Ottoman-Russo 1770

As of now, the Sultan has officially declared jihad against Russia. With the war horn echoing through the imperial capital, the long-dormant Janissaries have begun rearming themselves, their blades sharpened and muskets prepared. For many of them, it had been years since they last marched to war—a fact that brought both anticipation and unease. The streets of Istanbul buzzed with tension, for this was no mere skirmish; it was a battle that would determine the fate of the empire.

The coming campaign would unfold across two major fronts:

The Balkan Front—the empire's most crucial line of defense. Here, the Janissaries and Eyalet provincial armies gathered in force, their banners fluttering as they advanced toward the Danube. Their objective: to halt the Russian push from Kiev, where enemy forces threatened to break into Ottoman territories. Despite the Crimean Khanate's promise to assist, the Tatar raiding parties—once feared across the steppes—found their efforts largely thwarted. Catherine the Great's military reforms had transformed Russia's border defenses, with fortified garrisons and disciplined patrols cutting off traditional raiding routes. The Tatars' mobility and ferocity were no longer enough against Russia's expanding war machine.

The second front lay in the Caucasus, known as the Georgian Front. Covering critical regions such as Trebizond, Kars, and Erzurum, this theater of war was equally vital. Here, Kalafat Mehmed Pasha had been appointed commander, entrusted with defending the eastern approaches. The rugged terrain of the Caucasus provided a natural barrier, but the Russian forces advancing from the east were relentless. The region's strategic position—controlling trade routes and serving as a buffer between the empire and Persia—made it a prime target. The Russians believed a breakthrough here could split Ottoman defenses and open a pathway deep into Anatolia.

However, the Ottomans were not unprepared. While Kalafat Mehmed Pasha organized defensive lines along mountain passes, provincial militias bolstered the ranks, familiar with the harsh terrain. Yet the looming threat remained: Russia's disciplined infantry and growing naval presence along the Black Sea posed a significant risk.

***

"We're moving now!!!" The commanders at Ankaran Barracks started roaring orders, here and there, ordering the troops to march to the Caucasus.

***

"How is the movement of our officers?" the Sultan asked, his gaze fixed on the large map spread across the Divanhane table. The dim glow of oil lamps flickered, casting shifting shadows across the parchment.

A reisülküttab (chief scribe) stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Hünkârım, the nearby Janissary ortas and border troops have been mobilized. They now await further orders along the Tuna Nehri (Danube). However, the Sipahi ortas are still in the process of reorganizing. Their cavalry units require more time to prepare for deployment."

The Sultan's fingers traced the edge of the map toward the east. His gaze narrowed, lingering on the rugged lines marking the Kafkaslar (Caucasus) region.

"And what of Kalafat Mehmed Paşa? Has he reached his post yet?"

A pause. The scribe exchanged glances with a kapıcıbaşı (chief chamberlain) before replying.

"Not yet, Hünkârım. The latest message reports that his forces have just passed Ankara and are continuing their march toward the Kars and Erzurum front."

The Sultan nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the map.

"Good. Ensure he knows the importance of those mountain passes. Should the Russians break through there, Anadolu lies vulnerable."

"As you command, Hünkârım."

The chamber fell quiet again, the only sound the faint hum of distant mehter music echoing through the palace courtyards—a reminder that the empire was preparing for war.

~~~

St. Petersburg, Russia

At the center of it all, Tsarina Catherine II, draped in an opulent gown of deep blue silk, sat upon her gilded throne. Her piercing gaze flickered between the assembled generals and ministers, their expressions ranging from confident to grim. A thick silence hung over the room as she set aside the latest dispatch from the frontier.

"So, the Ottomans finally make its move," she mused, her voice smooth yet laced with calculation. "The Janissaries stir from their slumber. The Sultan finally awakens."

General Mikhail Krechetnikov, one of her commanders, stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Reports confirm their mobilization along the Danube and the Caucasus. The Crimean Tatars have also begun assembling their raiders, though they are less effective than in past wars."

Catherine's lips curved into a slight smirk. "Of course they are. The Tatar menace faded the moment we reshaped our southern defenses." She waved a hand dismissively before turning her attention to Grigory Potemkin, standing quietly beside her. "And our forces?"

Potemkin, ever the strategist, did not rush his response. "We are prepared, but we must tread carefully. The Ottomans still command vast resources, and the Sultan is not without cunning. If we push too quickly, we risk overextending ourselves. However…" He leaned forward slightly. "If we strike at the right moment, we can force them into a war of attrition—one they cannot sustain."

A murmur of agreement swept through the gathered officials. Catherine tapped her fingers against the armrest of her throne, deep in thought.

"Then we shall dictate the course of this war, not them." She turned her gaze to Krechetnikov. "Begin preparations for a renewed offensive along the Danube. I want our artillery positioned before they can establish firm defenses."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She then turned to Admiral Ivan Senyavin, her navy's rising star. "And the Black Sea Fleet?"

Senyavin bowed. "At your command. The Ottoman navy has grown complacent. We have an opportunity to cripple them before they reorganize."

Catherine's eyes gleamed. "Then see to it. Let us ensure that when this war is written in history, it is Russia that emerges victorious."

The meeting concluded with swift bows and quiet affirmations. As her ministers departed, Catherine remained seated, her mind already steps ahead.

***

"My Shehzade, do you think Aydın can truly pull off this mission?" Cemil asked, concern clear in his voice.

I met his gaze with calm certainty. "I believe in him. If Taganrog is destroyed, the Russians will lose their strongest naval base in the region. Without it, they will struggle to reinforce their fleets and support land offensives."

Cemil hesitated before nodding, then his eyes suddenly widened. "Wait… Taganrog?! My Shehzade, you're sending him straight into the lion's den!"

His reaction was expected. Taganrog was one of the most fortified Russian positions in the Sea of Azov. A direct assault would be madness.

I placed a hand on the table, tracing a route along the map. "Not quite. The Crimean Khanate still holds the gateway to the Mariupol Sea. We control the approach, and Russian reinforcements are still scattered. If Aydın strikes swiftly, the Russians won't be able to stop him."

Cemil exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Even if the approach is clear, what if the Russians reinforce from Rostov or Azov? If Aydın is caught between the fort and a fleet, he's doomed."

I smiled. "That's why he won't be caught. I already included what needs to be done in this operation. This isn't a siege—it's a raid. Get in, burn their fleet, destroy the dockyards, and withdraw before the Russians can respond."

Cemil stared at the map, deep in thought. After a long pause, he sighed. "Hah… I hope you're right, My Shehzade. Because if you're wrong, we'll be sacrificing one of our best commanders. And also your legitimacy, influence and your succession as heir."