Chapter 722: Defending the Homeland with Their Lives
Catherine II took a deep breath and looked at the assembled officers standing at attention. In a calm voice, she asked:
"So, which of our armies is currently closest to Crimea?"
Without hesitation, Zubov replied:
"Morikov's army in Mozyr…"
All eyes turned sharply toward him, their gazes like daggers.
Marshal Repnin quickly cut him off:
"Your Majesty, the Saratov Corps began heading south a week ago. It may take about a month and a half for them to reach Crimea."
The Empress shot him a sharp glance, her voice growing cold:
"A month and a half. Very well. Then tell me this—can Bakhchysarai hold out for a month and a half?"
Repnin lowered his head in silence.
He knew all too well that the Polish forces in Crimea had already proven capable of breaching the formidable Kursk Fortress. Even if they were low on supplies, there was no way Bakhchysarai could withstand their assault for that long.
Catherine's chubby hand struck the table, her steely gaze sweeping the room:
"Who can tell me which commander we should send to deal with those Poles?"
Marshal Rumyantsev stepped forward, his face stiff.
"Your Majesty, perhaps Count Zubov is correct. The safest course of action would be to redeploy Morikov's army to the south. With forced marches, they could reach Bakhchysarai in 20 days."
Catherine suddenly exploded, slamming her hands on the table as she stood.
"Shameful! This is a disgrace to the empire!
"An army of barely 10,000 Poles is running rampant across our territory, moving as they please! And now, they're on the verge of destroying Crimea!"
She glared at the assembled officers, her voice dripping with sarcasm:
"Two months ago, you all stood here and assured me that we didn't need to bother with these Poles—that they'd starve themselves to death.
"And now?
"They're not only alive and well but have marched hundreds of miles to lay siege to Bakhchysarai!"
Her gaze settled on Zubov, and she snarled:
"Arrest Koroznikov immediately—that useless fool!"
Then, turning to Rumyantsev, she demanded:
"Is there no other option?"
The room fell silent.
Catherine sank back into her chair, waving her hand dismissively, her voice laced with exhaustion:
"Fine. Do as you suggested. Deploy Morikov's army to Crimea.
"Send more troops under Kakhovsky's command. And don't let me hear any more bad news."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Kakhovsky and Rumyantsev said in unison, standing at attention.
They exchanged a weary glance. They knew that to ensure success, at least 30,000 troops would need to be pulled from Morikov's army.
This would leave fewer than 40,000 Russian soldiers facing nearly 50,000 Polish troops in Mozyr.
With Poland now holding the numerical advantage, the Russians would struggle to advance. Worse still, they might even face a Polish counteroffensive.
The Russian strategy of a swift, decisive campaign was now in ruins. Given the empire's strained finances, sustaining a prolonged war was becoming increasingly untenable.
The final outcome of the Russo-Polish War was now shrouded in uncertainty.
25 Days Later.
Crimea, Polish Expeditionary Force Command.
Kosciuszko flipped through a roster, addressing his staff officer:
"Assign these 300 men to Schwieczits. Many of them have experience from the Russo-Turkish War; they should be useful."
Indeed, during the siege of Bakhchysarai, many local Ottomans had come forward, eager to join his army.
Over 600 volunteers had already been recruited, a carefully selected group. Otherwise, Kosciuszko could have easily raised an Ottoman battalion of over 1,000 men.
At that moment, Dombrowski entered the room, his expression grave. He looked straight at the commander and spoke a single word:
"They're here."
Kosciuszko nodded, his voice calm:
"A few days later than I expected. How many?"
"Nearly 30,000," Dombrowski replied. "Under Kakhovsky's command."
"Hmm, it seems the Russians aren't taking us lightly anymore."
"Do we proceed with the original plan?"
"Yes," Kosciuszko said, stepping forward to clasp the cavalry commander's arm with a smile.
"We've successfully drawn the Russians from Mozyr—that's already a victory.
"Now, whatever damage we can inflict will be a blessing from God."
Dombrowski chuckled grimly.
"With so many enemies, I wonder if we can hold out for two days?"
They had initially estimated that the Russians would send no more than 20,000 troops. Instead, their opponent had mustered nearly 30,000.
In truth, Kakhovsky had started with 35,000 men, but the forced marches took a toll. By the time they reached Crimea, fewer than 30,000 soldiers remained.
Kosciuszko's orders went out immediately.
Colonel Schwieczits was tasked with leading 2,000 Polish soldiers and 600 Ottoman auxiliaries to launch a renewed, genuine assault on Bakhchysarai.
Meanwhile, Kosciuszko led 10,000 troops toward Simferopol in Crimea's central-western region to intercept Kakhovsky's Russian forces.
Kosciuszko knew there was no way his army could return to Poland. His goal was to inflict as much damage on the Russians as possible before being defeated.
He gave Schwieczits two days to breach and sabotage Bakhchysarai, meaning Kosciuszko's forces needed to hold off the Russian army for 48 hours.
In Crimea's central plains, with no natural defenses, it would come down to brutal, face-to-face combat to delay the enemy.
By midday, Kosciuszko's army had taken up positions on a series of low hills south of Simferopol, arranging several infantry lines.
At this time, Simferopol was little more than a supply depot, lacking any defensive fortifications.
Within an hour, the Russian vanguard appeared on the horizon.
Kosciuszko rode along the front lines, his voice resolute but without flourish. He raised his saber high and shouted:
"With our lives, we defend the homeland!"
The Polish soldiers immediately stood taller, their voices rising in unison like a thunderclap:
"With our lives, we defend the homeland!"
"With our lives, we defend the homeland!"
From the moment they had left Poland, none of them had expected to return alive.
The phrase was already engraved on their hearts. Now, it was time to fulfill it.
Everything felt natural, yet a fiery resolve burned in their chests.
By 3 p.m., Kakhovsky launched his attack.
The Russians' forced march had left them with no more artillery than the Poles, resulting in only a brief exchange of cannon fire before the Russians pressed forward with a frontal assault.
Using their overwhelming numbers, Kakhovsky also sent seven infantry regiments to flank the Poles from both sides.
But Kakhovsky hadn't anticipated that Kosciuszko had no intention of holding the line.
As soon as the Russians began their maneuver, the Third Royal Regiment charged directly into their center.
The Poles, drums beating and hearts resolute, advanced steadily like a relentless machine, closing to within 60 paces of the Russian middle.
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 40 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10