A lion rises over the Balkans: The Third Bulgarian State

[Dementor]

Nice updates!
I was initially alarmed at the mentions of walls around Solun, since almost no Ottoman cities had walls, but I realized that Solun was one of the exceptions, so a nice bit of research here.
Wonder how long a Greek-Bulgarian alliance can last. Hopefully a bit longer than the one in OTL. Also I suppose that Greek rebellions would soon start in other parts of Greece as well, while the Ottomans are distracted?

Regarding the advance through Shipka, while I like allohistorical convergence as much as anyone else, wouldn't it make more sense for the Ottoman army to cross the Balkans in some of the passes nearer to Sofia?

The Serbs managed to free Banja Luka from the Austrian backed rebels and pushed them far north, smashing rebel bands wherever they met them.

Perhaps I forgot something, but didn't Serbia support the rebels as well? It seems surprising that they have the resources to fight both the Ottomans and the rebels in any case.
And in another alliance that seems doomed to fail, the Three Emperors League is restored. Though Russia seems to have come out quite well, because it would be a bit difficult to have much influence in Bulgaria if Serbia is solely under Russian influence.

 

[BgKnight]

Nice updates!
I was initially alarmed at the mentions of walls around Solun, since almost no Ottoman cities had walls, but I realized that Solun was one of the exceptions, so a nice bit of research here.

Wonder how long a Greek-Bulgarian alliance can last. Hopefully a bit longer than the one in OTL. Also I suppose that Greek rebellions would soon start in other parts of Greece as well, while the Ottomans are distracted?

Thanks man, for Solun I almost dropped the ball myself, as I was writing it. I later remembered that the bloody place had walls, and only because I have been there.

As for the Greek-Bulgarian alliance, I recon its safe to say that it won't last long indeed. Considering that tensions are forming even now.

Regarding the advance through Shipka, while I like allohistorical convergence as much as anyone else, wouldn't it make more sense for the Ottoman army to cross the Balkans in some of the passes nearer to Sofia?

It does, indeed, and I initially was writing this about other places, but, its just too good to pass up. I realistically don't have a lot of ways to justify it, except a blunder on the Pasha's part pushed on by the ridiculous ramblings of Ali Agha, who by now is an important adviser to Suleiman. That, plus we could trow in a natural event to stop them from crossing through above Sofia in time. But yeah, you caught me. I would still like to go through with Shipka though.

Perhaps I forgot something, but didn't Serbia support the rebels as well? It seems surprising that they have the resources to fight both the Ottomans and the rebels in any case.

Well, the Bosnian rebellion did start by many Bosnak leaders escaping custody of Milan in Serbia and plunging the North into chaos. And by now its quite obvious that Bosnia will fall in Serbia hands. Now, the Bosnak rebels are divided into many groups, but they generally fall into pro-Serb and pro-Austrian, with the latter being the ones i am talking about here, as the Pro-Serb groups are quickly consolidated in the state and Milan rather aggressively declares Bosnia to now be liberated, those rebels who know they have no place in Milan's Serbia (a hodgepodge of Muslims, Catholics and Bosnian nationalist) have turned on him with Austrian support. Of course, the Serbs now have some units freed, from the east, were the Bulgarians are holding their own north and the Ottomans are mostly gone, so he can bring them up to clean up Bosnia and that's what he is trying to do here.

And in another alliance that seems doomed to fail, the Three Emperors League is restored. Though Russia seems to have come out quite well, because it would be a bit difficult to have much influence in Bulgaria if Serbia is solely under Russian influence.

True, Russia is sort of the real winner out of this, they get the most with least participation. As for the "doomed to fail" part, definitely. While both sides are generally friendly to each-other now, realistically, it won't take much to have the league collapse rather violently.

 

[St. Just]

I hope Germany stays smart and, as Bismarck would have, keeps Russia as an ally eather than the Habsburgs. A Franco-Austrian entente would be interesting-- it'd be very 18th century.

 

[BgKnight]

I hope Germany stays smart and, as Bismarck would have, keeps Russia as an ally eather than the Habsburgs. A Franco-Austrian entente would be interesting-- it'd be very 18th century.

