Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology - Chapter 895

Chapter 895: Ottoman Looses Azerbaijan & Diyarbakir (1/3)
Vajragarbha, Shared region Kirkuk

Lachit Borphukan stood in front of a group of fifteen high-ranking officers in the alliance army, lowering his head and skimming through various documents. Among the officers was a woman who was drawing sneaky peeks from the men around her, which was rare since most men in the room, being high-ranking generals, were normally very disciplined and did not take their eyes off their superiors. But it was a special occasion.

Most of the men knew each other, but this was the first time they were seeing her—the woman known as the “Persian Shadow,” the hidden ruler of the alliance intelligence. All of them had heard rumours about her, but this was the first time they had seen the person in the flesh. The only ones not affected by her presence were Kaveh Atashban and Ezidi Serwan, who were not just officers but royalty.

Behind Lachit Borphukan was a massive map of the eastern and southern parts of the Ottoman Empire and the Ottoman-occupied pre-Safavid Empire, 9 feet tall and 16 feet wide. The map had crosshairs painted on it in bright crimson. Taking his eyes off the documents, Lachit looked around with a dignified gaze.

“The time for war is less than 24 hours. I believe all of you are aware of your targets and have received the detailed intelligence, strategy, and protocols report sent by me.”

The officers immediately removed their distracting thoughts and sat straight like spears, their complete attention focused on the commander. A series of nods was seen in the room.

“Good, in that case, I will keep the briefing short,” he said as he picked up the long pointer that was on the ground.

“We will wage the battle using two different tools: one is through the traditional army and the other through the more unconventional and hybrid special forces.”

“As you are all aware, the alliance army has been reorganised to fit the necessities of the final battlefield between the alliance and the Ottoman Empire, split into three separate legions corresponding to the three separate theatres in which the war will be fought.”

Lachit Borphukan tapped the stick on the far end of the map. “The region of Diyarbakir will be the first theatre of war.”

“Commander Ezidi Serwan will lead the Chakravarthy Legion to this battlefield, with the main goals being the capture of major fortresses of Van, Erzurum, and mainly the capital of the region, Diyarbakir Fortress.”

“Copy!” Ezidi Serwan responded with a shout.

“Parallel to Commander Ezidi’s actions, Major General Sri Ram Kakkar, commanding the Tiger Special Forces, will start the rescue operations of the Armenians and Kurds residing in the cities of Van and Erzurum.”

“Copy!” A hint of emotion could be heard in Sri Ram’s tone. Ever since he had participated in a mission alongside His Royal Highness Agni Devaraya, he had been promoted from a lieutenant colonel to the rank of major general—a rank usually not awarded to officers in the special forces, as they typically do not command large numbers. But as if by a blessing in disguise, since he had acted as the lieutenant for His Royal Highness, helping him manage the troops during their successful retreat, he was immediately chosen for the special forces, whose number of troops was catching up with that of a full brigade.

Lachit Borphukan continued, throwing out orders.

“The region of Karabakh and Shirvan is the second theatre of war. Commander Aravind Pujara, leading the Samrat Legion, will take responsibility for this theatre, with the main objectives being to occupy the major cities of Ganja, Yerevan, and Baku.”

Aravind shouted, “Copy!” Being the fastest-rising officer in the alliance army, he felt excited. He had finally touched the pinnacle of power normally achievable in the military. ‘I hope after this war ends, I’ll get a good position in the Empire Army,’ he thought in his heart.

“Parallel to Commander Aravind, Major General Roj Niviska Yusufani of the Hawk Special Forces and Major General Haoma Cyrus Patar of the Jaguar Special Forces will run missions to rescue the Yazidis and Kurds trapped within.”

“Copy!”

“Copy!”

Both officers responded at the same time with resolute voices.

“The final theatre of war will be in Azerbaijan, where Commander Kaveh Atashban, commanding the Adipati Legion, will take responsibility.”

“Copy!”

“The main targets are Qazvin, Tabriz, and Ardabil. Similarly, the Mantis Special Forces, commanded by Nikilash Reddy, will go deep into enemy territory and run operations to extract the Assyrians.”

“Copy!”

