They told the story:
They arranged a walk in their tent camp in Kerch. Two men, already decently subdued, went to the sea, and there, with the First World War, the wire was rolling.
One man climbs back into the camp and says a snake has bitten me. And all already drunk... They scratched, in short, the man’s leg, drowned the poison as needed, poured and burned, so that it would heal faster.
And in the morning Anton woke up from the wild rust behind the wall. It turned out to be this: little that no one bited the man, and he scratched the wire, so they scratched him the wrong leg.