Chapter 1159: The Master of Exile
Lieutenant Colonel Muravyov emerged from the desert amidst a haze of anxiety and muttered curses.
When he felt the soft sand beneath his feet transition into hard, rocky ground, his impatience only grew. His only desire was to occupy Kabul as quickly as possible so he could be reassigned back home.
Orders from General Bakhov arrived soon after, instructing him to dispatch two companies to forage for supplies in the vicinity.
However, when a Cossack cavalry company returned at dusk, they brought back less than half a wagon’s worth of food—a miserable jumble of potatoes, barley, and dried dates.
Muravyov glared fiercely at the company commander. "Damn it, did you go looking for girls in some village instead of doing your job?"
The commander hurried to explain. "Colonel, the villages within a five-kilometer radius are completely deserted. You can ask Captain Vorobyov."
Just then, the other cavalry company returned, having fared even worse.
Bakhov soon received word that the nearby Afghan tribes had all migrated, and his heart sank. He knew they were in trouble.
The supplies previously brought by Michkov hadn't been substantial to begin with. Now, they likely had only enough to last another three or four days.
As it happened, Prince Salma of Afghanistan maintained close ties with the British. Following the instructions of a British special envoy, he had long ago ordered all tribes near the border to relocate east of Herat.
Fortunately, there was still a fair amount of scrub and wild grass in the Afghan wastes, which allowed the Russian horses to recover some of their strength.
On July 30, 1797.
Bakhov finally spotted the city nestled at the foot of the Paropamisus Mountains through his telescope.
With no sign of the supplies from Bukhara, he decisively ordered a direct assault on Herat.
This was the most prosperous city in western Afghanistan; surely, they could seize a vast amount of resources there.
Muravyov shouted orders for the Cossack cavalry to form ranks, but the soldiers—who had only eaten five meals in the last three days—were listless. It took over an hour just to complete the combat preparations.
In reality, most of the so-called Cossack cavalry had been forced to fight as infantry by this point. Muravyov’s regiment had fewer than four hundred horses remaining.
The Afghans, however, seemed to have been prepared for a long time. They even dragged out two cannons to defend the walls.
The weak, half-hearted Russian offensive was quickly repelled. Afghan tribal soldiers, who had been lying in ambush at a bend in the Hari River to the south, suddenly charged. They caught the unprepared Cossack infantry off guard, chasing them for over ten kilometers.
Bakhov was forced to pull his troops back to regroup and rest, praying that the supply train from Bukhara would arrive soon.
He had no idea that the Great Emir of Bukhara, Murad, was currently engaged in a heated dispute with a Russian logistics officer.
This year, to meet the cotton production quotas demanded by the Tsar, Bukhara had been forced to mobilize nearly every adult male in the country to build irrigation systems. Simultaneously, over twenty percent of the nation's arable land had been diverted to cotton cultivation.
This had caused Bukhara's food production to plummet.
Now, this small nation of barely five hundred thousand people was expected to provide logistics for a twenty-thousand-man Russian army, a task that had nearly exhausted the domestic grain reserves.
Two of Bukhara's southern provinces, those closest to Afghanistan, were already suffering from a severe famine.
The previous shipment of grain should have been enough to sustain Bakhov’s forces for a month, but the transport team had been intercepted by unknown assailants, and all the supplies had been incinerated.
Attempting to requisition another month’s worth of food for the Russian army would undoubtedly spark a popular uprising in Bukhara.
Since death was the only outcome—either at the hands of the Russians or the rebels—Murad finally decided to keep what little food remained for his own people.
Outside the walls of Herat, Bakhov finally saw the logistics caravan arrive.
But he was simultaneously informed that this was the final shipment from Bukhara, and it would only sustain his army for ten days.
After that, he would either have to hold out in Afghanistan for a month and a half while waiting for supplies from Orenburg or retreat to Merv immediately.
Bakhov looked at his soldiers, who were so hungry they could barely stand and whose morale had hit rock bottom. Then he looked toward the desert, where an unknown number of Afghans lay in wait. Without much hesitation, he ordered a retreat.
However, Merv was still a fifteen-day journey away.
Bakhov had no choice but to order all the oats intended for the horses to be reserved as rations for the soldiers. Along the way, horses died of starvation one after another. All the while, Afghan tribes followed them, launching constant harassing attacks.
By the time the Russian army finally cleared the desert, they had fewer than two thousand horses left.
......
Paris.
Inside a speeding Jewel VIII carriage, Lavalette, the head of the Security Bureau, was briefing the Crown Prince on the latest developments in Russia.
"...After that, Murad was unable to provide further logistical support. Bakhov failed to take Herat and was forced to lead his army back toward Bukhara."
Lavalette continued his report. "According to reports from Saint Petersburg, Bakhov’s expeditionary force suffered over four thousand casualties and lost almost all its horses. It is no longer combat-effective."
Joseph couldn't help but sigh. "His Majesty Paul I is certainly efficient."
The last time he had heard news from Russia, the army was still massing in Orenburg. Barely three months had passed, and twenty thousand men had already been starved into a desperate retreat back to Central Asia.
Lavalette added, "However, the Tsar does not seem inclined to give up. He has ordered a fresh mobilization of troops from Kazan and Perm to march south toward Afghanistan once again."
"Interestingly, several officers who were previously exiled to the Urals have been reinstated because of this."
In less than a year, Paul I had exiled three marshals, ninety-seven generals, and over seven hundred officers. The vast majority of them had been punished for opposing his military reforms, which sought to emulate the Prussian model.
The Prussians themselves would likely have insisted that this was absolutely not their model; they had never forced their army to adopt anything as frivolous as "chivalric etiquette."
There was, however, one unintended benefit to this: no matter where Russia fought a war, they could quickly find exiled officers nearby to take command and rapidly organize a fighting force.
Joseph suddenly thought of a potential problem and turned to the Security Bureau chief. "I imagine the opposition to this plan in Saint Petersburg must be quite significant?"
"Indeed, Your Highness," Lavalette nodded. "Led by Marshal Repnin, more than thirty generals signed a joint petition asking the Tsar to abandon the India plan, but it was rejected. Others, like Berezev and Platov, were exiled for the sheer vehemence of their protests."
It was just as Joseph expected. He frowned.
In history, Paul I had been assassinated by his own officers precisely because the heavy losses during the Indian expedition had turned the Russian military aristocracy against him.
Currently, a dangerous atmosphere seemed to be brewing in Saint Petersburg.
This unpredictable Tsar, who was currently throwing Eastern Europe into chaos, was more beneficial than harmful to France. It was better for France if he remained on the throne.
Joseph quickly instructed Lavalette, "Send someone to warn the Tsar immediately. Tell him there may be a plot to assassinate him..."
He paused, realizing something wasn't right. If the Security Bureau sent the warning, Paul I would likely dismiss it as foreign meddling.
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