Chapter 1471: Desperate Survival
"This is absolutely out of the question," Kościuszko replied, shaking his head instinctively. "Without their war horses, the Madalinski Legion won't stand a chance against the enemy units blocking their path during the retreat!"
In this era, an army engaged in large-scale operations without cavalry support was vulnerable to being harried and eventually cut to pieces by the enemy. Furthermore, the Russian Army had likely already set ambushes; the Polish vanguard was facing a brutal struggle.
Saint-Cyr, however, spoke with a relaxed tone. "Then don't engage the enemy."
"How is that possible? The Russians are certainly waiting for him on the road back to Yartsevo..."
Saint-Cyr countered, "Exactly. The Russians think the same thing, which is why General Madalinski won't be taking that route."
Wawrzecki exclaimed excitedly, "That's the spirit! We won't retreat; we'll keep pushing toward Moscow!"
He got halfway through his sentence before the surrounding officers fixed him with such fierce glares that he quickly fell silent.
Saint-Cyr signaled for an attendant to bring over a map. "If General Madalinski abandons all war horses and most of his artillery, he can reduce their logistics supplies by ninety percent.
"After that, they can travel light along this path..."
Saint-Cyr nodded. "The risk is significant, but retreating directly to Yartsevo is even more dangerous.
"Moreover, there is an added benefit: we won't have to wait at Yartsevo to receive General Madalinski."
Kościuszko fell into deep thought before nodding silently.
He had thirty thousand soldiers here, and nearly ten thousand more stationed at Smolensk and Orsha, all of whom needed to be withdrawn back to Poland as quickly as possible. Their logistics were already depleted; every day they could leave earlier meant a better chance of survival.
Saint-Cyr added, "In fact, those abandoned horses can serve as cover, aside from those slaughtered for rations..."
Once he finished, Kościuszko hesitated no longer. He turned to a staff officer. "Immediately draft a battle plan based on Colonel Saint-Cyr's suggestions and send it to General Madalinski."
"Yes, Marshal!"
Kościuszko glanced at the vast camps along the Vop River and asked Saint-Cyr, "In that case, should we also retreat toward Minsk immediately?" Saint-Cyr shook his head. "Marshal, I wouldn't recommend that.
"The towns and villages along the line from Minsk to Dorogobuzh have undoubtedly been 'cleared' by Kutuzov's orders. We won't find any supplies during the retreat.
"Combined with the constant harassment from the Russians, we'll be worn down before we even reach the right bank of the Dnieper River."
'Yes, these were exactly the situations mentioned in the Prince Regent's stories,' Saint-Cyr thought.
"Then," Kościuszko said, his expression grave, "do you have a plan?"
Saint-Cyr nodded. "Kutuzov cannot possibly empty every town in Russia. We need to go where there are still supplies."
On his way here, he had analyzed the Prince Regent's predictions of the battlefield situation countless times—he had long since realized these weren't just stories, but a precise strategic deduction of the conflict—ultimately, he had found only one way for the Polish Army to escape its predicament.
"We must also discard all unnecessary baggage to ensure we can move at maximum speed..."
February 3, 1801.
Vyazma City, 160 kilometers east of Smolensk.
The cathedral had been converted into the Russian Army command post. In reality, aside from thirty thousand Russian soldiers, no residents remained in the city.
Kutuzov sipped his Russian vodka as he spread the reports across the table, a smile soon appearing on his face.
Forty thousand Polish soldiers were marching step by step into his death trap—within a range of over three hundred kilometers ahead of them, not so much as a single potato remained. Even if the Poles managed to reach Moscow, it would only lead to a dead end. The Tsar had already authorized him to strip that great city bare as well.
Of course, he wouldn't wait for the Poles to penetrate that far.
He had calculated repeatedly that, given the current intensity of the Cossack Cavalry's harassment tactics against the Polish logistics wagons, this Polish army would exhaust its food and fodder by the time it reached Vyazma at the latest.
And he was waiting right here to deal them a head-on blow.
Afterward, he wouldn't seek to annihilate the Poles immediately. Instead, he would follow them at a leisurely pace, watching as the severe winter slowly stripped them of their lives. Kutuzov drained the last drop of liquor from his glass and muttered with lingering desire, yet he did not ask his attendant to pour more. Never getting drunk was his most important principle in life.
After finishing the battle report, he picked up the casualty statistics recently compiled by the staff, and his brow furrowed.
Last week, as many as 142 soldiers had died from freezing or disease.
He knew full well that this was the result of officers doing their best to hide the truth; the actual number was likely at least double that.
He turned and shouted to the staff officer at the door, "Tell those fools in the Quartermaster Department that if they don't deliver the full amount of winter clothing and army bread I requested this week, I will write to His Majesty the Tsar personally!"
He wasn't afraid of men dying, but they had to die on the battlefield, in the heat of combat with the enemy.
Just as the staff officer left, a messenger arrived in a hurry and handed a battle report to Kutuzov. "General, the Poles left Dorogobuzh yesterday morning."
Kutuzov nodded nonchalantly. "Then they should be nearing Peremely Village by now."
As he spoke, he suddenly froze. The report clearly stated that the Polish Madalinski Legion was retreating to the west.
"Those sly bastards!"
Kutuzov stood up, feeling a wave of irritation. "They must have noticed the state of their logistics."
He glanced at the map and waved to his aide-de-camp. "Kasanov! Order Wittgenstein and Tormasov to launch a pincer encirclement. They must delay the Polish retreat at all costs, but do not engage in a decisive battle recklessly."
These two corps were deployed to the north and south of Dorogobuzh and were vital components of his encirclement plan.
"Also, tell Uvarov to lead the cavalry in pursuit immediately."
After issuing the orders, Kutuzov cursed several more times. He had emptied every village from the Dnieper River to Moscow. The Madalinski Legion's premature retreat meant that the scorched earth across nearly 200 kilometers east of Dorogobuzh had been for nothing.
However, good news arrived the next day.
Tormasov's cavalry had spotted a large force of Polish Winged Hussars thirty-two kilometers west of Dorogobuzh. There were over five thousand of them, likely Madalinski's main force.
Yet, before Kutuzov could breathe a sigh of relief, another messenger arrived with a report. The main body of the Polish Rearguard, originally stationed at the Yartsevo Crossing, had suddenly vanished.
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