Chapter 696: The Useless King
Warsaw.
Royal Castle.
Stanislaw II looked gravely at the enemy invasion markers on the map. 'Everything happened just as the Crown Prince predicted. We should have listened to his advice...' he murmured, filled with self-reproach.
Earlier, Royal Minister Mawalofski had analyzed the current situation for him. According to the latest intelligence sent back to Warsaw, Poland was surrounded by enemies on all sides: Russia was simultaneously attacking Lithuania and the West Bank of the Dnieper River from the east. A week prior, Prussia and Austria had also declared war on Poland.
Beside him, Staszic, the President of the Upper House, lowered his head and whispered:
"Yes, we placed too much faith in the alliance."
If they had deployed some defensive measures in Poznan earlier, the Prussian army wouldn't have been able to conquer the three western provinces in mere days.
Even more critically, the Lithuanian legions were retreating steadily under the fierce assault of General Korezenikov's Russian army, and Minsk was on the verge of falling.
After a long moment, the Polish King let out a deep sigh and looked at Mawalofski, asking, "So, what is the military committee's recommendation?"
Bielak was the commander of the Minsk defensive battle.
Staszic's brow furrowed. "That means we have no troops at all to send to the western front?"
"I'm afraid so..."
The expressions of the several Polish high-ranking officials in the room grew grim. Poland had thrown all its strength into the fight, but it still couldn't withstand the siege of three great powers.
'Was surrender the only outcome left?'
Stanislaw II suddenly pointed to Krakow in the southwest direction on the map and asked, "How many troops would it take to hold back the Austrian army?"
The Royal Minister looked at the officer standing by the door, an advisor from the military committee.
The officer pondered for a moment before replying, "For a full defense, it would likely require ten thousand men, Your Majesty."
Currently, Warsaw only had five regiments available, totaling 7,500 men.
The King then turned to Mawalofski. "How long would it take you to raise another four regiments?"
"Two months," Mawalofski paused, gritting his teeth firmly. "No, Your Majesty, I can raise four regiments in just forty days!"
With a shared hatred of the enemy, morale throughout Poland was incredibly high. Every day, the military committee's recruitment stations were swarming with people.
Nobles, merchants, workers, and farmers alike were all fervently demanding to join the Crusaders, eager to drive out the invaders for their homeland.
There was absolutely no shortage of recruits.
The military committee's new recruit registry had at least twenty to thirty thousand names. This was the result of only accepting young, healthy volunteers; if requirements were relaxed, they could even muster over fifty thousand men.
However, an army wasn't simply a random group of people handed rifles.
A minimum level of military training had to be completed. Otherwise, on the battlefield, they wouldn't know how to form ranks, wouldn't understand orders, and would not only fail to repel the enemy but also cause chaos for their own side.
Fortunately, the Warsaw Royal Military Academy had been established half a year prior, providing a large number of ready-made instructors. This was the source of Mawalofski's confidence in raising four regiments within forty days.
Of course, such a short timeframe would only ensure that soldiers could pick up a gun and shoot, and not get separated. No actual combat effectiveness could be expected.
'Forty days...'
Stanislaw II pressed down firmly on the map, as if making a momentous decision. He declared solemnly to the Royal Minister, "I can buy you... at least a month's time on the Minsk front.
"Please recruit the army as quickly as possible.
"As for the existing five regiments, send them all to Krakow. We absolutely cannot lose the Tarnowskie Góry silver mine."
Currently, the silver mine supported nearly half of Poland's financial expenditure. If anything went wrong there, Poland would collapse almost instantly.
"Your Majesty, what do you intend to do?"
The Polish King seemed a little embarrassed but still replied, "I still hold the title of King. And, I have some... well, 'favors' owed to me in Russia, I suppose. Using those should buy us a month."
Mawalofski immediately understood, shaking his head repeatedly. "Your Majesty, you, you cannot do this..."
Stanislaw II smiled faintly. "I am not skilled in politics or military affairs. In truth, I always knew the Tsar pushed me onto the throne precisely because he saw me as useless..."
"No, no, you are by no means..."
The King was quite open about it. "My reputation has never been good anyway, and this is all I can do for my homeland.
"Oh, the people will surely be disappointed in me later.
"Józef is far more suited to be king than I am. I hope the parliament will give him their full support."
Józef was the name of Prince Poniatowski.
The King then explained his plan.
The high-ranking officials in the room immediately shook their heads in unison. "Your Majesty, how can this be?"
"Poland needs you!"
"There must be another way..."
Stanislaw II waved a hand. "Just let me fight alongside everyone else."
...
Western Poland.
The fallen province of Poznan.
Count Potocki, the Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs, sat with his head bowed, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
In his pocket was the armistice agreement already approved by parliament.
And today, he was to hand it over to the Prussians here, exchanging three provinces of Greater Poland and the city of Gdańsk in a humiliating deal for a Prussian withdrawal.
Indeed, Poland could no longer spare any troops to defend its northwest.
Potocki glanced at his pocket watch. He had been waiting here for over an hour. The Prussians were clearly intent on inflicting more humiliation upon him.
Just then, his attendant quietly approached him, leaning in to whisper:
"My lord, a local Prussian tax official says he has urgent business to discuss with you. Oh, he's from Kulm."
"Kulm?" Potocki's eyes narrowed. Kulm had been Polish territory twenty years ago, and Catholicism was still widely practiced there.
The Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs, feigning discomfort with the chair's musty smell, rose and went outside.
A short, gray-haired man casually walked past him. As he drew closest, he suddenly slowed his pace and whispered in perfect Polish:
"Please report to Warsaw: Gdańsk has not fallen yet!
"Captain Romilev and his French comrades are holding it. He says they can hold out for at least three months, and his corpse will be the last barrier before the enemy."
Potocki's heart pounded immediately. He struggled to suppress his surging emotions and confirmed:
"Are you telling the truth?"
"I swear. I received the message and rode all night from Torun to see you." The short man made the sign of the cross over his chest. "May God bless Poland!"
Potocki looked straight ahead, nodding in acknowledgment. Then, with force, he crumpled the armistice agreement in his pocket into a ball.
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