And the soldiers say the same: don't try it.
Soldiers were marching through the fields.
He sends soldiers among us to take away our liberty.
One of the soldiers opened the submarine's door and climbed in.
A set of soldiers approached on patrol.
The dilapidated, abandoned facility fiercely defended by the soldiers in Western uniforms was not worth their efforts when compared to the buildings in much better shape down the road.
Down here it was as if the ghosts of soldiers wandered.
Elise had said the PMF soldiers were fighting alongside hers, and that they'd seen soldiers in Western uniforms.
One of the soldiers blasted it with concentrated laser.
Two soldiers stood near the tunnel entrance nearby, weapons raised.
ARTABANUS, the name of a number of Persian princes, soldiers and administrators.
In one of the parks is a soldiers' and sailors' monument.
He courageously aided the escape of Youssouff, pursued by the soldiers of the bey, of whom he was one of the officers, for violation of the seraglio law.
They were all three bioengineered soldiers, thick-bodied and towering over her.
In the paramilitary organization that relied on secrecy and loyalty to survive, the soldiers followed the man they trusted most.
Brady posted two of his most trusted soldiers as guards and geared up for the mission to the Peak.
A dozen or so of the PMF soldiers were present.
He was more intrigued by the sight of soldiers in PMF grays as well as those in the regular military's black uniforms.
I don't know how you changed your profile, but you appearing the same day the soldiers came by looking for someone new and suspicious can't be a coincidence.
"We heard the laser and cleared everyone out," one of the soldiers answered.
"Pardon our friend," Brady said, forcing himself to stay with the soldiers instead of racing down the hall with Elise.
Jack whined from nearby, and Lana moved to his side, unable to help the two soldiers tending to Brady.
Dan activated one of the buttons on his command headpiece that sent his rally orders out to the soldiers in the building.
Brady is one of the best and brightest soldiers the PMF has, as well as a personal friend.
All the while, the two soldiers before her remained standing or leaning, accustomed to the rocky flight.
Pitched to the other end of the cabin, the two soldiers had strapped themselves in.
Five men, from our unique pool of soldiers, Brady said, exchanging a look of understanding with the Undersecretary.
Tim stood in his black fed uniform, comfortable with the soldiers eyeing him.
The two soldiers moved away, greeting the next group of people before sitting down to talk.
None approached, until one of the PMF soldiers caught his eye.
More soldiers in gray and black made their way down the bonfires, pausing to talk to Mike.
No. Mike already told the soldiers the person they're looking for isn't here.
There were three PMF soldiers inside and a small submarine.
Lana looked at the soldiers uneasily then to Mike.
"Entrance here," one of the soldiers called, looking up from the subsurface monitoring device in his hand.
Let me find Mike, one of the soldiers said.
Two of the lots were immediately purchased by Captain Ephraim Williams (1715-1755), who was at the time commander of Fort Massachusetts in the vicinity; several other lots were bought by soldiers under him; and in 1 753 the proprietors organized a township government.
But in 1908, owing to the prevailing want of trained soldiers in France, it was proposed to set free the white troops in Algeria by applying the principles of universal service to the natives, as in Tunis.
And Louvois is a house of refuge for old and inflim soldiers of all grades.
The medaille militaire is awarded to private soldiers and non-commissioned officers who have distinguished themselves or rendered long and meritorious services.
Eight thousand Spanish soldiers were embarked.
When governor of Alexandria he was slain by the soldiers, as having participated in the rebellion of Avidius Cassius (175).
From the hills of Charlestown they could watch and see what the king's soldiers were doing.
They wished to be ready to defend themselves, if the soldiers should try to do them harm.
When the king's soldiers heard about this powder, they made up their minds to go out and get it for themselves.
Some of the king's soldiers are going to Concord to get the powder that is there.
Watch, and as soon as the soldiers are ready to start, hang a lantern in the tower of the old North Church.
Perhaps the soldiers had given up their plan.
The soldiers are coming!
The king's soldiers were surprised to find everybody awake along the road.
But the king's soldiers did not find the gunpowder.
