Chapter 1477: The Frozen Meat Grinder
Chapter 1477: The Frozen Meat Grinder
Wittgenstein’s heart tightened. He turned to his cavalry commander and ordered, "Go further afield, Shostka. To Glukhov. You must requisition at least a week’s worth of supplies!"
"Yes, General!"
However, that evening, the Cossacks returned to report that they couldn't find enough grain even fifty kilometers away.
Wittgenstein frowned, calculating how many days his logistics could hold if he continued the pursuit, when he suddenly heard a commotion in the distance, punctuated by the sharp crack of gunshots.
He glanced at a nearby staff officer. "Go see what is happening."
The officer returned ten minutes later, looking anxious. "General, men from the 11th Infantry Battalion seized some alcohol and have entered into a conflict with the local merchant guild."
"Damn it! Go there personally and don't let them take things too far."
"Yes, General."
Indeed, the Russian army had conducted a forced march of over three hundred kilometers through the wasteland Kutuzov had created. Haunted by cold and disease, and harassed by small Polish detachments, the soldiers were on the verge of collapse.
They had hoped to find some respite in Novhorod-Siverskyi, only to find that there wasn't even enough fuel to light a fireplace. For many, this was the breaking point.
In reality, the citizens—who didn't even have enough food for their own dinner—had been hoping to borrow grain from the army when Wittgenstein’s corps entered the city.
The tension between the two groups was like a powder keg, igniting at the slightest spark.
Before dawn the next day, Wittgenstein hurriedly ordered his troops out of the city.
What he did not expect was that because a large number of sick Russian soldiers had stayed in citizens' homes, typhus and paratyphoid fever soon broke out on a massive scale throughout Novhorod-Siverskyi.
The Polish army continued south, pillaging everything in their path. By the time they left the relatively wealthy region of Lubny, nearly two hundred wagons loaded with grain and oats followed in their wake.
This was only a small portion of the resources they had gathered around Lubny; the rest had been dumped into the Sula River that flowed through the town.
Inside the temporary Polish command post, Saint-Cyr set down a supply list provided by a staff officer and spoke to Kościuszko. "Marshal, the enemy corps are separated by at least seventy kilometers. I believe it is time to move toward the Dnieper River."
"The real battle begins now."
Kościuszko nodded. "General Tomasz Wawrzecki is an expert in rearguard protection, and General Zajączek can also—"
After the harrowing retreat thus far, he knew Saint-Cyr's command abilities far exceeded his own. Consequently, he had turned over almost all operational planning to the Frenchman, contenting himself with the role of a senior advisor.
Saint-Cyr studied the map. "The enemy outnumbers us significantly. If we engage in a standard rearguard action, our losses will be catastrophic."
"What is your plan then?"
"We will deploy only two regiments under General Wawrzecki to delay the pursuit," Saint-Cyr explained, revealing a strategy he had been refining for days. "Meanwhile, I will dispatch two separate detachments to Sumy and Lgov."
"They don't need to engage the enemy head-on. Their only task is to strike the enemy's logistics convoys whenever possible."
Kościuszko fell silent for a few seconds before nodding. "I believe my soldiers can accomplish any mission."
These two detachments, venturing deep behind enemy lines, would find it nearly impossible to escape Russia. They faced only two outcomes: death or capture.
That afternoon, the Polish main force suddenly veered west, reaching Pryluky two days later. They were now only a little over a hundred kilometers from the Dnieper River.
By the time Kutuzov arrived at Novhorod-Siverskyi, the city was a scene of misery.
Over a fifth of the population suffered from severe infectious diseases, and both food and fuel were non-existent.
This forced him to establish his headquarters near a forest, far from the city limits.
"It is confirmed that the Poles are retreating toward Makeyev," a staff officer reported, pointing to the map. "They have established a defensive line along a tributary of the Sula River, though our cavalry reports suggest they have fewer than four thousand men there."
Kutuzov’s gaze, however, was fixed on the Russian corps scattered across the map.
Because they frequently had to halt to wait for supplies, the Tormasov Corps had only just reached Konotop. The only forces capable of immediately joining the encirclement were the corps of Bagration and Wittgenstein, totaling about 43,000 men.
He shook his head. To be honest, he wasn't even sure how many of those men were actually fit for combat.
After chasing the enemy through the wasteland, his own rearguard had already lost four or five thousand men to freezing and disease. The other two corps were likely in a similar state.
"Order the Samoylov Legion to set up a defensive line from Chernihiv to Kozelets. Tell him he must hold the Poles for at least a day and a half."
After being previously routed, the Samoylov Legion had managed to regroup about 10,000 soldiers. They were currently in Chernihiv, the city closest to the Dnieper River.
"Prince Bagration will lead the main assault. Wittgenstein’s corps is to head for Ichnia at maximum speed and seek an opening to cut into the enemy’s right flank."
Contrary to Kutuzov's expectations of a fierce struggle, the battle to annihilate the Polish army felt weak and sluggish from the start.
Deprived of supplies for so long and ravaged by disease, the Russian troops spent most of their time taking long-range potshots at the Poles. They struggled to organize even a single proper offensive per day.
While the disease rate among the Poles was much lower thanks to the efforts of the French military doctors, they still had thousands of sick men.
Furthermore, they were severely lacking in cavalry and cannons. Even when an opportunity for a counterattack presented itself, they lacked the means to execute it.
Thus, by the time Kościuszko’s main force reached the town of Kozelets, they finally encountered the Samoylov Legion waiting for them.
Meanwhile, Kutuzov’s rearguard had reached Pryluky. It wouldn't be long before they could close the pincer from the Polish rear and flank.
It was at this moment that the two Polish light infantry regiments suddenly appeared, ambushing Russian supply convoys coming from Sumy and Kursk.
A grain shortage immediately struck Kutuzov’s army. Almost everything west of Sumy had been cleaned out by the Poles, leaving the Russian logistics in a state no better than their enemies'.
Casualties on the front lines were almost negligible, but the cold, hunger, and disease were harvesting lives without mercy.
As Kościuszko directed his troops to attack Kozelets, a blood-stained Hussar galloped up to him.
"Marshal! Over ten thousand Russians have appeared on our southern flank, roughly four kilometers away!"
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