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Chapter 724: Siege

The importance of formation for cavalry was beyond doubt; a disciplined formation could utterly dominate a scattered one, like a father schooling his son.

Dombrowski led the Winged Hussars, cutting through the disorganized Cossack cavalry like a hot knife through butter, cleaving a massive chunk from the Russian ranks.

Under the threat of sharp lances, the Cossacks scattered in a panicked rout.

Seeing this, Dombrowski immediately ordered 300 light cavalry to pursue the largest group of Cossacks. Once cavalry broke, even a pair of dogs could send them scattering in terror.

He then rallied the Winged Hussars, pointed his saber at the Russian infantry in the center, and declared in a low voice, "Break through them!"

The Russian forces in the center showed clear signs of exhaustion under the relentless pressure of the Royal Third Division. However, relying on their numerical superiority, they maintained a thick infantry line, stubbornly exchanging fire with the Polish troops.

Then, the crimson Winged Hussars appeared.

The soft, fluttering wings on their backs, however, struck the hearts of the Russian infantry like a repeated hammer blow.

The Russian infantry on the left flank hastily adjusted their formation, forming a three-rank defensive line facing east to repel the cavalry charge.

However, the Russian army's training level was already low, and coupled with their extreme fatigue from forced marches, their formation remained ragged even as Dombrowski charged directly at them.

The Winged Hussars all lowered their lances and drew their sabers.

The crimson torrent swept past the Russian infantry's left flank, their sabers like paintbrushes, smearing vast swathes of vivid red across the battlefield's canvas.

At the rear of the Russian forces, Kakhovsky soon received news of the Cossacks' rout, his face instantly turning ashen.

Being quite experienced, he immediately ordered the flanking legions to withdraw and dispatched his only remaining two Royal Pronsk cavalry squadrons—approximately 300 troopers—to delay the Polish cavalry's advance.

These two cavalry squadrons were originally meant as his personal guard, but seeing the central force in jeopardy, he could no longer afford such luxuries.

Finally, on Dombrowski's third charge towards the Russian line, a rare gap appeared.

Over a dozen Winged Hussars swiftly cut through the breach, their comrades immediately following, tearing the Russian left flank into two uneven segments.

The panic caused by the collapse of the flank quickly spread throughout the entire infantry line.

The soldiers of the Royal Third Division immediately felt the enemy's firepower steadily weakening. They intensified their assault, even launching a bayonet charge along a small section of the eastern flank.

Dombrowski and his unit had successfully pierced through the Russian left flank. Before them, only a hastily arriving Russian infantry regiment, numbering around 1,300 men, remained.

He glanced at the slightly weary Winged Hussars behind him, then turned to gaze at the faintly visible Russian command post on a distant hill. After a moment of hesitation, he let out a heavy sigh.

'His soldiers had little strength left, and their warhorses were exhausted. It was unlikely they could break through the infantry's defenses.'

Just then, the faint sound of a bugle reached him from behind. It was the signal to retreat.

Dombrowski shook his head. 'If only I had 300 more cavalry, if only everyone still had the strength, perhaps the war would end today.'

With regret, he reined in his horse and ordered the retreat.

At the temporary Polish command post, Kościuszko breathed a sigh of relief, seeing his troops successfully withdraw from the battlefield before the enemy could consolidate.

It was nearly 4 PM, and in their current chaotic state, the Russian army was unlikely to launch another attack.

'Tomorrow, there would be another day.'

Two hours later, his chief of staff reported the casualty figures to Kościuszko.

His soldiers had fought valiantly, leaving an enemy three times their number extremely wretched, but they had also paid a heavy price.

The infantry suffered over 1,300 casualties, and the cavalry 97. They also lost two cannons—out of only three he had brought.

This meant he would have just over 8,600 soldiers available for tomorrow's battle.

The Russian casualties were unclear, but it was estimated they still had at least 26,000 men available.

And tomorrow, Kakhovsky would certainly not divide his forces again, leaving no further opportunities.

Kościuszko frowned, studying the map. After a long moment, he said to the messenger:

"Order the entire army to move towards the Salhir River. Pasbicki's battalion will cover the retreat."

The Salhir River was just one mile east of Simferopol. Fortunately, Crimea's winter was relatively mild, and the river remained unfrozen.

While Kościuszko was clashing with the enemy, Swiezynski launched a fierce assault on the city of Bakhchysarai.

Bakhchysarai's city defenses, built by the Ottomans in the past, appeared rather grand but were not particularly sturdy.

In the early morning, the Russian defenders saw over a thousand Polish soldiers approaching from the east.

They didn't pay much heed.

The Poles had attacked before with several times more troops, and the Russians had easily held their ground.

However, the Russians soon realized that this time the Polish firepower was not scattered and sparse as before; instead, it was extremely ferocious.

Over a thousand Polish soldiers, in skirmisher formation, advanced to within 60 meters of the city walls, continuously firing at the Russian infantry lines below.

The Russians were quickly dazed by this concentrated barrage and only managed to stabilize the situation by relying on the cannons mounted on the city walls.

Just then, Swiezynski personally led an Artillery Battalion, dragging five cannons to within approximately 110 meters of the city walls before stopping.

For cannons, this was practically point-blank range.

The Russians turned pale with fright and hastily aimed their city cannons in their direction.

Swiezynski loudly instructed his soldiers to secure the gun carriages and haul ammunition.

A few minutes later, three Russian cannonballs landed not far from their side, gouging out two deep craters before bouncing and flying further back.

Meanwhile, the Polish artillerymen began loading their ammunition.

Russian commander Trunikhov broke out in a cold sweat, terrified by this suicidal approach. He wanted to dispatch infantry to drive back the cannons, but the dense gunfire echoing in his ears made him abandon the idea.

Soon, the Polish cannons unleashed their own furious roar.

Five cannonballs slammed into the city wall, sending rubble flying everywhere.

Especially impactful was one 24-pounder cannon—brought from Kursk Fortress—which left a crater on the wall as deep as an adult's arm.

The Russian artillerymen also desperately intensified their return fire.

Cannonballs fired from the city walls gained immense power from their downward trajectory. Even landing five or six meters away from the Polish artillerymen, the resulting shrapnel could severely wound a person.

Two Polish artillerymen immediately let out pained groans and fell into pools of blood.

Immediately, two men rushed forward from behind, silently taking over their comrades' positions.

The Polish cannons once again spat forth flames.

This time, the 24-pounder cannon directly blasted away the top section of the city wall, leaving a gaping breach.

Only then did the Russian commander react, waving his hand and yelling at his artillerymen:

"Fools, switch to grapeshot!"