Novels online

Chapter 709: The Russian God of War's Counterattack

The band playing nearby instantly fell silent.

The officers present exchanged nervous glances, then snapped to attention, affirmed their understanding, and dispersed.

Suvorov waved away the lavishly dressed guards who were performing the welcoming ceremony. "These fools," he grumbled to Tormasov at his side, "they have no idea how crucial time is for the Poles.

"Their king didn't hesitate to lie and provoke His Majesty the Tsar, all to buy time for their nation. And yet, look at my generals, wasting such precious time on ceremonies.

"Hah! I'd bet that in the more than a month since our army paused its offensive, the Polish lines opposite us have gained thousands more soldiers."

He was just complaining offhandedly, yet he had inadvertently hit the nail on the head.

Stanislaw II had stalled for a full 24 days with armistice talks. Afterwards, Catherine II ordered the Russo-Polish front to resume hostilities.

Her order reached Smolensk 7 days later, and Suvorov took another 4 days to arrive in Minsk.

By this point, a full 36 days had passed since the temporary Russian ceasefire.

Just two days prior, two newly trained infantry regiments from Warsaw, totaling 3,000 men, had already reached Minsk. Another two new regiments were expected in four days, bringing with them six brand-new cannons.

In addition, the Polish soldiers in Minsk had enjoyed over a month of solid rest and had largely recovered their morale and vigor.

The entire Minsk defense line had been re-stabilized.

Tormasov mused for a moment, then suggested, "Marshal, perhaps we could spread propaganda among the Poles that their king intends to surrender, to crush their morale."

"Hmm, we can try that."

Suvorov nodded, glancing at the command post adorned with ribbons. He gestured for an aide to bring his horse. "Have all this taken down. I'm going to the front line first."

"Yes, Marshal."

Several hours later.

On a small hillock in front of the Polish lines, Suvorov lowered his telescope and remarked to Tormasov, "I must admit, the Polish soldiers are tenacious."

"Indeed, Marshal."

"Korezenikov's tactical arrangements were too rigid before," Suvorov said, signaling his staff to unfurl a map. "We have a numerical advantage. A direct assault could certainly breach the Polish defenses, but it would be too time-consuming."

After recalling the battlefield situation, he ordered, "Narrow the attack front. Concentrate the entire army's offensive on Yushno Village, on the south side.

"The Gumilyov Corps no longer needs to participate in the main assault. Have them bypass the Polish defenses via Novogrudok and advance west."

Tormasov exclaimed in surprise, "Marshal, Novogrudok is dense forest; resupply would be almost impossible..."

Novogrudok lay southwest of Minsk. Passing through it would allow an attack on Drahichyn, a critical central Polish town, which in turn was close to Warsaw.

Suvorov smiled. "It doesn't matter, as long as the Poles believe I intend to launch a full-scale assault on Drahichyn.

"The Gumilyov Corps has the most serf-soldiers and poor equipment; they wouldn't be very effective here. But by pulling them out, we force the Poles to divide their forces to respond.

"That is the proper use of superior numbers."

Listening to the distant rumble of cannons, he swung into his saddle. "I estimate that in a week at most, the Polish forces will concentrate towards Yushno Village. At that point, we'll immediately shift our attack to the north side. Oh, and we can start setting up artillery positions on the northern line right now."

"Yes, Marshal."

...

Two days later, news concerning the King of Poland spread among the Polish soldiers in Minsk.

Behind the breastwork, Czeslaw watched the retreating Russian forces, then put away his flintlock musket and turned to the young man beside him, whose face was blackened with gunpowder smoke. "Hey, Vanya, did you hear? His Majesty the King is going to Petersburg to surrender."

Vanya stopped counting ammunition, widening his eyes dramatically. "Oh, my God! I'm truly shocked that our King even knows we're fighting Russia!"

His words immediately drew a burst of laughter.

Indeed, Stanislaw II was widely seen as an incompetent clown by the common folk. No one really took his actions seriously anymore.

A tall, brown-haired soldier nearby declared loudly, "His Royal Highness is still leading the fight in Mozyr! No one's surrendering!"

"That's right, parliament just issued a new mobilization order. The new recruit training camps in Warsaw are packed every day."

A soldier whispered mysteriously, "I heard the regimental commander say that General Kościuszko is launching a surprise attack on Moscow!"

"Really?"

"Haha, that's fantastic!"

"Now the Russians are in for it!"

Czeslaw, still cautious, reminded everyone, "But His Majesty the King really did go to Petersburg. I saw it in the newspaper in the officers' tent."

Vanya winked at him. "He's probably just off to meet his old mistress. Ah, let me think, wasn't he chased back by a Russian rival last time?"

The soldiers laughed even harder.

The brown-haired soldier grinned. "Speaking of which, isn't His Majesty's 'sweetheart' almost 65 by now?"

Vanya put on a lewd expression. "What do you know about His Majesty's particular tastes?"

Beside them, an old veteran cupped his hands in front of his belly, mimicking a lifting motion. "I bet she's already sagged all the way down to here, wouldn't you say?"

The soldiers burst into laughter again. "Oh, His Majesty the King truly has courage!"

"God, I definitely couldn't handle that..."

"Let's hope our King doesn't get beaten up by his younger rival this time."

"Hahahahaha."

Suvorov could never have predicted that the news of the 'King's surrender' would actually help the Polish soldiers liven the atmosphere and relax their nerves during lulls in combat.

Meanwhile, Stanislaw II, the object of their jokes, stood in a corner room on the second floor of the Winter Palace, gazing anxiously at the western sky.

That was the direction of Poland...

Paris.

In a room on the second floor of Versailles, Perna tucked the covers around the deeply sleeping, frowning Camelia. She turned to the Crown Prince, shaking her head gently. "Your Royal Highness, she's still feverish. We've tried everything, even doubled the dosage of Crown Prince's Blessing, but nothing has helped."

Crown Prince's Blessing was the most effective fever reducer currently available.

The semiconscious Camelia suddenly began to cough violently. Perna quickly leaned over to support her, gently rubbing her back.

Joseph's expression grew solemn. The maid had been feverish for three days and two nights, showing no signs of improvement.

Once Camelia calmed down, Perna continued, "And she hasn't eaten much these past two days, which will only make her weaker."

Joseph frowned. "It's highly probable she has a lung infection."

The Seine River was incredibly dirty; inhaling its water directly into the lungs would indeed make infection highly likely.

"Infection?" Perna inquired. "Like a wound turning septic?"

"Similar. Both are bacteria invading the body."

"Then, should we flush her lungs with alcohol?" Perna had extensive experience treating wounds with 75% alcohol on the battlefield.