Bloodbath in Crimea

Almost all the Russian Soldiers believed they had come all the way to Crimea to "bully the weak," so when the Poles suddenly shoved themselves right into their faces, they were all left somewhat dazed.

"Take aim—"

The Polish formation was somewhat ragged as it moved at high speed, but the soldiers raised their guns in perfect unison, radiating a grim, unstoppable killing intent.

The Russian Army was clearly a beat slower. Whether they had been cowed by that momentum or weakened by the long march beforehand, no one knew.

"Fire—"

The Polish officers gave the order loudly, their bloodshot eyes wide.

"For the motherland!" Nearly five thousand Polish Infantry erupted in a thunderous roar as one, pulling their triggers and venting the hatred and fury in their chests at the Russians opposite them through their Flintlock Guns.

A dense hail of bullets swept across the Russian positions like a torrential downpour, spraying chunks of flesh and blossoms of blood everywhere. Instantly, screams rang out in a chorus.

"Reload—" The Polish officers' orders rang out again.

It took the Russian Army a full ten-odd seconds to recover from their panic before they began raising their guns and firing back.

Thanks to their overwhelming numerical advantage—Kakhovsky's Central Route Army numbered more than eight thousand—their volley was scattered and sparse, yet it still sent over a hundred Polish soldiers collapsing into pools of blood.

Yet the Poles seemed unable to see their comrades' casualties. Even when blood splashed onto their faces, they did not bother to wipe it away, merely completing each loading motion in silence.

They felt no grief, because they had already prepared themselves to soon join their fallen comrades.

"Seven steps forward!"

"Take aim—"

When the Poles once again raised their Flintlock Guns in perfect unison, waves of fear