The night in Manchuria was cold.
A thick fog hung over the camp. It crept slowly across the plain, hiding the hills, the roads, and the positions of the army. The damp air soaked into uniforms and saddles. Horses shifted quietly near the rows of tents.
Very few fires were burning.
The officers had ordered the men to save firewood and avoid unnecessary light. Only occasionally did a small fire appear somewhere, with a few soldiers sitting beside it.
Otherwise, the camp lay in darkness.
But even in sleep the army did not rest peacefully.
Somewhere a soldier coughed.
Somewhere quiet voices spoke near a fire.
From time to time a patrol passed along the road.
The entire army was waiting.
On a small hill overlooking the camp stood Pavlo Skoropadsky.
Several officers of his regiment stood beside him.
Before them stretched the vast plain.
Even in the darkness it was possible to see how far the lights of the Russian army extended.
Thousands of fires.
Rows of tents.
Columns of wagons.
Across the plain stood hundreds of thousands of soldiers.
Infantry.
Cavalry.
Artillery.
The immense army of the Russian Empire.
And somewhere ahead, hidden in the darkness, another great army stood waiting — the Japanese.
One of the officers finally broke the silence.
—"Colonel… do you think it will begin soon?"
Skoropadsky did not answer immediately.
He studied the map in his hands.
The positions of the corps, the roads, and the Sha River were marked upon it.
After a long pause he said quietly:
—"Soon."
The officers exchanged glances.
Everyone felt it.
For weeks the Japanese army had been moving closer. Every day the reconnaissance patrols brought new reports.
The Japanese moved faster.
More organized.
More quietly.
Skoropadsky raised his head.
—"Where is Slyvynskyi?"
One of the officers replied:
—"With the forward scouts."
—"Tell him to return."
After some time the sound of hooves came from the darkness.
A rider emerged from the fog.
It was Slyvynskyi.
He stopped his horse before the officers.
—"Colonel."
—"Report."
Slyvynskyi removed one glove and pointed toward the map.
—"Our scouts observed movement."
—"Where?"
—"To the northeast. About twenty kilometers."
—"How many?"
Slyvynskyi shook his head.
—"Hard to say. But it is not a patrol."
Skoropadsky studied the map carefully.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then he spoke quietly.
—"So they have begun."
The sky in the east slowly grew lighter.
Dawn in Manchuria always came cold.
The fog began to thin.
The camp gradually woke.
Soldiers lit small fires.
Some watered the horses.
Others checked their equipment.
Cavalry always rose earlier than infantry.
Soon Slyvynskyi approached again.
—"The scouts have returned."
—"What do they report?"
—"The movement continues."
He paused briefly.
—"They were marching even during the night."
—"How many?"
—"Impossible to count. But the forces are large."
Skoropadsky nodded.
—"Today we ride reconnaissance."
He looked at the officers.
—"Our task is to see the enemy. Not to seek battle."
The officers nodded.
Soon afterward the regiment began forming.
Cavalrymen led their horses out of the camp.
Through the thinning fog the squadrons slowly took shape.
The horses shifted nervously.
They felt the tension of their riders.
Skoropadsky turned to the officers.
—"Two squadrons ride with me."
—"The rest remain in reserve."
The column began to move.
Hooves struck softly against the damp ground.
The fog quickly swallowed the riders.
After some time a scout returned.
He stopped his horse.
—"Colonel."
—"What is it?"
—"There is a road ahead."
—"Tracks?"
—"Yes."
—"Fresh?"
—"Very."
Skoropadsky glanced at the map.
—"A Japanese patrol?"
—"Possibly."
He turned toward the officers.
—"First squadron forward. The rest keep their distance."
The column advanced carefully.
Within minutes shapes appeared through the fog.
Several riders.
A Japanese patrol.
They noticed each other almost at the same moment.
Skoropadsky spoke calmly.
—"Attack."
The Cossacks surged forward.
Shots cracked through the fog.
Horses thundered across the road.
The clash lasted only seconds.
One Japanese rider fell.
The others turned their horses and disappeared into the mist.
Slyvynskyi rode up beside Skoropadsky.
—"One escaped."
—"Move."
—"They will search for us now."
Skoropadsky nodded.
—"Exactly."
After some time the fog began to lift.
Ahead of them a hill appeared.
—"We climb."
From the top the valley opened before them.
And then they saw it.
Below them an army was moving.
Infantry columns.
Artillery.
Supply wagons.
Hundreds of carts.
A long line of soldiers stretched along the road.
Slyvynskyi spoke quietly.
—"That is not reconnaissance."
Skoropadsky answered calmly.
—"No."
He studied the plain.
—"That is an army."
Slyvynskyi whispered:
—"How many…"
—"Divisions."
He paused.
—"Many divisions."
Skoropadsky turned his horse.
—"We return."
When they reached the camp, the headquarters tent was already full of officers.
A large map lay across the table.
Skoropadsky pointed toward the positions.
—"Japanese forces are moving here."
One of the generals frowned.
—"If they strike here, they will attempt to turn our flank."
Another officer added:
—"But they maneuver faster."
—"That is why we must know where they move."
He looked toward Skoropadsky.
—"Your regiment will continue reconnaissance."
—"Understood."
That evening the camp grew quiet again.
Several Cossacks sat near a small fire.
One young rider asked:
—"Do you think the battle will be large?"
An older Cossack chuckled softly.
—"Large?"
He looked into the darkness.
—"Boy… there are armies here."
He slowly shook his head.
—"This will be a great battle."
The fire crackled quietly.
Wind moved across the plain.
Somewhere in the darkness the Japanese columns continued their march.
And in the Russian camp soldiers prepared for the morning.
At dawn a messenger arrived.
He stopped his horse near the tent.
—"Colonel."
—"Report."
—"The Japanese army has begun moving along the entire front."
Skoropadsky froze for a moment.
Then he said calmly:
—"Saddle the horses."
Officers began shouting orders.
The regiment formed.
Horses struck the ground nervously.
Skoropadsky mounted his horse.
—"Today will be a long day."
And somewhere far to the east the first artillery gun fired.
The Battle of Mukden had begun.