Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 801 - 709 The Russian War Gods Counterattack

Chapter 801: Chapter 709: The Russian War God’s Counterattack

Chapter 801: Chapter 709: The Russian War God’s Counterattack

The orchestra playing nearby abruptly ceased.

The military officers present exchanged tense glances, promptly straightened up to acknowledge the order, and dispersed in all directions.

Suvorov waved his hand to dismiss the guards in ceremonial dress and irritably said to Tolmasov beside him: “These fellows, they have no idea how crucial time is for the Poles.

“Their King would not hesitate to lie and provoke the Emperor’s anger, all to win time for their country. Look at my generals indulging in such ceremonies with such precious time.

“I bet that in the more than a month my army has halted its advance, a few thousand more soldiers have joined the Polish forces.”

He was merely grumbling, but inadvertently, he had actually hit the mark.

Stanisław II had used ceasefire negotiations to delay for a full 24 days, after which Catherine II ordered the Russian-Polish front to recommence hostilities.

Her command reached Smolensk seven days later, and in four more days, Suvorov arrived in Minsk.

By then, a full 36 days had passed since the Russian army’s temporary ceasefire.

And just two days ago, two newly trained infantry regiments, totaling 3,000 men, had already reached Minsk, with two additional regiments to arrive in four days. Accompanying them were six brand new cannons.

In addition, the Polish soldiers in Minsk had solidly rested for over a month, almost fully regaining their vitality.

The entire Minsk defensive line had been restabilized.

After thinking for a moment, Tolmasov suggested: “Marshal, perhaps we can spread propaganda to the Poles that their King is planning to surrender, to crush their morale.”

“Hmm, we could try that.”

Suvorov nodded, glanced at the command post adorned with streamers, and signaled his attendant to bring over his horse: “Take all of this down. I’m going to the front line for a look.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

Several hours later.

Atop a mound in front of the Polish defenses, Suvorov put down his telescope and said to Tolmasov: “I must admit, the Polish soldiers are very tenacious.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

“Suvorov indicated that Korezenikov’s tactical arrangements had been too inflexible previously.” Suvorov motioned for the staff to unfold the map, “We have the advantage in numbers, and a direct assault would indeed break through the Polish defenses, but that would take a lot of time.”

He recalled the battlefield situation and instructed: “Narrow the assault and concentrate the attack on the southern side of Yushno Village.

“The Gumilev’s Army is no longer needed for the assault. Let them skirt the Polish defenses from New Glodok and head west.”

Tolmasov exclaimed in surprise: “Marshal, the forests around New Glodok are dense, almost impossible to resupply through…”

New Glodok is situated to the southwest of Minsk; passing through here would allow an attack on the central Polish stronghold of Drosczin. Furthermore, it’s adjacent to Warsaw.

Suvorov smiled: “No matter, as long as the Poles believe we’re going to forcefully assault Drosczin.

“The farmers turned soldiers in Gumilev’s Army are the most numerous, but their equipment is poor and they aren’t much use here. However, their withdrawal will force the Poles to divide their troops in response.

“That is the proper use of our superior forces.”

He listened to the distant rumble of artillery and mounted his horse: “I estimate that in no more than a week, the Poles will concentrate their forces toward Yushno Village. At that time, we will immediately turn our assault to the north. Oh, we can start setting up artillery positions on the northern line right now.”

“Yes, Marshal.”

…

Two days later, rumors about the King of Poland began to spread among the Polish soldiers in Minsk.

Behind the breastwork, Che Swav looked at the retreating Russian army, put away his flintlock gun, turned to the young man beside him, his face blackened by gun smoke, and said: “Hey, Vania, have you heard? His Majesty the King is going to Saint Petersburg to surrender.”

Vania stopped counting the ammunition and deliberately widened his eyes: “I’m truly amazed that our King even knows we’re at war with Russia!”

His words immediately triggered a burst of laughter.

Indeed, Stanisław II is now seen as nothing but a clown who’s completely useless among the common people. No one really takes his actions seriously.

The tall, brown-haired soldier beside him exclaimed loudly: “The Prince is still commanding the battle in Mozhili; no one will surrender!”

“That’s right, the Congress just issued a new mobilization order. The new recruit training camp in Warsaw is packed every day.”

A soldier whispered mysteriously: “I heard from the commander that General Kosciuszko is launching a surprise attack on Moscow!”

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

“Really?”

“Haha, fantastic!”

“Now those Russians are in for it!”

Che Swav, however, cautiously reminded everyone: “But His Majesty the King did go to Saint Petersburg, I read it in the newspapers in the officers’ tent.”

Vania winked at him: “If not to meet with his old flame. Ah, let me think, wasn’t he chased back home by his Russian rival last time?”

The soldiers laughed even harder.

The brown-haired soldier grinned: “Speaking of which, isn’t His Majesty’s ‘sweetheart’ almost 65 years old now?”

Vania made a sleazy face: “What do you know about His Majesty’s special tastes?”

An old veteran gestured with his hand, simulating a lifting motion near his stomach: “I guess she must be sagging down to here by now?”

The soldiers burst into laughter again, “Oh, His Majesty the King is truly brave!”

“My God, that’s absolutely unbearable for me…”

“Let’s hope our King doesn’t get beaten up by his little rival this time.”

“Haha.”

Suvorov could never have predicted that the news of the “King’s surrender” could actually help boost the morale of the Polish soldiers during breaks in the fighting and relax their nerves.

At this moment, Stanisław II, the subject of everyone’s jokes, stood in a corner room on the second floor of the Winter Palace, looking anxiously at the western sky.

That’s toward Poland…

Paris.

In a room on the second floor of the Palace of Versailles, Perna tucked in Camellia, who was frowning and soundly asleep, and turned to the Crown Prince, shaking her head softly, whispered: “Your Highness, she is still feverish. The dosage of BDP has been doubled but to no avail.”

“BDP” is short for “Prince’s Blessing”—the currently most effective antipyretic.

Camellia, in her sleep, suddenly began to cough violently. Perna promptly leaned over to support her and gently patted her back.

Joseph’s expression grew solemn; the maid has been burning with fever for two days and nights, with no sign of improvement.

Once Camellia calmed down, Perna continued: “Moreover, she hasn’t eaten much these past two days, which will only make her weaker.”

Joseph frowned: “It’s very possible that her lungs are infected.”

“Infection?” asked Perna, “Like when a wound festers?”

“Similar. Both are caused by bacteria attacking the body.”

“Then, should we use alcohol to rinse her lungs?” Perna had extensive experience using 75% alcohol to treat wounds on the battlefield.