Chapter 722: Bloody Battle of Crimea
Almost every Russian soldier believed this journey to Crimea would be an easy victory for them, so when the Poles suddenly appeared before them, they were all momentarily bewildered.
"Aim—"
The Polish formation, moving at high speed, appeared somewhat disorderly, yet the soldiers raised their muskets in unison, exuding an aura of grim, unyielding resolve.
The Russian side was clearly a beat behind, perhaps influenced by this imposing presence, or perhaps due to their stamina being depleted from the long march.
"Fire—"
The Polish officer’s bloodshot eyes widened as he shouted the order.
"For the Motherland!" Nearly 5,000 Polish infantrymen let out a thunderous roar in unison, simultaneously pulling their triggers and unleashing the hatred and fury in their hearts upon the Russians opposite them with their flintlock muskets.
A hail of bullets swept through the Russian lines like a storm, splattering flesh and blood, and screams erupted immediately.
"Reload—" The Polish officers' commands rang out again.
Due to their immense numerical superiority—Kakhovsky's central army numbered over 8,000—their volley, though ragged, still left hundreds of Polish soldiers lying in pools of blood.
But the Poles seemed oblivious to their comrades' casualties, not even bothering to wipe away the blood that spattered their faces, simply completing their reloading actions in silence.
They felt no sorrow, for they were ready to join their fallen comrades at any moment.
"Advance seven steps!"
"Aim—"
As the Poles raised their flintlock muskets in unison once more, a wave of fear involuntarily surged within the Russian soldiers' hearts.
Under the sunlight, they could already see the Poles' expressions—cold and resolute. They were clearly there to fight to the death.
"Fire—"
"For the Motherland!" Accompanied by shouts that echoed across the battlefield, flashes of fire erupted, and smoke billowed as thousands of lead balls instantly ripped into the Russian lines.
Dozens of Russian soldiers fell, screaming, seemingly unable to bear the immense pressure from the Poles; some even began to recoil.
Indeed, just two volleys had shaken the resolve of the Russian central army!
Just then, over 400 Polish Winged Hussars, clad in red uniforms with magnificent wings on their backs, appeared on the eastern flank of the battlefield. Behind them were 300 regular light cavalry, who also raised their sabers, their morale no less formidable than the Hussars'.
Dombrowski himself charged at the forefront, pointing his saber towards the Russian left flank, and shouted:
"Maintain formation! Charge!"
The cavalrymen excitedly cheered in response:
"Charge!"
"Let those Russians know what's coming!"
"Aha, here we come!"
Dombrowski took advantage of the Russian flanks not having fully encircled them yet, thrusting forward directly through a gap in the enemy's inner defenses.
Though this maneuver was extremely risky—the encircling Russian infantry could very well block their retreat—if they could penetrate the Russian center, they might directly shatter Kakhovsky's army.
Kakhovsky, a renowned veteran general of the Russian army, felt a cold sweat break out on his brow as he saw these reckless Polish cavalry through his telescope.
He immediately ordered two Cossack cavalry battalions, held in reserve behind the infantry, to intercept the Polish cavalry. Still feeling uneasy after a moment's thought, he drew an infantry regiment from the reserves to plug any potential gaps in the central infantry line.
Over ten minutes later, nearly two thousand Cossack cavalry had circled to the left flank of the central army, hastily formed up, and charged towards the Polish cavalry opposite them.
Dombrowski immediately heard the thunder of hooves about half a kilometer away.
He showed no trace of fear, motioned for his soldiers to hold their speed and adjust into an arrowhead formation, then pointed his saber at the swirling dust ahead, and roared hoarsely:
"The Motherland is watching us! Follow me and crush the enemy!"
Hundreds of cavalrymen instantly erupted in a thunderous roar:
"For the Motherland!"
"Tear them apart!"
"Charge!"
The red arrowhead of Winged Hussars began to gradually accelerate. The riders leaned low in their saddles, bracing their lances under their arms, pointing them straight ahead.
The Cossack cavalry, initially relying on their numerical superiority, attempted to simply overwhelm the Poles, but now they saw their opponents, like a crimson bolt of lightning, cleaving directly towards them.
The frontmost hundred or so cavalrymen involuntarily slowed their pace. Their officers didn't reprimand them, but after a brief hesitation, pulled on their reins and shouted:
"These madmen! Quick, turn to the front-left! Pass them on their right flank!"
Indeed, the common cinematic scene of two cavalry formations crashing head-on rarely happens in reality.
If cavalry charged head-on, both sides would immediately become a "disaster scene" of their own rear ranks trampling the front, because the cavalry galloping behind simply couldn't stop.
The inevitable result would be two formations of fools trampled to pulp by their own men.
Thus, in a frontal cavalry engagement, both sides would choose to pass by each other, taking the opportunity to cut down their opponents.
Of course, the side with weaker resolve would usually turn first, thereby exposing their flanks to the enemy.
This time, however, the Polish cavalry seemed to have no intention of turning, accelerating to their maximum speed and hurtling straight towards the Cossacks.
Only when the two forces were sixty or seventy paces apart did Dombrowski slightly rein in his horse and gallop past the Cossacks' right flank.
As Poland's finest elite, the Winged Hussars' lances rarely missed their mark—a lance was far harder to wield than a saber, but in a cavalry charge, its length provided a tremendous advantage.
In the brief moment as the two forces passed each other, hundreds of Cossack cavalrymen screamed as they were speared from their horses.
This was mainly because the Hussars on the left couldn't reach their enemies; otherwise, that number would have at least doubled.
Even the Polish light cavalry following behind capitalized on the advantage created by the enemy's premature turn and claimed a dozen or so kills.
After the two forces had passed, Dombrowski ordered a regroup, turned his head to glance at the Cossacks to the southeast, a sneer of disdain curling his lips, then pointed towards the Russian infantry center and declared loudly:
"Follow me and pierce through them!"
The Cossack commander had initially expected the Polish cavalry to turn and pursue them. After galloping nearly two kilometers, he realized they were instead charging directly towards his own infantry. A shock ran through him. Without time to regroup, he frantically ordered a turn to save the central infantry.
However, as they chaotically completed their turn, before they could even pick up speed, they were stunned to see the distant red cavalry formation carving a graceful arc, galloping towards them from the front-left.
The Cossack commander immediately shrieked in panic:
"Form ranks! Don't panic, narrow columns..."
However, though the Cossacks were fierce warriors, their military discipline was genuinely lacking.
Caught in the sudden change, some were rushing towards the infantry, some were attempting to form ranks, while others stood rooted, bewildered.
Just a few minutes later, the crimson lightning struck once more.
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