By ten o’clock a couple of dozen men had been stretchered away, two cannons had been put out of action, shells continued to rain down on the battery, and bullets came howling and whistling from afar. But nobody there seemed to notice; from every corner all you could hear was a stream of breezy repartee and jokes.
‘Here’s a beauty!’ yelled one of the soldiers as a grenade came whistling over.
‘Not down here! You want the infantry!’ another added with a chuckle, watching the grenade soar across and land in the middle of the covering troops.
‘Bowing to a friend?’ said another soldier, jeering at a peasant who had ducked down at the sight of a flying cannonball.
One or two soldiers came together at the trench wall to have a look at what was going on out front.
‘The line’s gone down there, look, they’re coming back,’ they said, pointing down.
‘None of your business,’ the old sergeant yelled to them. ‘If that’s right, it means they’re needed for a job at the back.’ And the sergeant grabbed one soldier by the shoulder and kneed him in the thigh. They all laughed.
‘Forward number five!’ came the call from one side.
‘Come on, boys, all together,
‘Phew, almost had our gent’s hat off!’ said the red-faced joker with a laugh, showing his toothy grin. ‘Ooh! Nasty bitch that one!’ he added, cursing a cannonball as it smashed into a wheel and took a man’s leg off.
‘’Ere comes the little foxes!’ another soldier laughed as he saw the peasant militiamen who had come for the wounded crouching down and creeping along. ‘Not your cup o’ tea, is it? Look at ’em, gawping! That’s stopped ’em!’ they shouted at the militiamen, who had halted in their tracks at the sight of a soldier with his leg torn off. ‘Diddums do it, sonny,’ they cried, making fun of the peasants. ‘Don’t like it, do ’e?’
Pierre noticed that with every ball that fell, with every loss, the level of excitement went up and up. The faces of these men blazed with fire from within, defiantly rejecting reality even as it happened, like lightning flashes licking round a stormcloud, faster and faster, brighter and brighter, as it continued to build up.
Pierre wasn’t looking ahead at the field of battle; he no longer had any interest in what was going on down there. He was completely absorbed in observing the build-up of that inner fire, and he could feel the same fire building up in his own soul too.
By ten o’clock the infantry that had been out in front of the battery in the bushes and on the banks of the Kamenka were in retreat. From the battery they could see the men running back past them, using their guns to carry the wounded. A general with his entourage came up to the redoubt, exchanged a few words with the colonel, glared furiously at Pierre and rode off downhill again, having told the covering infantry behind the battery to lie down so as to be less exposed to fire. After that from the infantry ranks over on the right came the sound of a drum and shouts of command, and from inside the battery they could see the footsoldiers moving forward.
Pierre looked over the top of the trench. One particular figure caught his eye – an officer with a pale young face who was walking backwards, holding his sword down and looking round uneasily.
