Infiltrating the Enemy Camp — War and Peace

Having put on French greatcoats and shakos, Petya and Dolokhov rode to the clearing from which Denisov had reconnoitred the camp, and in pitch darkness descended into the hollow. Dolokhov told the accompanying Cossacks to wait and rode at a quick trot toward the bridge. Petya, heart in his mouth, whispered that if they were caught he would not be taken alive; he had a pistol. Don't talk Russian, Dolokhov said. At that moment came the challenge Qui vive and the click of a musket. Blood rushed to Petya's face. Dolokhov replied, neither hastening nor slackening, that they were lancers of the 6th Regiment. The sentinel demanded the password. Dolokhov reined in and asked whether Colonel Gerard was there. The sentinel barred the way and repeated the demand. Suddenly Dolokhov flared up, rode straight at him, and cried that when an officer is making his round sentinels do not ask the password. Without waiting for an answer he walked the horse up the incline. A soldier with a sack explained in a friendly way that the commander and officers were higher up to the right, in the courtyard of the farm.

They dismounted by a big blazing fire. Something boiled in a small cauldron; a soldier stirred it with a ramrod. Officers sitting in shadow fell silent, peering at the steps. Dolokhov said bonjour loudly. A tall long-necked officer took him for Clement, then frowned and asked what he could do. Dolokhov said they were trying to overtake their regiment and asked about the 6th. None knew anything. Petya thought hostility and suspicion were beginning. A voice behind the fire laughed that if they had counted on evening soup they had come too late. Dolokhov handed the horses to the pot-stirrer, squatted, lit a short French pipe, and asked how far the road was safe from Cossacks. Those brigands are everywhere, someone said. He remarked that Cossacks were a danger only to stragglers such as himself and his companion; they would not dare attack large detachments? No one replied. Petya thought every moment he would come away. Instead Dolokhov put direct questions: how many men in the battalion, how many battalions, how many prisoners. Of the Russian prisoners he said it was a horrid business dragging these corpses about; it would be better to shoot such rabble, and burst into loud strange laughter. Petya thought they would immediately detect the disguise and involuntarily stepped back. No one answered. An unseen officer rose and whispered to a companion.

Dolokhov got up and called for the horses. Petya instinctively drew nearer. Good evening, gentlemen. Petya wished to say good night but could not utter a word. Dolokhov was a long time mounting a horse that would not stand still, then rode out at a footpace. Petya longed to look round to see whether the French were running after them, but did not dare. They did not recross the open country but went through the village. At one spot Dolokhov stopped and listened. Petya recognised Russian voices and saw dark figures of prisoners round their campfires. They passed the sentinel, who paced morosely without a word, and descended to the Cossacks. Tell Denisov, at the first shot at daybreak, Dolokhov said, and was about to ride away. Petya seized him. Really, you are such a hero, how fine, how splendid, how I love you. All right, all right. Petya would not let go. Through the gloom Dolokhov saw him bending to kiss him. Dolokhov kissed him, laughed, turned his horse, and vanished into the darkness.