The king looked, and saw that his soldiers were beaten, and that the battle was everywhere going against him.
His soldiers were intent on saving themselves.
The king's soldiers were sent into every part of the country.
One day as he was riding through the woods, some British soldiers saw him.
"Come with us," they said, "and we will teach you that the king's soldiers are not to be trifled with."
The British soldiers soon returned to Charleston, and he was allowed to go home.
So a party of soldiers led him up into the mountain and placed him on the edge of the yawning hole in the rocks.
He persuaded other towns near Antium to send their soldiers to help him.
The rude soldiers of Antium overran all the country around Rome.
On all sides soldiers were running to and fro, throwing up their knapsacks with a jerk of their shoulders and pulling the straps over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats and drawing the sleeves on with upraised arms.
"A cup of vodka for the men from me," he added so that the soldiers could hear.
The soldiers' voices could be heard on every side.
A drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song, commencing with the words: "Morning dawned, the sun was rising," and concluding: "On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kamenski."
Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer--a lean, handsome soldier of forty--looked sternly at the singers and screwed up his eyes.
The soldiers, swinging their arms and keeping time spontaneously, marched with long steps.
Each time Prince Nesvitski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again and pressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile.
But the convoyman took no notice of the word "general" and shouted at the soldiers who were blocking his way.
But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense mass.
Then came some merry soldiers who had evidently been drinking.
The eyes of all the soldiers turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks related to the two young ones.
The eyes of all the soldiers turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace all the soldiers' remarks related to the two young ones.
When they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same kind of talk, and at last all stopped.
The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and Denisov joined Nesvitski.
The soldiers without turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their comrades' impression.
The quartermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them.
All along the sides of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some flayed, some not, and broken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers sat waiting for something, and again soldiers straggling from their companies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or returned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks.
Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mud pushed the guns and wagons themselves.
Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle, evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a caleche.
Marching thirty miles that stormy night across roadless hills, with his hungry, ill-shod soldiers, and losing a third of his men as stragglers by the way, Bagration came out on the Vienna-Znaim road at Hollabrunn a few hours ahead of the French who were approaching Hollabrunn from Vienna.
On all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with dejected faces who seemed to be seeking something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches, and fencing from the village.
"The soldiers say it feels easier without boots," said Captain Tushin smiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidently wishing to adopt a jocular tone.
Having ridden beyond the village, continually meeting and overtaking soldiers and officers of various regiments, they saw on their left some entrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug clay of which showed up red.
Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt sleeves despite the cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a host of white ants; spadefuls of red clay were continually being thrown up from behind the bank by unseen hands.
Just behind it they came upon some dozens of soldiers, continually replaced by others, who ran from the entrenchment.
The soldiers in their greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants major and company officers were counting the men, poking the last man in each section in the ribs and telling him to hold his hand up.
Soldiers scattered over the whole place were dragging logs and brushwood and were building shelters with merry chatter and laughter; around the fires sat others, dressed and undressed, drying their shirts and leg bands or mending boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers.
The soldiers lifted the canteen lids to their lips with reverential faces, emptied them, rolling the vodka in their mouths, and walked away from the sergeant major with brightened expressions, licking their lips and wiping them on the sleeves of their greatcoats.
Two soldiers held him while two others were flourishing their switches and striking him regularly on his bare back.
Besides the soldiers who formed the picket line on either side, there were many curious onlookers who, jesting and laughing, stared at their strange foreign enemies.
The soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting a curiosity, no longer looked at the French but paid attention to the sight-seers and grew weary waiting to be relieved.
Ouh! ouh! came peals of such healthy and good-humored laughter from the soldiers that it infected the French involuntarily, so much so that the only thing left to do seemed to be to unload the muskets, explode the ammunition, and all return home as quickly as possible.
Officers who approached him with disturbed countenances became calm; soldiers and officers greeted him gaily, grew more cheerful in his presence, and were evidently anxious to display their courage before him.
One with a bleeding head and no cap was being dragged along by two soldiers who supported him under the arms.
