Life of Being a Crown Prince in France-Chapter 767 - 675 Burning Eastern Europe III
Chapter 767: Chapter 675: Burning Eastern Europe III
Chapter 767: Chapter 675: Burning Eastern Europe III
“You should be afraid of war,” the burly, curly-haired man in front of Yanick turned his head, “the Russians are not weaklings.”
“What of it?” the blond young man puffed out his chest, “I am a glorious Crusader, and I shall annihilate all heretics and invaders under the glory of Jesus!”
The burly man shook his head disdainfully, “Jesus won’t block the cannonballs for you…”
Delasovitz immediately raised his voice to interrupt him, “Krzysztof, you’re affecting morale with that kind of talk!”
He then turned to whisper to Yanick, “He’s from Lithuania, you know… all of his family died.”
Lithuania was originally a northeastern province of Poland and was occupied by Russia during the “one melon” time. After that, the Catholics there were persecuted repeatedly. Krzysztof’s family was executed for “supporting the Anti-Russian Resistance Army.” He was young then and thus managed to escape the disaster.
Delasovitz pointed to a farmhouse next door with rubble and wood debris piled at the entrance—indicating no soldiers lived there—”Let’s go there.”
What they didn’t lack here were empty houses, and as long as they didn’t stay too far from the eastern ramparts, they could pick a “temporary barracks” at will.
As Delasovitz pushed away the garbage outside the door and pushed open the house’s door, he was hit with a stench and then saw a boy, about ten years old, dirty and huddled in a corner of the room, looking at them fearfully.
Yanick followed inside, glanced at the boy, and frowned, “Why are you still in the village? The Russians are coming.”
Hearing Polish, the child immediately replied cautiously, “Sir, do you have any food?”
It was actually a girl by the sound of her voice.
Krzysztof squeezed over, took a piece of black bread from his bag, and handed it to her, “Eat.”
The child grabbed the bread, took a bite, then turned to shout, “Kaki, we’ve got food, come out!”
In a moment, a small boy around six or seven, even dirtier than her, crawled out of the fireplace, took half of the bread, and started devouring it.
Delasovitz looked at the two children, “Didn’t you leave with the adults?”
The girl chewed on the bread vigorously and said, “Aunt didn’t take us with her…”
It took a while before Delasovitz understood; the children’s father died of illness last month, and their relatives had abandoned them there.
The sergeant hesitated for a moment, took out his own food, and then gestured to Yanick, “Give me yours, too.”
He handed the girl several large pieces of black bread and some smoked meat and pointed to the west, “Take your brother and keep walking in this direction, within two or three days you should see the supply station. The supply wagons there might take you to Slutsk.”
The girl looked at the food in her hands—enough for her and her brother for four or five days—and genuflected in thanks to the soldiers, then in the thundering sound of artillery, she took her little brother and ran towards the village outskirts.
Yanick watched them go and made the sign of the cross on his chest, “May Jesus bless them.”
The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.
As soon as his words fell, the whooshing sound of a cannonball streaked past his ear, and immediately, a black iron ball savagely smashed into the ground, raising a cloud of earth.
The cannonball bounced up from the ground due to its huge inertia, fell down, and bounced up again, and then gently grazed over the silhouettes of the sister and brother.
“No!”
Delasovitz bellowed in rage, dropped his gun, and ran over like a madman.
On that patch of dry grass, only splashes of blood flew far and pieces of the girl’s filthy clothes.
The people, had vanished without a trace.
The sergeant felt a tightness in his chest, bent his head, and let out a forceful yell, “Ah—ah—”
The other soldiers also gathered around, staring silently at the ground, speechless.
Suddenly, Krzysztof, with red eyes, raised his gun and aimed in the direction of the incoming cannonballs, forcefully pulling the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot echoed.
Breathing rapidly, he fumbled for his gunpowder pouch and shakily poured it into the barrel.
A sergeant heard the gunshot and ran out of a nearby hut with some men, shouting at Krzysztof, “Henriek, what are you doing? You can’t fire without orders!”
“These damn mongrels!” Krzysztof gritted his teeth, his voice a muffled growl.
Delasovitz took the gun from him and said to the sergeant, “Sergeant, please forgive him. Two children were just killed, so…”
He suddenly paused, quickly ran to a haystack beside the sergeant, and frantically pulled at it, then lifted out little Kaki.
“He’s still alive!”
Half an hour later.
The little boy slowly awoke in the stinking farmhouse, gazing blankly around.
The kindly soldiers from before were all there, but his sister was nowhere to be seen.
The Russian shelling lasted all day.
Delasovitz no longer mentioned that “cannonballs won’t hit us,” because the Russian Army’s artillery barrage was far denser than anything he had seen before in any battle.
Half of the houses in the village had been destroyed by cannonballs, and the soldiers no longer dared to stay inside, instead gathering in small groups beneath the parapet.
The next morning at 10 a.m., almost simultaneously, the sound of bugles erupted along the Polish Defense Line stretching over ten kilometers.
Without waiting for a reminder from their leader, Delasovitz loudly called out to the new recruits, “Get up, quick! The Russians are coming; prepare to form ranks!”
He had barely managed to stand the recruits in two rows behind the parapet when he vaguely saw a large number of Russian soldiers in gray uniforms emerging from the distant bushes.
The gray became more and more prevalent in their sight, and after more than ten minutes, a gray tide of men already filled the open ground before the parapet, like an endless dark cloud, slowly rolling towards the Polish Defense Line.
Following that, Delasovitz and the others could faintly hear the drumming from the Russian side.
Krzysztof swallowed hard, his voice hoarse, “Damn it, how many of them are there?”
Delasovitz glanced at the commander and whispered, “Don’t panic, that’s less than a thousand men. They’re probably just skirmishers sent to probe.”
The commander, on horseback, passed in front of them, shouting, “Keep calm, don’t move!”
Soon, that dark cloud had pressed to within a hundred paces.
The two remaining cannons in Zagazek Village were dragged out from behind the haystacks and began firing at the Russians.
The cannonballs left a few splashes of bright red among the Russian troops, but they did nothing to slow their advance. When the nearest Russian soldiers got within 60 paces of the parapet, they began to stop and shoot sporadically.
“Ready—”
The commander’s voice finally came, and Delasovitz immediately raised his gun, signaling the recruits beside him, “Did you hear that? Raise your guns, but do not shoot!”
Yanick, full of excitement, aimed at the tallest Russian in his sights and heard the officer’s order, “Aim—”
“Fire—”
His finger had just touched the trigger when he heard a muffled “thud”, and turning his head, he saw the comrade to his left had lost half his head, and instantly, a pungent smell of blood enveloped him.
