Chapter 1479: The Victorious Retreat
As the falling snowflakes obscured the last fading rays of sunlight, a thunderous roar of cheers erupted outside the town of Kozelets. "The Russians are retreating!" "Victory is ours! Charge!"
"Maintain your formations! Do not break ranks to pursue!"
General Madaliński personally led the grenadier battalion into the town, while several hundred Winged Hussars continued to harry Samoylov's broken forces. Kościuszko lowered his telescope and let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.
Kutuzov's main army had not yet caught up, and he had successfully cleared the path to the Dnieper River. The core of the Polish Army had been preserved after all...
A sudden thought struck him. He turned toward the southeast and questioned the staff officer beside him, "It seems General Gilinsky has successfully held off the Russians coming from the Caucasus."
The staff officer hesitated, his voice dropping to a low, somber tone. "Marshal, according to reports from the Guard Cavalry Battalion, it was the wounded soldiers recuperating in the rear who fought to the death to stop Gudovich's surprise attack."
"The wounded?"
"Yes, sir. Them and the sick—over 3,800 men in total. They stalled the enemy until General Gilinsky reached the battlefield." Kościuszko's lips trembled at the news.
There had only been about five thousand sick and wounded in total. This meant that aside from those with severed limbs or those so delirious with fever they couldn't move, nearly every single one of them had participated in the defense of the left flank.
Many lacked the strength even to lift their percussion cap muskets; they had worked in pairs, with one man resting the barrel on his shoulder while the man behind him pulled the trigger.
Kościuszko removed his hat and traced a cross over his chest, facing southeast. "They are the most fearless warriors of Poland. It was they who saved us all. May their souls find eternal peace in heaven."
Colonel Laurent Saint-Cyr arrived with several guards. He had been commanding the northern defenses—at noon, Bagration's vanguard had unexpectedly bypassed Wawrzecki's interception and appeared west of Nosovka, posing a significant threat.
"Patrice told me you broke through the Russian lines," Saint-Cyr remarked.
Kościuszko pointed toward the flag flying atop the town's bell tower. "General Madaliński stormed the position half an hour ago."
He bowed slightly to Saint-Cyr, his heart still racing from the close call. "If you hadn't formulated this retreat plan in time, we would likely have frozen to death in Smolensk by now."
"I have ordered the men to rest and regroup in town," Kościuszko continued. "We set out at dawn tomorrow. With luck, we will begin crossing the river by tomorrow afternoon."
He was, of course, referring to the Dnieper River.
Saint-Cyr, however, asked a different question: "Are there any units left capable of combat?"
Kościuszko looked toward his staff officer.
The officer quickly replied, "The Vladimir Infantry Brigade and the 7th Skirmisher Regiment were on harassment duty last night; they've had the most rest." "Over seven thousand men. That should be enough," Saint-Cyr noted with a nod. "Add all the artillery. Have them prepare throughout the night to launch a surprise attack on Nezhin tomorrow."
Nezhin lay more than twenty kilometers northwest of Kozelets and served as the headquarters for Prince Bagration’s main corps. It was the exact opposite direction of the Polish retreat.
Kościuszko was stunned. "Isn't that far too dangerous?"
Had Saint-Cyr not proven his tactical brilliance throughout the campaign, Kościuszko likely would have rebuked him for sending soldiers to their deaths. Saint-Cyr explained, "Once the Russians learn that Samoylov has been routed, they will naturally assume we are continuing our westward retreat."
"Their most likely course of action will be to rush headlong toward the Dnieper to intercept us."
"They will never expect us to launch a counter-strike."
"This will buy us ample time to complete the crossing..."
After Saint-Cyr finished explaining the detailed operational deployment, Kościuszko's doubts finally vanished. He nodded to the herald. "Execute the Colonel's plan immediately."
"By your command, Marshal!"
At noon the following day, as Bagration’s corps was hurriedly crossing a tributary of the Desna River, the roar of artillery suddenly thundered from the high ground on the opposite bank. Instantly, Polish skirmishers who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere opened fire on the Russians who had just made landfall.
Over thirteen thousand Russian soldiers were crowded together in total disarray. Before they could even attempt to form lines, hundreds were cut down by a hail of bullets. The Russian troops recoiled in terror, only to realize that the Polish cannons hadn't been aiming at them—they were targeting the frozen surface of the river behind them.
The continuous bombardment from eight six-pounder cannons shattered the thin ice. Russian soldiers nearest the banks were shoved into the freezing water by the surging crowd.
Those caught in the middle of the crossing were paralyzed by indecision, unsure whether to retreat or push forward to reinforce the far bank. In an instant, the crossing became a chaotic bottleneck.
The Polish artillery adjusted their aim, pouring shells into the center of the river.
The barrage wasn't particularly dense—after all, there were only eight guns, and the direct casualties were almost negligible—but the ice beneath the Russians' feet splintered into massive chunks.
Hundreds of Russian soldiers plunged into the water. Those who escaped the freezing abyss turned and fled in a panic, ignoring the beat of drums and the screams of their officers. In just over an hour, Bagration's corps lost nearly three thousand men. Two thousand who had already crossed the river surrendered to the Polish forces, while the rest scattered in every direction.
The Polish Vladimir Infantry Brigade, tasked with the raid, wasted no time. They ordered the prisoners to throw their weapons and winter coats into the river and immediately began their retreat. It wasn't until two o'clock the next afternoon that Tormasov's Corps finally reached the vicinity of Kozelets.
By then, Kościuszko had gained a day and a half of breathing room, allowing him to cross the frozen Dnieper and return to Polish territory with poise.
Because time was on his side, he even had the engineers construct a simple pontoon bridge. This allowed him to bring back the logistical supplies "requisitioned" from Russia, along with several hundred mules and horses.
In the Polish town of Dymer...
Kościuszko watched the exhausted, soot-stained soldiers marching past him. His heart was a heavy mix of grief and relief. Of the ninety thousand men who had marched into Russia, only fifty-six thousand had returned home with him.
However, the vast majority of the junior and mid-level officers had survived, meaning the foundation of the army remained intact.
In truth, because Kutuzov had diverted his main force south of Smolensk to pursue Kościuszko, he had inadvertently loosened the siege on the Polish garrisons in Russian cities like Orsha and Barysaw. Another three to four thousand men from those areas were gradually trickling back toward Minsk.
Kościuszko glanced back at the frozen Dnieper, then turned to Saint-Cyr. "Colonel, we must establish a defensive line along the river as quickly as possible. The Russians could attack at any moment. I have already ordered the Minsk garrison to move up—there are over seventeen thousand men. They should be enough to hold the enemy until our main force finishes regrouping."
Saint-Cyr raised an eyebrow. "You still have that many soldiers available?"
"They are fresh recruits who just finished training, brought in from Warsaw, Drahichyn, and other areas."
Saint-Cyr broke into a smile. "That is perfect timing. Have a portion of them reinforce Mazyr. The rest must march south immediately to attack Kyiv!"
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