In the dark hours before dawn, on the western side of the second defensive line at Bolayir in Saros Bay, a cold sea wind howled through the trenches, and a light drizzle fell over the area. It was early April, yet the temperature around Gallipoli hovered near 7 degrees Celsius, leaving the Ottoman 69th Infantry Regiment of the 17th Division shivering in their makeshift defenses. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
"Damn it!" Captain Qadir of the Third Battalion muttered as he huddled in a cramped dugout. "Couldn't they at least send us raincoats or warmer clothes?"
Lieutenant Isa, his deputy, replied, "Captain, every vehicle and animal we have is hauling ammunition to the front. No one has time to worry about us."
Qadir grunted in acknowledgment. The gunfire and artillery were raging up ahead, and keeping the troops supplied with ammunition was the highest priority—everything else was secondary. But he couldn't help thinking that someone should have warned them about these conditions.
"Captain!" A soldier, hunched over from the cold, hurried up to Qadir. "Can we start a fire to warm up? If we don't, we'll freeze to death before the enemy even gets here!"
Lieutenant Isa immediately denied the request. "No, Mahdi. A fire will give away our position."
Qadir hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "All right, but keep it minimal. One fire per company, and keep it covered."
"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted and ran off.
Isa tried to protest, "Captain, I really don't think this is wise—"
"Relax, Isa," Qadir said, gesturing around him. "Look at this place. No one's going to try a landing here. Besides, we're the second line of defense."
Isa glanced at the shoreline a hundred meters away and the rocky coast beyond. Qadir was probably right. The Ania Beach was littered with hidden reefs that even medium-sized fishing boats would have to navigate with care, let alone an enemy warship.
Still, Isa felt uneasy. "I heard they've invented a new kind of landing craft…"
Qadir chuckled. "You mean those coal barges they used at Cape Helles? Relax. They won't make it through here."
Isa fell silent. It was true that a coal barge might make it, but it would need to follow a precise route to avoid the reefs.
Just then, a whistling sound cut through the air, followed by the crash of explosions nearby. Qadir's face paled as he shouted, "Put out the fires, put out the fires!"
The soldiers frantically shoveled dirt over the fires, snuffing them out, then crouched along the trench line, anxiously peering out in the direction of the explosions.
As the sound of artillery intensified, flashes of fire lit up the sea. Through the smoke and haze, Qadir could make out the shapes of a dozen warships, each unleashing a relentless barrage of shells onto the coast.
Qadir tried to calm himself. He was certain the enemy wouldn't try to land here—unless they were truly insane.
The French fleet had joined the assault, with the battleships Gaulois and Charlemagne firing broadside. Over ten destroyers supported the operation, their objective to clear obstacles and defenses on the beach, especially barbed wire. Simultaneously, forty landing boats and craft, loaded with heavily armed troops, advanced toward the coast at full speed.
Only then did Qadir realize his mistake. Through his binoculars, he could see rows of small, fast boats approaching through the smoke-filled waters. These small craft were clearly nimble enough to navigate the reefs, and Qadir's heart sank. These boats would make it to shore, despite the obstacles.
In the chaos of the bombardment, Qadir shouted above the noise, "Prepare to defend! They're going to land here!"
But his words were swallowed by the noise of the shelling. The soldiers, caught off guard, were already showing signs of panic, barely holding together under the onslaught.
As the bombardment began to creep inland, Qadir dashed from soldier to soldier, dragging them to their positions and setting up rifles along the trench line.
By sheer coincidence, the first sliver of sunlight appeared over the horizon, casting a weak glow over Ania Beach on the left flank of the defensive line.
Qadir suddenly noticed that the defensive line did not even face the beach directly, while the enemy forces were disembarking from their strange vessels and deploying along the shore. In a snap decision, Qadir leaped from the trench and called out, "Third Battalion, follow me!"
Perhaps inspired by Qadir's boldness, the soldiers grabbed their rifles and scrambled out of the trenches to join him in a desperate dash toward the beach. It was now a race to see who could form up first.
Qadir thought he still had a chance. Even though they had lost the element of surprise, if they could hold the line briefly, reinforcements would arrive wave after wave to push the enemy back into the sea. The key was to keep the enemy from gaining a foothold.
But Qadir quickly realized he had underestimated his adversary. As his forces moved toward the beach, the enemy opened fire.
Machine guns from the landing craft—Maxims—swept over the Ottomans, their bullets shrieking past and dropping soldiers one by one. Meanwhile, mortar shells rained down, scattering soldiers as they were thrown skyward only to fall back to earth with sickening thuds.
Forced to flatten himself against the ground, Qadir was stunned by the intensity of the firepower. How could they have organized such a fierce assault so quickly? Was this really a landing operation, or had they already dug in?
Qadir's breath came in gasps as he recalled hearing about a small-caliber "infantry cannon" from a German instructor. It was a creation of Charles's, widely used by the French. But the forces invading Gallipoli were typically either British troops or colonial forces.
Could this be Charles's own unit?
The thought chilled Qadir. He realized the outcome of the battle would be grim, but he still grit his teeth and called out, "Hold your positions! Hold them!"
The soldiers took up positions, aiming their rifles at the advancing enemy.
Then, something unbelievable happened. The supposed "landing craft" on the beach started moving inland, rolling forward like cars, shielding the soldiers as they advanced.
Both Qadir and his men were dumbstruck.
What were these things that could move through water and now across land?
"Fire! Fire!" Qadir shouted, his voice tinged with desperation, hoping bullets could stop these monsters.
The soldiers mustered their courage, firing a volley. But their bullets only bounced harmlessly off the armored plating, sparking and clinking against the steel. The landing craft continued their advance, unbothered, providing cover for the infantry behind them.
"It's a tank! Those are tanks!" someone screamed, terror evident in their voice.
The cry shattered what little resolve remained in the Third Battalion. In a wave of panic, the soldiers turned and fled. Qadir's shouts to rally them went unheard as his troops scattered in fear.
The Allied landing force had secured their foothold on the beach.
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