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Time Battle (1)

The rebellion that began in spring continued into summer.

The dry air, compared to Trabzon, scorched the lungs, and the parched ground kicked up dust with every step.

Over the shimmering horizon, the enemy could be seen slowly approaching.

“Eyes on the prize!”

Soldiers, with wicks soaked and dried multiple times in melted resin, were being scolded for accidentally extinguishing their wicks.

If this were training, I would have laughed at my comrade frantically seeking help, but there was no time for laughter among soldiers facing battle.

Just to avoid making the same mistake, I weighed my matchlock carefully as I moved with heavy footsteps.

As we got close enough, both sides stopped as if they had made a promise.

Encouragement rained down on the tense soldiers from their commander.

“Just stick to the training and we will win!”

“Don’t forget that if we break, we lose!”

The Ottoman basic tactics rely on the anvil and hammer strategy used since ancient times.

While the infantry holds the center in a defensive stance, the cavalry on both wings attack from the sides and rear.

The key aspect of this tactic is that the infantry acting as the anvil must withstand the enemy’s assault.

If the anvil breaks before the encirclement is complete, we could be defeated piece by piece, and even if the encirclement is complete, if the anvil is breached, the enemy can escape and regroup through the opening.

The janissaries, well aware of this tactical core, growled at Yusuf’s infantry.

“You little brats better shape up. If you can’t wield your precious spear properly, even if you survive, I’ll personally send you to Allah.”

“Don’t think for a second that the prince will protect you.”

As the mustached janissaries leaned forward threateningly, Yusuf’s soldiers ground their teeth.

If it were up to me, I’d rip those mustaches right off, but starting a fight before war was not an option.

Still, I sharpened my own words.

“If your fancy weapons are worse than our spears, you better be ready to lose that mustache!”

“No mustache? If you’re also lacking in a beard, you’ll be nothing but a woman. You shouldn’t be on the battlefield; you should be out looking for a man!”

Mustaches were so important that conditions exempting Christians from devshirme recruitment in the Balkans included being beardless or bald.

So, for a janissary who could only grow a mustache despite being a Muslim, the mention of facial hair was like pouring fuel on the fire.

While Yusuf’s soldiers boiled with rage, they didn’t cross the last line.

“Just wait and see, you brats.”

The janissary spat out those words and roughly planted his stand on the ground, placing his hand cannon.

With a ton of experience, I sensed the war was imminent.

As both sides lined up, drums signaling the war began to sound.

With the heart-shaking beats, both sides’ cavalry slowly started moving, gaining speed as the sound of hooves shook the ground.

The combined cavalry of 30,000 clashed first at the wings of both sides.

The medium cavalry, the Kapikulu, swung their maces and axes as they collided, and with the sound of bones breaking, blood and corpses scattered.

Even the well-armed Kapikulu fell from their horses under penetrative blows of swords, clashing head-on with the enemy as casualties mounted, but the lightly armed Turkmen cavalry suffered even more severe losses.

Like the Kapikulu who broke through the enemy’s left wing, Yusuf’s cavalry similarly broke through the right wing.

Leading the way were the medium cavalry who had already proven themselves in war alongside Ismail, crashing into the enemy cavalry, while enemies skewered like kebabs fell to the ground like bundles of straw.

Having fulfilled their roles after breaking the enemy’s spear point, the medium cavalry discarded their lances and drew their swords to break through the enemy’s right wing.

Though they broke through using the medium cavalry in front, it was an expected outcome for both sides.

The core of the battle lay in the central infantry, where the decisive forces of the war began their combat.

“Fire!”

Following the commander’s order, the hand cannons, effectively small cannons, were ignited.

With a loud explosion, the janissaries who were aimed and set up staggered, and the dense gunpowder smoke and shockwave rattled the surroundings.

The aftermath was horrific.

– Yeeeek!

“Gaaah!”

Cavalry pierced by the more powerful hand cannons lay rolling on the ground, and the startled horses reared up in fear.

However, this alone wouldn’t be enough to stop the wave of advancing enemies completely.

Stepping over fallen comrades, Yusuf’s soldiers, with their newly fashioned stocks, quickly aimed at the approaching enemies.

The once pea-sized enemies grew larger, and just as impatience crept in about whether to shoot quickly, the commander gave the order.

“Fire!”

Bang, bang, bang!

As the command echoed, a rain of bullets swept through the enemy, and as the enemies fell, the soldiers quickly withdrew.

Following the training, the first line fell back while the second line stepped forward to shoot and attack the reorganizing enemy.

This was the moment when the harquebus emerged onto the stage of history, 16 years ahead of its time.

*

“Not too shabby. It’s good to ask for more gunpowder.”

The Grand Vizier, stationed further back as he surveyed the battlefield, made that assessment.

The situation in the center, filled with black gunpowder smoke, was that favorable.

Though the rebels were mostly untrained nomads, the hand cannons and the successive three volleys from the harquebuses were sufficient to dull the enemies’ breakthrough power.

The cavalry that reached the solid defense could not effectively penetrate, and the reloaded soldiers cut the enemies’ throats from close range.

Yusuf shook his head lightly at the Grand Vizier’s praise.

“We were just lucky. It wouldn’t have been this easy against properly trained cavalry.”

It wasn’t humility; it was the truth.

The harquebus had too long a reloading time, and for proper sequential fire, they’d need not three lines, but twelve.

‘If they aimed for twelve lines just to accommodate reloading speed, we wouldn’t have made the right fire net and caused significant damage.’

Proper cavalry could have exploited the gaps created during reloading.

