Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 800 - 708 Promise

Chapter 800: Chapter 708: Promise

Chapter 800: Chapter 708: Promise

Bagration had sent elite Royal Cavalry, far superior to what the Cossacks could offer.

However, Madalinsky and his soldiers steadfastly resisted the repeated attacks of these thousand cavalrymen with their bayonets, and though casualties continued to rise, there was no fallback whatsoever.

It was not until half a day later that the Russian Cavalry realized they could not break through this Polish infantry, so they attempted to bypass them using a gap next to the valley.

Yet they were immediately blocked by two imposing Winged Cavalry Squadrons.

Subsequently, the Polish infantry, coordinating with a flank attack, killed forty to fifty Russians on the spot.

The next day, the Russians, having suffered losses, temporarily ceased their assault.

By three o’clock in the afternoon, nearly a thousand Russian Cavalrymen arrived from the north of Bryansk.

It turned out that as early as the night before last, the Cavalry Commander had already sent messengers to Bagration requesting reinforcements.

In fact, several thousand Russian infantrymen were on their way here, 8 Russian miles away, which is 8.5 kilometers.

Before twilight, 2,000 Russian Cavalrymen once again charged at the defensive line commanded by Madalinsky.

Because they were not equipped with cannons—Madalinsky knew that cannons were the main force’s hope for capturing the Kursk Fortress, so he did not request artillery support—thus their killing power against the enemy cavalry was very limited, and the Poles could only continue to shrink their line to compensate for the gaps created by their reduced numbers.

Fortunately, it was an overcast day; the sun set at 5:30, and the Russians had no choice but to retreat first.

In the Polish camp, a Lieutenant reported to Madalinsky, “Colonel Sir, we have 107 dead, and 205 critically wounded.”

Madalinsky nodded silently and told his adjutant, “Let everyone rest well. Tomorrow, there is another day.”

Only 1,000 soldiers remained, and yet the Russians were gathering in ever greater numbers. He didn’t know if he could fulfill the promise to hold for three days.

He cracked a smile; perhaps he would have to confess to General Kosciuszko after descending to hell, since he already had so many others to confess to, one more wouldn’t make a difference.

The next day, at dawn, the Russian Army did not waste a moment and immediately launched a fierce attack on the Polish defense line.

Madalinsky personally took a flintlock gun and stood at the center of the defensive line.

There was essentially nothing to command at this point; he felt it more useful to add a bit more firepower than to always shout “hold on” at his soldiers.

The ground began to tremble.

Madalinsky’s ears were filled with the shouts of “Ula,” the sound of gunfire, the beat of the military drums; mechanically, he continued to load and fire…

Until the sun was directly overhead, he found his arms were weary to the point of giving out, and he couldn’t help but curse, “Damn it, it’s not like it was over a decade ago.”

He turned to look, and their defensive line had shrunk to less than 200 meters wide.

Even many of the critically wounded soldiers, sitting on the ground, were still struggling to raise their guns and fire at the enemy.

Time passed indeterminately until Madalinsky could no longer even hold his gun, standing there gasping for air. Indeed, as a Commander, it had been a long time since he had done any shooting practice.

The Winged Cavalry were also squeezed into a very narrow area on the flanks of the line; many cavalrymen simply dismounted, picked up a flintlock gun, and joined the defensive line.

The Russians could actually have bypassed them already and continued their advance eastward, but it seemed they wanted to retaliate against their stubborn foes and kept gathering around, constantly launching fierce attacks.

Madalinsky glanced at the sun, which was somewhat sinking westward, and with all his strength, he bellowed, “Hold on, everyone!”

Suddenly, a Russian horseman raced past him; with no bayonet threat, the horseman’s saber easily sliced through his neck.

Madalinsky felt his strength rapidly leaving him. He took one last look at the sun and wanted to tell his soldiers, “Only one hour left at most,” but he could not utter a word.

Finally, the day darkened.

Russian soldiers looked at the pile of Polish corpses illuminated by the torchlight, yet they felt no joy of victory.

Instead, a great fear surged in their hearts.

None of these Poles had surrendered!

After the last hundred or so were surrounded, they all chose to commit suicide.

The Russian soldiers couldn’t avoid the thought that kept emerging—if all Poles were like this, did they have any hope of winning this war?

South of Bryansk.

On the edge of the Black Forest in Sivilia, Kosciuszko looked northward and felt something clogging his chest.

The Russians had not caught up to them.

He knew Madaliniski and his soldiers had kept their promise.

Now, it was time for him to fulfill his promise to the motherland.

…

On the outskirts of Minsk.

Inside a carriage escorted by nearly a hundred cavalry, Marshal Suvorov looked helplessly through the intelligence reports concerning the Polish garrison in Minsk.

He was supposed to be “vacationing” in Smolensk, but unexpectedly the Tsar had assigned him to the front line.

These young people nowadays really are hard to rely upon. While he grumbled in his heart, his hand stopped moving, he flipped a few pages forward, then flipped back, and passed the stack of documents to the officer opposite him: “General Tolmasov, I’ll leave this problem to you.”

The latter took the documents, looked at them for a long time, and said in surprise: “Marshal, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

Suvorov replied lazily: “The composition of the Polish Army.”

“?”

“Uh-huh, the Vilno Corps, Trakai Corps, and so on, even the distant Drosczin Corps have been incorporated, but there’s no unit from Courland.”

Tolmasov immediately frowned.

Courland was a duchy in the northeastern part of Poland, but it had little independence and was a vassal of Lithuania. It was indeed unusual for them not to send troops when Poland was at war.

“Do you mean the Courland troops might have other movements?”

“Riga Port.” Suvorov said, “If I’m not mistaken, they’re likely to launch an attack there soon.”

Riga was Russia’s most important port on the Baltic Sea, and if it were attacked, Russia would have to send troops for relief.

Tolmasov said: “The Polish defense lines have been continuously retreating, they shouldn’t be dispatching troops to…”

Suvorov shook his head: “No, they have already done this once in Bryansk and are now approaching Moscow. I have reason to suspect Riga will be the same.”

Tolmasov quickly nodded: “Yes, Marshal, I will immediately send someone to reinforce the defenses of Riga.”

At this moment, Kosinski was anxiously waiting for military supplies with 4,000 soldiers in Courland—the place was too poor, half a month had passed and they were still unable to gather the necessary supplies for the troops.

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Suvorov’s moment of inspiration directly disrupted the entire northern strategy of the Polish Army.

Before long, the carriage stopped outside the Russian Army’s temporary command post.

As Suvorov stepped out of the carriage and saw a group of generals about to come forward to salute, he immediately glared and shouted loudly: “Who gave you permission to waste time here? Immediately, right now, launch an attack on the Polish defense line!”

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