Chapter 722: Defend the Homeland with Our Lives
Catherine II drew a deep breath and looked at the officers standing stiffly around her. "So, which of our legions is currently closest to Crimea?" she asked calmly.
Zubov replied without a moment's hesitation, "Morkov's Legion in Mozyr..."
Everyone instantly fixed him with a dagger-like gaze.
Marshal Repnin quickly interrupted, "Your Majesty, the Saratov Legion turned south a week ago. They might reach Crimea in about a month and a half."
The Tsar gave him a sidelong glance, her voice turning cold. "A month and a half. Excellent. Now tell me, can Bakhchysarai hold out for a month and a half?"
Repnin lowered his head, silent.
He knew that the Polish army in Crimea had managed to capture even Kursk Fortress. Even if they were currently short on supplies, there was no way Bakhchysarai could withstand them for that long.
Catherine II's plump hand slapped the table. She looked around at everyone again. "Who can tell me who we should send now to deal with those Poles?"
Marshal Rumyantsev stepped forward reluctantly. "Your Majesty, perhaps Count Zubov is correct. The safest option right now is to deploy Morkov's Legion south. With a forced march, they could reach Bakhchysarai in just twenty days."
"A mere Polish army of just over ten thousand men, moving freely within our borders! Now they're on the verge of destroying Crimea!"
"You were all here two months ago, and you told me to ignore these Poles, that they would simply starve to death.
"And now?
"Not only did they not starve, but they've penetrated hundreds of kilometers into our territory and are now besieging Bakhchysarai!"
She turned to Zubov, gritting her teeth. "Arrest Korezenikov immediately. The useless wretch!"
She then turned to Rumyantsev. "Is there no other option?"
A silence fell over the room.
Catherine II sank back into her chair and waved a hand, her voice weary. "Very well, as you suggested, deploy Morkov's Legion to Crimea.
"Send more men and place Kakhovsky in command. I don't want to hear any more bad news."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Kakhovsky and Rumyantsev both saluted, then exchanged a helpless glance.
They knew that to ensure success, at least thirty thousand soldiers would have to be transferred south from Morkov's Legion.
This would leave less than forty thousand Russian soldiers in the Mozyr region.
Meanwhile, the Polish army facing them numbered nearly fifty thousand.
Not only would the Russian army be unable to advance further, but with their numerical superiority, the Poles might even launch a counteroffensive.
The original strategy for a swift victory in Poland was clearly no longer feasible.
Given the Empire's current financial state, it was unlikely they could sustain a prolonged national war.
The ultimate outcome of the Russo-Polish War had become entirely unpredictable.
...
Twenty-five days later.
Crimea.
Polish Expeditionary Force Headquarters.
Kościuszko flipped through the organizational report in his hands and said to his staff officer, "Hand these three hundred men over to Swiezynski. Many of them fought in the Russo-Turkish War; they should be useful."
Indeed, during the time he had besieged Bakhchysarai, local Ottomans had flocked to him, requesting to join his army.
Their total number exceeded six hundred. This was after Kościuszko had carefully selected them; otherwise, he could have assembled an Ottoman legion of over a thousand men.
Just then, Dombrowski pushed open the door and entered, his expression grave as he looked at the commander-in-chief, uttering a single word: "They're here."
Kościuszko nodded. "A few days later than I expected. How many men?"
"Close to thirty thousand," Dombrowski replied. "Kakhovsky is their commander."
"Hm, it seems the Russians no longer dare to underestimate us."
"Still proceeding with the original plan?"
"Yes," Kościuszko said, stepping forward to pat the cavalry commander's arm with a smile. "We've drawn the Russian forces from Mozyr, which is already a success.
"As for the rest, just go for it. Whatever victories we achieve will be a blessing from God."
Dombrowski chuckled along. "It's just, with so many enemies, I wonder if we can hold out for two days?"
Their initial estimate was that the Russian army would send a maximum of twenty thousand men, but now there were significantly more.
In reality, Kakhovsky had moved thirty-five thousand men south from Mozyr, but a continuous forced march had caused many soldiers to fall behind, leaving him with less than thirty thousand by the time they reached Crimea.
Upon receiving Kościuszko's orders, the Polish army immediately mobilized.
Colonel Swiezynski commanded two thousand Polish soldiers and six hundred Ottoman troops, continuing the fierce assault on Bakhchysarai—this time it would be a real attack, no longer just a feint.
Kościuszko, meanwhile, led his ten-thousand-strong main force to the Simferopol area in west-central Crimea to intercept Kakhovsky's Russian army.
Yes, Kościuszko knew perfectly well that his unit had no chance of returning to Poland. His goal was to inflict as much damage as possible on Russia before his forces were annihilated.
He gave Swiezynski two days to breach Bakhchysarai and cause destruction.
In other words, Kościuszko needed to tie down an enemy force three times his size for two full days.
The central part of Crimea was entirely flat terrain, offering no natural defenses.
They would have to rely on direct combat to hold back the enemy.
By noon that day, Kościuszko had already deployed his troops in several infantry lines on the higher, gentler slopes south of Simferopol.
Simferopol, which would eventually become the capital of Crimea, was at that time merely a small transit town for supplies, lacking any usable fortifications.
In less than an hour, the vanguard of the Russian army appeared in their sight.
Kościuszko rode his horse past the soldiers. He didn't deliver an impassioned speech; he simply raised his saber and declared loudly, "With our lives, we defend the homeland!"
All the Polish soldiers immediately swelled their chests and let out a thunderous roar, "With our lives, we defend the homeland!"
"Defend the homeland with our lives!"
From the moment they had left Poland, none of them had ever intended to return alive.
That vow had long been etched into the heart of every single man.
Now, it was merely time to fulfill it.
Everything felt so natural, yet it burned in their chests like a raging inferno!
At three in the afternoon, Kakhovsky launched his attack.
Because the Russian army had made a forced march, they didn't have more cannons than the Poles.
So, after a brief exchange of fire, the Russians initiated a frontal assault.
At the same time, Kakhovsky, leveraging his significant numerical superiority, detached seven infantry regiments to envelop the Polish forces from both flanks.
However, to Kakhovsky's surprise, Kościuszko had no intention of holding a static defense. The moment the Russian army began to move, the Royal Third Division launched a frontal counterattack.
With a desperate resolve, accompanied by the beating drums, the Poles charged forward like cold, unyielding machines, steadily advancing until they were less than sixty paces from the center of the Russian lines.
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