As the remainder of the Prussian Army gathered at Kustrin, the air was heavy with dread. The Kaiser sulked in his tent, a painting of Frederick the Great that had been saved from the Capital turned against the wall. The General Staff counted heads, and realized that even with the arrival of Mack and the Saxons from the south and IV Corps from the East, the odds would be against them. This knowledge, no one could later say how, spread like the plague through the camp. Magdeburg still held out, but for how long?
At last, after a long night of drinking, or prayer, (the rumors were inconsistent), Frederick Wilhelm III emerged from his tent, pale as if he’d seen a ghost (and popular legend later had it that Frederick II had come back from the grave to chastise his nephew.) As he strode into the General Staff tent, dozing officers and those hunched over their maps alike scrambled to attention, but he waved them off.
“Mein Herren,” he said, “There is nothing left for me to do but go and see General Bonaparte, and I would rather die a thousand deaths.” Then he rode off into the grey dawn, hat in hand, to surrender.
Prussia’s moves submitted,
One depot bought and placed in Kustrin.
Prussia pays 1 for the depot, 6 for supplying all corps, and rolls a 6 for the besieged forces, losing four infantry factors