That would indeed be... Interesting. Admittedly, I haven't really delved that deep into what will happen in the future of Europe. Because that is not really the main focus of the story, but it will definitely become important later.

So keep feeding suggestions, might as well roll with them.

 

[St. Just]

Well, Germany has essentially two choices: their fellow Germans, or the Russians. Bismarck always maintained that peace or neutrality with Russia was the key to German regional security--but the Balkan situation forced Germany to take sides.

If Germany sides with Russia, it stands to reason that rejected Austria would be welcomed by France as a bulwark against Germany--and the propaganda could play it up against the Hun and Tsar.

The following powers would be pro-Russian/German:

Italy--stands to gain part of Trentino, Nice, Dalmatia, and possibly Tunisia
Romania--Hohenzollern king, desires Transylvania.
Serbia: wants Bosnian land and the Banat.
Bulgaria: Orthodox/Slavic solidarity. Plus possible Turkish land.

Franco-Austrian Entente:
Ottomans: So many Russian allies want their land, Italy has interests in Albania, Russia wants Tsargrad...
Britain: dislikes Russia, fears German navy. Could stay neutral.
Greece: Does it want Turkish Smyrna more--or Bulgarian Macedonia and Solun? Also wants Crete, but that could be given to it by Britain after twisting the Sultan's arm.

This all plays into the Russo-Ottoman war. If so--Romania keeps Bessarabia, but Bulgaria keeps Dobruja. Russia is instead compensated with more land in Eastern Anatolia. I'd say Tsargrad, but Britain would shit itself if that happened. Italy gains Libya, and possibly Tunisia if that is still up for grabs.

After that, you have the alt-Berlin Conference and events farther afield to consider.

 

[BgKnight]

Well, Germany has essentially two choices: their fellow Germans, or the Russians. Bismarck always maintained that peace or neutrality with Russia was the key to German regional security--but the Balkan situation forced Germany to take sides.

If Germany sides with Russia, it stands to reason that rejected Austria would be welcomed by France as a bulwark against Germany--and the propaganda could play it up against the Hun and Tsar.

I completely agree, if Germany chooses to buddy up with the Russians, Austria would logically quickly find new allies/friends. The problem is, I find it doubtful Germany will drop Austria so quickly. They will try to keep the Three Emperor's League going as long as possible, before forced to take sides. I am indeed looking into a re-aligning of the European alliance system, but I am not promising anything.

The following powers would be pro-Russian/German:

Italy--stands to gain part of Trentino, Nice, Dalmatia, and possibly Tunisia
Romania--Hohenzollern king, desires Transylvania.
Serbia: wants Bosnian land and the Banat.
Bulgaria: Orthodox/Slavic solidarity. Plus possible Turkish land.

Franco-Austrian Entente:
Ottomans: So many Russian allies want their land, Italy has interests in Albania, Russia wants Tsargrad...
Britain: dislikes Russia, fears German navy. Could stay neutral.
Greece: Does it want Turkish Smyrna more--or Bulgarian Macedonia and Solun? Also wants Crete, but that could be given to it by Britain after twisting the Sultan's arm.

I don't disagree with the gist of it, however I have other designs for the region. Because the Ottomans, Bulgarians, Serbs and Greeks are going to pretty much be wild cards into the whole conflict, when it arises, the Balkans can really go either way. So an alignment like that wouldn't be set in stone until the very last moment.

This all plays into the Russo-Ottoman war. If so--Romania keeps Bessarabia, but Bulgaria keeps Dobruja. Russia is instead compensated with more land in Eastern Anatolia. I'd say Tsargrad, but Britain would shit itself if that happened. Italy gains Libya, and possibly Tunisia if that is still up for grabs.

Russian Tsarigrad will be impossible, because the sound of a collective European shit being taken at the same time will wake a lot of people up. It really has to be a devastating victory against the Ottomans to have a Russian Tsarigrad. But yes, I see where you are going with this, it will definitely fit into my plans.

After that, you have the alt-Berlin Conference and events farther afield to consider.

The alt-Berlin Conference won't really be that different then the OTL one, as the powers' alignment is anything but solid at this timeframe, so everyone will be looking to gain more. And Andressey and Gorchakov have their cards set up right, they may not get entirely what they wanted, but they will get enough to satisfy them for the time being. The time being, is a key word here.

