Novels online

Chapter 1474: Battle Against the Cold, Part 3

After daybreak, Wittgenstein's Chief of Staff stared at the compiled data from each legion, his expression grim.

Last night alone, over thirty soldiers had frozen to death, and more than two hundred and twenty were suffering from fevers.

He hesitated for a moment before stuffing the report into his pocket, deciding not to inform Wittgenstein. Instead, he ordered the sick to be gathered and sent to Vyazma.

Given the current weather, however, it was unlikely these men would survive the eighty-mile trek.

Outside Muregino Village, thirty-five kilometers south of Smolensk.

Kosciuszko checked his pocket watch with a trace of irritation. He turned to his staff officer and asked, "Still no movement?"

He didn't truly expect an answer; if the Russian Army appeared, his scout cavalry would have reported it immediately.

"Not yet, Marshal," the officer replied.

Kosciuszko glanced at Saint-Cyr but managed to hold his tongue. They had been waiting here for two days and a night. In a situation lacking supplies, this was essentially a slow drain on their lives.

Sensing his anxiety, Saint-Cyr offered a comforting word. "Russian soldier training is poor. It's normal for their progress to be halting in this weather, but they will come eventually."

"In Kutuzov's eyes, our only options are to retreat west to Minsk or launch a surprise raid north toward Saint Petersburg. Therefore, he will certainly mobilize the Russian forces to the south to pursue us."

Kosciuszko nodded silently. A few days ago, they had launched a large-scale feint against the Russian forces north of Smolensk. They later learned it was the Bagration Legion.

Just as the Prince Regent had predicted, the Russian Army had no intention of engaging in a decisive battle. Instead, they retreated to solidify their defensive lines, waiting for the Poles to exhaust their logistics supplies.

The Poles had then rapidly moved south to set up an ambush near Muregino Village.

This maneuver was extremely dangerous—if Bagration caught up, they would find themselves trapped in a pincer encirclement from the north and south.

However, Saint-Cyr judged that the Russians wouldn't take that risk. To them, the greatest threat was the Polish Army desperately charging toward Saint Petersburg.

Just as Kosciuszko reached for his pocket watch again, the sound of galloping hooves echoed from the distance.

"Marshal! The enemy has appeared seven kilometers to the southwest. Their strength exceeds twenty thousand men!"

The scout's voice smoothed the furrows in Kosciuszko's brow. He pulled out a map to inspect it; the Russian Army was currently passing through an open plain. Although the Russians hadn't walked directly into his ambush zone, that area was perfect for a large-scale strike.

He immediately turned to his herald. "Order General Mokronowski to intercept the enemy from the west!"

"The Winged Hussar Battalion is to cut them through the center!"

"We must crush the Russians before dark!"

"Yes, Marshal!"

Half an hour later, fourteen hundred Winged Hussars lined up along the path and galloped westward.

These were the only horsemen remaining in Kosciuszko's rearguard. Their mounts had been given the feed oats and fodder originally intended for nearly nine thousand cavalry, allowing them to maintain excellent stamina.

At one o'clock in the afternoon, urgent horns suddenly blared within the Russian Samoylov Legion as they marched toward Smolensk to "pursue" the Polish Army. Scores of officers shouted orders for the soldiers to halt and form lines facing the east.

Only minutes earlier, the patrolling Cossack cavalry had sounded the alarm: Polish forces had appeared two kilometers away.

Samoylov never expected to be attacked here. In his mind, the Poles should still have been thirty miles to the north.

The marching Russian soldiers fell into utter chaos. The sounds of drums and shouting rose and fell, yet their jagged infantry line formation remained full of gaps.

Before long, the thunderous rhythm of hooves striking the earth reached their ears.

A streak of red cavalry appeared on the horizon. The Russian soldiers soon saw the tall, feathered wings mounted on their backs swaying in the wind.

To the blare of a bugle, the Winged Hussars shifted into an arrowhead formation, drew their sabers, and began to accelerate.

Typically, cavalry loathed charging an infantry line head-on, as it meant heavy casualties and no guarantee of a breakthrough.

But at this moment, the Russian line formation was a shambles, and these Winged Hussars were driven by a suicidal resolve. They knew that if they failed to crush the enemy before them, tens of thousands of their comrades behind them would likely starve to death in the frozen Russian wastes.

In truth, as the most elite cavalry in Poland, they had been prepared to die from the moment they crossed the Dnieper River.

The red torrent quickly locked onto the largest gap in the infantry line, adjusting their angle with lethal efficiency and slicing straight through the Russian defenses.

As the Winged Hussars circled behind the Russians to prepare for another pass, several hundred Cossack cavalrymen finally finished organizing and charged toward them with a roar.

The Hussar Commander calmly detached three cavalry companies to hold off the enemy horsemen while leading the rest to continue tearing apart the Russian infantry's defense.

Fewer than four hundred Winged Hussars sheathed their sabers and unslung their iconic cavalry lances from their saddles. They quickly formed a wedge formation, lowering their bodies as they thundered toward the charging Cossacks.

Facing these steel-willed Winged Hussars, the numerically superior Cossacks felt their hearts hammer against their ribs in terror.

Finally, with the two sides still eight hundred meters apart, the Russians could no longer maintain their nerve. Led by their officers, they broke and scattered to the flanks.

The Winged Hussars' lances were uncannily accurate. In the brief instant of their passing, they skewered the Russians with precision. The Cossacks' sabers, by contrast, were far too short to even reach them.

After a successful strike, the Winged Hussars immediately discarded their lances—as it was nearly impossible to pull them from a body while at a gallop—and drew their sabers once more to continue the slaughter.

In less than two minutes of contact, nearly two hundred Cossack cavalrymen were impaled, and their formation instantly dissolved into a scattered shambles.

On the other side, Mokronowski arrived from the north with his infantry and began attacking the Russian flank.

The Russian infantry, already thrown into disarray by the Winged Hussars, was in no condition to fight back. They soon began to flee in a rout toward the southwest.

By four o'clock in the afternoon, the last of the pursuing Winged Hussars returned. The white expanse of the plains was now littered with the corpses of Russian soldiers, their blood dotting the pristine background like crimson petals.

"Marshal, we have captured nearly three thousand Russians. What are your orders for them?"

In the sudden assault, the Polish Army had killed over twenty-five hundred men and taken three thousand prisoners, while suffering fewer than four hundred casualties of their own.

Kosciuszko pointed toward the dense forest in the distance and said to his staff officer, "Release them."

He then added, "Tell the men to rest for an hour and a half, then continue our march south."

Though his expression remained composed, his heart was racing with excitement.

This was the most critical battle for breaking through the Russian pincer encirclement, and also the most dangerous.

With this victory, they could continue south until they reached a location where they could secure supplies.

Indeed, according to Saint-Cyr's plan, they would not rush back west to Poland—where the Russians would surely be waiting to intercept them—but would instead push all the way south.