Chapter 584: The First and Last Cavarly Charge
The Ottoman cavalry is yet anxiously awaiting the orders from his superior.
Finally, a messenger came riding towards him.
"What did the commander say?" The cavalry commander asked.
"The Bey... The Bey asked you to stay put, and wait for further orders..." The messenger replied yelling, and then went back to the command post.
"Stay put?!" The commander exclaimed. "Does he has a single idea on how we cavarlies fight? We need a charging distance to gain our speed! If we are just wasting our time here, we are going to become sitting ducks for those Romans in any time! Go tell the commander, if he does not give a direct order, I shall need to exercise my field commander rights and lead the charge by myself!"
"Commander." A junior officer approached. "The Bey is from Edirne."
The meaning hidden beneath the officer’s words are pretty clear: To these Ottoman garrisons in the west, Alaüddin Bey is, totally, unlike their beloved Hamza Pasha, who climbed through the ranks since Sultan Murad II with a series of military achievements and success. Alaüddin Bey on the other hand are believed to get this position because of his political connections, as he is obviously ill equipped with military knowledge and experience.
The Ottoman cavalries bite his teeth hard and continued observing the battlefield around him. It is obvious that the high command would not reinforce him with anything, and he simply cannot waste any more time sending another messenger to the command and come back with an order; the Rumelian infantries are already fast approaching, if they come any closer the advantages of the cavalries would be demised to nothing facing the spear and shield formations of these Rumelians. he might be irresponsible towards Alaüddin Bey, but he must be responsible for his own men.
The Ottoman cavalry commander raised his Kilij blade pointing towards the moon, turned his horse and roared towards his fellow riders. "Mujahadins and Ghazis of the All Mighty Allah! I have just received news that our fearless Ottoman Mujahadins on our left flank have already crashed the dirty Rumelians, and now it is time for us to crash these filths beneath our hooves! Charge with me!"
The Ottoman commander slashed his horse with his whip, instantly bursting out of the lines with the hooves of his horse storming right towards the Roman infantry lines. While his men, obviously motivated by the supposed victory on the other flank, cheered in weird steppe tunes as they too followed the hooves of their leader, waving their blades of all kinds in the air, and raced with one another on a who shall reach the enemy lines first race.
"Saldırın! Savaşçılarım! Saldırın!" The Ottoman commander bursted out against the howling wind as he points his blade directly towards the Rumelian flag.
The thunderous sound of hooves reverberated through the air as the Ottoman cavalry descended down the treacherous hillside, their charge shrouded in an aura of primal determination. The sheer shock of their advance was palpable, as if the very earth trembled beneath the weight of their galloping steeds. The sight of hundreds of mounted warriors, their silhouettes outlined against the setting sun, was both awe-inspiring and fearsome. The air crackled with anticipation as their leader, a fearless commander, brandished his Kilij blade high above his head, urging his men forward with a fierce cry that echoed through the valley.
Three hundred... Two hundred... One hundred... The experienced Ottoman commander mummured the distance between him and the Roman infantries as he galloped against the wind. Normally the Ottoman cavalries would perform a hit and run first with their archers, but there are no space and time for them to do that at the moment, though the Ottoman commander knows that there are no conscripted infantry in the era who can withstand the impact of an Ottoman heavy cavalry charge.
He is confident, he can already see the terrified faces of these Rumelians, he can already smell the scent of victory before him.
"Charge! Allah Hu Akbar!" The Ottoman commander roared for the last time, before performing a sharp turn right before the Rumelian lines with his mighty horsemanship, while his troops too performed the exact same thing separating into two streams, charging the Rumelian flanks.
The Roman infantry lines twitched by a bit facing the cavalries but did not move by an inch.
The Ottoman commander praised the Rumelian infantries in his mind simply because these men are disciplined enough to not scatter away facing the sheer momentum. But still, they are his enemies.
The hundreds of Ottoman cavalries stormed head front onto the Rumelian lines, echoing their roars and cries as one after another Rumelian infantry fell onto the ground with their throat either being slit by Ottoman blades, or their bodies squashed by the sheer kinetic momentum of the horses. To the surprise of the Ottomans though, the infantry lines of the Rumelians seem to be pretty thin, allowing them to break through the line of defence with just one blow.
The Rumelians seemed to have left a big space for them inside the formation.
The Ottoman commander is baffled, but his instinct kept stinging in his head about the potential danger that there is if he chooses to stay here inside the Rumelian formation, and thus he grabbed the reins of his mount, squeezed the horse with his thighs, and continued to move forward to the other end of the formation hoping to penetrate through the Rumelians.
But just as he is about to succeed, he saw the commanding flag of the Rumelians, with a man donned in glistering armours surrounded by people. He recognised this armour, even in the darkness, this is the armour worn by the main foe of these Ottoman garrisons, the general of the Rumelians, that bastard Helios.
The Ottoman commander decided to give it a bet, unlike his men who believes the myth of their flanks crashing the Rumelians, the commander knows clearly how intense the current situation is, he believes he is the only hope for the Ottomans to revert the tide of the battle, and he would definitely not waste any chance to perform a miracle.
There are about thirty Roman infantries between him and the commanding flag.
About sixty meters away.
Just a few seconds if on full speed.
The Ottoman commander pulled the reins of his horse while charging, the mount made a painful neigh as she obeyed her master’s order changing the course of her way, almost injuring her legs, and started charging towards the Rumelian commander. The Ottoman riders behind their commander too followed.
Just then, another surge of force appeared in this tightly packed chaotic battlefield, the two hundred Roman cavalries finally reached the place as they too, performed a charge right at the backs of the Ottoman cavalries, forcing the later to continue squeezing through the openings on the Roman infantry formations.
The Roman infantry men moved slowly bit by bit, flexibly adjusting their formations, and finally merged together closing their exterior lines when the very last Ottoman cavalry entered the formation, with the Roman cavalries roaming around on the outside, hunting down any leftovers, chasing away the other Ottoman cavalries who are attempting to continue charging or harassing the Roman lines.
With that, the eight hundred Roman infantry men managed to accomplish the almost impossible: Not succumb to the Ottoman cavalry charge, and trap two hundred plus Ottoman cavalries right inside their formation.
"Allah Hu Akbar!"
The Ottoman commander roared as he continued charging, staring at the Rumelian commander with his blood shot pair of eyes, wishing to tear this man apart with his teeth. His Kilij blade swirls left and right like a piece of art, blocking all the attacks coming towards him, occasionally taking away the lives of one or two. There are already numerous bruises and slashes on his body, but he could not feel it, he feel that he is blessed by God, he has nothing in his eyes except for the Rumelian commander.
"If... If I can take him done..." The commander murmured, but before he knew it, his horse let off a thrilling and painful neigh, before falling heavily onto the ground, bringing her master with her too.
The commander could not bother wiping the blood off his forehead, he looked back at his horse, and he saw an arrow right there on the neck of his mount. The poor horse is still moving her limbs, gaping for air, with her eyes wide open, but everyone knows that it is only a matter of time before she succumbs to her fate.
"Helios!" A Roman cavalry captain approached. "You did not inform me that you are going to use such a risky tactic and formation! I would have never approved that!"
"Thank you, Khalid." Helios simply replied, without even taking a look at the man who almost saved him.
The cavalry captain, Khalid, shouted a piece of vulgar in Egyptian and galloped away to finish the rest of his job.