Crossing a road they descended a steep incline and saw several men lying on the ground; they also met a crowd of soldiers some of whom were unwounded.
The soldiers were ascending the hill breathing heavily, and despite the general's presence were talking loudly and gesticulating.
In front of them rows of gray cloaks were already visible through the smoke, and an officer catching sight of Bagration rushed shouting after the crowd of retreating soldiers, ordering them back.
The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened with it.
One could already see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish the officers from the men, and see the standard flapping against its staff.
Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers attend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him, continue their flight?
Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem so terrible to the soldiers, despite his furious purple countenance distorted out of all likeness to his former self, and the flourishing of his saber, the soldiers all continued to run, talking, firing into the air, and disobeying orders.
As if urging each other on, the soldiers cried at each shot: Fine!
The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows and, as is always the case in an artillery company, a head and shoulders taller and twice as broad as their officer--all looked at their commander like children in an embarrassing situation, and the expression on his face was invariably reflected on theirs.
This was the last French attack and was met by soldiers who had sheltered in the village houses.
The firing died down and soldiers, talking eagerly, streamed out of a side street.
Captain Tushin, having given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by a bonfire the soldiers had kindled on the road.
After he had gone, two soldiers rushed to the campfire.
Next came four soldiers, carrying something heavy on a cloak, and passed by the fire.
It was they, these soldiers--wounded and unwounded--it was they who were crushing, weighing down, and twisting the sinews and scorching the flesh of his sprained arm and shoulder.
The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and the soldiers, straining their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!"
The day was bright and sunny after a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed, not only by the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by the joyful expression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, and adjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming.
The campfires crackled and the soldiers' songs resounded even more merrily than on the previous night.
When the officers had emptied and smashed their glasses, Kirsten filled others and, in shirt sleeves and breeches, went glass in hand to the soldiers' bonfires and with his long gray mustache, his white chest showing under his open shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in the light of the campfire, waving his uplifted arm.
The soldiers, on seeing him, lit wisps of straw and ran after him, shouting, "Vive l'Empereur!"
The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and breakfasting, the soldiers, munching biscuit and beating a tattoo with their feet to warm themselves, gathering round the fires throwing into the flames the remains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, and everything that they did not want or could not carry away with them.
As soon as an Austrian officer showed himself near a commanding officer's quarters, the regiment began to move: the soldiers ran from the fires, thrust their pipes into their boots, their bags into the carts, got their muskets ready, and formed rank.
On the day of battle the soldiers excitedly try to get beyond the interests of their regiment, they listen intently, look about, and eagerly ask concerning what is going on around them.
When the soldiers of the regiment in front of which Kutuzov was standing began to shout, he rode a little to one side and looked round with a frown.
"Stop those wretches!" gasped Kutuzov to the regimental commander, pointing to the flying soldiers; but at that instant, as if to punish him for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regiment and across Kutuzov's suite like a flock of little birds.
After this volley the regimental commander clutched at his leg; several soldiers fell, and a second lieutenant who was holding the flag let it fall from his hands.
The soldiers started firing without orders.
He also saw French infantry soldiers who were seizing the artillery horses and turning the guns round.
He heard the whistle of bullets above him unceasingly and to right and left of him soldiers continually groaned and dropped.
It seemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit him on the head with the full swing of a bludgeon.
Rostov kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian soldiers running in confused crowds across his path.
The highroad on which he had come out was thronged with caleches, carriages of all sorts, and Russian and Austrian soldiers of all arms, some wounded and some not.
Dolokhov who was in the midst of the crowd forced his way to the edge of the dam, throwing two soldiers off their feet, and ran onto the slippery ice that covered the millpool.
Crowds of soldiers from the dam began running onto the frozen pond.
The ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped into the water.
The nearest soldiers shrank back, the gun driver stopped his horse, but from behind still came the shouts: Onto the ice, why do you stop?
The soldiers near the gun waved their arms and beat the horses to make them turn and move on.
The soldiers who had carried Prince Andrew had noticed and taken the little gold icon Princess Mary had hung round her brother's neck, but seeing the favor the Emperor showed the prisoners, they now hastened to return the holy image.
