Chapter 475 - The Hidden Frontline

"Our neighbors use searchlights, for they want more light. I tell you, Nikolai Pavlovich, we need more darkness."

-        Ivan Stepanovich Konev

While the bunch of Ottoman commanders are still having their struggles and squabbles in words, the Roman troops are already pushing the Ottomans back on every single front just in a mere few minutes time due to the simplicity of this battle. The battleground is only this big allowing only for one or two people to push through, all actions are going on beneath ground level in the four connected trenches, while the troops above entered a eerie state staring at one another on the two sides, standing there and not doing anything to pretend that they do not exist. Only the cavalries of Khalid and Abraham showed up occasionally to disperse the Ottoman archers and shoot down those Ottomans who are trying to climb out of the tunnel and run away, which is why all actions are confined to the tunnels so far, but they too do not dare to go into a close proximity to the enemy walls in the fear of enemy projectiles.

The trench has now turned into a dull but ghastly grim colour of red from all the blood being splattered onto it, mixed with paddles of blood soaked water and mud creating numerous sinkholes deep enough for the soldier's boots and shoes to be trapped inside. Apart from that this entire part of the trench measuring to a rough hundred meters long is decorated by numerous broken fingers, torn limbs and decomposing body attracting clusters of flies, accompanied with the humidness and the perspiration of hundreds of human beings it made the temperature inside the trenches soaring up, despite the fact that it is still in the middle of a Mediterranean winter outside.

If one tells God that he wants a clear description of what the Hell is like, God would simply point his finger towards these and trenches and tell him that this is what hell looks like.

But that certainly did not affect the Varangians, at least not as much as their Ottoman counterparts. They have witnessed this sceneries for multiple occasions throughout the decade of their military career and they are the people responsible for making this replica of hell. Just like what their formal superior Yuri has mentioned before, their hearts and eyes must and have became stones in order to cope with the always changing but also always bloody situations of war.

Though that is not the case for the troops of the Sanjek, they are only bunch of amateurs playing soldiers, and are deemed to throw down their weapons returning to their homes to once again become slave owners and rich farmers once the war has ended. The only thing making them stand out from the rest of their fellow Ottoman conscripts are probably they having the financial capability to make themselves a set of armour and a new blade without any dents. Their morales are already on the verge of collapse, and when their line of defence in their heart really do collapse, it would soon evolve into a disaster.

The commanders of the Ottomans, especially the Sanjek definitely knows that his troops can barely hold on for any barely longer. But that does not mean that he needs to take any actions of course, because he is not a sovereign, he is a warlord. In fact after a month into this battle, he is still refraining himself from calling in the elite troopers of his made up of all Ottoman Turks from Erzurum, or the second generation Ottomans native to Epirus who are petty nobles and landlords spreading across his domain forming the backbone of his rule. Because these are his core troops, his true supporters that is used to form the foundation of his force, any single man lost in this formation would become a loss for him, and if this core strength of his fall beneath a dangerous level it can potentially weaken his foundation of rule and attract the wolves from outside.

What about the conscripts? Nah they are nothing in the eyes of the higher ups, a bunch of dispensable, expandable and unrecyclable resources according to their Ottoman master's feelings that in their mouth, these people are just like 'weed by the roadside that can be plucked when they want'. The conscripts form the bulk of the numbers in the Ottoman forces are always being thrown into the most dangerous warzones and be killed. Such attitudes on these conscripts by the Ottoman ruling classes never changed, throughout the century, no matter whether it is Mehmed II, or is it the old Grand Vizier Candarli Halil, or is it the Sanjek ruling over the Sanjek of Epirus.

While the Ottoman commanders are still coldly watching their own men slowly collapsing beneath them in the trenches unwilling to do anything, the commander of this unit can no longer simply seat there without doing anything and urged the Sanjek. "Your highness, I suggest that we should launch an all out offensive as soon as possible! We can even seek a way of burying their so called Varangian into the trenches and exterminate them for good…."

"No." However the Sanjek simply replied to him with a harsh decline, not even turning his head to look at him by a bit or affording to explain his decision and continued watching his men suffer beneath in the trenches. The commander clenched his fist biting his teeth preventing his shivers of anger from becoming way too obvious to be noticeable by the others. The cries of pain and agony of his fellow men below there are almost killing him, he is just like an ant on a hot pan, jumping around but yet unable to do anything to change the tide and save his men.

Things escalated to a point within the commander's heart whereby he almost wanted to no longer control his wildness and ask the Sanjek if he has already completely lost te courage and confidence to directly confront the enemies to have a straightforward clash of flag to flag, commander to commander. Or is it that the Sanjek has already abandoned this troop since the start just because he and his men are being grouped as 'Rumelians'?

After a while of mental struggle within himself, the commander stabalised himself refraining his mouth from spitting out foolish words that can get him into trouble. He had one last look at his men before turning away and going downstairs knowing that he is unable to accomplish anything staying up here other than building up even more pain hearing the cries of his men. But although he is critising the Sanjek for his cowardness, he too do not dare to come out of the walls, knowing that there is a high possibility that he too might throw his life away in the trenches. 

The commander went all the way back into a corner of the stable where it is usually quiet with rare human activity and sat down there leaning against the haystack closing his eyes, as if the stench from the environment mixed with horses and defecates are non existent. He has failed his responsibilities and scope as the commander of an infantry unit, he is unable to lead his men into victory, he is unable to share benefits and interest with his men, he is unable to even save his men from difficulties and dilemmas. And hence, he came down here to this place filled with stench and ordour to have a moment of quietness and escape from reality.

Just as the Ottoman commander is sitting down there, burying his face deep into his knees, he suddenly heard a sound approaching. It is the clicking sound of the heel of leather boots knocking against the hard ground filled with straws. The commander did not mind this at first thinking that it is just the stable master who is probably here to change the water or hay for the horses. But as the sound came closer and closer to him, it came to an abrupt stop like he is just right in front of him covering the sun light. The commander looked up frowning his eyebrows, and there he saw a man, donned in an Ottoman trooper's armour but without even a twig hanging by his side standing right before him, smiling. The man has such an ordinary face that the commander suspect that this is definitely not the first time he has seen this man, but just unable to remember where and when.

The man smiled and greeted. "Good afternoon commander Adrianos Chronoulis, how are you today?"

The commander, Adrianos felt something fishy going on. "Who are you? And what is your purpose of approaching me?"

"Who am I, who am I…" The man smiled even brighter as he pointed towards the outside. "That is a good question… Let's say If those varangian are the ones fighting for the Caesar on the bright side under broad daylight. Then I am his blade that only operates while staying hidden.. If the Caesar represents the bright side of the realm, then I am his darkness."