Holy Roman Empire

Chapter 546: Bombing

“Boom, boom, boom…”

Shells rained down from the sky, throwing the city of Ağva into chaos. Cries and screams echoed throughout as frightened citizens ran wild through the streets.

Akyol abandoned his work and grabbed his apprentice, pulling him toward the backyard. Suddenly, he stopped at a pile of clutter. While clearing away the mess, he said, “Quickly, help me out! We need to hide in the cellar.”

Understanding the urgency, the boy nodded and joined in. This hidden cellar was originally built by the blacksmith shop’s owner to avoid tax collectors.

In the Ottoman Empire, how could you run a business without evading taxes? Even though it was just a small blacksmith shop, at its peak, the owner had more than a dozen workers.

How much money could they make just by forging farming tools, pots, and other small items? After the officials took their cut, there wasn’t much left for the owner. How could he afford to keep so many workers?

The sharp-witted blacksmith owner wasn’t one to sit idly by. He quickly branched into a new, albeit shady, business — forging weapons. And not just any weapons, but those that couldn’t see the light of day.

As time passed and the era of firearms dawned, it became harder to find clients for this under-the-table work. Bandits, pirates, and other ideal customers stopped coming around as frequently, and the blacksmith shop gradually declined.

By the time the current owner took over, he had also opened a general store, though the blacksmith shop, a family inheritance, remained in operation. Only Akyol, the master smith, stayed, making simple everyday items to sell, just enough to keep things going.

With the secret business gone, the cellar had fallen into disuse. Aside from occasionally storing some supplies, it hadn’t been used in a long time.

Now it had become their hiding place. In the cramped space, their breathing was loud and clear. The boy, unable to contain his anxiety, asked, “Master…”

Akyol interrupted, “Stop. I know what you’re about to ask, but right now, there’s nothing we can do except hide here.

When they hear the shelling, they’ll definitely take cover. Even if you go out now, you won’t be able to help. The shells don’t have eyes, and we can’t stop them. Let’s trust that Allah will protect them…”

Faced with naval bombardment, Ağva’s garrison officer, Özgür, immediately gave the order, “Organize a counterattack at once. We can’t let the enemy act so recklessly.”

The Ottoman Empire had been preparing for this war for over half a year, purchasing many cannons from Britain and France. As a key defensive port, Ağva had more than a hundred coastal guns.

Of course, only about thirty of these were heavy artillery capable of inflicting real damage. The rest posed little threat to ironclad warships.

Even so, this wasn’t a small number. With so many Ottoman port cities, the fact that Ağva received this many cannons showed its strategic importance.

Normally, no one would pit warships against coastal artillery in a direct firefight. It’s a foolish choice. Coastal guns are smaller targets and can be more accurately calibrated on land, so warships are at a disadvantage.

Of course, there are exceptions. Weapons, equipment, and the quality of soldiers are also key factors affecting accuracy. It’s not unheard of for coastal artillery to lose such duels against warships, though this is rare.

“Yes, General!”

As soon as the order was given, several young officers quickly moved forward, picking up phones in the command room to relay the commands. None of these phones had fancy dial pads — they relied entirely on manual switchboards.

If someone looked closely at the German instructions on the base of the phones, they’d notice that these products were marked as made in Austria.

This was a minor detail. Given the limited technology at the time and the lack of long-range surveillance, it didn’t matter who manufactured the phones as there were no backdoors to worry about.

On the battlefield, practicality reigns supreme. Most of the telephone equipment on the international market was exported by Austria, and the Ottoman government had no room to be picky.

Though these devices seemed simple, their production required precision and a slight misstep could lead to a great error. With the Ottoman Empire’s limited industrial capacity, any communication equipment they produced would be completely unusable.

As orders were relayed, the long-anticipated coastal artillery finally unleashed its power, with deafening cannon fire echoing through the air.

Aboard a warship approximately two to three nautical miles away, a burly middle-aged officer stood on deck, peering into the distance through a pair of binoculars. (One nautical mile is about 1.852 kilometers.)

A diligent guard warned him, “Admiral, it’s dangerous here. You should head to the observation room.”

The middle-aged man laughed heartily, “If the enemy can hit me from this distance, it only means God wants to meet me early.”

Hit him? Most of the artillery couldn’t even reach that far, and the few cannons with the necessary range couldn’t aim accurately over such a distance.

The Austrian Navy’s bombardment of Ağva was entirely random. There was no need to aim. They simply set the cannons to their maximum range and let the shells fly as far as possible.

To achieve any real results, they would have to move closer. Even the closest warship to Ağva was still maintaining a distance of two nautical miles.

