In 1533 Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent realized a creeping danger coming from his two biggest enemies, the Habsburgs and the Safavids. The two nations had signed a treaty of cooperation.
With his current conflicts with the Habsburgs, it wouldn't be a surprise if the Safavids pitched in and attacked Suleiman at his eastern borders, forcing him to fight a two-front war.
To disrupt the potential danger Suleiman decided to pause his campaign in Europe, signing the 1533 treaty of Constantinople.
The Habsburgs weren't idiots; they knew that by signing the treaty it would lose them opportunity of crushing the Ottomans with the help of the Safavids. However, the clashes and skirmishes between them and the Ottomans had left the treasury empty and the common populace alongside nobility in discontent.
So, reluctantly the Archduke of Austria, Ferdinand I, signed the 1533 treaty of Constantinople and let go of the precious opportunity to vanquish their largest adversary.
Suleiman on the other hand didn't experience the same level of devastation that the Habsburgs had. He had brought the war into Habsburgian lands for a reason.
So, with his western borders secured Suleiman rallied an army, in June he sent his grand pasha, Ibrahim, to lead the vanguard army towards Tabriz. In the following week Suleiman departed from Istanbul with the main host, heading to Baghdad.
So, begins the second major Ottoman-Safavid campaign during the scorching summer.
Mid-July 1534 / 940 H
Ottoman-Safavid Campaign, Iraq Theatre, Kermanshah
The plain before Kermanshah trembled with the weight of war.
From the battered ridges, the echo of cannon fire rolled across the valley - deep, heavy, and unrelenting. Two months of siege had gnawed at the city's walls; towers cracked, ramparts crumbled, yet the defiant stone still clung to its shape. Smoke hung in drifting veils across the dawn light, and in its thinning grey, a new sound rose from the east - the rumble of hooves, the shimmer of steel, the distant beat of war drums.
The Safavid relief had come.
Upon a low rise at the centre of his host, Halim Pasha watched the horizon, his gloved hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Around him the Ottoman army lay encamped - three wings stretched wide across the plain: east, west, and south. Only the northern approach lay silent, sealed by the jagged embrace of the mountains.
Thirty-five thousand men stood under his banner. Thirty thousand foot - Azab Bowmen, the all-rounded Janissary, Yaya pikemen, and stout-hearted volunteers hardened by the long camp - and five thousand horses, sipahis and timariots alike, their lances gleaming in the scorching sun. One hundred cannons had been divided between the wings, each granted thirty pieces or so, positioned upon wheeled carriages to ensure mobility.
Within the walls, fifteen thousand Safavid defenders braced for another attack - Qizilbash riders dismounted to hold the gates, Tufangchi musketeers along the ramparts, and the city garrison. Yet it was the dust cloud beyond the eastern pass that caught Halim's eye - the shadow of fresh steel and disciplined stride. Three thousand cavalry, four thousand infantry, all making for the gate. If they reached the city, the long patience of the siege would turn to ash.
A courier came in haste, his horse lathered and flank-stained with dust.
"Pasha! The relief rides through the eastern valley. They will reach the gate by noon."
Halim narrowed his gaze to the faint, flickering light along the ridgeline.
"Then we must deny them the gates. The city is on the brink of surrender; the relief force will invigorate their spirits."
He turned to his aides. "Send word to Razi Pasha. He will command the west and south wings. Keep the guns upon the walls. Let no Safavid step beyond their battlements. Their eyes must remain fixed upon Ottoman cannonballs flying at them."
Then to Fadhel Corbaci, who waited beside him in silence:
"Corbaci, ride with me. We will meet the relief force at the east. Bring the horsemen to bear. If the day demands blood, let it be spilled beyond the walls."
The drums began their long, steady roll - the low summons of war. Across the siege lines, the Ottoman camp awoke like a great machine. The west and south wings roared first; their thirty guns apiece unleashed a measured thunder upon Kermanshah's scarred walls. Stone burst, dust rose, and smoke rolled over the ramparts, veiling the defenders from the incoming relief force.
To the east, the army shifted its formation. Twelve thousand infantry formed upon the open ground, ranks settling with the familiarity of drill - Sekban spears and Azab bows at the front, Janissaries behind with matchlocks lit and blades sheathed. Upon their flanks, five thousand cavalry - the landlords of Rumelia and Anatolia - arrayed themselves at the flanks of the infantry.
The cannons turned upon their heels, drawn back from the city to face the pass. Their muzzles were lifted, measured by seasoned gunners, to arc their shot above the Ottoman line and strike the advancing foe.
Hours passed as the cannons bombarded the walls until noon came.
Halim rode forward with Fadhel at his side. The ground trembled faintly beneath his horse's step, and the first thin tendrils of dust rose from the far ridge.
"There," said Fadhel, lifting his hand. "See their banners. They're quickening their pace."