The soldiers, officers, and generals were heroes.
All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorukov's saying: "If you go on modeling and modeling you must get smeared with clay," suggesting consolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories; and the words of Rostopchin, that French soldiers have to be incited to battle by highfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments to show them that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, but that Russian soldiers only need to be restrained and held back!
But as it turns out, just at that moment a third enemy rises before us--namely the Orthodox Russian soldiers, loudly demanding bread, meat, biscuits, fodder, and whatnot!
In the hospitals, death was so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, or the swelling that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and hardly able to drag their legs went to the front rather than to the hospitals.
When spring came on, the soldiers found a plant just showing out of the ground that looked like asparagus, which, for some reason, they called "Mashka's sweet root."
That spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, a swelling of the arms, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root.
Despite this destitution, the soldiers and officers went on living just as usual.
Denisov and Rostov were living in an earth hut, dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf.
Denisov, who was living luxuriously because the soldiers of his squadron liked him, had also a board in the roof at the farther end, with a piece of (broken but mended) glass in it for a window.
Won't the soldiers be glad!
The soldiers had biscuits dealt out to them freely, and they even shared them with the other squadrons.
Several bandaged soldiers, with pale swollen faces, were sitting or walking about in the sunshine in the yard.
But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in, Rostov entered the soldiers' ward.
"Sire, I ask your permission to present the Legion of Honor to the bravest of your soldiers," said a sharp, precise voice, articulating every letter.
His face twitched, as often happens to soldiers called before the ranks.
"We are not diplomatic officials, we are soldiers and nothing more," he went on.
Sometimes he remembered how he had heard that soldiers in war when entrenched under the enemy's fire, if they have nothing to do, try hard to find some occupation the more easily to bear the danger.
He mounted it and rode at a gallop to one of the bridges over the Niemen, deafened continually by incessant and rapturous acclamations which he evidently endured only because it was impossible to forbid the soldiers to express their love of him by such shouting, but the shouting which accompanied him everywhere disturbed him and distracted him from the military cares that had occupied him from the time he joined the army.
The officer, the soldiers, and their horses all looked smart and well kept.
The command was heard to "mount" and the soldiers crossed themselves and mounted.
The soldiers' faces were more and more clearly visible.
Many people were hurrying through the streets and there were many soldiers, but cabs were still driving about, tradesmen stood at their shops, and service was being held in the churches as usual.
Through the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked or ran confusedly in different directions like ants from a ruined ant-hill.
Get away, get away! and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted:
As Alpatych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiers in Ferapontov's open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags and knapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds.
On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair, burst into sobs and laughter:
Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran away, others went on filling their bags.
Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blocking it completely, so that Alpatych could not pass out and had to wait.
On the sloping descent to the Dnieper Alpatych's cart and that of the innkeeper's wife, which were slowly moving amid the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, had to stop.
Soldiers were continually rushing backwards and forwards near it, and he saw two of them and a man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams into another yard across the street, while others carried bundles of hay.
Because, you will agree, chere Marie, to fall into the hands of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible.
Kamenski sent soldiers to Rustchuk, but I only employed these two things and took more fortresses than Kamenski and made them Turks eat horseflesh!
Every house in Mozhaysk had soldiers quartered in it, and at the hostel where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was no room to be had.
Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, and cannon were everywhere.
They sang their soldiers' dance song.
It's not the soldiers only, but I've seen peasants today, too....
On seeing these peasants, who were evidently still amused by the novelty of their position as soldiers, Pierre once more thought of the wounded men at Mozhaysk and understood what the soldier had meant when he said: "They want the whole nation to fall on them."
They'll be here in a minute... voices were suddenly heard saying; and officers, soldiers, and militiamen began running forward along the road.
Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward the procession.
Behind them soldiers and officers bore a large, dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover.
An immense crowd of bareheaded officers, soldiers, and militiamen surrounded the icon.
Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierre recognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did not look at them--his whole attention was absorbed in watching the serious expression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen who were all gazing eagerly at the icon.
