Prologue - The Battle of Artemisio
We were about a month’s march from the place where we landed when we had nearly arrived at the valley of Tripolis, where the Greek rebels had been camping. We were a secret force dispatched by Ibrahim Pasha to prevent the Greek army from escaping to the North. We were to take a defensive position near the village of Artemisio to cut off their escape route through the narrow valley we were walking through now. However, in war, almost nothing goes to plan, and the same was true for this manoeuvre. We were but a half-hours march from the village, when suddenly, we heard gunshots, and a few of us fell. Immediately, we started to panic, and some even started running away. With the next volley from our seemingly invisible foe, we found their position. They had been hiding in a forest on a hillside. Our officers gave the order to fire, and we did.
Due to their cover, we had no idea how many of them we actually killed with that volley, but we had succeeded in getting them to run out of their hiding place deep within the forest, and it was at that point the seeming hopelessness of our situation dawned on us. About 3000 Greeks, three times our number, charged at us. We heard no orders, and as I glanced to my side, I discovered why, as I saw the body of our officer lying lifeless on the ground. With the enemy charging, I took the initiative, screamed to the men to hold the line and reload, and when the enemy was but 30 meters from us, I shouted “FIRE!” as loud as my voice would allow me. Quite a number of the Greeks in front of us fell, which actually stopped their advance. Our men attached our bayonets to our guns, and charged straight into the Greeks.
The melee, which was my first ever battle, was almost intoxicating. All around me, I could hear the screams of soldiers being wounded, saw them in life or death struggles with each other, and felt the warmth of their blood on my face. A large Greek came charging at me, with his sword held over his head. Quickly, I tried to pull my bayonet out of another Greeks body to face him, but it was stuck. Just as he had reached me, I had managed to pull it out, which had made me lose my balance, and had made the Greek’s blade miss me. He swung for me again, but I had managed to parry the blow, which had momentarily knocked him off balance. I used my advantage to drive my bayonet home into his guts.
After a few minutes more, our force had managed to send the Greeks running back up their hill leaving perhaps 1000 of their men behind, dead and wounded. Our own losses had been quite severe, and a third of our men were lying dead or wounded on the battlefield. That night, the leader of our small force, an old Turk by the name of Ahmet, called me to him. He asked me questions about what I did in the battle, but I suspected he knew the answers to many of these questions already. Staring me in the eyes, he asked “So I heard you saved our left flank, eh? I admire someone who can think on his feet”. When he had finished, he bestowed upon me the rank of Miralay.
Whatever personal triumphs may have come out of that day, the overall plan of Ibrahim Pasha had been severely disrupted. The Greeks were now alerted to our presence in the north, and if beaten now, would probably try another escape route, one which was not known to us and continue their guerrilla campaign against us. And thus, Ibrahim’s plan to destroy the Greek rebellion in one swift blow was foiled before his main force had even fought them.
_________________________
So yes, incase anyone is not aware, this is a re-boot of my previous timeline, Death of the Sick man. I decided to re-boot it for a number of reasons, mainly that I wanted to incorporate different styles of writing from day one, and I wanted to keep the focus primarily on the Middle East, as I felt the previous version was focusing too much on European history. Comments/Criticisms/Death Threats are all welcomed. Exept for maybe the last one.
We were about a month’s march from the place where we landed when we had nearly arrived at the valley of Tripolis, where the Greek rebels had been camping. We were a secret force dispatched by Ibrahim Pasha to prevent the Greek army from escaping to the North. We were to take a defensive position near the village of Artemisio to cut off their escape route through the narrow valley we were walking through now. However, in war, almost nothing goes to plan, and the same was true for this manoeuvre. We were but a half-hours march from the village, when suddenly, we heard gunshots, and a few of us fell. Immediately, we started to panic, and some even started running away. With the next volley from our seemingly invisible foe, we found their position. They had been hiding in a forest on a hillside. Our officers gave the order to fire, and we did.
Due to their cover, we had no idea how many of them we actually killed with that volley, but we had succeeded in getting them to run out of their hiding place deep within the forest, and it was at that point the seeming hopelessness of our situation dawned on us. About 3000 Greeks, three times our number, charged at us. We heard no orders, and as I glanced to my side, I discovered why, as I saw the body of our officer lying lifeless on the ground. With the enemy charging, I took the initiative, screamed to the men to hold the line and reload, and when the enemy was but 30 meters from us, I shouted “FIRE!” as loud as my voice would allow me. Quite a number of the Greeks in front of us fell, which actually stopped their advance. Our men attached our bayonets to our guns, and charged straight into the Greeks.
The melee, which was my first ever battle, was almost intoxicating. All around me, I could hear the screams of soldiers being wounded, saw them in life or death struggles with each other, and felt the warmth of their blood on my face. A large Greek came charging at me, with his sword held over his head. Quickly, I tried to pull my bayonet out of another Greeks body to face him, but it was stuck. Just as he had reached me, I had managed to pull it out, which had made me lose my balance, and had made the Greek’s blade miss me. He swung for me again, but I had managed to parry the blow, which had momentarily knocked him off balance. I used my advantage to drive my bayonet home into his guts.
After a few minutes more, our force had managed to send the Greeks running back up their hill leaving perhaps 1000 of their men behind, dead and wounded. Our own losses had been quite severe, and a third of our men were lying dead or wounded on the battlefield. That night, the leader of our small force, an old Turk by the name of Ahmet, called me to him. He asked me questions about what I did in the battle, but I suspected he knew the answers to many of these questions already. Staring me in the eyes, he asked “So I heard you saved our left flank, eh? I admire someone who can think on his feet”. When he had finished, he bestowed upon me the rank of Miralay.
Whatever personal triumphs may have come out of that day, the overall plan of Ibrahim Pasha had been severely disrupted. The Greeks were now alerted to our presence in the north, and if beaten now, would probably try another escape route, one which was not known to us and continue their guerrilla campaign against us. And thus, Ibrahim’s plan to destroy the Greek rebellion in one swift blow was foiled before his main force had even fought them.
_________________________
So yes, incase anyone is not aware, this is a re-boot of my previous timeline, Death of the Sick man. I decided to re-boot it for a number of reasons, mainly that I wanted to incorporate different styles of writing from day one, and I wanted to keep the focus primarily on the Middle East, as I felt the previous version was focusing too much on European history. Comments/Criticisms/Death Threats are all welcomed. Exept for maybe the last one.