Believing that the janissaries would hold up in the worst-case scenario, he ordered three lines of firing, and it hit just as intended.

Watching the encirclement being gradually completed, the Grand Vizier turned his attention beyond the battlefield.

“We must move before the enemy commanders escape.”

The scales of victory had already tilted to one side, and the enemy commanders, slightly away from the battlefield, could flee.

Yusuf, with time running short, did not want to play tag on the Anatolian Peninsula.

He commanded the thousand cavalry he had kept as guards and reserves.

“Let’s go see my brother’s face.”

The time had come to finish the rebellion.

*

Confidently moving his troops, Shakul was shaking beneath the shadow of defeat.

Even from a distance, it was visible.

With a rumbling thunder-like sound, his allies were collapsing one after another.

“L-Let’s flee! The enemy is using the devil’s tricks!”

“Devil?”

Şehinşah scoffed.

To call gunpowder a devil was simply ridiculous.

However, even Şehinşah, who was aware of gunpowder’s existence, did not expect the tide of this battle to swing this way. He thought it would be possible to break through even considering gunpowder.

“The janissaries cannot show such a sight with their weapons.”

The continuous firing and the ensuing shots could not have been done by hand cannons, which were operationally difficult.

He hadn’t heard of the janissaries using new weapons, so there was but one culprit.

“Yusuf, it’s you.”

Not even having seen his brother’s face, Şehinşah asked Shakul, who urged them to flee.

“So where do you suggest we run?”

“To Konya! No, we can flee to Shah Ismail! He will welcome us!”

“Ismail.”

If the prince of the greatest enemy nation, the Ottomans, were to come on his own accord, they would welcome him with both hands raised.

“Exactly. He would probably welcome me.”

“Indeed. We must flee at once…”

As Shakul continued speaking, he gurgled as a dagger lodged itself in his chest.

The followers of Shakul, who had not expected Şehinşah to attack, drew their swords and howled.

“Shakul! Betrayal!”

“Kill him!”

“Protect the prince!”

A battle broke out between Shakul’s followers and Şehinşah’s soldiers, and as Shakul spat a mouthful of blood, he muttered in disbelief.

“…Why?”

Instead of answering, Şehinşah drove the knife deeper, cutting off Shakul’s breath.

The loser must greet the victor.

As Yusuf’s cavalry rushed in, the warring followers fled on horseback, and Şehinşah shouted to the remaining soldiers.

“You all flee as well. I can welcome them alone.”

For a moment hesitating at Şehinşah’s command, the soldiers quickly sought cover at Okai’s gesture, and standing by as Yusuf’s cavalry approached, Şehinşah said.

“Okai, you should also make your escape.”

“I will stay with you till the end.”

At Okai’s firm will, Şehinşah smiled lightly.

“Standing together before Allah wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

The incoming cavalry surrounded Şehinşah, adorned in splendid attire, as the Grand Vizier and Yusuf made their appearances.

The Grand Vizier, scrutinizing Şehinşah’s face, spoke to Yusuf.

“It is indeed Prince Şehinşah.”

With the Grand Vizier’s assurance, Yusuf stepped forward.

“I regret that we meet under these circumstances, brother.”

“Is this how meetings between princes go? The one your brother seeks is here.”

Looking at Shakul, now dead and cold, Yusuf nodded.

When Shakul’s soldiers fought Şehinşah’s, this was roughly what I had expected.

I didn’t know the reason, though.

“Why did you kill him?”

“I couldn’t meet my brother empty-handed for our first meeting… cough, cough.”

As blood stained Şehinşah’s hand from harsh coughing, Yusuf’s expression hardened.

Whether it was blood from a respiratory illness like tuberculosis or from digestive wounds, it meant he was gravely ill.

“Have you chosen this to be your time?”

“…Being born a prince means I should at least try until the end. It’s the destiny that Allah bestowed upon me. So I can hold my head high even in death.”

Şehinşah smiled sorrowfully.

Though it might sound trivial as a reason for rebellion, I could faintly understand, as a prince living under the weight of destiny.

‘Not that I’m inclined to spare him, though.’

For that was the end he had chosen.

“Do you have any final words?”

As Yusuf stepped forward with the silk cord to strangle Şehinşah, he asked, and Şehinşah laughed.

“Though I lost this battle, having killed Brother Korkut and grasping Ahmet’s ankles, I have no regrets.”

“Not an ankle, but rather, Ahmet’s lifeline is now cut off. I’ll send him soon.”

To cross the strait, one needed permission from the caretaker in Maltepe, which was attached to the strait, or a ship capable of transporting troops.

The caretaker had long been swayed by the Sanjakbey of Ankara, who had demonstrated loyalty to him, and with Korkut’s death, they had completely lost their maritime influence.

‘And undoubtedly, to isolate completely, they even teamed up with the final enemy, Selim.’

As Yusuf looked down at Şehinşah, now limply hanging, he turned his body.

“From now, it’s a battle against time.”

*

“A monstrous one.”

The main harbors in the Black Sea were Cape and Trabzon.

This meant that the control of the Black Sea could be divided between Selim, who owned Cape, and Yusuf, who owned Trabzon.

Recalling Yusuf’s proposal to isolate Ahmet, Selim smirked.

If Yusuf could take care of Ahmet trapped in Anatolia, there would be no reason to stop him.

“Go ahead and keep flailing about. In the end, I will become the victor.”

While Yusuf caught the rat trapped in the box, he would seize the capital and become the master of the empire.

“I will be the victor of this battle against time.”

With that declaration, Selim tightened his grip on the reins, and the 30,000 cavalry of the Crimean Khanate began their descent.