 

[BgKnight]

Alright, from here on out, we are entering a whole new part of the revolutionary war, and with that, we are also going to change the tone. We will have a lot more stories from the ground and a lot few excerpts.

So with that, enjoy gentlemen and ladies, this is now officially

A Lion rises over the Balkans, Part II

The explosion ripped the earth, dirt flew up in the air in its wake, a rain of soil on the faces of the defenders. The stern face of men of all sizes and ages covered in it, on some faces, even flickers of blood appeared under the shroud of muck. It wasn’t all men, no, women, children even shared the trenches with the soldiers, all standing side by side with their fathers, brothers and husbands. One of these children was Radko, the Capitanche (-che is the diminutive of the word, literal translation is little/small captain) as he was called. It would not be fair to describe the youth as a child, though, for his 14 years, this boy had seen more than his fair share of suffering and pressure. He was the man that picked up the flag after Zahari Stoyanov fell in the First Battle of Vidin, he changed that day, from the youngest rider of the “Flying Detachment”, he became a hero, a leader to his men, and an inspiration. Throwing himself at the enemy, holding the flag high and screaming as he plunged his sword into the bodies of his enemies, he inspired the horse-riders of Stoyanov, he led them through the enemy lines and fighting like a possessed demon, he was beloved for it.

He had become the talisman of the unit that day, the men of the flying detachment called him many things, but what stuck was little captain and he wore it with praise. His fame even reached Benkovski and Botev, who couldn’t pass on an opportunity to make an example out of him, so in a ceremony, the boy was officially promoted, christened by a priest and receiving his new, shiny Austrian-made uniform. He was proud of this, as it was a huge step in the long path that took him to this moment. Radko wasn’t always like this, once he was a calm boy, living his life, chasing after girls and laughing with his friends. He was the son of a Chorbaji, a rich rural kid, living under his father’s guise, he was well-fed, well looked after and well cared for. And just like this, all of it was taken from him, just like that, he learned the price of not obeying and unlike his brothers, he decided to pay that price.

He one day behind the shacks of the massive family home, the shacks were fairly far from the main living quarters, stuck in a dark nook, nestled between two houses in a place where nobody could really see them, even less care to visit them. But his father went there oftenly, and he had seen him and his biggest brothers emerging from the sheds, but he had no idea what they were conspiring down there. He had kept his mouth shut, never asking anyone, but he would climb on an oak tree that overlooked them and he would see the most wondrous of contraptions, he was big enough to understand what the weapons were, heck he was big enough to wield one. He felt slightly cheated, that his father hadn’t shared any of this with him or any of his other brothers, except Lazar, but again, he refused to press the point, that was the kind of boy he was, he kept quiet and followed the directions of his parents. So he would sneak up, listen in on his father and brother, watch them stock new weapons, then escaped before his mother called or his father left. He went undiscovered, and for over a year he watched them, stockpile more and more weapons. As time wore on, the visitors to the shack increased, and one day, his father invited him over.

So he came, walking behind his big brother, standing proud, he walked behind the corner, enveloped by the shadow thrown upon them by the other houses enveloping the sheds. He stopped, as he saw the stockpiles and besides him stood his father, his mustachioed face displayed a fatherly smile, his small eyes turned into naught but slits. His large hands, like a bear, enveloped the shoulders of the boy, as he pulled him towards the stockpiles.

“This, my boy” his deep voice said “Is what freedom looks like.”

And he explained to the boy what freedom is and how they will achieve it, and the boy listened patiently and looked at the old man’s kind face, and for once in his life, he felt a sense of purpose, he felt like he belonged. And he smiled, nay, he grinned at his father, he put his hand on the book, pistol and knife that were brought quickly by his big brother, and swore to god that he would fight for the freedom of his country. He prayed passionately that night, for the first time in his life, he prayed with such passion, to be a liberator, a true lion.

