Ottoman-Safavid Campaign, Iraq Theatre, Tabriz
Shah Tahmasp gazed down the horizon to the city of Tabriz, his capital, lay under Ottoman occupation. The city was the centre of his empire, situated in a mountainous terrain the shah had come to fall in love with it after living there for the majority of his 20 years. Yet, the golden lion and sun was nowhere on its walls. Instead, the white crescent that he despised so much now flew across its walls.
The sight sickened him; it reminded him of the story told to him years ago. His mother, Tajlu Khanum, recounted to him that on the same year he was born Tabriz had been captured by the Ottomans, led by Selim the Stern, the father of his current opponent.
Suleiman! Istanbul, Edirne, Konya, and all the cities under your care shall burn just like how Tabriz will burn. The shah's grip on the reins as the flames of vengeance burned in his heart.
"Hossein, gather the men. The sun sets, Tabriz calls for us" Swerving his horse around Tahmasp spoke to his late regent. Hossein Khan, was someone the shah trusted. The man had stood by Tahmasp's side when Ismail I passed, standing beside him in facing the storms that came one after another.
"As you command my shah." Following behind, Hossein rode up along the winding mountain paths. Disappearing into the darkness.
It had been a month since Tabriz fell under Ottoman control. The scars of siege had been swept from its streets, and though the scent of smoke and steel still lingered faintly in the wind, the city once again stirred with life. That, however, had not been the case in the first few weeks. Resentment festered among the survivors, and small bands of defenders who had escaped the siege turned to insurgency, seeking vengeance in the shadows.
Faced with unrest, Ibrahim Pasha acted swiftly. The Askeri Polis - the Military Police - were dispatched through the alleyways and bazaars, tasked with uprooting instigators and scattering their gatherings before rebellion could take root.
Once order was restored, he turned to the city's elders and merchants, extending an offer that bound steel with mercy: their safety in exchange for cooperation. The people would be protected and given their rights, so long as they sold food and grain to the army. For the price Ibrahim had to settle for two and a half times the market price.
It was a very costly arrangement, yet a necessary one. Ibrahim understood well that it was far better to pay dearly for grain than to bleed men in the streets. Peace, even bought with gold, would spare his soldiers from fighting two wars - one against the Safavids beyond the hills, and another within the city's heart.
By the third week, with the supply routes more secure and caravans flowing from Anatolia, he could already begin to ease reliance on the local granaries.
"The Sultan once again foresaw this outcome. Suspicious, truly… but if his predictions favour the Daulah, who am I to complain?" Ibrahim murmured, stroking his trimmed beard as another train of grain carts rattled through Tabriz's gates.
The Logistics Department, an institution born of the Sultan's will three years prior, had been doubted by many ministers and pashas at its inception. Traditionally, there wasn't a dedicated department for logistics. Most nations didn't even have governmental departments yet alone one for logistics. Creating a new department was also costly and could result in corruption if not managed well.
Yet every commander who had tasted campaign life had stood in its defence. For no soldier who had starved in the field, or lost men for want of powder and steel, would ever question the value of the department.
"It is as though His Majesty reads the world as one reads a scroll," Ibrahim mused. "A few numbers, a few facts… and from them, he discerns fate itself." A brief laugh escaped him; the sound laced with amusement. "Or perhaps he sees the future, who can say?"
Spotting a silhouette bellow the walls Ibrahim broke out of his musings.
"Mistaf!" he called, spotting the head supply officer overseeing the inventory.
The man turned, raising his arms in greeting. "Good day to you, Pasha. Fortune smiles upon us - the Sultan has been generous. The men will sing praises tonight."
"Praise be to God. Then it seems the Daulah will hold Tabriz after all. Tell me, have you heard news from the south? Last, I recall, the citizens of Baghdad had opened their gates to His Majesty."
The two embraced in the Ottoman fashion - clasping shoulders and shaking hands.
"The caravan master brought word just right now," Mistaf replied. "The Sultan has already departed from Baghdad and now lays siege to Basrah - the City of Trade from the far east."
"Basrah?"
Ibrahim's brow rose. "I've heard their smiths now fashion some of the finest blades in the region. I once wielded one myself - a sturdy thing, well-balanced."
"It seems His Majesty agrees," Mistaf said with a chuckle. "He wishes the forges to serve the Daulah. Tell me, Pasha - is the sword truly so fine?"
"Not the sharpest, nor the lightest," Ibrahim admitted, "but nigh unbreakable. For a soldier in the fray, a blade that endures is worth more than one that gleams. You know well how many swords are lost to a single battle."
