Charles felt little about his individual accomplishments on the battlefield. After all, he had only taken down three enemy soldiers. Compared to the estimated three thousand casualties the Ottoman forces had suffered in two waves of attacks, as well as the collapse of the 69th Infantry Regiment, his actions seemed as insignificant as a pebble dropped in a vast lake, barely making a ripple.
But for Tijani, it was no small matter. Concerned about Charles's safety, he had kept a close watch on his position, even while directing the troops. He had seen Charles target specific enemies, and his own amazement grew with each shot.
It wasn't Charles's marksmanship that impressed him, as hitting targets just over 200 meters away from the trench wasn't difficult. The Ottomans were advancing en masse, making for easy targets. What truly surprised Tijani was that Charles had carefully chosen high-value targets: officers, machine gunners, and communication runners.
Spotting these key individuals amid the crowd wasn't easy, let alone eliminating them.
Muttering to himself, Tijani said, "It seems Charles's military aptitude extends well beyond invention."
Finally, after Charles dispatched two more soldiers, the Ottoman forces were once again repelled by the French grenade barrage.
The ground fifty meters in front of the trench was piled high with bodies, creating a grotesque barrier that even blocked the view from the trench. Tijani had no choice but to order sandbags to raise the trench walls.
By noon, the drizzle had stopped. A sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a rainbow across the sky. In any other situation, Charles might have admired the view, but here, the colors seemed more like a gruesome wound in the sky, spilling its entrails.
Charles sat pale-faced on an ammunition crate, his rifle within arm's reach, leaning against the blood- and mud-splattered trench wall. He had tried to relax but found himself unable; his muscles remained tense, trembling slightly from the strain.
Adrian, who had been helping a medic bandage a wounded soldier nearby, noticed Charles's condition. Finishing his task quickly, he hurried over.
"Colonel!" He pulled a piece of bread wrapped in waterproof paper from his pack, holding it out to Charles. "You should try to eat something."
Charles glanced at the bread, shaking his head with difficulty. He had no appetite, and even the sight of food made his stomach churn.
"You need to eat, sir," Adrian insisted gently. "It might feel like you're not hungry, but your body needs energy and fluids."
Charles paused, realizing that Adrian was probably right. Since dawn, he hadn't eaten a single thing, and after hours of intense fighting, it would be strange not to feel drained. Reluctantly, he took the bread, forcing down a few bites. Adrian handed him a canteen, and after a few sips of water, Charles felt slightly better.
Tijani, who had been busy reinforcing the trenches and adding barbed wire, finally came over and dropped down beside Charles, gasping for breath. "Your mortars saved us again, Colonel."
"What?" Charles asked, handing him the canteen.
Tijani took it eagerly, gulping down a few mouthfuls before catching his breath. "The mortars have been invaluable for suppressing the enemy machine guns and are much safer than exposing ourselves. It's a big reason we've managed to hold with only around 500 casualties."
Charles nodded. Before the mortars, suppressing machine guns usually required other machine guns. But the French machine guns were occupied fending off direct assaults and couldn't spare their fire for the enemy's hidden emplacements. The mortars, however, solved that problem neatly, delivering quick strikes wherever enemy fire originated.
After glancing to either side, Tijani lowered his voice and said to Charles, "But I'm not sure we can hold out until nightfall."
Charles nodded slightly, understanding the concern. He, too, had been calculating the risks. Out of an original force of 3,000, they had already suffered 500 casualties. While those numbers might seem manageable, estimating they'd only lose another 500 by dusk, the battlefield was no place for such assumptions.
Holding with 3,000 men in the morning didn't guarantee that 2,500 could do the same by afternoon. At some unknown tipping point, the 105th Regiment's defenses would collapse, potentially ending in total disaster. And no one could predict that breaking point—maybe it was 2,000, 2,300, or even a mere heartbeat away.
"Are reinforcements still impossible?" Charles asked.
"Yes," Tijani replied with a grim nod. "The Ottomans are shelling the beachhead, preventing supply ships from approaching, and they've resupplied their coastal guns."
While battleships might endure the shelling, the transport vessels would not. Just a few well-placed hits could set them aflame or worse, detonate their ammunition.
As both men brooded over the worsening odds, a runner rushed up, delivering news that lit up both their faces. "General Winter has sent word: they're mobilizing the fleet to enter the Gulf of Saros and provide fire support, including the Queen Elizabeth. General Winter wants to know where we need the bombardment."
Charles and Tijani exchanged an eager glance. Naval artillery support could make all the difference.
Tijani quickly pulled out a map, spreading it open and marking an area east of the defensive line. "This is where the enemy is concentrating. I think we should hit here—"
"No!" Charles interrupted, pointing to an area west of the line. "We need to shell this section."
"The west?" Tijani looked up in surprise. "There's only a single infantry regiment and a militia unit there. They're already encircled and short on ammunition…"
"Exactly," Charles explained. "The militia has low morale. If we hit them with artillery, they might fall apart entirely."
Realization dawned on Tijani. Not only were the western units more likely to break, but hitting that side also had a tactical advantage: with the battleships focusing on the west, they could keep a safer distance from shore, out of range of most of the coastal guns.
"You're right," Tijani agreed, nodding. "We'll target the west."
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