Chapter 1480: The Mire of the Jura Mountains
Kościuszko shook his head immediately. "The Russians' offensive momentum is fierce; we must establish defenses along the border as quickly as possible."
Saint-Cyr glanced toward the Dnieper River. "If I am not mistaken, Kutuzov will need at least a month of preparation on the left bank before he can launch an offensive. Until then, we will see nothing more than minor skirmishes."
Kościuszko was about to argue, but then he recalled Saint-Cyr's brilliant command during the counter-offensive against the Bagration Legion. He lowered his voice, asking humbly, "May I ask what you base that assessment on?"
"Logistics," Saint-Cyr replied. "The Russians themselves have emptied every village and town for hundreds of kilometers west of Dorogobuzh, and we, in turn, helped them 'clean up' the vast region from the Duchy of Siverskyi to Lubny.
"This means that currently, only a few cities like Kursk and Bryansk can provide Kutuzov with local supplies. That is nowhere near enough to meet the needs of an army of over a hundred thousand men.
"If he wishes to launch a large-scale offensive, he must first transport supplies from Moscow, seven hundred kilometers away, or from northern hubs like Novgorod and Pskov.
"Such a massive logistical undertaking would take a month even in the summer, let alone in the dead of winter."
In truth, Saint-Cyr was slightly off on one point: Kutuzov's main force was nowhere near a hundred thousand men anymore.
To pursue Kościuszko, the Russian army had marched over four hundred kilometers through a desolate wasteland while enduring extreme cold. Their logistical situation was no better than the Polish army's, and their medical conditions were significantly worse.
Kościuszko had simply been stuck in a defensive mindset due to his desperate retreat. Now, with the Frenchman's reminder, he nodded repeatedly. "You are quite right. We should indeed take full advantage of this month to reclaim Kyiv."
Kyiv was the Russians' last stronghold on the right bank of the Dnieper. Once it was taken, the Polish army could use the river as a natural barrier, significantly reducing the difficulty of their defense.
As Kościuszko spoke, he suddenly remembered that long ago, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent of France had suggested he prioritize recovering Kyiv. However, he and the vast majority of his officers had believed they could deal with Kyiv after capturing Smolensk or even Moscow.
As it turned out, Kyiv, embedded on the right bank of the Dnieper, had become the perfect breach for the Russian offensive.
A wave of shame washed over him.
If the Prince Regent had not sent Saint-Cyr to assist him in command, he would likely have been besieged by Kutuzov in the frozen wastes of Smolensk. Even if he had managed a desperate breakout, the number of soldiers returning home probably wouldn't have been half of what remained now...
Indeed, the Marshal had still underestimated the power of General Winter.
Years ago, even a leader as formidable as Emperor Napoleon had lost nearly ninety percent of his army just to barely escape the cold, desolate reaches of Russia.
Setting aside the difference in combat strength between the Polish army and the French army of that era, if Joseph hadn't essentially provided him with a complete overview of the strategic map, Kościuszko would have been lucky if even seven or eight thousand Polish soldiers had survived. It would have taken a miracle.
Kościuszko spoke to Saint-Cyr in a consultative tone. "Colonel, in that case, we shall detach five thousand soldiers to reinforce Mazyr, and the rest will move to attack Kyiv."
The latter shook his head. "Ignore Mazyr. Concentrate all your strength on taking Kyiv.
"The garrison in Kyiv likely hasn't heard that our main force has returned to the right bank yet. If they had, they would certainly have reinforced their defenses. We must end the battle quickly before they can react!"
"But Mazyr has fewer than a thousand defenders, and the enemy force surrounding them is over six thousand."
"You need not worry. Once we control Kyiv, the Russian forces attacking Mazyr will surrender immediately."
In northwestern Switzerland.
At the foot of the Jura Mountains, some thirty kilometers from Solothurn, General Mikhalevich, commander-in-chief of the Austrian Intervention Force, gazed at the rolling gray and yellow peaks. His face was grim as he turned to a nearby herald. "Order Major Dressler to cease the pursuit."
Those cursed Basel rebels numbered only about four hundred, and he had sent a full three thousand troops to suppress them. However, after launching a single ambush, the rebels had immediately fled into the Jura Mountains.
He had not forgotten how, just last month, the Pressburg Skirmisher Battalion had refused to let go of a nearly defeated rebel group and chased them into those very mountains.
The result was a disaster. They quickly lost their way, and with the rebels constantly harassing and sniping at them, less than four hundred of the thirteen hundred soldiers returned to base ten days later, looking utterly defeated.
'Those wretched cowards!' Mikhalevich thought, snapping his riding crop as if it were a rebel's neck.
Lieutenant Colonel Lazar Ilich stepped forward from beside him. "General, I have had men survey the area. From Olten to Solothurn, there are over sixty mountain passes that lead into the Jura range.
"If we send troops to blockade these passes, we can trap the rebels on the mountain and starve them out!"
Mikhalevich shot him an annoyed glare.
Sixty-plus passes. Even if he stationed five hundred soldiers at each one, it would require over thirty thousand men.
At the same time, he would need a mobile reserve. Otherwise, if the rebels managed to slip out, all the nearby cities would be in danger.
He would need at least thirty-five thousand men to make that work. Yet, he currently had only seventeen thousand soldiers under his command.
Indeed, since entering Switzerland, they had eliminated very few Basel rebels, while the Austrian army had already lost nearly three thousand men.
As soon as Mikhalevich returned to Solothurn, a staff officer solemnly handed him a letter. "General, this just arrived from Vienna."
Mikhalevich tore the letter open. It was from Marshal Wurmser. It stated that His Majesty took the situation in Basel very seriously; if Mikhalevich could resolve the rebellion within three months, he would have the chance to secure a very important position on the Military Commission.
Mikhalevich let out a long breath and tucked the letter away. He turned to his attendant. "Have Lieutenant Colonel Ilich come see me."
The following afternoon, at the Austrian headquarters, several staff officers placed the operational plan for the Jura Mountains blockade before Mikhalevich.
After detailed planning, they had determined that the required force was exactly thirty-seven thousand men.
Mikhalevich signed the document, then returned to his office to write a letter to Marshal Wurmser.
In order to get Vienna to send an additional twenty thousand soldiers, he estimated he would have to use every connection he had and spend at least a hundred thousand Florins to grease the right palms. However, if it meant a promotion, a hundred thousand Florins was a price well worth paying!
Just as he was handing the letter to his attendant, a staff officer knocked and entered, his face contorted as if he were suffering from severe constipation. "General, regarding those twenty-odd rebels captured last week... seven of them are Parmans. That, well, might be a bit of a problem..."
"Did I not order you to have them hanged directly?"
The staff officer hurried to explain. "Yes, General. But while verifying their identities today, we discovered that one of them is the nephew of the Marquis of Busto. The other four also come from prominent families in Parma."
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