Chapter 216: Siege
Three days after the Tunisian rebel army had encircled Tunis City from the north, west, and south.
Gemile gazed at the magnificent Tunis City, his expression stern, as he raised a hand and pointed towards the Janissary formations below the walls. "Give the order," he commanded, "Launch a full-scale assault!"
The long, resonant call of horns drifted across the surrounding several kilometers. More than a dozen rebel phalanxes, under the command of their respective officers, advanced slowly and silently.
Koca, who was commanding the Janissaries defending the city, stood on a rise west of Tunis City, raising his telescope and muttering to himself with a frown:
'That cursed fire... Is this where the great Janissary Corps meets its end?'
In a regular engagement, even if the rebels outnumbered his forces two to one, he would have been confident in crushing them.
However, a little over half a month ago, the arsenal in Tunis City had accidentally caught fire—perhaps arson committed by the Berbers within the city.
Regardless, over 70% of the weapons in the arsenal had been destroyed.
Previously, those Janissary soldiers, insistent on residing within Tunis City, had been forced to surrender their weapons to the arsenal due to the assassination attempt on the Bey, as they were forbidden from carrying arms into the city.
It was at that time that rebel forces, having achieved victories across various locations, began to converge on Tunis City.
When the pampered Janissary "gentlemen" inside the city learned of the army's weapon shortage, they hastily gathered their fortunes and fled towards Tripoli or Egypt, further demoralizing his remaining soldiers.
"In less than a week, thousands deserted. Cowardly scoundrels!"
Koca shook his head with a sigh. "With over a hundred years of Janissary tradition, if they had resolutely and bravely suppressed the rebellion, how could we have ended up besieged in the city like this?"
"Pasha?" his adjutant whispered, seeing him lost in thought. "The enemy is drawing near."
Koca nodded and waved a dismissive hand. "Open fire."
"Yes, Pasha."
From the front line of the Tunisian Janissary defenses, a dozen cannons roared, their shells screaming sharply as they plunged into the ranks of the native troops.
"Ah—"
Amidst the screams, several bodies shattered by cannon fire exploded into flying chunks of flesh and sprays of blood, instantly throwing the already disorganized native troops into even greater disarray.
The native officers, who had only recently been farmers and peddlers, desperately suppressed their own terror, waving their scimitars and shouting to control their men: "Hold your formation!"
"Don't break ranks! No retreating!"
"Stop standing around, keep moving forward!"
Through their efforts, the attacking columns managed to keep advancing. Yet, the Janissary cannons boomed once more.
In truth, these solid shot cannonballs didn't cause massive casualties; even with a direct hit at the optimal angle, they might kill a dozen men at most. More often, they claimed only one or two lives, or missed entirely.
However, the deafening roar of the cannons and the constant dread of being obliterated by an unseen projectile severely tested the soldiers' willpower.
These native troops, untrained in regular warfare, simply lacked that resilience.
After enduring four or five rounds of shelling, most soldiers began to turn and flee uncontrollably—especially those splattered with blood and brains, who ran faster than anyone.
The officers responsible for them, after a flurry of shouts and curses, found they couldn't control their men and eventually joined the retreat themselves.
A few soldiers, in a moment of crazed fervor, would shout the names of the Prophet and their Lord, charging frantically towards the enemy lines to fight to the death, only to be met by a volley from the Janissaries.
Two days later.
Gemile listened grimly as an officer reported the casualties, muttering under his breath, 'More than 20,000 soldiers, over a dozen assaults, and not once did we get within 15 meters of the enemy...'
He had expected to breach Tunis City quickly, just like in their previous battles. He hadn't anticipated losing over 400 men in two days without even touching the Janissaries' first line of defense.
"Cannons! It's all those damn cannons!" he suddenly roared, gritting his teeth in frustration. "If we had cannons too, we could surely crush those devils!"
Hearing this, an officer beside him took two steps closer and whispered, "General, perhaps we could try approaching Ishaq Pasha."
After becoming the leader of the rebel army, the generous "Lord Zaganos" had reverted to his original name, becoming Ishaq Pasha.
At dusk, the fading light prompted both warring sides to temporarily cease hostilities, and the soldiers returned to their camps to prepare dinner.