But he learned that in order to get what you wished for, you must suffer, and suffer he did. One day, the Ottomans came, out of nowhere the sounds of yells and curses filled the house. And he saw them, dressed in their black uniforms, toting sabers and yelling insults. They beat his brothers, they closed his mother and they savagely beat his father, as they were dragging him to the konak. In a few days, the gallows were up and he saw his father, his oldest brother and a few others on there. As the Turks marched them on the gallows, the boy in him dyed, as his father and brother’s last breath of air escaped their lungs, a fire exploded in him, but he held it in. He held it all in, and collected it, it stirred, it seared, it grew and oh how it burned.

One by one, he lost his mother, who died of grief, his sisters, who married into other families for their own survival and his other brothers, who ran from the family home. But it didn’t matter to him any longer, as he had found a new family. He remembered vividly how a large but bony hand touched his shoulder as he locked his home for the last time; he remembers looking up, holding the tears in and seeing a reassuring smile on the other side. Ivan Parpulov, also known as Orcho Voyvoda had become his mentor, had recruited him, and looked at him and now smiled at the boy that was forced to become a man as he abandoned his home. He couldn’t hold it, and hugged the Voyvoda, letting tears stream down his face, he pressed against the red waistband of the Voyvoda. As he pulled back, the old man still had the same reassuring smile.

And it is that same smile, that same look that Radko was giving to everyone else, he had held the fire back for so long, let it simmer inside and now revenge was at hand. It was exactly this fire that gave him the ferocity in battle; it was exactly this anger that fueled him, the very sight of the red fez made him clasp his knife and pistol, made him ready to kill. As dirt rained on him in that trench, two years after the death of his father and a year after the start of the rebellion, the fire was still the same as it was the day he had begun his crusade and since this day, he had prayed passionately for his friends, for his co-rebels, for his new family, to survive. And just like everyone, he felt every loss, every sacrifice for the cause, but he realized that it was important, for their sacrifice now, meant that nobody will have to suffer tomorrow.

And so he stood and waited, waited for the horde to attack, to cross into his sight; this was Shipka, and Radko will not let the Ottomans pass. It was 10 days since the engagement had begun, wave after wave of attackers had swarmed against the Bulgarian positions, withering their ranks, killing more and more of his comrades, but all of the waves withdrew, pulling their dead and wounded down the hills and into the hole they had crept out of. Radko looked back at Orcho Voyvoda, who was yelling orders at the people around, separating them from one another so they are not easy targets to artillery. For a second the Voyvoda stopped yelling and looked at the boy and for a second he smiled with that reassuring smile, his big meaty finger pointing at the boy.
“You are coming with me, I need someone quick.”

“Yes, sir” the boy responded, quickly jumping out of his position near the Voyvoda.

“Right…” Orcho started, as the boy was nearer to him “here.” He handed him a piece of paper, folded cleanly, despite all the chaos around. “bring this to Benkovski, in case you lose the letter it more or less says we need more men, as the perimeter is thinning, can you do that?”

And there it came, it was natural now, it was a part of him, he smiled at the Voyvoda, with the same smile, the smile was so deep, that Orcho couldn’t hold but respond to the boy, putting his hand on the shoulder of the Little Capitan. “You, little boy, have made me proud. You are like my son to me, kid.”

For a second, Radko felt the tears come again, he was a kid after all, but he held them back, a little boy was not needed now, he could be a boy when peace came, now he had to be a man, so Radko just said. “And you, are like a father to me, Voyvoda. I am proud to serve under you.”

And with that, he ran, he ran as fast as he could, without looking back, he felt the ground shake, the guns thunder in the distance and he could hear the roar of the horde advancing to their positions. The jagged rocks of the hill hurt his feet as he hurried forward, he was tiring as he climbed upwards and for a second he realized what the Ottomans were facing, and for a second he felt bad for them. Climbing these jagged hills, as fire and death rained from above, fighting demons, like him, throwing your lives for an empire, which at best cared little of you. But then, he remember his father, and the fire returned, no surrender and no mercy to the murderers, no future to the Turk.

Finally, he reached the position of Benkovski, tired, but determined, he handed the message to the leader. The great soldier looked impeccable as always, standing tall in the midst of his men, he was defending his position as best a she could, yelling insults at the Ottomans in all sorts of languages and directing his men. On the back he could see Botev, doing the same, the man was far in the front, firing his weapon directly at the nearest Ottomans. As Radko looked at him, he saw the young general fire down the line, with a victorious yell blasting over his soldiers.