Despite the presence of the commander-in-chief, who attracted the attention of all the superior officers, the militiamen and soldiers continued their prayers without looking at him.
They then crossed the hollow to Semenovsk, where the soldiers were dragging away the last logs from the huts and barns.
Through a gap in the broken wall he could see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirty year-old birches with their lower branches lopped off, a field on which shocks of oats were standing, and some bushes near which rose the smoke of campfires-- the soldiers' kitchens.
The soldiers in my battalion, believe me, wouldn't drink their vodka!
The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle of Borodino not because of Napoleon's orders but by their own volition.
He tried to pass either in front of them or to the right or left, but there were soldiers everywhere, all with the same preoccupied expression and busy with some unseen but evidently important task.
Another prodded his horse with the butt end of a musket, and Pierre, bending over his saddlebow and hardly able to control his shying horse, galloped ahead of the soldiers where there was a free space.
There was a bridge ahead of him, where other soldiers stood firing.
Pierre saw that there was a bridge in front of him and that soldiers were doing something on both sides of it and in the meadow, among the rows of new-mown hay which he had taken no notice of amid the smoke of the campfires the day before; but despite the incessant firing going on there he had no idea that this was the field of battle.
The soldiers looked askance at him with surprise and even alarm as they went past him.
The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked at Pierre.
Several soldiers gathered by the wall of the trench, looking out to see what was happening in front.
The soldiers handed up the charges, turned, loaded, and did their business with strained smartness.
On the right of the battery soldiers shouting "Hurrah!" were running not forwards but backwards, it seemed to Pierre.
He saw the senior officer lying on the earth wall with his back turned as if he were examining something down below and that one of the soldiers he had noticed before was struggling forward shouting "Brothers!" and trying to free himself from some men who were holding him by the arm.
The soldiers of Dessaix's division advancing against the fleches could only be seen till they had entered the hollow that lay between them and the fleches.
But not only was it impossible to make out what was happening from where he was standing down below, or from the knoll above on which some of his generals had taken their stand, but even from the fleches themselves--in which by this time there were now Russian and now French soldiers, alternately or together, dead, wounded, alive, frightened, or maddened-- even at those fleches themselves it was impossible to make out what was taking place.
If any soldiers ran to the rear they returned immediately and hastily.
Disregarding the officers' orders, the soldiers stood leaning against their stretchers and gazing intently, as if trying to comprehend the difficult problem of what was taking place before them.
Four soldiers were holding him, and a spectacled doctor was cutting into his muscular brown back.
All the generals, officers, and soldiers of the French army knew it could not be done, because the flagging spirit of the troops would not permit it.
It was not Napoleon alone who had experienced that nightmare feeling of the mighty arm being stricken powerless, but all the generals and soldiers of his army whether they had taken part in the battle or not, after all their experience of previous battles--when after one tenth of such efforts the enemy had fled--experienced a similar feeling of terror before an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood as threateningly at the end as at the beginning of the battle.
Toward the end of the battle of Borodino, Pierre, having run down from Raevski's battery a second time, made his way through a gully to Knyazkovo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station, and seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, still entangled in the crowds of soldiers.
In the middle of the night three soldiers, having brought some firewood, settled down near him and began lighting a fire.
The three soldiers were eating and talking among themselves, taking no notice of him.
"I, I..." said Pierre, feeling it necessary to minimize his social position as much as possible so as to be nearer to the soldiers and better understood by them.
As he sat bending greedily over it, helping himself to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another, his face was lit up by the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence.
In the total darkness the soldiers walked with Pierre to Mozhaysk.
Pierre went on with the soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn was at the bottom of the hill and that he had already passed it.
He glanced at the dirty innyard in the middle of which soldiers were watering their lean horses at the pump while carts were passing out of the gate.
They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that old man...
A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in a cart.
At daybreak, however, those nearing the town at the Dorogomilov bridge saw ahead of them masses of soldiers crowding and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on the opposite side and blocking the streets and alleys, while endless masses of troops were bearing down on them from behind, and an unreasoning hurry and alarm overcame them.