Mistaf sighed, his expression weary. "Even with the logistics department, we strain to supply the ranks. Food, bullets, gunpowder, arrows - yes, we manage. But blades and cuirasses? There are never enough. Not every man can be armed anew."
"Do not despair, old friend," Ibrahim replied. "This is still far better than the days before the reforms. Now, continue your inspection. When finished, send the full list to my tent. Every crate, every weight."
Mistaf bowed slightly. "At once, Pasha."
As the officer returned to his work, Ibrahim's gaze wandered back toward the horizon.
'If His Majesty is truly sieging Basrah, then this is no mere summer campaign. He means to claim the Iraq Al-Ajam south entirely. That means the north must be secured as well… Shalus, perhaps. A chokepoint, rich and defensible.'
In his tent, he unfurled a leather-bound map and pinned its corners flat with stones. His fingers moved across the parchment, tracing mountain ridges and river valleys, eyes sharp beneath the lamplight.
'Our front stretches from Tabriz in the north, Kermanshah in the centre, and Basrah in the south. Tabriz is ours. Kermanshah and Basrah still stand besieged. But if we remain here, Tabriz lies too close to the frontier. Rasht - yes. Rasht secures the Caspian coast, a gate of trade and access alike.'
A grin crept across his lips.
"Guards!" he barked. "Summon the Pasha's to my tent!"
Moments later, five men entered, armour clinking faintly as they gathered around the map. Ibrahim looked each one in the eye.
"Brothers," he began, "our respite ends tonight. Tomorrow, we march - Ardabil, then Astara, and finally Rasht. We shall cut the Safavids from the west and bind them to the sea. Speak - what say you?"
"Pasha," one of them asked, "has His Majesty ordered the advance?"
"He has not," Ibrahim answered. "But his siege of Basrah tells all. This is a war of conquest, not of deterrence. And if he is to hold the south, we must secure the north. Tabriz alone cannot stand as our frontier."
A hum of approval rippled among them. The men had grown restless after weeks of garrison life; peace in foreign soil, they found, was relaxing but unsettling.
"We are ready, Pasha," said the same Pasha. "The soldiers yearn for movement. Shall we drill them before sundown, to keep their blades sharp?"
"Do so," Ibrahim replied. "But do not exhaust them. Tomorrow's march will be long."
With a salute, they departed. Soon after, the camp stirred with life. Orders rang through the evening air, boots struck earth in rhythm, and the clang of steel echoed between tents.
By dusk, torches flared to life across the valley. Soldiers sharpened swords and oiled armour, quartermasters counted crates, and the murmur of the ranks swelled like the tide. It was a familiar sound - the breath of an army poised between peace and war.
As the crimson sun dipped behind the hills, Ibrahim walked toward the western walls. A small guard followed at his back. The sky was painted in deep shades of red, and for a fleeting moment, melancholy took him.
'Perhaps this is the last sunset I'll see in peace,' he thought, drawing in the cool evening air. 'War spares no man, not even its victors.'
But the quiet did not last. A sudden commotion broke from the eastern walls - the clash of arms, the rise of shouting.
'So, the night will not pass quietly after all,' he thought grimly.
He and his guard broke into a run. When they reached the nearest watchtower, a breathless officer saluted sharply.
"Report!" Ibrahim demanded.
"Pasha! A messenger from the Karavuls at the eastern outpost brings word - Shah Tahmasp himself leads an army toward Tabriz! They are less than a kilometre away!"
"What? The scouts were to watch three kilometres beyond the city!"
"They were ambushed, Pasha. The Safavids must have learned their routes. The Karavul captain discovered the silence and rode to investigate - they found the Shah's host upon them. Only one rider escaped to deliver word."
İbrahim's eyes narrowed. 'So, betrayal or keen tracking… whichever it is, they've come far too close. At least the troops are ready.'
"What of the messenger?" he asked.
"Alive, Pasha. He begs permission to avenge his slain comrades."
Ibrahim sighed. "Tell him this: if he can bring them back from death, I grant him leave. If not, let him stand beside us and honour them in the fight. His loyalty does him credit, but vengeance can wait."
His gaze hardened. "Now - order three quarters of this garrison to the eastern walls. The rest will reinforce where needed. Send word to your superior: I'll take command of the general defence."
"Yes, Pasha!"
As he advanced toward the eastern fortifications, the horizon blazed with torchlight. Across the darkened hills, countless riders moved - swift, chaotic, their formation dotted with gaps.
