Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 770 - 679 Burning Eastern Europe • Six

Chapter 770: Chapter 679: Burning Eastern Europe • Six

Chapter 770: Chapter 679: Burning Eastern Europe • Six

The Russian Army’s firepower was more concentrated than the Poles’, and their shooting was more accurate.

When their infantry line came within 40 steps to the breastwork on the east side of Zagazik Village, several gaps had already appeared in the Polish defense line.

The number of Polish soldiers replenishing from behind was gradually decreasing.

Not far away, on the bell tower, a Polish Captain put down his telescope and anxiously told Lieutenant Colonel Lubinska, who was in charge of commanding the defense line of Zagazik Village, “Commander, sir, with this rate of casualties, if we don’t send in the reserves now, there might likely be… a collapse.”

Lieutenant Colonel Lubinska furrowed his brows.

He knew his staff was right. But those 300 soldiers were the last forces he had.

And today was only the first day of the war.

If the reserves were also exhausted, he would have to abandon Zagazik Village. His mission was to hold this position for three days.

General Kosciuszko had said that they must draw the Russian Army into a rhythm of siege warfare before they could implement further battle plans.

Lieutenant Colonel Lubinska took a deep breath and said in a firm voice, “I believe in them.”

The fire from the Russian Army intensified. In just over ten minutes, the narrow lines shielding the north and south sides of the village had advanced to within 30 steps of the Polish defense lines.

“Don’t be scared!” Delasovitz’s voice was hoarse, but he still shouted, “Behind us is our homeland!”

He had remembered this phrase from a speech by a member of the Bar Confederation he had attended last month.

He had heard a lot that day, but remembered only this sentence.

Yes, behind him was his homeland, as well as his son and daughter.

He wouldn’t let the invaders pass through him.

Unless he died.

Around him, new recruits also started to shout, “Protect our homeland!”

“For our homeland, let’s fight them!”

The Russian infantry line opened fire.

In an instant, twenty to thirty Polish soldiers fell on the defense line.

But the next moment, the Polish soldiers returned fire in volleys.

Though their marksmanship was poor, the Russians took nearly thirty casualties as well.

Although the breastwork was only slightly higher than an adult’s abdomen, it still provided some protection, which was the only reliance of the Polish Army.

The Russian commander also loudly encouraged his men. The infantry line, with a numerical advantage and higher quality soldiers, was successfully closing in on the Poles; there was no reason they couldn’t breach the defensive line.

In just seven or eight minutes, the two sides had faced each other and exchanged dozens of rounds of gunfire.

The formations on both sides became irregular, the fierce exchange of fire kept them from managing the bodies, making it difficult for the rear troops to reinforce.

At the Russian command center in the rear, General Morcov observed the Polish defense line through the binoculars and said to his staff, “Order the Supply Camp to get ready, Zagazik Village will soon be ours. Start the attack on Marekai Town by 2:30, we’ll need a lot of cannonballs for that.”

He could clearly see that the defenders had lost at least one-fifth of their men. Even the mighty Russian Army would have collapsed facing such losses, let alone the weaker Poles.

In fact, he already wanted to commend the Polish Army. If it were the Ottoman People, they would likely have started to collapse once his infantry line got within 40 steps.

“Poor Poles,” he said with a smile, shaking his head, “how long can you hold out? 20 minutes? Or can you wait until Stepashin’s forces begin their attack?”

The intense exchange of fire in front of Zagazik Village’s defense line continued.

Polish soldiers kept falling, and those still alive were being suffocated by the Russian firing.

However, contrary to what Morcov had anticipated.

This army, mainly composed of new recruits, might be nervous, might be panicked, even scared, but not one of them thought of running away.

Their souls had been tightly bonded by the concept of “Polish nation.”

Here, there weren’t individuals, they were part of Poland.

No one should think of invading their most cherished homeland!

With the encouragement of Crusader beliefs, life or death was of minor importance to them at this moment.

All they had to do was to shed their final drop of blood for their great homeland under the watchful eyes of Jesus.

Even if behind this breastwork stood only one man left!

Every high-ranking officer in Delasovitz’s unit had been killed. He silently counted the beat in his heart and shouted loudly, “Aim—”

No one questioned his command, as about seventy people around him raised their flintlock guns.

“Fire—”

Delasovitz’s hoarse shout pierced the battlefield, sweeping dozens of lead bullets across the Russian Army’s line formation, blowing six people including a drummer into pieces.

The Russian officers were shocked to discover that despite heavy casualties, the Poles hadn’t faltered, whereas their own side began to retreat.

Several Russian platoon leaders killed six or seven retreating soldiers to stabilize the situation.

Just then, a cold smile appeared on the face of the Russian infantry commander, hearing the sound of horse hooves from the northwest.

“Look, these damn bastards are scared!” Delasovitz noticed some Russian soldiers retreating and immediately encouraged his comrades loudly.

At that moment, someone on the left of the defense line shouted, “Cavalry! Be careful!”

The nearest infantry platoon leader turned around and his heart tightened. Over forty Cossack Cavalry, under the cover of light infantry, had secretly passed through the northernmost part of the defense line.

Behind the defense line was the artillery position of the Polish Army.

Yes, there were only two cannons, but they had played a massive role.

In fact, they had accounted for about a quarter of the Russian casualties.

Delasovitz was just a soldier and wasn’t aware of the other breath-taking feints, deceptive attacks, and fierce fighting that had taken place elsewhere on the battlefield. However, he knew that forty cavalrymen wouldn’t shake the infantry line, but they could destroy the two cannons.

The platoon leader drew his sword and shouted, “Follow me to protect the cannons. Veterans only, hurry!”

Delasovitz immediately ran towards him and waved at Yanick, “You too!”

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“Alright.”

The platoon leader led more than thirty veterans toward the artillery position. This was the maximum number of people he could mobilize from the defense line without it collapsing.

Delasovitz ran desperately, but despair filled his heart. He remembered only about a dozen people were left at the artillery position; by the time they arrived, the cannons would likely have been destroyed by the Cossacks.

Fifteen minutes later, the platoon leader and his men reached the artillery position and saw that the dozen or so gunners were still loading and firing, relieving them immediately.

“Where are the enemy cavalry?” he shouted to the nearest gunner.

“Blocked over there,” the latter replied, pointing northeast.

The platoon leader immediately saw, about 200 paces away, a small group relying on two dilapidated farmhouses fiercely exchanging fire with the Cossack cavalry.

No, the battle there could no longer be called fierce. The defenders were too few and had almost been annihilated; in an instant, only sporadic gunfire echoed from behind the farmhouses.

“Who’s over there?” the platoon leader frowned. He knew that the dozen soldiers guarding the artillery position could not have stalled the Cossacks for so long.

The gunner, head lowered, ran with a cannonball towards the cannon mouth, his voice deep, “Father Stashak, and also, leatherworkers and blacksmiths…”

Craftsmen such as these were indispensable to armies of this era, ready to repair boots and firearms at any moment, making them precious technical trades.

In Zagazik Village, there were twelve leatherworkers and ten blacksmiths.

It was they, along with the priest, who assisted the fourteen infantry there, using their lives to ardently hold back the Russian cavalry for nearly twenty minutes.