This distance was just right—it ensured the ships’ cannons could reach the city while keeping the vessels safe.

Glancing at his watch, the middle-aged officer muttered to himself, “They should be here by now. If they don’t show up soon, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

This wasn’t the first time they had bombarded a port city. Since the naval campaign against Ottoman ports began on April 5, the Austrian Navy has been conducting live-fire exercises against various port cities daily.

That’s right—live-fire training. The Navy treated this as an exercise, using the Ottomans as target practice to train their gunners’ accuracy.

It didn’t take long before colorful clouds began to drift across the sky. The middle-aged officer furrowed his brow and ordered, “Command the fleet to close the distance to one nautical mile and pay attention to the wind direction.”

To create opportunities for the Air Force, they had to act as bait this time. Without applying enough pressure, they couldn’t force the enemy’s coastal artillery to reveal itself.

Indeed, as the Austrian Navy drew closer, the artillery fire intensified. To achieve a convincing result, Özgür disregarded any attempts to hide their strength and ordered all defensive firepower to open up.

Behind two unassuming coastal guns, the young officer Saltuş Pasha shouted excitedly, “Aim and fire at the warships. Hit those little targets, if you can!”

Lieutenant Colonel Saltuş Pasha was not just any ordinary noble officer waiting to retire. As a rising star in the Ottoman Empire, he had been a student at the prestigious French Saint-Cyr Military Academy.

Had the war not broken out suddenly, he would have continued his studies in France. But with the survival of the Ottoman government at stake, they had no choice but to recall him early, regardless of whether he had graduated.

Despite being relatively inexperienced, Saltuş Pasha had been exposed to the most advanced military concepts in the world during his studies, making him far superior in theoretical knowledge compared to the local, less educated noble officers.

Under normal circumstances, someone of Saltuş Pasha’s caliber would be assigned to headquarters or at least to a division. Unfortunately, his critical evaluation of Ağva’s coastal gun placements upon arrival had earned him enemies.

He had just arrived when he criticized the deployment of Ağva’s coastal artillery as completely useless and proposed a modification plan. In the face of war, the old and weak opposition was a minority, the modification plan was approved, and Saltuş Pasha was promoted to lieutenant colonel.

Having offended people, Saltuş Pasha was quickly sent to the frontlines for “training.” In reality, it was just to guard the coastal artillery. If the war hadn’t broken out, this was probably how he would have spent the rest of his life.

A soldier suddenly exclaimed, “Lieutenant Colonel, another big bird is coming from the sky!”

Unhappy with the soldiers’ loud reactions, Lieutenant Colonel Saltuş Pasha corrected them, “That’s an airship, not a big bird.”

The soldier hurriedly corrected himself, “Yes, an airship. Look, something’s falling down. Could it be more paper?”

For illiterate soldiers, Austrian leaflets and scraps of paper didn’t seem much different. The tactic of using leaflets to spread panic and force the locals to flee hadn’t been very successful.

Saltuş Pasha, with his broader experience, quickly realized that so many airships weren’t necessary just for dropping leaflets. One would have been sufficient. There was no need to deploy over twenty.

“Not good, it’s bombs! Quick, find cover!”

With that, Saltuş Pasha took off running. It wasn’t surprising that he was flustered as no one had experienced this kind of attack before. Being able to immediately identify them as bombs was a testament to his high level of knowledge.

How to avoid bombing wasn’t written in any textbook. Knowing to run away was enough to prove his quick thinking. If the enemy was dropping bombs, they were certainly aiming for the artillery. Naturally, moving away from the gun emplacements would increase safety.

However, it was too late. Before he could make much progress, bombs began to rain down, focusing on the artillery positions.

After the thunderous explosions, only devastation remained. Saltuş Pasha, who had tried to escape, was knocked over by the blast wave, with two pieces of shrapnel embedded in his arm.

Enduring the pain, he looked up at the few soldiers who had remained in place. They were no longer recognizable as humans. All that was left on the ground was a bomb crater and some indistinct... (several words omitted)

Saltuş Pasha no longer cared about the cannons. Fighting through the pain, he got up and continued to run. Now he only wanted to get as far away from the gun emplacements as possible.

The aerial bombardment left many in a state of shock. It was beyond their capacity to handle, and they were at a loss as to how to respond.

The artillery was designed to deal with naval enemies, not threats from the sky. Air defense was non-existent. Who could have foreseen the first large-scale aerial bombardment in human history?

Despite the chaos on the ground, bombs continued to fall from the sky. Any suspicious targets were bombarded without hesitation.

In the command center of the Ağva garrison, Major General Özgür was like a cat on a hot tin roof, pacing anxiously and completely unsure of what to do.

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