'Too fast and too loose for infantry… cavalry. A full host of them.'
Inside the tower, Ulugh Pasha saluted. "Pasha! The men are ready. The enemy's formation - strange. For every two columns, a gap. We first thought they bore cannons, but they move too quickly."
"Cannons would have slowed them. Then what?"
"We cannot tell. But they intend to strike swiftly. We've begun fortifying the base of the wall, piling rubble and timber to blunt their charge."
"Good," Ibrahim said. "Do what you must. Hold them at the walls. I'll return to the main camp to coordinate the lines."
"Understood, Pasha. May God guide us."
"God guide us."
With that, Ibrahim turned, his boots striking the stone with resolve. The Safavids had come, and the night would soon burn with war once more.
POV: Ulugh Pasha
"This is just too unusual. Who would siege a city with cavalry? A fortified one at that," I thought as I left the Pasha behind inside the command tower.
I had seen my fair share of unusual tactics in my twenty years in the army. But a cavalry siege? That was only a cavalry commander's wet dream. Everyone knows cavalry turns into meat paste when hitting walls-either crushed by the impact or pounded by boulders hurled from above.
Knowing that made me even more nervous. There had to be something I didn't know. My years of combat had taught me that when something is not right there is something you don't know.
Furthermore, the Safavids have been defeated again and again making them irrational. Irrational men are dangerous, capable of deeds a sane man would never consider.
"Elsayed Agha, take your platoon down below to the gates. There are crates from the previous logistics shipment. Bring them up the walls and let the other platoons dump them down to form a barricade," I ordered.
"Ayman Boluk-bashi, are the cannons loaded? Set their sights to 100 meters. We'll strike them there."
Moving around the battlements, I addressed a few officers with specific tasks. The others followed the general order: prepare for engagement.
Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump.
The low thumping of hooves reverberated through the air, matching the beat of my own heart. Cavalry is more terrifying than deadly; it routs armies through fear as much as gore. And now thousands of hooves were approaching, creating mini quakes with every step. It was enough to make a grown man run in panic.
But I would not lose my composure here. We were on solid rock walls, had cannons for support, and a makeshift barricade. Most importantly, I was responsible for over 8,000 souls.
Focusing my gaze onto horizon I only saw the dark of the night, as if there was nothing beyond these walls. However, the thump of thousands of hooves proved this wrong no matter how I wished my sight to be true.
"Fire the cannons!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOOOM! KRRASSH!
Thirty cannons roared in succession, vomiting their deadly payload. Unlike standard cannonballs, these were smaller grapeshots, shredding armour-and flesh. Whoever was on the receiving end had a gruesome fate awaiting them.
Neigh! Crash! Thump!
The initial volley threw screams, grunts, and standing out the sound of wood splintering and cracking into the air. 'It seems the Pasha was right-they brought more than just cavalry,' I thought.
"Change ammunition! Use round shot!" I shouted to the closest artillery officer.
"Musketeers, take position against the battlements, aim sixty meters from the walls. Archers, line up behind them and prepare for a volley." This time I turned to the messenger beside me
The messenger relayed my orders through a bugle. Ta-raa, ta-raa, ta-rahhh! The shrill cry split the air and pierced the chaos.
"Take formation! Aim at a hundred meters!" I called again, and officers relayed the order to their men.
Shuffle… Ruffle…
The soldiers lined up in an orderly fashion, matches lit, fingers on triggers. Holding my breath, I prepared to give the order.
Thump Thump Thump.
"Fire!" I shouted as enemy hooves entered the torchlight.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets tore through armor, flesh, and bone.
Swish… Swish… Swish… Thckk… Schluck… Thwpp…
Arrows rained down, some lit aflame, revealing the full scope of the Safavid assault: hundreds of lightweight battering rams pulled by the cavalry beside them, unlike any I had seen before. My gut sank; the sight was odd. Very odd.
A burning arrow struck one ram's roof. It collapsed, igniting the contents within. Something a usual battering shouldn't have inside it.
BOOOOMMMM!
The explosion obliterated everything in a three-meter radius. The cavalrymen near it were thrown of their horses, only to be trampled by their fellow allies the moment they hit the ground. Those far enough to survive the explosion were splintered by the debris.
I couldn't help but think that the Safavid Shah had gone mad burning his treasury to unleash these explosives. Just this first wave had at least 80 battering rams, who knows how much more they had in store.
