Not that he is in such a martial mood, but "walking around and around" means making long, interminable marches, in an attempt to surround the unseen enemy, and these marches are much more difficult and tiresome than a battle lasting many days.
Kistiakov is certain that the enemy is "beating it."
"Got it in the neck, so he's beating it. Didn't take him long to get back of that mountain."
The mountains are as yet nowhere in sight. They are somewhere "over there," in the distant mists, but when "we get over the mountains," that will be "his end."
"Where can he go now? Nowhere, except into our hands. Well, there's where we'll get him, and that'll be the end of him."
Just now we are on a forced march, in full uniform and complete equipment, tramping through mud. Occasionally we come across small detachments of the enemy, on horseback or on foot. But the obstacles we have to overcome are not the living power of the enemy's army, but all kinds of artificial barriers. Bridges are all blown up, and we have to wade through the water. The roads are dug up and obstructed with barbed wire. Kistiakov tears down a portion of the wire obstruction with a cool remark:
"Call that work, too? Tearing down wires!"
The woods are on fire, and the flames are raging in the brushwood and amidst the trees. Kistiakov has just waded through a river, whose ice-cold water reached to his neck. Everything on him is wet, his boots are full of water; yet now he is tearing his way through the fire. Surrounded by dense smoke, which chokes him and makes his eyes water, he makes his way on, to the mountains, where the enemy "beat it," and where "his end" is surely coming.
The villages, estates, and hamlets that we meet on our way are all empty. The enemy has requisitioned all articles of food and has burnt what he could not take with him. Our supply trains are coming by a round-about route, and are always falling behind. Things are pretty hard for us, and some of us are just as hungry as we can be. We are dreaming of hot borshch, of tea, and all the other delicacies which we have not tasted for a long time.
We covered about two hundred versts in six days. Then we came to steep, rocky hills. Kistiakov and everybody else felt relieved, for the end of the march was evidently in sight. Lord only knows whether it will be easier later on, but one thing