In a second Benkovski was ready, and under the continuing but now distant thunder of the artillery yelled to the boy “I am sorry, but we have no people to spare ourselves, it is impossible to bring anyone to Orcho. In fact…” a bullet ricocheted nearby with a flinging sound “…he has more men then we do at the moment. We might have to pull back to secondary positions."

"Scenes from a the fighting on Shipka"

Excerpts from: “The True History of the Liberation
1860-1870” by Prof. Bozhidar Dimitrov
© Balkan Press Ltd., 1994
​

“On steep terrain, if you are there first, you should occupy the high and sunny side to await the opponent. If the opponent is there first, withdraw from there and do not pursue.” - Sun Tzu, The art of War

A lot could be learned from the lessons of Sun Tzu, the main lesson here being, that you must never pursue a force that holds the high-ground, and under all circumstances you must avoid it. That is a lesson that Suleiman Pasha never learned, or at least didn’t wish to learn. In order to understand the disaster the Ottomans suffered in Shipka pass, one must first study the situation in which the Bulgarians found themselves in 1877. You see, the rebellion was now going for over a year, and the tide has turned, the More then 10 000 rebels and thousands others were slaughtered in Sofia and no news were arriving from Macedonia yet, only bits and pieces, all unreliable.

On the other hand, while the center of the country was lost and the south under complete Ottoman domination, the North was still under rebel control, with thousands of young men under Benkovski and Botev’s command, with even more being drawn from the villages and towns. The “Generals” had over 35 000 men under arms, with artillery pieces and weapons that were hard to hide in a guerrilla action. So they had to meet the Ottomans in battle. Sadly, as the battle of Sofia had shown, taking on the kapikulu with unfavorable numbers was a gamble at best, and a suicide at worst. While Hristo Botev was readily calling for combat, claiming that victory was at hand, Georgi Benkovski, who was more or less the main commander of the “Opalchenci” was well aware of the strategic situation and realized there was only one way to stop the Ottomans. He gambled that the Ottomans would be hard pressed to destroy the sizable rebel army. At Botev’s suggestion, troops were sent out to lure the Ottomans to Shipka, a drastic gamble considering that Suleiman Pasha could have just as easily bypassed his force and destroyed the rebel held north.

It is unknown whether Mr Benkovski or Botev were aware of the destructive influence of Ali Agha the Brutal over Suleiman Pasha, as the enthusiastic officer called on the Pasha to destroy the rayah once and for all, ending this whole conflict right there. Of course, there was considerable pressure from the Ottoman court as well; they had to end this before it is too late, as the Russians and Austria-Hungarians were already known to be mobilizing for large-scale combat for a few months now. Meaning they can intervene. Taking all of this under consideration, we now can easily deduce why Suleiman Pasha made the fateful decision to attack the unconquerable hills of Shipka pass, and the rest, as they say, is history.

----------

The gun shook the ground as it fired, it could even make a mountain of a man like Balkanski hide, and hide he did. Balkanski was not foolish, he knew when to keep his big head down. But he was afraid. He was alone, next to him lay the dead bodies of his closest comrades. And he was hiding in a ditch as the gun next to his position thundered again and again, the people manning the gun moving automatically. He could see it in their faces, in their tattered uniforms, in their decaying bodies. Most of the men in his line were like that, half-corpses, already long dead. And he was afraid, he was so afraid.

He remembered leaving his home, the tears streaming down beautiful Petranka's face, the woman he loved having buried her face in his chest and crying, begging him. “Don't go” he heard her voice in his head, he could hear it out loud and now he was crying, the “Mountain” was crying. The pain, the fear, the wail of his comrades dying around him, the whizzing of the bullets. All of this was too much for one man. And he was out of bullets, his gun was empty and he was just lying there in the trench, hiding and crying. Nobody could save him now, the Turks would be upon him soon. And then he remembered Petranka's voice. It filled his mind once again, her determined face looking deep into his eyes and she shook him in their bed, the night before he left “If you are so determined to go, then go, I cannot stop you, I cried but you refuse to budge. So be it! But if you do not return to my home victorious, you better not return at all!” and she slumped back on his chest, in a silent cry.

