“A cavalry division was crossing a pontoon bridge across the small river Vop. Squadrons at trots with a rapid stomp rushed from the left bank to the right, turned to the side and disappeared among the trees. Following the riders, horses drawn by a train, snoring and dropping foam, galloped along with cannons. The riders whipped the horses, shouted, and from above, breaking into a dive, a flock of Junkers came in, stretched out like a thread. From the left bank, only two 37-mm anti-aircraft guns fired at them from the willow thickets. Thin trunks twitched, spitting out flames and white smoke. On the other side, from three lorries that looked like bushes from the many branches stuck on them, quadruple machine guns were firing - ordinary "Maxims" with thick casings filled with water to cool the barrels - and shiny cartridges flowed in streams between the branches, fell to the ground, sparkling in in the rays of the morning sun. The leading Junkers, emitting a heart-rending howl, dropped bombs, and they rushed like black dots to the ground, at the positions of the anti-aircraft gunners...”