Chapter 1470: The Great Prophecy
Indeed, what Joseph had recounted to the General Staff was precisely the experience of Napoleon's crushing defeat in Russia from history.
Facing such a desperate situation, he couldn't think of any better tactics himself, so he decided to hand the problem over to his brilliant subordinates to solve.
He believed that by understanding the difficulties ahead and the tactics the enemy might employ, someone of Saint-Cyr's caliber could at least minimize Poland's losses, even if a miracle was out of reach.
At noon the next day, after traveling day and night, Saint-Cyr finally met Kościuszko at the Polish command post in Yartsevo.
The latter embraced him warmly before gesturing toward a nearby tent. "Please forgive me, Colonel. In this freezing wasteland, I couldn't arrange a proper banquet. Fortunately, there is still some elk left from what we caught last week..."
Saint-Cyr ignored the mention of the banquet and asked urgently, "How much food and fodder does the army have left?"
Kościuszko glanced at the soldiers welcoming the French officers and whispered, "About half a month's worth."
Saint-Cyr frowned immediately.
Minsk was fully 340 kilometers away. Even without enemy interference, a retreat would take over half a month. Furthermore, he had heard that General Madaliński was leading over thirty thousand soldiers toward Dorogobuzh, which was still another hundred kilometers from here.
The Marshal nodded. "Set out."
"Wait!" Saint-Cyr quickly intervened, his voice grave. "What you must do now is withdraw all your troops as quickly as possible!"
"May I ask for your reasoning, Colonel?"
"You don't have enough logistical supplies. You're likely to..."
Kościuszko smiled dismissively. "There is no need to worry. General Madaliński will soon seize Dorogobuzh. There are only a few hundred Russian troops there."
Saint-Cyr stared at him, emphasizing every word. "But what if Dorogobuzh doesn't have what you desperately need? For instance... what if it's an empty city?" Kościuszko froze for a moment before shaking his head. "With all due respect, Colonel, that is impossible. There is a vital Russian transit station there."
The staff officer nearby whispered, "Marshal, what about the reserves?"
"Cross the river immediately."
Saint-Cyr shouted, "No, tell them to pull back!"
"Colonel, you cannot command my army."
"I don't want to see you fall into a trap!"
"My mission is to occupy Moscow, Colonel."
Saint-Cyr took a deep breath, his resolve firm. "At the very least, please listen to a story first."
Inside the tent where the reception banquet was held, a group of Polish officers looked at the golden-brown roasted venison, but none of them picked up their forks.
Saint-Cyr's story had left them in deep thought. If the Russians were ruthless enough, they might indeed face the terrifying scenario described. During this time, the commander of Kościuszko's reserves sent messengers several times to ask if they should cross, but Saint-Cyr rudely interrupted each one. The delay stretched until dusk, and Kościuszko finally ordered the reserves to stand down.
Early the next morning, a somewhat annoyed Kościuszko went to the military camp himself to oversee the departure of the soldiers.
Saint-Cyr was still pondering how to block him when a messenger came galloping in, shouting to Kościuszko, "Marshal! Yesterday at noon, General Madaliński successfully captured Dorogobuzh!"
The surrounding soldiers immediately erupted into cheers. "Wonderful! The Russians are practically paper tigers!"
"Onward to Moscow!"
"Victory belongs to the people of Poland!"
Looking at the excited crowd, the messenger added, "However, the cowardly Russians must have heard rumors of our approach. They all fled." Kościuszko frowned. "The Russian garrison fled?"
"Everyone in the city fled, Marshal. When we entered, there wasn't a soul to be seen."
Kościuszko asked tensely, "And what about the food and fodder? How much did you find?"
"When I left... we hadn't found any food or fodder yet, Marshal."
The Polish officers, including Kościuszko, turned to look at Saint-Cyr in shock.
This was exactly the situation he had described the night before!
The Russians had fled, leaving behind an empty city—minus the fire.
In truth, the "empty city" in Joseph's story had referred to Moscow, but at this moment, everyone assumed he meant Dorogobuzh.
Bad news never likes to travel alone. Just as Kościuszko's face began to pale, another messenger arrived from the west. He reported that three days ago, a new logistical convoy had been attacked by nearly a thousand Cossack cavalry near Barysaw. Fortunately, the Hussars had arrived in time to reinforce them, saving most of the supplies. However, to evade the Cossacks, the convoy had retreated into a river valley that was extremely difficult to navigate. It would likely take a week to get the wagons out. Mokronowski gritted his teeth. "Dammit! Those brazen scoundrels!"
Barysaw was less than 70 kilometers from Minsk—essentially the Polish rear—yet the convoy had still been attacked there. No one found it unimaginable, however, as disregarding the lives of soldiers was a long-standing "fine tradition" of the Russian army. Kutuzov was perfectly willing to trade a few hundred Cossack cavalry to destroy the Polish supply lines.
Even in the freezing wind of fifteen degrees below zero, cold sweat broke out on Kościuszko's back.
Colonel Saint-Cyr was right.
Empty cities, constant harassment, and the severe winter. If this trend continued, his soldiers would freeze or starve to death in droves within half a month.
He turned to Saint-Cyr and performed a solemn salute by raising his hat. "Thank you for stopping me yesterday. Otherwise, it would have taken at least two more days for those twenty thousand soldiers to retreat back across the river."
Mokronowski asked anxiously, "Marshal, what should we do now?"
This time, Kościuszko did not hesitate. He spoke to the messenger, "Order General Madaliński to retreat immediately!"
He then turned to command a staff officer, "Filonikov, gather all the fodder and send it to the Vanguard Corps."
Compared to food, the Polish army was even more lacking in fodder, especially Madaliński's corps, which had been attacking relentlessly. If they wanted Madaliński to retreat quickly, they had to ensure his horses were fed.
Saint-Cyr raised his hand to stop the staff officer and addressed Kościuszko. "Marshal, if I am not mistaken, there is likely more than one unit of Cossack cavalry waiting on the road between here and Dorogobuzh."
The Poles were stunned. Indeed, if the Russians dared to strike at Barysaw, they would certainly strike here. The fodder wagons would likely be torched before they had even traveled 30 kilometers.
Wawrzecki stepped forward. "Marshal, I will take two infantry regiments to escort the convoy..."
"Absolutely not!"
Saint-Cyr felt the urge to kick him. They were discussing how to retreat, yet this man wanted to lead more troops deeper into the Russian heartland.
He looked at Kościuszko. "I suggest that General Madaliński's corps abandon all their horses."
Comments