I'm the Dauphin in France

Chapter 1349 Fight Like Sergeant Wizczek!
Vizczek's body was never found.

This was not uncommon in battles against cavalry; after a dozen or so warhorses galloped past, only blood and bits of flesh would remain along the way.

Yannick gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, veins throbbing on his forehead, and with stiff legs, he walked step by step to General Woichkov, his voice hoarse as he said:
"General, give the order."

The latter nodded solemnly: "I need to discuss tactics with General Madalinsky."

Yannick suddenly looked up, his eyes bloodshot, and roared, "Give the order! Now!"

Vizczek was about the same age as when he first joined the army, and he is still alive today, but he gave his life on his first battlefield experience.

This made Yannick feel like a deserter who was merely trying to survive.

General Voichkhov patted him on the shoulder: "I will put you in charge of the main attack."

"Yes!"

Yannick's roar echoed through the thicket, even drowning out the distant rumble of cannons.

At 3 p.m., Kutuzov learned that his elite Cossack cavalry had been unexpectedly thwarted by a small group of Polish infantry, resulting in the failure of their raid, and his expression immediately turned dejected.

He summoned several high-ranking officers and was instructing them on the phased evacuation of Minsk when a messenger, his face covered in blood, galloped towards him on horseback, weakly saying, "General, please send reinforcements immediately..."

Kutuzov frowned. The staff officer beside him had already recognized the newcomer: "General, it's from Dokhturov's regiment..."

Kutuzov's heart tightened, and he quickly moved closer to the messenger, asking, "Reinforcements? Why didn't you retreat?"

Dokhturov's corps consisted of the more than 5 men he had sent to carry out the feint attack. According to the plan, they were to retreat immediately after the cavalry force successfully broke through.

The messenger strained to look up: "We were just about to retreat when a Polish cavalry suddenly appeared behind us."

Madalinsky originally only wanted to slow down the Russian army's retreat so that he could eliminate more enemies during the pursuit. However, he did not expect that Colonel Radosław's two winged cavalry battalions would be able to surround Dokhturov's army by fighting desperately.

Kutuzov's face turned somewhat pale.

If it were any other unit, he would not hesitate to abandon them, after all, there were only 5 soldiers.

However, Dokhturov's troops included more than 3 members of the Semyonov Guards Regiment.

That was the elite of the elite, personally assembled by Peter the Great, and the personal guard of successive Tsars.

It should be noted that only the most elite legions had the capability to launch a counter-offensive when faced with a fierce Polish attack.

If Semyonov's regiment is defeated in Minsk, he will surely face the wrath of the Tsar when he returns to St. Petersburg.

Kutuzov sighed and turned to the messenger, signaling, "Have Tuchkov go to meet Dokhturov immediately."

The staff officer hurriedly advised, "General, this will lead to insufficient troops in our defensive line."

"It's alright, abandon the outer defenses," Kutuzov said. "Concentrate on retreating outside the city."

He was prepared to retreat, as long as Minsk could hold out until the positions along the Svisloch River were in place.

Meanwhile, a large number of Polish soldiers also launched a fierce attack on the besieged Russian troops.

News of the entire 6th Skirmisher Battalion's sacrifice to protect the artillery had spread among the Polish troops. Everyone shouted "Avenge the 6th Battalion!" and charged towards the hastily constructed Russian defensive line like madmen. However, the Semyonov Army Corps, being the elite of the Russian army, quickly found a dry riverbed as cover and continuously fired at the Polish troops in three directions, managing to keep the defensive line from collapsing.

The following morning, the Tuchkov corps arrived as reinforcements. If they could join forces with the Dokhturov corps, the Russian troop strength here would increase to more than 13,000.

At the same time, the Polish Royal Twelfth Infantry Brigade also arrived on the battlefield.

Yannick heard the intense gunfire from a distance. Soon after, a cavalryman reported to him that a Russian reinforcement was engaged in battle with General Madalinsky's central army.

Yannick reined in his horse, turned around and waved to the soldiers, and said loudly, "Although we cannot save our comrades in the Sixth Battalion, we can face death with the same composure as they did!"
"For our motherland, follow me!"

The remaining 3700-plus soldiers of the 12th Brigade immediately brandished their Charleveld flintlock muskets, shouted loudly, and jogged forward.

The Russian reinforcements were caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the Poles and hurriedly diverted some of their forces to intercept them.

Yannick personally carried the military flag at the front, and although the soldiers beside him were somewhat scattered in formation, each of them walked with exceptionally firm steps.

Soon, both sides in the skirmish launched a volley of fire almost simultaneously.

The deafening roar of muskets, accompanied by the whistling of bullets, filled every inch of space between the two sides.

More than a dozen people fell into pools of blood on either side of Yannick in an instant, but he still gritted his teeth and walked forward, as if Wizczek was watching him from behind.

However, the 12th Brigade was severely outnumbered, and within just a few minutes, large gaps appeared in the charging ranks.

Both of Yannick's drummers were shot one after another, and his captain of the guard had no choice but to disregard orders and drag him away from the battlefield with his men.

The Russians did not pursue them; their objective was to help Semyonov's army break out of the encirclement.

On a barren piece of land, Yannick frowned as he looked at the flickering firelight in the distance, then turned to his staff and asked, "How many men do we have left?"

"It's not clear yet, Lieutenant Colonel, but the losses are significant," the latter said. "The casualties should exceed a thousand."

"That means we still have two-thirds of our troops."

Yannick looked around at the soldiers sitting in the weeds, covered in blood, and suddenly shouted, "Are there still Poles here?!"

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

Yannick grabbed the regimental flag and waved it forcefully: "Are there any Poles here who dare to charge into the enemy lines with me again? Like the Sixth Skirmisher Battalion! Like Sergeant Wizczek!"

The exhausted soldiers stood up one after another.

The soldier who was bandaging his wound stood up.

Even some of the wounded who were missing a hand struggled to get up.

Twenty minutes later, the Polish infantry brigade, which had suffered more than a third of casualties, miraculously regrouped, reassembled, and launched an attack on the Russian army despite being covered in wounds.

Just as Tuchkov was about to break through the encirclement of the Polish central army, the sound of drums, somewhat disordered, came again from his right flank—most of the drummers of the 12th Infantry Brigade had been killed or wounded, and ordinary soldiers had to take their place.

Having lost many mid-ranking officers, the Polish ranks were in disarray and their firepower was pitifully weak, yet they remained like ghosts, constantly hovering before the eyes of Tuchkov's soldiers no matter how fiercely they fired.

(End of this chapter)