January 30, 1801.
At the Yartsevo crossing, 35 kilometers east of Smolensk Fortress, Russia, inside the Polish Army's forward command post.
The operational meeting had just ended when General Mokronovsky returned to Kościuszko's office and said anxiously, "Marshal, once we cross the Vop River, we'll have very little room to adjust our strategic deployment.
"I think we should observe a little longer and use this time to reinforce our supply lines."
He glanced at the map on the wall. "If the Russian Army in Transcaucasia returns, our flank will face enormous danger."
After receiving the warning from the French Regent, Kościuszko had also become hesitant about continuing the advance. After all, the latter's judgments of the war situation had always been remarkably accurate.
His hand slipped unconsciously into his pocket and squeezed the Great Sejm's resolution, recently sent from Warsaw, calling for an all-out offensive. It bore the King's own signature.
His gaze swiftly hardened with resolve, and he shook his head. "At the Russians' marching speed, it will take at least three months to get here from Stavropol.
"This year's harsh winter will only make that take even longer. We have plenty of time to establish our defenses."
"Marshal, at the very least, we should wait for the cavalry sent to requisition grain to return..."
Kościuszko raised a hand to interrupt his subordinate. Drawing a deep breath, he ordered, "Please return to your camp, General. Taking Moscow is our only choice."
The moment he finished speaking, a staff officer knocked and entered, handing him a letter. "Marshal, colonel Laurent Gouvion Saint-Cyr, sent by the French General Staff Headquarters, is currently crossing the Dnieper River. He is expected to arrive at Yartsevo in five days."
"Excellent!" Mokronowski's face immediately brightened. "How many soldiers has he brought?"
The staff officer lowered