He remembers the power of her voice and through his own tears he looked at his hands, cut up by rock and bleeding, they were clenching the empty weapon. The bayonet on it drew his attention. And the words of his beautiful wife filled his head once again. He stood up slowly, towering above his comrades.

His voice thundered as he unleashed a monstrous yell. An order. This would become the rallying cry of Bulgarians in the wars that would come. “НА НОЖ“ (Na NOZH) he yelled out and all around him his comrades responded with a resounding “URAAAAA!” as they jumped forward. All over the line a thunderous chorus of men rushed forward and a cacophony of yells, screams and sounds of a hand to hand battle that hasn't been seen on these lands for hundreds of years, fell over the battlefield.

And at the forefront of it all, a monster of a man, Balkanski, with his hands like giant logs, hacking with his bayonet. Seeing the eyes of the Ottomans, all of them soldiers, but all of them young and foolish boys like himself and his men. And these boys died in droves at his hands, and he screamed, his mind clouded by the bloodlust. He was a monster to the enemy, a giant in the middle of a battlefield of men, a mythical creature. And his image in particular, leading the men in the face of the Ottoman soldiers, with his rifle clutched one hand, and a rock in the other, trying to take as many Turks as possible with him. The last thing Balkanski remembered was how his arm clutched a man, a boy even, dressed in the clothes of an Ottoman soldier. As he looked into the eyes of this scared child, he hesitated to harm it, he could feel the child shaking in his grasp. But from behind the boy, he saw a rifle butt which smashed the giant man in the face, as he reeled back from the strike, the child dropped to the ground close to him. He felt the warm and sticky blood on his face, and he managed to let out a last roar before another blow finished him. Before going dark, he saw Petranka and smiled at the beauty of this woman.

……

“Radko!” Benkovski grabbed the boy by the shoulders and pulled him back inside the quickly dug trench at the top of the hill. The last remaining trench to which to pull back, it was the final thing they had left before loosing the battle. They could see the hordes of Ottomans on all sides, they can see what remains of their boys fighting with their final breaths to hold off the enemies. But it was obvious it is over, the men were collapsing and dying all over the front. Those alive were desperately killing as much of the enemy as possible. But even though they had taken down hundreds, hundreds more took their spot. For each Bulgarian killed, many more died, but still, it was not enough.

“Listen boy!” He said, his voice harsh “Run. You are small, you can slip through the lines and make it north. Do you know how to get north?” the boy nodded quickly “Good. Run and alert anyone you can meet about what happened here. Especially any rebel militia you can meet. You have to get to Vidin!”

Before Radko can protest, the man jumped out of the trench and joined the fighting. The terrified boy ran as fast as he could, slipping through the Ottoman lines, he removed the ill-fitting rebel uniform, revealing the tattered shirt underneath. He jumped into a ditch and started crawling. As he crawled behind enemy lines, he could hear the sound of the fighting get quieter, he slipped into a patch of trees and proceeded through there. He knew he was near a base-camp, when he heard the dogs bark, he was terrified of dogs so he froze and just listened. He could hear men speaking in Turkish nearby. He was too little to understand that language when his father had started teaching him, and he never learned by the time his father was hanging on the gallows. He prayed to himself and started crawling for freedom, but the more he crawled, the louder the dogs' barking got. And then he heard the voices of the Turks getting closer and it dawned on him, he wasn't getting closer to the base camp... he was being hunted.

He made a break for it, he ran as fast as he could and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was terrified, he was praying, crying and running, his legs were getting tangled in all sorts of grass and cut up on the rocks, as he ran down on the side of the hill, he tripped and he started rolling, his body hurled lower and lower and he heard the dogs gain on him. With the last of his strength he leaped forward and rolled once again. His small body couldn't hold it any more so he fell, he could still hear the dogs gain on him, but he was losing consciousness. The last thing he saw was a dog standing before him, it wasn't angry or vicious, it was curious. And behind it he saw two surprised soldiers. They weren't Turks, their uniforms were dark blue and their helmets had a beautiful insignia on them.

“Was ist das ...?” they started, but Radko didn’t hear the rest.

"Shipka's resistance"​

 

[St. Just]

So Shipka still happens... and the Austrians (I can't imagine the was ist das is from the Germans) have come to save the day. I presume poor Balkanski is dead?