Gemile, accompanied by several key officers, arrived at the residence of Ishaq Pasha, the rebel leader.
"Cannons?" Ishaq frowned, shaking his head. "Those aren't easy to come by."
Gemile pleaded anxiously, "Pasha, the enemy's cannons pose a grave threat to us. If we don't have comparable weapons, it will be very difficult to win. Please, you must think of a way..."
"Right now, only the French in all of Tunisia have cannons," Ishaq mused, shaking his head. "But this is a feud between us Tunisians and the Ottoman Janissaries. It has nothing to do with them; they might not be willing to help."
Gemile immediately retorted, "How can it have nothing to do with them? We are all Roman brethren by common descent! I believe they won't stand by and do nothing!"
The officers standing by also nodded in agreement.
Ishaq seemed persuaded, reluctantly agreeing, "Alright then, we'll try approaching our 'Roman compatriots.'"
"Oh, and it would be best if we could ask Elder Alai to accompany us. His extraordinary prestige should prove helpful."
"Very well, I will personally go and ask him!"
The next day, a "delegation" of over a dozen Tunisian natives arrived at the Guards Corps' encampment, where Berthier warmly received them.
Elder Alai was now the religious leader of the Tunisian natives, having gained immense prestige and status during the uprising. Whether he had initially wished it or not, his interests were now firmly tied to those of the rebel army. He no longer pursued the matter of someone originally misusing his name to issue prophecies.
On the contrary, he now actively advocated for the rebels' interests.
After he, representing the rebel army, explained the difficulties they faced and requested help from their "compatriots," Berthier, with utmost sincerity, told him, "Rest assured, everyone, we will do everything in our power to help our brethren in their suffering."
"Not just cannons, I can also dispatch officers to help you command the battles. I believe their experience will certainly be useful."
This was also part of Joseph's plan: to make the Tunisian natives understand that the Janissaries would never be defeated solely by their own strength. Without the assistance of their "Roman compatriots," they would never achieve victory.
Hearing this, Gemile was instantly moved to tears of gratitude. He was the first to passionately bow deeply. "We will never forget your kindness! We will never forget the help of our French compatriots!"
The accompanying officers and several of the most influential native tribal chiefs also followed suit, bowing to Berthier and repeating their sincere thanks again and again.
Outside Tunis City.
Two Guards Corps artillery companies had already set up six 8-pounder cannons on their pre-established positions, with ammunition crates neatly arranged in rows a short distance behind them.
"Load!"
"Aim!"
Under the command of each gun's chief, the artillerymen swiftly completed preparations for firing.
"Fire!"
After a series of roars, six cannonballs flew directly towards the Janissaries' artillery positions.
With the Guards Corps' cannons joining the fray, the tide of battle immediately took a dramatic turn.
Although they had fewer cannons than the enemy, their artillerymen were leagues ahead of the Ottomans in skill.
After a few simple ranging shots, one cannonball precisely struck an enemy cannon over 200 meters away.
The immense impact of the cannonball ripped the gun barrel from its carriage, crushing several Tunisian artillerymen behind it, and finally landed on a rock more than 20 meters away. The cannon body was already deformed and rendered unusable.
As cannonballs continued to rain down near the Janissary artillery positions, the Ottoman artillerymen were so terrified they scattered and fled, not even daring to drag their cannons away.
"Praise be to God!" Gemile exclaimed in ecstasy as he witnessed the scene through his telescope. He turned to an officer beside him. "Give the order! Prepare the entire army for a frontal assault!"
"A hasty attack like that would be ill-advised," the accompanying French officer immediately interjected, stopping him.
"Ah? Then what do you suggest?"
The French officer didn't offer Gemile a lengthy explanation. Instead, he simply bypassed him and had his own orderlies issue a rapid succession of commands.
Signalmen waved their flags continuously, relaying orders, as the French junior officers at the front began rapidly maneuvering the rebel troops.
On the western front, a thin line of infantry slowly advanced towards the Janissary positions—without the threat of enemy cannons, their steps were much steadier.
Simultaneously, dozens of rebel columns appeared on the southern flank of the Janissary defenses, rushing at high speed towards their side. The French artillery also turned its muzzles, beginning supporting bombardments against the Janissary flank.
