With a piercing whistle, the Ottoman forces launched their assault.
They advanced from two directions:
To the west of the "A" Line was the trapped 65th Infantry Regiment, along with the 3rd Militia Regiment, totaling over 7,000 soldiers.To the east, the hastily assembled 70th Infantry Regiment brought an additional 3,000 soldiers.
The Ottomans aimed to crush Charles's forces in a pincer attack, hoping to annihilate his troops before they could establish a solid foothold.
Charles lay low behind the parapet, watching the scene unfold through his binoculars. For the first time, he was face-to-face with an enemy charge.
Before him surged a dense sea of Ottoman soldiers, wearing their distinctive red fez caps, shouting battle cries and pressing forward like a crimson tide. Bayonets glinted in the sunlight, as if thirsting for blood.
For a fleeting moment, Charles felt a pang of doubt—was he, in fact, the invader? And were the enemy soldiers bravely defending their homeland against a foreign threat? If this were a film or a play, it seemed the Ottomans would be cast as the heroes.
But he quickly pushed aside these thoughts, recognizing them as romanticized nonsense. War dealt in stark realities; if the "righteous" always won, then the Mongols would never have conquered so vast a territory.
The Ottomans drew closer. At 200 meters, Charles could see their curved mustaches through the binoculars. Tijani, positioned about ten meters from Charles, waited until the last moment before giving the order: "Open fire!"
A whistle signaled the command. Almost immediately, gunfire erupted across the defensive line, with rifles cracking and Maxim machine guns pouring bullets into the oncoming wave. It was as if an invisible wall of gunfire had slammed into the charging soldiers, halting their advance. Blood and screams filled the air as the front ranks fell in grotesque postures to the ground.
Yet the Ottomans pressed on, disregarding their fallen comrades. As the front rows crumpled, those behind sprinted forward at nearly full speed, some even breaking into a dead run.
Several times, it seemed they were about to breach the trench line. But on Tijani's command, waves of hand grenades were launched, pushing them back in deadly explosions.
This strategy had been Charles's suggestion. Earlier, Tijani had scanned through intelligence reports delivered by seaplane with a furrowed brow.
"The Ottomans have mustered over 10,000 troops, Colonel, plus an unknown number of artillery pieces," Tijani had said, a hint of dread in his voice. "They've gathered this many forces in such a short time, and they're attacking from two fronts. Our men are vastly outnumbered."
If the attack came from just one direction, the 3,000 soldiers might barely manage to defend the 6-kilometer line. But with the Ottomans attacking from two fronts, the defending forces would need to double. If either side faltered, the 105th Infantry Regiment faced complete annihilation.
Charles had thought for a moment, then turned to Tijani. "General, did you notice the Ottoman troops don't wear helmets? Most of them still wear that… cylindrical hat."
"It's called a fez, Colonel," Tijani replied with a wry smile, adding with a self-deprecating tone, "Though I must admit, their troops are still better equipped with helmets than we are."
At that time, the French soldiers wore red caps, which they covered with cloth to blend in and avoid becoming easy targets.
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "I believe hand grenades might be especially effective against them."
The Ottoman forces lacked helmets, and their troops were unfamiliar with the tactics and timing needed to dodge a grenade. It was, therefore, the perfect weapon for the situation.
Still, Tijani seemed unconvinced. "Colonel, have you considered that grenades only reach about 50 meters? Letting the enemy get that close is extremely dangerous."
Charles understood Tijani's hesitation. Conventional wisdom favored eliminating the enemy from as far a distance as possible, especially for defenders. Allowing the enemy to come so close increased the risk of brutal hand-to-hand combat in the trenches, negating any defensive advantage.
Charles replied, "In that case, we'll place a barbed wire barrier at around 30 meters to slow their advance."
Tijani had hesitated briefly, but then nodded, recognizing the merit of the idea. "A good plan. If we place the barbed wire at 30 meters, the front ranks will instinctively slow down, while those behind keep charging. They'll bunch up at around 50 meters, making them perfect targets."
This was why Tijani had waited until the Ottomans were only 200 meters away to order the attack. He was eager to see if this new tactic would work.
Fortunately, the tactic proved successful.
(The plan would have failed if the Ottomans had grenades, as they could simply lob them into the trenches from a similar distance.)
The Ottoman advance stalled at the barbed wire. Soldiers in the front ranks dropped to one knee, enduring a hail of bullets as they spread their blankets across the wire to create a pathway for their comrades to charge across.
Then, the defenders hurled a volley of hand grenades into the packed mass of Ottoman soldiers, the grenades trailing smoke as they spun through the air.
Some Ottoman soldiers recognized the grenades, but lacking training, they didn't react by dropping to the ground. Instead, they continued charging, ignoring the incoming explosives.
Explosions tore through their ranks, leaving men lying motionless or thrashing in agony. Some suffered grisly wounds, heads bloodied, stomachs torn open, eyes blinded by shrapnel as they writhed on the ground, screaming.
Charles shuddered, horrified by the sight. He had never before witnessed such carnage up close—a hellish tableau of suffering, a chaotic symphony of pain and brutality.
The French soldiers, however, saw it differently. To them, this scene was a victory—a display of power and safety. Their morale surged, and they took aim, picking off the stunned survivors one by one.
A volley of shots rang out, and the Ottoman soldiers clutched their wounds, collapsing into pools of blood.
Finally, the Ottomans retreated like a receding tide, leaving the field littered with bodies. Many of the wounded still moved weakly, struggling in pools of blood.
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