While the troops, dividing into two parts when passing around the Kremlin, were thronging the Moskva and the Stone bridges, a great many soldiers, taking advantage of the stoppage and congestion, turned back from the bridges and slipped stealthily and silently past the church of Vasili the Beatified and under the Borovitski gate, back up the hill to the Red Square where some instinct told them they could easily take things not belonging to them.
But there were no dealers with voices of ingratiating affability inviting customers to enter; there were no hawkers, nor the usual motley crowd of female purchasers--but only soldiers, in uniforms and overcoats though without muskets, entering the Bazaar empty-handed and silently making their way out through its passages with bundles.
Tradesmen and their assistants (of whom there were but few) moved about among the soldiers quite bewildered.
But the roll of the drums did not make the looting soldiers run in the direction of the drum as formerly, but made them, on the contrary, run farther away.
Among the soldiers in the shops and passages some men were to be seen in gray coats, with closely shaven heads.
Some soldiers started running away in a group.
The officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shops, but at that moment fearful screams reached them from the huge crowd on the Moskva bridge and the officer ran out into the square.
He was told by his fellow officers that the screams of the crowd and the shrieks of the woman were due to the fact that General Ermolov, coming up to the crowd and learning that soldiers were dispersing among the shops while crowds of civilians blocked the bridge, had ordered two guns to be unlimbered and made a show of firing at the bridge.
And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury, struck Vereshchagin on the head with the blunt side of his saber.
Nothing more stirred behind the screens and the French infantry soldiers and officers advanced to the gate.
"Clear that away!" said the officer, pointing to the beams and the corpses, and the French soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threw the corpses over the parapet.
Out of the windows of the Senate House the soldiers threw chairs into the Square for fuel and kindled fires there.
But it remained an army only until its soldiers had dispersed into their different lodgings.
As soon as the men of the various regiments began to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, the army was lost forever and there came into being something nondescript, neither citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders.
No residents were left in Moscow, and the soldiers--like water percolating through sand--spread irresistibly through the city in all directions from the Kremlin into which they had first marched.
Moscow was set on fire by the soldiers' pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by the carelessness of enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own.
Moscow was set on fire by the soldiers' pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by the carelessness of enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own.
The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passage asking what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punish the culprits, but the officer sternly checked them.
The soldiers went out again, and the orderly, who had meanwhile had time to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer.
So you are one of us soldiers! he added, smiling, after a momentary pause.
Pierre, accompanied by the maid, was advancing to the spot where the general stood, but the French soldiers stopped him.
Other French soldiers standing below went up to the drawer.
Get along! said several voices, and one of the soldiers, evidently afraid that Pierre might want to take from them some of the plate and bronzes that were in the drawer, moved threateningly toward him.
He was looking at the Armenian family and at two French soldiers who had gone up to them.
When--free from soldiers, wagons, and the filthy traces of a camp--he saw villages with peasants and peasant women, gentlemen's country houses, fields where cattle were grazing, posthouses with stationmasters asleep in them, he rejoiced as though seeing all this for the first time.
He passed four days in the coach house near the Crimean bridge and during that time learned, from the talk of the French soldiers, that all those confined there were awaiting a decision which might come any day from the marshal.
An hour later a squad of soldiers arrived and Pierre with thirteen others was led to the Virgin's Field.
He felt this in the looks of the soldiers who, marching in regular ranks briskly and gaily, were escorting him and the other criminals; he felt it in the looks of an important French official in a carriage and pair driven by a soldier, whom they met on the way.
The crowd consisted of a few Russians and many of Napoleon's soldiers who were not on duty--Germans, Italians, and Frenchmen, in a variety of uniforms.
There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers and it was evident that they were all hurrying--not as men hurry to do something they understand, but as people hurry to finish a necessary but unpleasant and incomprehensible task.
On the faces of all the Russians and of the French soldiers and officers without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict that were in his own heart.
The soldiers dragged it awkwardly from the post and began pushing it into the pit.
One of the soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly and angrily at Pierre to go back.
Yes, we are soldiers of the Apsheron regiment.
