Chapter 720: Kościuszko's Counterattack
Before long, several Ottomans were brought before Kościuszko.
To be precise, they had approached on their own initiative after spotting the banners of Poland's Winged Hussars.
The leading Ottoman bowed respectfully, placing a hand over his chest, and spoke in French, "I believe I have the honor of addressing the esteemed General Kościuszko?"
The general, suspecting something, quickly returned the bow and replied in French, "That would be me. And you are?"
"Kovancı Özer," the Ottoman introduced himself, then gazed once more at the Polish army stretching to the horizon, letting out a breath. "You've finally arrived! We are the Crimean resistance, and we've brought you food and medicine."
Kościuszko's heart soared with elation, so much so that his hands began to tremble slightly.
The Crown Prince had truly kept his word!
Just as he was on the verge of despair, the Crown Prince had miraculously delivered supplies deep into Russian territory!
His army would not silently perish in these dense forests after all.
Thank you, Your Royal Highness!
May God bless him!
He instinctively started to make the sign of the cross, but remembering the faith of the man before him, he merely pressed a hand to his chest, exclaiming excitedly, "This is wonderful!
"It must have been incredibly difficult to transport supplies to such a remote location, Mr. Özer. Thank you so much!"
He glanced at the convoy behind Özer. While six or seven carts wouldn't carry a huge amount, it was enough for the soldiers to at least have a decent meal today.
"Are they on those carts?" he asked somewhat eagerly.
Özer shook his head. "The carts are loaded with timber, General. It's to avoid Russian inspections."
Kościuszko was taken aback. "Didn't you say you had food and medicine?"
The Ottoman took out a small knife, slit open a seam in his garment, and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him. "The supplies are all here."
Kościuszko unfolded the paper to reveal a map of southwestern Russia, marked with over a dozen red and blue dots.
"What is this?"
"The red dots indicate villages where supplies can be acquired," Özer explained. "The blue ones are our secret caches. Ammunition and tents couldn't be brought this deep into Russia, but I will arrange for them to be delivered to you once you reach Crimea."
Only then did Kościuszko notice that the marked locations roughly coincided with his army's planned route to Crimea.
He looked at Özer, a hint of surprise in his voice. "I expected you to lead a supply convoy. I never imagined..."
Özer waved a dismissive hand. "Logistical supplies for an army of tens of thousands require hundreds of large wagons. The Russians aren't fools; that much cargo would be intercepted before it even left Kherson."
He gestured towards the map. "This was our French friend's idea.
"He instructed us, starting several months ago, to transport the supplies provided by His Majesty the Sultan northward in batches, under the guise of grain trade. We set up temporary warehouses along the route for storage.
"As you know, many people are involved in the grain business, so the Russians wouldn't notice a thing."
"Furthermore, the area from Kharkov to Yekaterinoslav is sparsely populated, so there was no concern about the caches being discovered.
"Once your army arrives, you'll be able to collect supplies as you advance."
Kościuszko and Dombrowski exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with profound admiration.
They had previously speculated how the Crown Prince would manage to supply such a large army, all believing it an impossible task. They never imagined he would so ingeniously solve the problem by exploiting the desolate nature of the Russian provinces along the route!
"Let's press on," Özer said, extending an arm to the south. "It's still over 300 miles to Crimea. Oh, and the nearest secret cache is just 4 miles to the southwest.
"On the way, I can also inform you about the Russian troop deployments in Crimea..."
Thirty-five days later.
Kościuszko, leading 13,000 brave Polish soldiers, arrived in northern Crimea.
They had spent Christmas in Yekaterinoslav, defeated Russian defenders in Krasnoyarsk amidst heavy snow, and overcome unimaginable hardships. Finally, they had brought their cannons to bear on Russia's southern gateway.
Inside a dilapidated farmhouse, Özer held up an oil lamp and pointed to a city on the southwestern side of Crimea on the map. "I can assure you, General, Bakhchysarai is garrisoned by only 1,300 Russian soldiers, and their morale is low.
"If you launch an attack, you can capture it in a single day.
"And our people inside the city can coordinate with you; it might even take less than a day."
Ever since Crimea was occupied by Russia, the Ottomans who once lived there had organized several resistance movements. Özer was part of the largest among them.
They had over 200 armed members within Bakhchysarai, all desperately hoping for someone to make the Russians suffer.
However, Kościuszko smiled and shook his head. "If Bakhchysarai were to fall immediately, the Russians would simply become more patient and slowly organize a siege against us.
"But if the Bakhchysarai garrison continually sends out pleas for help, the Russian army will undoubtedly rush to reinforce them at top speed. That's when we'll have more opportunities.
"So, we must give the Russians a glimmer of hope."
Three days later.
The Polish Royal Third Division began its assault on Bakhchysarai.
After the Kursk Fortress was breached, the Russians had already discerned the Polish strategic intent. However, due to Crimea's remote location, there were simply no available forces nearby that could be redeployed for reinforcement.
The Russian soldiers within the city were in a panic, at one point even considering opening the gates and surrendering. It was only after Lieutenant Colonel Trunikov, commanding the city's defenses, executed more than ten men in succession that he managed to barely stabilize the situation.
However, once the battle began, an unexpected situation arose for the Russian forces.
Despite the seemingly vast numbers of Polish troops, their projected firepower was not significantly stronger than that of the 1,300 Russian soldiers within the city.
Trunikov lowered his telescope and excitedly pulled a nearby staff officer closer. "Those damned Poles must be running low on ammunition!"
The staff officer nodded. "Yes, sir. They fought fierce battles in Bryansk and Kursk and likely haven't received adequate resupply."
Trunikov shouted excitedly, "Send out more messengers, quickly! As soon as reinforcements arrive, we can definitely hold this place!"
Indeed, just as he predicted, for the next ten days or so, the Bakhchysarai garrison and the Polish forces engaged in back-and-forth skirmishes. Trunikov even led cavalry charges several times, achieving minor successes.
Until, that is, 4,000 Russian troops rushing from Moldavia, the western border between Russia and the Ottoman Empire, were ambushed south of Kherson.
Kościuszko, leading 8,000 soldiers, routed these reinforcements in a single afternoon, capturing over a thousand Russians.
Later, another 2,000 Russian troops from Tsaritsyn were completely annihilated by Kościuszko as they prepared to enter Bakhchysarai.
When the news reached Saint Petersburg, all of Russia was shaken.
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