"Pull the garrison down the walls. Only leave behind a line of musketeers and archers. Focus the final cannon volley on the battering rams, then evacuate the artillery crews and secure the inner wall grounds," I ordered.
We had only survived the initial wave. More battering rams followed, and any breach would be catastrophic. We needed to prepare for a breach. Any additional personal on the ramps would also not help much. They were much more useful preparing a defence in the case of a breach.
"Charge!!! Collapse onto those wicked sons of Osman! Tabriz either belongs to the Safavid empire, or it burns! Glory to the Shah!!!" Just as the dust settled a shout could be heard from the Safavid army. Hossein Khan rallied his liege's troops - who were shaken by the Ottoman volley - for another charge.
"Hurrah!!!" Swept in by Hossein's shout the Safavids once again charged towards the walls.
Thump Thump Thump
"Fire!!!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bullets once again tore through the air.
Swish… Swish… Swish… Thckk… Schluck… Thwpp…
Like a wave a whole line of cavalry were decimated.
BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM!
With the cannons focused on the battering rams many more exploded-creating tiny craters across the battlefield.
"Regroup! Regroup! Pick up your weapons and join the division bellow behind the walls!" Immediately after the cannons vomited out their payload the artillery officers ordered the crew.
"Musketeers! Fire at will! Archers! Prepare incendiary arrows!"
This was going to be our last volley. Even the second volley didn't manage to destroy all the explosive battering rams. There were at least 3 spots where the walls would be hit by them. Still, a much better situation than before.
"Elsayed Agha, bring with you 3 regmients and defend the main gate. Sakis Boluk-bashi head to the…" Realizing the three potential hotspots I commanded the troops below to defend each of them.
It seems that the Safavids had also realized this and focused their cavalry on three spots. Changing their formation from a wave to the typical yet terrifying cavalry cone charge.
"Damn it!" With them splitting up the volley we were preparing would not be effective anymore.
"Archer units! Split your ranks! Form a V-Formation, inward formation facing the Safavid cavalry."
Shuffle… Shuffle…
Without much fuss the archers orderly changed their formation. I couldn't help but praise the troops in my heart. Truly, a disciplined and well drilled army was a blessing for any commander.
"Fire!!!"
Swish… Swish… Swish…
Like needles the arrows pierced the air, with the arrowheads lit a flame they were like shooting stars coursing through the night.
Thckk… Thwpp… Crackle…
This time no flesh was pierced, instead cloth, wood, and leather began to burn.
AAAAAHHHHH!!!!
Shouts of agony reverberated from the cavalry. Some of them had their clothes lit on fire, coupled with their heavy iron armour they were being cooked alive. Yet, worse had yet to come.
BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM!
Once again, the battering rams exploded. Destroying those near it.
Sigh…
The sight brought no joy to me. Even with such devastation around them the Safavids continued their charge, relentlessly.
"Aghas! Break formation! Rally at the main gate and the east-north mid-section walls. Man the towers and focus your fire on the Safavids outside the walls. Embrace for the incoming breach!" I relayed my order to the officers before heading down the walls. I was going to stand with the infantry at the gates.
As I walked down the stairs the sound of bugles and drums could be heard from north and south.
Ta-raa, ta-raa, ta-rahhh! Dumm… Dumm… Dumm-Dumm-Dumm!
All praises to God!
It had only been 15 minutes since the start of the siege, but reinforcements were already imminent. Although we managed to reduce the potential breaches to only 2 areas the enemy had cavalry that were ready to stampede their way in. With only 4000-ish soldiers on each side we wouldn't be able to hold for long.
"Form three lines of spearmen, we're going to greet those infidels with the edge of our blades! Azabs, prepare yourselves. It is time for you to show why your named after the punishment of God!" Taking advantage of the moral boost from the incoming reinforcements, I shouted to the men around me.
"God is mighty!" I shouted
""'God Is Mighty!'""" Like thunder they shouted
"God is mighty!" ""'God Is Mighty!'""" "God is mighty!" ""'God Is Mighty!'"""
Right at the end of the third shout the ground trembled and the stomping of hooves became increasingly louder.
"Embrace impact! God with us!"
BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM! BOOOOMMMM!
Right before our eyes the eastern stone gates of Tabriz crumbled and made way. In just a split second the gate was gone. Bursting a cloud of smoke and rock. Leaving behind rubble and a gap in our walls.
Fortunately, we had took position away from the gate in anticipation of the explosion.