He liked to hear the folk tales one of the soldiers used to tell of an evening (they were always the same), but most of all he liked to hear stories of real life.
Nothing new, except that the soldiers are robbing and pillaging-- October 9.
"The Grand Marshal of the palace," wrote the governor, "complains bitterly that in spite of repeated orders, the soldiers continue to commit nuisances in all the courtyards and even under the very windows of the Emperor."
Fleeing from Moscow the soldiers took with them everything they had stolen.
He gazed at the caleches and carriages in which soldiers were riding and remarked that it was a very good thing, as those vehicles could be used to carry provisions, the sick, and the wounded.
Sokolov, one of the soldiers in the shed with Pierre, was dying, and Pierre told the corporal that something should be done about him.
(The affair he had alluded to had happened a few days before--a fight between the prisoners and the French soldiers, in which Pierre had succeeded in pacifying his comrades.)
He had long sought in different ways that tranquillity of mind, that inner harmony which had so impressed him in the soldiers at the battle of Borodino.
The corporal and soldiers were in marching kit with knapsacks and shakos that had metal straps, and these changed their familiar faces.
The officer prisoners were separated from the soldiers and told to march in front.
Thirty thousand devils!... the convoy guards began cursing and the French soldiers, with fresh virulence, drove away with their swords the crowd of prisoners who were gazing at the dead man.
Behind them came more carts, soldiers, wagons, soldiers, gun carriages, carriages, soldiers, ammunition carts, more soldiers, and now and then women.
Several soldiers ran toward the cart from different sides: some beat the carriage horses on their heads, turning them aside, others fought among themselves, and Pierre saw that one German was badly wounded on the head by a sword.
The soldiers and officers again demanded action.
'There are a lot of us,' he says, 'but all poor stuff--only soldiers in name,' he says.
In front of him soldiers, probably Frenchmen, were running from right to left across the road.
They understood that the saddles and Junot's spoon might be of some use, but that cold and hungry soldiers should have to stand and guard equally cold and hungry Russians who froze and lagged behind on the road (in which case the order was to shoot them) was not merely incomprehensible but revolting.
At Dorogobuzh while the soldiers of the convoy, after locking the prisoners in a stable, had gone off to pillage their own stores, several of the soldier prisoners tunneled under the wall and ran away, but were recaptured by the French and shot.
There Platon Karataev was sitting covered up--head and all--with his greatcoat as if it were a vestment, telling the soldiers in his effective and pleasant though now feeble voice a story Pierre knew.
A pleasant feeling of excitement and an expectation of something joyful and solemn was aroused among the soldiers of the convoy and the prisoners.
Several officers formed a group and some soldiers crowded round them.
Two French soldiers ran past Pierre, one of whom carried a lowered and smoking gun.
French soldiers were running past him.
Darlings! old soldiers exclaimed, weeping, as they embraced Cossacks and hussars.
Scarcely a quarter of the soldiers remain with the standards of their regiments, the others go off by themselves in different directions hoping to find food and escape discipline.
The soldiers, who are worn out with hunger and fatigue, need these supplies as well as a few days' rest.
Kutuzov merely shrugged his shoulders when one after another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made with those soldiers-- ill-shod, insufficiently clad, and half starved--who within a month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to half their number, and who at the best if the flight continued would have to go a greater distance than they had already traversed, before they reached the frontier.
Despite all Kutuzov's efforts to avoid that ruinous encounter and to preserve his troops, the massacre of the broken mob of French soldiers by worn-out Russians continued at Krasnoe for three days.
He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame de Stael, read novels, liked the society of pretty women, jested with generals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted those who tried to prove anything to him.
One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carrying the standards to advance and surround the commander-in-chief with them.
"I thank you all!" he said, addressing the soldiers and then again the officers.
While the soldiers were shouting Kutuzov leaned forward in his saddle and bowed his head, and his eye lit up with a mild and apparently ironic gleam.
And flourishing his whip he rode off at a gallop for the first time during the whole campaign, and left the broken ranks of the soldiers laughing joyfully and shouting "Hurrah!"
They make soldiers of all classes there.
