Wittgenstein ordered his staff officers to gather up the warhorses, then turned his attention to the most pressing matter at hand.
Where had Madalinski's army of forty thousand gone?
He had someone bring him a map, then frowned and pondered it for a long while. Suddenly, his eyelid twitched. "Damn it! Could the Poles have fled toward Kaluga?" Kaluga lay southeast of Dorogobuzh and was one of the more prosperous cities around Moscow.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became.
The Poles must have been unable to bear their hunger any longer. They had deliberately abandoned large numbers of warhorses to lure his troops westward, leaving an opening to the south. Then they had swiftly headed south to Kaluga to seize food!
Cold sweat beaded on Wittgenstein's forehead.
South of Madalinski lay his own sector. If the Poles slipped through to Kaluga, he would bear the greatest responsibility... He hurriedly barked at the orderly officer beside him, "Nikolakhov, order the entire army to move south at once!"
"Yes, General!"
"And report to General Kutuzov. Tell him the Poles may attack Kaluga. Have him send reinforcements!"
In the dense woods southwest of Dorogobuzh, Madalinski adjusted the collar of the major standing before him and cautioned, "Anthony, be extra careful."
The officer smiled unconcernedly. "Don't worry, General. I'm still waiting for you to award me a medal before Tin Roof Palace!"
Without another word, he turned and called to the nearly thousand soldiers beside him, leading them eastward through the snow.
Madalinski waited until their figures vanished before letting out a heavy sigh. Then he turned his horse and continued onward with the main force. "May God bless these heroes of Poland."
He had already sent out three such small detachments.
Though he had divided much of his