"Advance! Seize the chokepoint"
Without waiting for the dust to settle we advanced to the gap. Time was of essence. The Safavid cavalry had detached themselves from the explosive battering rams. Afterall they were still human and wouldn't want to die for nothing. Therefore, giving us time a window of time to clog up the breach.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!
In just a minute we managed to reach the breach and form our ranks. Not allowing us to take a breath the Safavid cavalry charged up the pile of rubble.
"Spears!"
"Hup"
The spearmen took their stance, gripping their shafts with both hands as the lines locked together. Three rows of spears jutted out - low, middle, and high - forming a wall of steel. Each level reinforced the other, leaving no gap, no passage. Against this forest of iron, no cavalry could break through.
THUNNNNNP-THUNNNNP-THUNNNNP!
The thunder of hooves grew into a deafening quake, a rolling earthquake of flesh and iron.
HHHYYYAAAAHHHH!!!
The Safavid riders screamed their war cries, the clash of steel rattling as lances lowered.
Then-
CRRRRAAASSSHHHHKKK!!!
A bone-splitting impact as the first horses impaled themselves on levelled spears.
SCCHLLLUUUKKK-CRUNNCHHH!!
Wood splintered, flesh tore, and iron screeched. Horses reared and screamed, shrill and agonized:
NEEEIIIGGHHHHHH!!!
THUD-THUMP-CRACK!
Bodies and mounts tumbled against shields, smashing into the line with brutal force.
The spear wall reeled but held on. The rhythm of hooves broke apart into chaos:
CLANG-CLANG! SCHTTTHHHK! GRRRAAAHHH!
Steel bit into flesh, riders toppled, men roared, and the earth was littered with broken lances and writhing bodies.
The charge had turned from thunder into a grinding, horrible symphony of screams, breaking bones, and dying horses.
Yet the enemy wave hadn't stopped. Determined to take the city those that survived the crash stood up and brandished their weapons.
"Spearmen retreat! Azab advance! Spearmen brandish your secondary weapons!" I swiftly ordered.
Now that the Safavid charge was stopped the fight had come to hand-to-hand combat. In an ordered manner the Yaya spearmen retreated back to rest, in turn the Azab troops took their spot and took their formation. The manoeuvre took only a minute or so, just in time for the Safavids to catch their bearings and start the clash.
CLANG-CLANG! THUD! CRACK!
Steel rang on steel as the Azabs met them head-on. Swords slashed, shields shuddered under heavy blows. The air filled with grunts and shouts - every man straining against the weight of another.
"Push! Push them out!" shouted a platoon leader, swinging his kilij into the side of an advancing enemy.
The Safavids fought like wolves, hacking and thrusting with reckless fury. One leapt atop a pile of rubble, bringing his blade down, only to be caught mid-swing by an Ottoman shield bash - THUD! The Azab retaliated, driving his sword into the man's gut, twisting before yanking it free. Splash – entrails flowed out of the man's stomach decorating the debris with red.
Dust and smoke blinded the edges of the fight. From above, the archers and musketeers that stayed atop the walls shot outside the walls near the breach, slowing down the Safavid charge. Arrows and lead bullets rained down - some striking true, others glancing off steel. However, the Safavids weren't just going to allow themselves to become living targets for the Ottomans. They drew their bows and cocked their muskets
SWISH SWISH! BANG! THCK!
Seeing the incoming volley the Ottoman troops above the walls immediately took cover behind the battlements. Once the last bullet hit the walls, they immediately returned the favour with another volley. Starting an exchange of arrows and bullets between the Ottoman defenders atop the walls and the Safavid cavalry bellow.
The breach had become a furnace of noise: swords clashing, shields splintering, the ground slick with blood, and the sky raining arrows and bullets.
Still, the two sides clashed with no hesitation. On the Ottoman side the Azabs held. Step by step, they pushed the Safavids back, roaring in unison, "For God! For the Sultan! For the Empire!"
A Safavid swung wild - an Azab ducked low, slammed his shield forward, knocking the man off balance, and drove his blade through the chest. Another pair locked together, blades sparking, teeth bared, until one fell with a guttural scream.
The line wavered, but it did not break. Behind them, the spearmen had formed ranks and braced, ready to replace any who were exhausted or fell. The breach - narrow and unforgiving - became a grinder of flesh and steel, neither side willing to yield an inch.
Amid the roar and chaos, my voice rose once more -
"Hold the breach! Not a single step back!"
And the Azabs answered, shield to shield, voice to voice - their cry echoing off the broken stones as they fought like lions against the storm.