The conversation flagged, and the soldiers began settling down to sleep.
"Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company!" said one of the soldiers, "and what a lot of them there are!"
They came up to the fire, hoarsely uttering something in a language our soldiers did not understand.
The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, spread a greatcoat on the ground for the sick man, and brought some buckwheat porridge and vodka for both of them.
When Morel had drunk some vodka and finished his bowl of porridge he suddenly became unnaturally merry and chattered incessantly to the soldiers, who could not understand him.
Ramballe refused food and resting his head on his elbow lay silent beside the campfire, looking at the Russian soldiers with red and vacant eyes.
Morel, pointing to his shoulders, tried to impress on the soldiers the fact that Ramballe was an officer and ought to be warmed.
"You won't do it again, eh?" said one of the soldiers, winking and turning mockingly to Ramballe.
They surrounded Ramballe, lifted him on the crossed arms of two soldiers, and carried him to the hut.
The soldiers simply held their sides as they watched him.
All the young soldiers smiled gaily as they watched him.
When the bridges broke down, unarmed soldiers, people from Moscow and women with children who were with the French transport, all--carried on by vis inertiae-- pressed forward into boats and into the ice-covered water and did not, surrender.
It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and indispensable soldiers to give to the French who, though not harmful, or hated, or guilty, were simply unnecessary.
The soldiers, of whom there are the most, form the lower section of the cone and its base.
The noncommissioned officers (of whom there are fewer) perform the action itself less frequently than the soldiers, but they already give commands.
Now, you can send your soldiers to the castle where the demons are staging an attack, and rejoin the Council, or I can bury you here in your front yard.
If they are unable to destroy him, they will assign soldiers to shadow his every move to prevent him from creating more vampires.
"Good to see you, kid," he said with warmth, drawing her off the sidewalk as two soldiers hurried by.
They'd identified a small town where the soldiers in Western uniforms had holed themselves.
Brady approached the five soldiers in urban gray tactical suits crowded around the small box with a hole still smoking from a hit by a wayward laser bullet.
The state furnished about 36,000 soldiers to the Federal armies and somewhat less than io,000 to the Confederate.
A special guard of fifty soldiers was appointed to protect the sacred standard.
The Ghegs especially, notwithstanding their fierce and lawless character, their superstition, ignorance and predatory propensities, possess some noteworthy qualities rarely found in eastern Europe: simple, brave, faithful, and sometimes capable of devoted attachment, these wild mountaineers make excellent soldiers and trustworthy retainers; they have long furnished a bodyguard to the sultan and, like the Tosks, are much employed as kavasses and attendants at foreign embassies and consulates in the East.
In Washington Square there is a Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument, 93 ft.
He won a signal victory over the Persians in 53 0, and successfully conducted a campaign against them, until forced, by the rashness of his soldiers, to join battle and suffer defeat in the following year.
He was the idol of his soldiers, a good tactician, but not a great strategist.
There were thousands of English soldiers in Boston.
These soldiers guarded the streets of the town; they would not let any one go out or come in without their leave.
The soldiers had started.
The soldiers would cross the river.
During World War II, when General Patton got sacked for slapping a soldier whom he regarded as cowardly, the Germans couldn't believe it: Their officers could have soldiers shot without trial!
As Frederick the Great observed almost two centuries earlier, "If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one of them would remain in the army."
The Japanese soldiers who battled the German soldiers must have wondered why they were fighting.
In fact, virtually everyone should have wondered why he was fighting soldiers from places he couldn't find on a map.
A similar engagement between great and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones, being victorious, are said to have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds.
At length, in the war of 1812, her dwelling was set on fire by English soldiers, prisoners on parole, when she was away, and her cat and dog and hens were all burned up together.
It was the state of the soldiers' boots.
The regimental commander, going up to the line himself, ordered the soldiers to change into their greatcoats.
How come them soldiers wanted you with them?
Someone told me that it was built by Union soldiers hiding from the rebels during the Civil War.
It used to be that if you conquered another nation, your soldiers became looters and the military got to haul off everything of value in the country.
Some sort of … soldiers, maybe?