And indeed, they did - the gleam of three thousand cavalry at the fore, their ranks rippling like the waves of the sea. Behind them, four thousand footmen marched in tight order, shields on shoulder, pikes slanting toward the sky.
Halim raised his sword. "Ready the cannons."
A ripple of motion passed along the ridgeline - powder poured, shot loaded, wicks lit.
When the first of the enemy ranks crossed the old marker stones, his arm fell.
"Fire."
The valley shuddered.
BOOOOMMMM!
Thirty cannons thundered in unison, their roar rolling through the hills like the voice of a giant.
CRASSSHHHH!!! NEEIGHH! ARGHH!!
Iron screamed through the air and fell upon the Safavid column. Horses buckled, men shattered, dust leapt into the air like surf against rocks - yet still they rushed forward.
"Reload!" Halim's voice cut through the noise. "Raise the aim! Strike their centre!"
The gunners obeyed. The second volley sang higher, plunging deep into the rear ranks, scattering men and banners alike. Still, the Qizilbash pressed on, driving their mounts toward the Ottoman lines, spurred by the hope of reaching their comrades within the city.
Fadhel Agha drew his sabre. "They'll be upon us soon."
Halim nodded once. "Then let them break themselves upon our shields. Azab - brace the line! Janissaries - fire by rank! Sekban - meet them at spearpoint!"
The Ottoman muskets flared - a rippling wall of smoke and flame. Bullets cut through the riders, throwing men from their saddles. Still, they crashed forward.
The ground shook as the Safavid cavalry charged between the wooden caltrops.
CLANG! SCHLNK!
The sound of iron on wood rang across the plain. Horses screamed, men shouted, spears splintered. The first ranks wavered under the weight, but the Azab pressed shoulder to shoulder, locking shields, behind them the Sekban drove pikes into the bellies of beasts.
Seeing the strain, Fadhel wheeled his horse. "First sipahis-timariot regiment, with me! Strike the flank – relieve pressure from the front lines!"
The riders spurred forward, lances lowered, pennons streaming. The charge came down the slope like a storm, crashing into the Safavid side with a cry that split the smoke. Blades flashed, hooves churned mud, and the air filled with the iron scent of blood.
Halim raised his arm again. "Gunners - focus centre rear!"
The cannons answered. Their thunder rolled through the haze, and the iron rain tore through the enemy's rear ranks. The Safavid line, lashed from front and flank, began to bend.
At the walls, Razi's guns blasted in steady rhythm, pounding the city's walls. The garrison stirred – realizing that a relief force was near - but could not act; the west and south wings had them pinned beneath stone and smoke. The Safavid commander atop the ramparts could only watch - the chance for salvation slipping away from his hands.
"Pressure them!" Halim called, voice ringing through the tumultuous battlefield. "We must not allow them to relieve the city's garrison"
The Ottoman cavalry led by Fadhel closed like iron jaws on the Safavid flank. The Qizilbash reeled from the crush. Their infantry stumbled under the pounding of shot and blade. Slowly, the field shifted - not with the panic of flight, but the grim weight of men who knew the ground was lost.
Through the smoke, on of Halim's aide saw it - the Safavid commander ordering an orderly retreat.
"They're turning!" cried one of his aides.
"Advance a hundred paces," Halim ordered. "Then hold. The main host need not chase them beyond the valley path."
Step by step, the Ottoman line moved forward, pressing the enemy from the field. The Safavid rear turned in good order, covering their retreat. The Safavids did not rout, but at least they were repelled.
"Cease fire," Halim commanded, lifting his hand. "Let them carry the tale of their failure back to their shah."
As the guns fell silent, the field settled into uneasy quiet - the hiss of smouldering fuses, the groan of wounded men. The smell of powder hung thick, mingling with blood and churned soil.
Fadhel Agha rode to his side, helm tucked beneath one arm. "They're in retreat, Pasha. They'll not trouble us before the gate again."
Halim's gaze turned toward Kermanshah, its walls cracked and wreathed in smoke beneath Razi's unending fire.
"Agha, harass their flanks. Ensure they will not bother us anymore."
"As you order pasha, I will bring the three thousand sipahi-timariot with me. We'll return by nightfall." Fadhel said with a salute at the end.
"Dismissed."
Fadhel bowed his head and wheeled away, his voice carrying fresh orders down the lines.
"Now we return to our main objective. The city must not draw breath while its rescue runs. Turn the guns again - resume the bombardment."
One of his aides immediately left to relay the order.
The sun climbed higher, and the eastern ranks began to reform. Powder horns refilled, matches trimmed, wounds bound. The gunners wiped the sweat and soot from their brows, realigning barrels toward the city's gate.
Beyond the passageway, the Safavid relief force retreated into the horizon - bloodied, unbroken, and denied. Though, soon enough they would increase their pace after realizing the Ottomans were pursuing them.
The siege of Kermanshah resumed.