As the saying goes, some people are happy and some people are sad, Pedro doesn't know that dozens of miles away in Smolensk, for the matter of fighting the war, the lord of Smolensk, Fyodor Obukhovich, is worried about this matter, his hair is half gray.

    As a typical nobleman, Fyodor Obuhovich is undoubtedly qualified, he walks and eats with impeccable posture, and knows the history of the various coats of arms as well as the family coat of arms; he is also concerned about his territory's harvest, and every year, he will make his rent collectors pay a tribute in line with the number of the book, although the book that has long since been yellowed and rotted is not known to be a few centuries old.

    But as the supreme military governor of Smolensk, he acted with so much inwardness and hand-wringing. As early as more than a year ago, in 1653, when the news came that Khmelnitsky, the leader of the Zaporozhye Cossack rebels, had defected to the Tsar and signed an alliance agreement, Franco, the head of the mercenaries under him, advised him to prepare for war urgently, and for this purpose the wise head of the army made three proposals: first, to conscript the minor nobles and peasants of the villages on the left side of Smolensk into the city for training.

    II. Send spies to Moscow, the fortress of Zhelev and Tver to keep an eye on the movements of the Czarist Russian army.

    Third, the walls were raised, and the bastions were built.

    But of these three suggestions, Fyodor Obuhovich only listened to half of them.

    At that time, Feodor Obukhovich patted Captain Franco on the shoulder and said, "My bravest captain, I know that you are right in what you say, but I can't do it. As you know, it's shearing season now, and poorly washed wool doesn't sell well in Smolensk, so every nobleman is either at the river supervising his peasants washing wool or weighing it, or on his way to do so. If I conscript them at this time, then next year they will remove me from office with the votes in their hands, and I can't take that risk."

    Having said the first reason, Fyodor Obhovich circled around Franco's erect your body as if he were following a column, and then, with a sigh, continued, "As for sending spies, you know that, although Czarist Russia has made an alliance with those lowly Cossacks, after all, no war has been declared on the Republic, and I have no right to send spies to a non-hostile country; that would give Czarist Russia a pretext for invasion."

    As for the third point, Fyodor said only two words: "No money".

    For more than a year, from 1653 to 1654, the only preparatory measures Fyodor Obhovich had taken were to raise the walls of Smolensk by an elbow.

    And now the scouts of Tsarist Russia have been frequenting the vicinity of the transit line, and it is rumored that Vasily Zolotarenko, the company captain of the Zaporozhye Cossacks, has also entered the province of Smolensk at the head of his troops, ready to show solidarity with the Tsarist Russian army.

    "What to do now Captain Franco." A year ago, a year later, the same office, the same two people, Fyodor Obuhovich once again inquired about the way to go, but this time, the lord of the city bowed his head, grasped his head with both hands, his voice as low as a thin mosquito, and his eyes did not dare to look directly at Franco.

    "Lord City Master, I ran into Tatarchuk before I came here." Franco did not directly answer Fyodor Obuhovich's words, but brought up Tatarchuk, the old head of the Cossacks in formation in the city of Smolensk.

    "Oh, what happened to him."

    "Not much. He was on his way to the Cossack barracks when I ran into him, and according to him the barracks are already showing signs of instability, and some of the Cossacks want to wait for the Tsarist or Zaporozhye rebels to arrive. Then they defected to the past. The old chief said that by relying on his own little prestige in the past, this matter can still be suppressed now, but once the situation is critical, it's hard to say."

    Is the situation already so critical? If before Franco said this, Feodor Obuhovich was just fretting, now, his mood can be described as despair. At this time in the city of Smolensk there are only two thousand defenders, and the Cossacks on the roster accounted for 30%, once they mutiny, the consequences will be unimaginable.

    Seeing that his words had brought the lord of the city into a desperate situation, Franco, a veteran of the Thirty Years' War, could not help but look contemptuous, but the duty of a soldier drove him to find a solution for Fyodor Obuhovich.

    "Lord of the City." Franco raised his voice.

    Fyodor Obuhovich looked up, the long face as white as snow.

    "It is not yet time to despair; the fact that the enemy has not crossed the line of country easily shows that they are not ready either; we have time to prepare for war, and I have two ways here."

    "What solution," asked Fyodor Obuhovich eagerly. At this moment, he was like a child in the water, eagerly trying to grab a straw to save his life. What's more, there were now two.

    Franco turned on his heel, walked to the other side of the office, raised the baton in his hand and tapped it on the map a few times. The names of the places were well known to Fyodor; they were all villages around Smolensk, which included Krivich, Porine, Yalch, and the village of Zamoshye, which was its own.

    "Firm wall." Franco spat out the word.

    By Franco's estimation, war would break out at the earliest at the beginning of the next year, a time when winter snows would still cover the entire Smolensk region, and marching and raising supplies would be extremely difficult, both for the Tsarist Russians and for the Cossack rebels in Zaporizhia, and as long as the surrounding villages were concentrated in the city of Smolensk with all of their people and supplies, they would be able to buy enough time to hold the city and wait for reinforcements.

    "Indeed, indeed. Franco, we have thought of a piece." After hearing the first solution, Fyodor Obuhovich's face had regained half of its blood color, and he asked with an excited look on his face, forgetting that he had just lost his mind.

    "What about the second way?"

    "Build a city." Franco's second approach was as concise as ever.

    In the past year, in addition to raising the city walls, Franco traveled all over the city of Smolensk, and he found that the old city defenses of Smolensk were old, and the towering towers and wooden canopies on the city walls might be useful in the Cold War Era, but in the era of firearms, these were the best targets, not only unable to provide the necessary protection for soldiers, but also caused unnecessary casualties in the enemy's artillery bombardment. At the same time, the terrain of Smolensk is high in the west and low in the east, and the artillery positions built on the high ground in the west side of the city could provide fire support for the three directions of north and southwest, but could not take care of the eastern wall due to the range. Franco's solution was to build a small fortress on the east side of Smolensk with a small number of soldiers and artillery to provide a handhold.

    "Great, just heroic. Just do as I, no, just do as you say." After hearing Franco's second solution, Fyodor Obuhovich was a bit incoherent with excitement, he picked up the bottle of wine on his desk, took a few hard gulps of it, and patted Franco's shoulder again in approval.

    "Yes, sir. I'll order it down." Franco gave a military salute toward Fyodor and was ready to retire to set up his mission.

    "Wait." Fyodor Obuhovich called out again.

    "My dear Captain Franco, I'll leave the collection of supplies to you and your team. Those Cossacks I really don't trust. Remember, not a single grain of food should be left for the enemy."

    "Yes, sir."