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Chapter 1413 A sudden reversal
Some riders were hit by their horses at close range, but thanks to their skillful horsemanship and physical fitness, they were not injured. After landing, they immediately picked up their secondary weapons, intending to fight at close range to disrupt the enemy's formation and create opportunities for their companions behind them.

"Grass mine!" This is the author's way of cursing on behalf of the Winged Hussars; who knows what Polish and Lithuanian people would say when they were angry in the 17th century?

Having fired three shots in succession, the Ming soldiers discarded their double-barreled carbines and drew an even shorter musket from their waists. This weapon was also carried by some Winged Hussars; in Europe, it was known as a cavalry pistol and was the third or fourth weapon of elite cavalry in various countries.

European cavalry pistols could only fire once, with almost no chance to reload in wartime. However, Ming cavalry pistols could fire several times in succession; the exact number is likely impossible to count, as they were all killed before they could.

At this moment, the east gate, which was not closed, was brightly lit, and squads of Kazakh light cavalry, brandishing their sabers, filed out and quickly rushed to the flanks, like two arms slowly extending behind the winged cavalry.

"Go back and tell your men to prepare to set off, at the latest by the morning of the day after tomorrow!" The fighting was quite intense in both the east and west of the city, which made Marshal Buturlin, who was watching the battle from a few kilometers away, feel very uncomfortable.

Judging from the light and gunfire from the east of the city, the fleeing defenders weren't entirely incompetent; they did put up some resistance. Unfortunately, it was largely ineffective. If they couldn't even hold out against the city walls, their fate on the open field was predictable—they would only inflict minor casualties on the Poles.

The marshal is no longer considering Turkestan City. The garrison was already weak, and now those who tried to escape have been intercepted. The will to resist within the city has been severely damaged, and it is estimated that they will not be able to hold out for more than a few days.

Since the city was captured by the Poles, there's absolutely no way they'd let the Russian army get involved. In fact, even if the Poles extended an invitation, they wouldn't go into the city to listen to their sarcastic remarks.

The best way to avoid humiliation is not to pretend not to see it, but to set off ahead and continue eastward, striving to redeem one's reputation with concrete actions in the next city.

But now a crucial decision loomed before them: should they head northeast to attack Jambyl and then advance on Druriba and Tacheng in the Ming heartland, or continue eastward along the Syr Darya Valley to attack Tashkent and then head towards the important border town of Andijan?

Both cities were major settlements of the Kazakh Khanate with large populations, and would likely have been defended by Ming troops. The difficulty of attacking them should be similar to that of Turkestan City, but their impact on the northern war zone would be completely different.

If we attack Zhambyl, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth army will likely not follow, resulting in a split force, which is strategically risky. If we choose Tashkent, we might end up traveling the same route as the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth forces, concentrating our troops, but then the question of how to maintain good relations between the two sides becomes a major problem.

They can't just attack the city together without cooperating with each other, right? Whose victory would it be? I'm afraid that while the two commanders might be able to maintain their composure, their subordinates might not be able to, and that could lead to arguments or even a fight, which would be a joke.

"General Tatalynov! General Tatalynov... Battle report, urgent battle report, the Winged Hussars have been completely wiped out!"

But no sooner had Marshal Buturin and his entourage returned to their camp than several warhorses galloped in. They appeared to be Don Cossack scouts, bringing back a very unrealistic battlefield report.

"Damn it, didn't I say that whoever drinks while on duty will be whipped? Didn't you all hear me?!"

Seeing Marshal Buturin's gloomy face, General Tatalinov felt very embarrassed. The Cossacks were notorious for their drinking, and the officers were no exception. But as for talking nonsense in front of the Marshal, fine, they should drink.

“Marshal Buturin, we witnessed the annihilation of the Winged Hussars in the east of the city. We swear to God, none of us drank tonight!” At this point, the Cossack scout noticed the marshal's expression and decided to bypass the general and report directly. “Come into the tent and we'll talk... Mishka, you come in too!”

Marshal Buturin initially thought the Cossacks were drunk, but upon seeing the sweating warhorses, he immediately dismissed the idea. Even the most reckless cavalrymen wouldn't abuse their horses, and these horses were nearly exhausted; even if they recovered, it was questionable whether they could still be used as warhorses.

The performance of the Boli Federation army was also witnessed firsthand. How could it suddenly become ineffective once it was moved to the east of the city? There must be something going on, but it's not appropriate to discuss it with so many people outside the tent.

"...Mishka, do you think an equal number of rangers could stop the Winged Hussars?"

Actually, the situation in the east of Baicheng was not complicated and could be explained in a few minutes, but Marshal Buturlin fell silent after listening and only raised his head after a long time to ask Tatalinov a question.

"That's absolutely impossible! Even if you gave me three times the firing force, we couldn't stop a Winged Hussars charge while they were on the move. You two, be honest, are you seeing things wrong? How could you tell who was a Ming soldier and who was a Winged Hussar from that distance?"

Tatarinov gave a very affirmative answer without even thinking. If the question hadn't been asked by a marshal, he wouldn't have bothered to answer. He has absolutely no military common sense; it's an insult to intelligence.

But after answering, he felt something was amiss. These scouts were all veterans with extensive combat experience, which was why he dared to sneak behind the Winged Hussars to the east of the city for a closer look. If he wasn't lying, he must have been mistaken, since he dared not get too close, and it was dark; it was difficult to clearly distinguish the soldiers on both sides with just a few torches.

"The lamps were a hundred times brighter than lanterns... no, five hundred times brighter! As the Winged Hussars approached, the Ming army suddenly lit many lamps, illuminating the battlefield clearly. We could see whether the lances were broken even within a fifth of the distance."

The Winged Hussars lit many torches as they charged, making them excellent targets from a distance. Shooting to the lower right of the torches would reveal either men or horses!

The Cossack scouts were not intimidated by their superior's imposing manner and continued to argue their case. Mainly, they had actually witnessed it with their own eyes, and no matter how unbelievable it seemed, several people couldn't possibly lie together with their eyes wide open.

"...Even in daylight, the Shooting Corps couldn't possibly stop the Winged Hussars!"

However, Tatarinov still didn't believe his subordinates' explanations, stubbornly insisting that the Winged Hussars could sweep through the musketeers. It wasn't that he was deliberately exaggerating the fighting power of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth army out of loyalty to his own people, but rather that it was generally accepted that any military-savvy general in Europe would think the same.

"General, there are also cannons, lots and lots of cannons, very, very small cannons... only this thick... as thick as my leg, two people can lift them off a carriage, and they can be loaded faster than a carbine."

Many winged hussars were felled by these small cannons; it was a terrible, horrific sight. They were felled in droves, like wheat, unable to rise from their slumber!

The scout knew basic military knowledge, but he couldn't lie, so he was momentarily speechless. Fortunately, he wasn't alone; another, younger rider intervened.

(End of this chapter)