 

[BgKnight]

So Shipka still happens... and the Austrians (I can't imagine the was ist das is from the Germans) have come to save the day. I presume poor Balkanski is dead?

Shipka indeed still happened, and it was still terrible. I can assure you it sure wasn't the Ottomans who said "was ist das"

As for Balkanski, he is pretty durable, but admitedly he may not have come out of that one in one piece.

As for the Austrians, dont be fooled, things are about to get even darker.

 

[Deleted member 67076]

I can taste the Cerberus Syndrome.

 

[St. Just]

I can taste the Cerberus Syndrome.

That's rather unfair... this is a rebellion and war, after all, it's meant to be dark. War sucks, even if it is glorious liberation-from-the-Turk kind of war.

 

[Deleted member 67076]

That's rather unfair... this is a rebellion and war, after all, it's meant to be dark. War sucks, even if it is glorious liberation-from-the-Turk kind of war.

I can't deny that war is ever pretty, but I really hope we can avoid the darkness induced apathy that is ever so common in stories with lots of conflict and hardship.

 

[BgKnight]

I can promise no apathy or overt and in your face darkness, but its going to get darker before it gets lighter. Thats a given, considering we are in the middle of the game of Empires.

 

[Damascius]

I want it to be darker than a welsh coalmine before the invention of canaries.

 

[BgKnight]

I want it to be darker than a welsh coalmine before the invention of canaries.

I won't be getting that dark. That's more up your alley.

 

[Kosta]

Well I guess I'd be studying abroad in Bulgaria right now, then. Good stuff you have here. I particularly liked the story about the Ottoman soldier & his girlfriend. I just hope that the Great Fire of 1917 in Thessaloniki never happens so that the city can maintain more of its original character.

 

[BgKnight]

Well I guess I'd be studying abroad in Bulgaria right now, then. Good stuff you have here. I particularly liked the story about the Ottoman soldier & his girlfriend. I just hope that the Great Fire of 1917 in Thessaloniki never happens so that the city can maintain more of its original character.

Oh, thanks Kosta. Well, Solun is not set in stone, but we don't know what awaits in the future. But I am going to be happy to have the city not burn.

 

[BgKnight]

Excerpt from: “Writings on Bulgaria’s Uprisings”
by Zahari Stoyanov; 1884–1892.
​

I remember when I first saw the eagle of the Austrian Flag in that battle. My cavalry was useless, but so was the Ottoman one. A small victory, but it was something. I was firing from my position, I had only a few bullets left, I had just seen Orcho Voyvoda get killed, the horror of it all was dawning on me and I understood it was over.

This hill was going to be my death, and I could only think about what I had missed in my life, and curse myself. It was at this moment where you stop thinking about the cause or a victory, and you start thinking about survival. I will not lie, I wanted to run, I wanted to abandon the cause. And some of the boys did try and run for it, and they were butchered. Some even succeeded, only to be hanged later by us for the traitors they were. But on that hill, we were certain we were close to dying.

Then the horn sounded, at the back of our forces. I though nothing at it, just another horn sounded in a desperate attempt to rally what was left of our forces. But this horn was indeed different; it was different form the ones that both we and the Ottomans employed. I sincerely though at that moment that it was something one our boys had lifted from the Austrians at camp, as we were not above stealing one or two pieces of equipment we needed. Out of pure stupid interest, I turned around to see the horn, something to keep my mind off the battle perhaps?

And I saw the standard. I saw the disorganized mess that was the Turkish line, and the organized group of men that was shooting its way through the confused mess of Ottomans. Some of my men had even stopped fighting, and were just staring agape at this development. I remember a tear filling my eye, it was a pure miracle, god had rescued us at the last moment and these men, these simple Austria-Hungarian men were the deliverers of his judgment. I remember the quiet murmur of men turning into a full-blown cry, as they screamed “URAAA” and “BOG E S NAS” (God is with us), and many others, jumping forward and flinging themselves at the Ottomans, confident that rescue was near.

This was the moment the revolutionary war changed, I truly finally though “Liberation is at hand.” Little did I know how much more Bulgaria had to struggle before it was truly united.

….