'What are they trying to do?' Koca wondered, putting away his telescope, secretly surprised. The rebels had ceased fire for several days; why were they suddenly fighting with such coordination?
He quickly analyzed the situation, surmising that the enemy on the front was merely a diversion, and the main assault would come from his left flank.
He immediately turned to his adjutant. "Give the order! Move Orhan's men to the left flank to strengthen the defenses."
"Yes, Pasha!"
Orhan's thousand-plus men, previously in the frontal formation, promptly regrouped upon receiving the order and moved to the left flank.
Just then, a rebel force of four or five thousand appeared on the Janissaries' right flank, forming infantry lines six ranks deep, slowly pressing down on them.
Koca was instantly alarmed, muttering to himself with a frown, 'These cunning fellows, it seems their main force is here!'
He immediately detached over five hundred men from the front and simultaneously shifted half of his reserve corps to the right flank. He also moved his command post to the north, to facilitate easier command at any moment.
However, the rebel infantry on both flanks never advanced within firing range. Instead, a unit of over three hundred cavalrymen suddenly burst forth, taking advantage of the confusion in the Janissaries' frontal forces caused by frequent repositioning, and swiftly galloped towards their artillery positions.
Although these cavalrymen, composed of herdsmen, knew nothing of formations or sword-fighting techniques, their horsemanship was exceptionally skilled.
They arrived at the Janissaries' cannons at incredible speed, then dismounted.
The commanding officer, following the orders received beforehand, loudly instructed his men:
"Mehmet, take your men to destroy the cannons! The rest of you, maintain a perimeter and watch out for enemy infantry!"
"Yes, sir!"
Over forty soldiers immediately formed a perimeter with their scimitars raised, standing alert. Another dozen men surrounded the cannons, inserting pre-prepared spikes into the touchholes and hammering them in with force.
These spikes, made of wrought iron, would be extremely difficult to extract. With their touchholes plugged, the cannons immediately became scrap metal.
After accomplishing this, they swiftly remounted their horses and returned to their camp like a whirlwind.
Several tens of minutes later, the rebel forces from all three directions retreated without engaging the Janissaries. It was only then that Koca finally received a report from his subordinates, learning that all his cannons had been annihilated by the rebels.
Gemile was utterly dumbfounded by the French officer's command—virtually no direct fighting occurred, casualties were negligible, and in just over half an hour, all the Janissaries' cannons had been neutralized!
'This was practically the work of Saladin, the God of War!'
'If only I'd known we had such formidable compatriots earlier, would I have blundered with my own command? Perhaps the Janissary brigands would have been driven out of Tunisia years ago!'
If that French officer knew what Gemile was thinking, he'd probably feel a bit sheepish. These were just common tactics from his training at the Paris Police Academy, at most rearranged according to battlefield conditions, yet he was being "dubbed" a God of War...
Having lost their cannons, the Janissaries became extremely passive.
The rebels continuously bombarded them with cannons, and while the casualties weren't immense, the blow to their morale was devastating. After all, anyone facing a situation where they could only take hits without retaliating would find it hard to maintain their composure.
Finally, after five days of relentless cannon fire, Koca, before morale completely collapsed, gathered all his forces and launched a desperate breakout attempt against the rebels.
The rebel army, on the other hand, had already formed a very dense defensive formation under the orders of the French commander.
Although these native soldiers had poor military training, they were capable of standing their ground and firing their muskets.
Combined with their significant numerical advantage and artillery support from behind, they finally showed a burst of courage against the enemy's frantic counterattack, driving them back with concentrated fire.
Behind the lines, the French officer, watching the scene through his telescope, let out a long sigh of relief.
He had even prepared a reserve force of over 3,000 men, just in case these raw recruits somehow failed and allowed the enemy to breach their defenses.
"It seems they can be trusted after all," the officer said with a smile, turning to his orderly. "Perhaps the enemy's attack was simply too sluggish."
Gemile, hearing the officer's words translated by the interpreter beside him, hastily stepped forward with a respectful expression. "No, esteemed Pasha, I believe this is all thanks to your superb command!"
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