Reincarnated as Selim III

Somewhere between the borders of Crimean Khanate to Russian

Several months passed in the year 1769. Although the Sultan had issued decrees enforcing heavy safety measures along the borders—particularly in the Balkans—tensions continued to rise. The air grew heavy with the heat of impending conflict, and skirmishes had begun to erupt sporadically between Ottoman Janissaries and Russian forces.

"Pasha, there's a large Russian regiment, around 800 men, advancing in our direction," a soldier reported to Tayyib Pasha, the commander of the 59th Division of the Ottoman Empire. This division, consisting of 2,500 soldiers, was a mix of Azzars (irregulars), Beylik Janissaries, and Musketeers, supported by four organ guns and four 18-pounder cannon teams.

Tayyib Pasha's expression hardened. "Alright, men. Prepare your positions!!." These Russians—since the treaty expired this year—have been testing our resolve with these skirmishes. Today, we remind them who they're dealing with, he wondered.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the rolling plains, painting the battlefield in hues of gold and crimson. Ottoman forces stood poised, their banners fluttering in the breeze. The Janissaries formed disciplined lines, muskets glinting under the fading sunlight. On the flanks, the Azzars shifted restlessly, eager for the fight. The artillery crews stood ready, hands on the organ guns and cannons, awaiting the signal to unleash their fury.

From his elevated position, Tayyib Pasha surveyed the approaching Russian regiment. The enemy banners were faint but unmistakable, their orderly march underscored by the rhythmic beat of drums. His voice rang out steady and commanding:

"Remember! we hold the advantage of position and firepower. Today, we remind them why the Crescent Moon casts its shadow over the lands of the East!"

A cheer erupted from his soldiers, their morale bolstered by his words.

~~~

As the russians marches.

"FIRE!!!"

The first shots rang out as the Ottoman cannons roared to life, their thunderous booms echoing across the plains. The organ guns followed, spitting a hail of lead into the advancing Russian lines. Screams of pain and chaos rippled through the enemy ranks, but they pressed on, their own muskets returning fire.

"Muskets!!!! Take aim!!!" Tayyib Pasha commanded. The janissaries began taking aim to the front where the enemy march.

"Fire!!". As the command took place, the Janissaries shoots, releasing thousands of iron balls from its musket, straight to its enemies.

The battlefield descended into a cacophony of sound—gunfire, shouts, and the clash of steel as the melee began. The Janissaries held their ground, their volleys cutting down waves of Russian soldiers. The Azzars darted in and out, striking at vulnerable flanks before retreating to safety.

For a moment, victory seemed within reach. The Russians began to retreat, their lines breaking under the relentless Ottoman assault.

"Keep pushing!!! Forward!!!" He yelled like a lion starved for a meat.

But then, from the distant hills,

"Just as expected, they moved as we planned." One of the soldiers informed its commander.

"Alright!! Lets slaughter these turban men!!!! Uraa!!!!" The commander in green attire of cossack traditional clothing, gave order to its men, lurking from behind the hills.

Thousands of cossacks, descend from the hill, speeding to its target, the ottomans. The thunder of hooves broke the air. Scouts rushed to Tayyib Pasha's side, their faces pale with dread.

"Pasha! Cossacks! They came in thousands, encircling from the west!" one cried out, pointing toward the rising dust cloud on the horizon. The cossacks was famous for its tenacity and brutality in the battlefield, one might say that it can outweigh the janissaries. The cossacks were in wedge formation, galloping in an attempt to encircle the current Ottoman forces.

Tayyib's heart sank as realization dawned. The enemy had drawn them into a trap.

"Signal the retreat! Regroup to the artillery lines!" he commanded, his voice sharp.

The retreat was chaotic. Ottoman forces, emboldened moments ago, now scrambled to regroup as the Cossacks descended upon them like a storm. The Janissaries valiantly formed defensive squares, repelling wave after wave of cavalry, but they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The Azzars fought fiercely on the flanks, their agility allowing them to counterattack, but even they could not hold back the tide.

Tayyib Pasha stood his ground at the center, rallying the remnants of his forces around the cannons. The artillery crews fired desperately, carving gaps into the Cossack ranks, but it was not enough. One by one, his men fell. Blood soaked the earth, and the air was filled with the anguished cries of the wounded.

As the last cannon fell silent, Tayyib found himself surrounded. His sword, heavy with blood, trembled in his hand. The Cossack leader approached, his face impassive as he raised his saber.

"You fought well, Pasha," the man said in broken Turkish, his voice devoid of triumph. "But the steppe belongs to us."

Tayyib Pasha stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he saluted his fallen men one last time. The Cossack leader's saber arced through the air with a deadly precision, finding its mark. Darkness claimed him, but not before he whispered a silent prayer for the empire he had served so valiantly.

~~~

Far from the battlefield, the serene halls of the Topkapi Palace echoed with the light hum of daily routines. In his study, Selim closed his book, a hint of solemnity in his eyes. His thoughts lingered on the sacrifices made by men like Tayyib Pasha, men whose bravery ensured the empire's survival.

A sudden embrace from behind startled him.

"Oh, Selim! How I missed you so much!" exclaimed Mihrisah Sultan, her arms wrapping tightly around him.

"Mother?! We just had breakfast together," he replied, feigning annoyance.

"A mother's love doesn't diminish after a meal, my son," she said with a soft smile. "Now, tell me—how are your studies?"

Selim relaxed, a small smile forming on his lips. "Alhamdulillah, all is well. Sa'id Hoca is an excellent teacher."

I wondered how those two of my courtiers doing, monologuing myself. 

~~~

Sultan's Office.

As Mustafa III doing his daily routine as a sultan, a door was blasted open, came by the Commander of the Janissary, Damat Aali Bey.

"Hunkarim, we have reports from Tayyib Pasha, it grimmed."

The sultan, stops, doing whatever he was doing, froze. "Can you tell me again?"

Damat Aali Bey bowed deeply before speaking. "Hünkarım, there was a skirmish between our forces and the Russians near the Crimean border. Tayyib Pasha… and his men… they fought valiantly but were overwhelmed. The Cossacks joined the fray, and our forces…" He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Our forces have been decimated."

The Sultan's expression hardened, a shadow passing over his face. The weight of the news settled heavily in the room. He rose from his seat, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart.

"The Russians now are so cocky, I wonder where they got their courage to put a taint on my empire, gather my commanders, we have things to discuss. If the war is what they want, we will give it to them."