Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 772 - 680 Burning Eastern Europe • Eight
Chapter 772: Chapter 680: Burning Eastern Europe • Eight
Chapter 772: Chapter 680: Burning Eastern Europe • Eight
Yanick’s ribs were broken, and his thigh was stabbed, his body limp like a clump of cotton.
He struggled to raise his head and locked eyes with a Cossack Cavalryman about twenty paces away. The cavalryman apparently couldn’t move either and was incessantly cursing in Russian.
Yanick spat at him and suddenly noticed a gunner, lying on a dead horse, seemed to twitch.
He hurriedly yelled over, “Sergeant, how are you doing?”
The gunner slowly turned his head and after a while, managed to speak with difficulty, “For now, I probably won’t die.”
Yanick then saw that half of his face was completely rotted away, hanging pieces of flesh swung back and forth over his nose with every breath.
“We seem to have held them off,” he said.
The gunner spoke in a leaking voice, “Yes, the cannon is still here…”
Suddenly, his body trembled, and he frantically raised his hand pointing down the slope, as if he had seen the gates of hell, “There, there!”
Following his arm, Yanick’s heart skipped a beat, he saw the two Russians who had earlier fallen off their horse were still alive, and at that moment, were clambering back onto their mounts.
“Gun, gun!”
Yanick frantically looked around and immediately spotted a flintlock gun lying not far away.
He was about to crawl over to pick it up when he heard the gunner say, “It’s no use, you might kill one at most…”
Yanick froze. In his current state, it was more likely that he wouldn’t hit any.
“What do we do? What do we do?”
His heart clenched again.
They had killed all the Russian cavalry, nobody was left to fight, but they had overlooked two enemies.
And to nail the cannon’s gate shut, only one Russian soldier was needed.
“No, this can’t be, it can’t!”
The gunner suddenly remembered something and gestured towards the cannon behind Yanick:
“Look, the cannon’s muzzle is aimed right at them.
“I remember, it’s already loaded with gunpowder. Load a grapeshot in there, and when those two bastards come close, fire it, you might blow them both up.”
“Right, cannon, shells…” Yanick looked down and immediately saw the shell box just five or six steps away.
He struggled crawling over, opened it, and then looked towards the gunner, “Which one should I use?”
“The gray one, wrapped in burlap.”
“Alright.” Yanick had already heard the sound of horseshoes, he hurriedly picked up the “burlap bag,” and as he exerted himself, a piercing pain shot through where his ribs were broken.
His eyes bulged, enduring the unbearable pain that made his breath catch, he desperately brought the shell out, gasping heavily, and dragged the shell beneath the cannon’s muzzle.
The sound of horseshoes was closer now, they must be climbing the slope.
Yanick shouted loudly, kneeling there, grabbed the shell, and with every move, his chest felt as if a knife was being twisted in it.
“Jesus, please give me strength!”
Using his neck to support the base of his right arm, he lifted the shell over his head, getting closer to the muzzle.
“Hurry!” the gunner shouted anxiously.
Yanick roared again, his left leg supporting him, he slowly stood up, blood spurting from the wound in his right leg.
The next moment, the shell finally slid into the muzzle.
He couldn’t find the ramrod, so he used his arm to push the cannonball down.
The artilleryman glanced at the Cossack Cavalry then turned to Yanick, “Light the fuse! It’s on the side of the muzzle!”
Yanick glanced at the cannon port and replied, “The fuse is already lit.”
“Then ignite it!”
Yanick looked up, saw the ignition rod behind the cannon, and staggered toward it, but suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground.
Everything spun around him, and his last thought was that he must not, pass out…
“What are you doing?” The artilleryman shouted, his cheeks flushed with blood from exertion, “Ignite it, ignite it now!”
However, the infantry beside the cannon didn’t react at all.
Two Cossack Cavalry had already climbed to the top of the breach and saw the unattended cannon, as if they had seen a defenseless beauty lying before them.
The two were about to dismount when suddenly, a little head with brown hair appeared from the other side of the mound.
A little boy struggled to climb up, but froze in place at the sight of the bloodied corpses.
If Yanick hadn’t fainted, he would have recognized him— it was Kaki, the brother of the girl who had died from the Russian artillery shell that day.
The artilleryman quickly realized what was happening and shouted at the boy, “Kid, grab that smoking stick and light the rope on the cannon! Hurry!”
The boy hesitated, saw Yanick lying beside the cannon, and finally mustered the courage to go to the igniter, pulling it out.
The two Russian cavalry seemed to realize what he was about to do and scrambled to turn their horses around. However, turning a horse was much slower than turning a person.
Under the artilleryman’s guidance, Kaki pressed the burning oilcloth against the fuse.
The sparkle disappeared into the cannon port, and immediately after, the cannon roared furiously.
“Boom—”
Kaki was knocked to the ground by the huge recoil while the two Cossack Cavalry, just twenty or thirty steps from the cannon, vanished instantly; even the upper bodies of their horses were torn off by the shell, the remaining parts flying down the slope.
“Ha, hahaha…”
The artilleryman laughed twice, about to praise the boy but suddenly choked on blood, coughed violently several times, and then dropped dead onto the corpse of his horse.
Ten minutes later.
Cannon from Zagazik Village began pouring shells onto the Russian Army’s lines again.
The Russian Army had just regained some momentum from the pause in shelling but was immediately suppressed again.
On the Polish Defense Line, Delasovitz and Yanick’s positions had already been replaced by other soldiers, but like them, they fearlessly faced the Russians’ bullets, returning fire vigorously.
Finally, unable to withstand the enormous casualties, the Russian infantry began to retreat.
The sight of the Poles, who seemed completely indifferent to death, left a profound impact on each of their hearts.
The Polish soldiers began climbing over the breastworks, shouting as they chased after them.
The Russian Army fled like battered dogs, speeding up their escape.
As Delasovitz had predicted, the Russian Army’s offensive greatly weakened the next day, while the Polish recruits seemed to grow overnight, striking back with astonishing morale.
However, the old soldier would never see this scene.
He would never again see his Marina and Feodo.
Perhaps one day, his children would tell their own kids how their grandfather once used his life to block the Russian Cavalry’s iron hooves for them.
Two days later.
Yanick and his troop retreated to Marekai Town.
His regiment even held out a day longer than originally planned. All along the prolonged Mozhili Defense Line, battles like that in Zagazik Village were common, and the Russian-Polish joint forces, which had planned to capture Mozhili in five days, had just managed to breach the first line of defense.
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