Lachit Borphukan wiped his hand after dropping the stick to the ground. “The missions are straightforward, but as the battle progresses, it will get more complicated—this is particularly true for the special forces. The minority communities are not completely concentrated in a single region; they are spread thinly throughout the three theatres of war. The targets given to you are based only on the fact that the majority reside in the areas to which you have been directed. All four major generals are required to make decisions according to the situation. Give priority to the ethnicities in your target area, and if possible, rescue other ethnicities when the situation allows—but do not go out of your way and risk jeopardising the mission.”

“With that being said, if you have any more doubts, voice them before it is too late.”

There was absolute silence in the room. Apart from the distant shouts of recruits being trained, nothing could be heard.

“In that case, dismissed.”

—

The major generals commanding the four special forces were the first to set out, as they would be going into enemy territory beforehand. On the other hand, the legion commanders, Ezidi Serwan, Aravind Pujara and Kaveh Atashban went through protocol drills for a few hours before setting off to their individual legions, which were now composed of several regiments of the alliance army.

As for Lachit Borphukan, he sat right at the border, commanding the 200,000 reserve troops, along with taking control of the intelligence wing and the logistics department. Both Fariba Atashban, the director of the intelligence department, and Prithviraj Chauhan, the director of logistics, became his subordinates.

—

14th July 1672

Ezidi Serwan stood alone, looking at the horizon with a calm gaze. He looked like a lonely hero, giving a sense of desolation. An older man, around 35 years of age, looking at Ezidi Serwan, sighed and moved forward, placing his hand on his shoulder.

Ezidi Serwan looked back, and it was Tawafan.

“What are you thinking about?” Tawafan enquired.

“Just, about the war.”

“Are you worried?”

“Not really.”

“Are you thinking about the old chief?”

“…”

Looking at the expression, he immediately realised that he might be right. “Don’t worry, chief. Ezidi Mirza was an honourable man who fought for our people and our existence. He was backstabbed by those Ottoman lizards. Now we finally have the chance to take revenge,” he declared with a fierce look, clenching his fists.

Ezidi Serwan said, “Yes, we have the opportunity to take revenge for my father, who was backstabbed, but that will not be the end. Butchering the Diyarbakir pigs will only be the beginning. Trying to wipe out my entire race will not be forgiven so easily.”

Tawafan immediately became silent. He turned his head towards the horizon, where he suddenly realised it was facing towards the region of Diyarbakir. His eyes suddenly turned fierce as the killing intent slowly radiated from his body, which was almost overwhelming.

—

Legion Commanders Ezidi Serwan, Arvind Pujara, and Kaveh Atashban set off from their respective fortresses with nearly four regiments under their command.

The legions moved in three different directions at an unhurried pace. The scouts riding ahead made sure that the legion knew what was around them for several kilometers. The cavalry riding with the legion acted as the thorns of a hedgehog, destroying any Ottoman groups coming to intercept the legion. A light infantry was responsible for clearing out all the Ottoman forces in the villages they passed by, while the logistics units were responsible for looting all the grain and supplies from the warehouses of Ottoman nobles and landlords.

The legions were unstoppable. They were like three beasts running rampant in the lands of the Ottomans, tearing apart any scattered unit in their path.

A few hundred kilometres away, at the border, Lachit Borphukan looked at the dead bodies of the Ottomans who had tried to “capture the backyard when it is empty,” taking advantage of the absence of the alliance’s main army. Unfortunately, they had forgotten that the man who had given them countless nightmares over the last decade was still standing at the border like an iron barrel, not allowing even a dog to pass through.

Looking at the Ottomans who were begging for mercy after their plans were destroyed, Lachit Borphukan felt no pity. In fact, he felt neither happiness nor sadness—he was like a machine, the brain of the entire war, discarding all unnecessary emotions.

“Get rid of them.” He said, his voice, devoid of any colour, was like a death sentence passed down by the god of death himself.

Soon, the artillery, which had just paused to cool down after bombarding the Ottoman Army’s front line, started once again, reaping lives like the Yama Pasha in the hands of Yama.

Fariba Atashban came next to him and constantly reported the intelligence she had received from the legions as well as from within the territory of the Ottoman Empire.

Lachit Borphukan, receiving the knowledge, did some planning with his aides and strategists and sent the plan through fireworks communication channels to the legions or the special forces.

The alliance army, composed of over a million troops, with him as the brain, had become a single body with thousands of moving parts, all working in unison.

To Be Continued…