Chapter 815: Chapter 723: Siege (Please follow for more!)
Formation is undeniably critical to Cavalry; a disciplined formation smashing into a disorganized one is like a father disciplining his son.
East Brovsky led the Winged Cavalry through the chaotic Cossack Cavalry like a hot knife through butter, slicing off a significant portion of the Russian Cavalry with ease.
Under the nace of sharp cavalry lances, the Cossacks began scattering chaotically in every direction.
Seeing this, East Brovsky imdiately ordered 300 Cavalry Scouts to pursue the largest group of fleeing Cossacks. “Once cavalry collapses, even chasing them with two dogs will scatter them everywhere,” he remarked.
He then gathered the Winged Cavalry, pointed his horse saber at the Russian infantry in the center, and commanded in a deep voice: “Break through them!”
The Russian central infantry, subjected to the fierce pressure of the fearless King’s Third Division, were showing signs of exhaustion. However, their nurical advantage enabled them to maintain tightly packed infantry lines and continue exchanging fire with the Polish Army.
But then, the red Winged Cavalry appeared.
Those fluttering, delicate wings at their backs felt like heavy hamrs, striking fear repeatedly into the hearts of Russian infantry.
The left flank of the Russian infantry hastily adjusted their formation, pulling out a three-row horizontal line facing east to resist the cavalry charge.
However, the poor training of the Russian Army, combined with extre fatigue from prolonged forced marches, left their formation disjointed even as East Brovsky’s forces were already charging toward them.
The Winged Cavalry swiftly lowered their cavalry lances and drew their horse sabers.
The red torrent swept across the left flank of the Russian infantry, the horse sabers painting the battlefield canvas with bold strokes of vivid crimson.
At the rear of the Russian Army, Kahovski quickly received news of the Cossacks’ routed forces, his face darkening instantly.
Having ample experience, he decisively ordered the troops flanking both wings to imdiately pull back and dispatched the two remaining Royal Pronsk Cavalry Squadrons, approximately 300 horsen, to delay the Polish cavalry’s advance.
These squadrons were originally intended as his personal escort, but with the center forces now at grave risk, he had no choice but to deploy them.
Finally, during East Brovsky’s third assault on the Russian defense line, he spotted a rare weak point.
A dozen Winged Cavalry riders rapidly penetrated through the gap, followed promptly by their comrades, splitting the Russian Army’s left flank into uneven segnts.
The collapse of the flank’s defenses triggered panic that quickly spread along the entire infantry line.
The soldiers of the King’s Third Division imdiately sensed the enemy’s declining firepower and intensified their attack. On a small eastern section, they even launched a bayonet charge.
East Brovsky led his forces to punch through the Russian left flank, leaving only a hastily assembled regint of Russian infantry ahead of them, numbering about 1,300.
He glanced at his weary Winged Cavalry behind him, then turned to gaze toward the dimly visible Russian command post perched on a distant hilltop, hesitating briefly before letting out a heavy sigh.
The soldiers’ stamina was nearly depleted, and the horses were equally fatigued; breaking through the infantry’s defenses seed impossible.
Just then, he heard the faint sound of a bugle blast behind him—the signal for retreat.
East Brovsky shook his head in regret. Had he 300 additional cavalry in his command, had his troops retained their strength, perhaps the battle could have ended today.
He reluctantly turned his horse and ordered the retreat.
Back at the Polish Army’s temporary command post, Kosciuszko watched as his forces successfully withdrew from the field before the enemy could recombine their forces, finally exhaling in relief.
It was already nearing 4 PM, and with the Russians in such disarray, an imdiate counterattack was impossible.
Tomorrow would be another day.
Two hours later, the staff officer reported casualty updates to Kosciuszko.
His troops had fought bravely, dealing heavy blows to an enemy three tis their size, but the cost was significant.
Over 1,300 infantry were lost, along with 97 cavalry, and two cannons were destroyed—a major setback, given that they had only brought three.
This ant that for tomorrow’s battle, he would have only slightly more than 8,600 soldiers available.
The Russian Army’s losses were unclear, but estimates suggested they still had at least 26,000 n ready for combat.
Kahovski certainly wouldn’t split his forces again tomorrow, leaving Kosciuszko with few opportunities.
Kosciuszko frowned as he studied the map, and after a long mont, he ordered the Order Officer:
“Command the entire army to move toward the Sarygol River. Pasbiczyk Camp will cover the rear.”
The Sarygol River lay just one mile east of Simferopol; fortunately, Cria’s winter was mild, and the river had yet to freeze over.
While Kosciuszko clashed with the enemy on one front, Swiechczyk began his fierce assault on Bakhchisaray City.
Bakhchisaray’s fortifications, built by the Ottoman People in the past, appeared splendid but weren’t particularly robust.
At dawn, the defending Russian troops noticed over a thousand Polish soldiers advancing from the east.
They didn’t take it seriously at first.
The Poles had previously launched offensives with several tis that number, and the Russians had defended successfully each ti.
However, they quickly realized that this ti, the Polish firepower was far more intense than the sparse attacks before.
A thousand Polish soldiers moved forward in skirmish formation, closing to within eighty paces of the fortress and relentlessly firing at the Russian infantry lined up beneath its walls.
The Russians were quickly overwheld by the concentrated firepower and only managed to stabilize the situation by relying on fortress-mounted cannons.
At that mont, Swiechczyk personally led the artillery battalion, dragging five cannons to within 150 paces of the city walls before halting.
For cannons, this range was practically point-blank.
The Russians were stunned and hurriedly redirected their fortress cannons toward this new threat.
Swiechczyk shouted orders to his troops to stabilize the cannon bases and haul ammunition.
Minutes later, three Russian cannonballs landed approximately ten ters from the Polish positions, gouging deep craters into the ground, then bouncing away.
anwhile, the Polish artillery prepared their payloads.
The Russian Commander Trunikov, alard by the audacity of the Polish artillery, broke out into a cold sweat. He briefly considered sending infantry to deal with the cannons but abandoned the thought amid the persistent gunfire surging around him.
Soon, the Polish cannons roared to life.
Five shells smashed into the fortress walls, sending fragnts of stone flying everywhere.
Among them was a 24-pound cannon – relocated from the Kursk Fortress – which left a crater as deep as an adult’s arm on the wall.
The Russian artillery scrambled to retaliate against the Polish cannons.
The cannonballs fired from the fortress, due to their descending trajectory, packed trendous destructive force; even those landing over ten ters from Polish artillery positions sent fragnts flying that could grievously injure soldiers.
Two Polish artilleryn imdiately collapsed in agony, drenched in blood.
Without hesitation, two replacents rushed forward from the rear and silently resud the fallen n’s tasks.
The Polish cannons roared again.
This ti, the 24-pounder blasted away the upper section of the fortress wall, leaving a massive gaping hole.
The Russian Commander finally reacted, shouting desperately to his artillery unit:
“Idiots, use grapeshot!”
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