Suleiman Pasha’s tent, in the tradition of the Ottoman court, was beautifully engraved and inside, on top of a wooden table that was specifically made from olive-wood brought in from Greece and repurposed in Anatolia before being shipped back to the Balkans. This single piece of furniture showed the power that the Empire wielded, because elsewhere this table would cost way too much to be viable, but the Empire, despite its collapsing economy, was still a home of a thriving trade. Or at least was, Suleiman spat, this is no longer the Empire he grew up in, and this was no longer the Empire of Islam.

He was never happy with the state of the Empire, but he was a soldier, he was loyal and he would rather die than bring dishonor to his men. He was respected for this, he was a man who knew what to do and when to do it, he didn’t just throw his men at the enemy and hope for the best. And he had made a grave mistake, he should have never come to this bloody hill and now his army suffered for it.

The rayah were resisting, they were good soldiers if nothing else and Suleiman Pasha was a man who knew how to respect his enemies. Many times the kapikulu have heard him say “In another world, these men would have been my officers.” He was referring specifically to the men they called “The Generals”. What little was known of him came from second hand sources, but the Empire’s men did manage to uncover the real name of one of the “Generals” who was in command. Gavril Gruev Hlatev, he was a trader and spoke many languages, he even served in Persia.
Suleiman had been aware of the slow decline of the Empire and he has been meaning to do whatever he can to stop that, and he was annoyed that men like Hlatev slipped the grasp of the kapikulu. He hated the fact that the Porte didn’t capitalize on the vast manpower reserve the Christians could provide, nor did they capitalize on men like Hlatev.

“Effendi” a soldier ran into Suleiman Pasha’s tent, he looked pale and frightened. “Austrians…” he managed to say in the midst of his gasping for air. Suleiman’s insides froze. He didn’t show it to the men, but it pained him on the inside. That damned simpleton Ali Agha, he thought to himself, why did I listen to him.

“How many?”

“An army… We don’t have an estimate yet, but they are crushing our eastern lines.”

“Gather the men. We are withdrawing to Zagar-i-Atik, we can’t face the Austrians here, but we can hold off in the area there.”

the Austrian-Hungarian Army on the march

Excerpts from “The History of Serbia
” by John K. Cox
© Greenwood LTD, 2002
​

The Intervention in Bulgaria’s war changed Austria’s commitment to Bosnia. The men they supported were rapidly collapsing to the Serbian onslaught and the Austrians chose not to engage men in the region which was quickly turning into a meat grinder. Instead, they pressured the rebel leaders friendly and allied to the Austrian crown to enter negotiations with the Serbian Crown. Thanks to Count Andrassy’s negotiations with the Russians, the Serbs were pressured to parley with the rebels and even release several political prisoners who were close to the Habsburgs. The hope was, that those same pro-Austrian rebels can remain in administration of the regions in Bosnia, and in turn push Austrian interests. Thus, the Empire’s influence over Bosnia and Herzegovina was kept while the Russians made sure no Austrian-friendly men remained in Belgrade.

On the following day, the Austrians and Russians declared war against the Ottoman Empire together and Europe recoiled in shock. The British, having already been wooed by the Count’s promises remained quiet and neutral. The Germans were just hoping to maintain what was left of their precious balance of power, while the French were furious. Unable to organize a coalition against the Austrians and Russians however, the silence of the French was enforced as Romania signed a treaty with both Russia and Austria, officially joining the war with more then 60 000 men on the Russian side.

For Serbia, this would be a moment of watershed, as victory was practically given to the Serbs, and their remaining troops continued to go from victory to victory. The King was hungrily rubbing his hands, as his men were occupying a vast area in Bosnia and everything up to the city of Nis. It was all going to be his, but his plans quickly came apart later when...

Exerts from “My confession”
by Stefan Stambolov © Balkan Press LTD, 1934
​

I won’t lie, I was happy to find out that Benkovski and Botev had survived the fight on Shipka. I may not have agreed with them, but I was happy that they didn’t drag all of the men with them in a foolish battle. They had chosen their battlefield wisely. I met up with them long after we managed to drag ourselves, broken, battered and bruised far enough from Sofia to survive the enemy chase. In the meanwhile it seems the Ottomans have bypassed us and fought the battle of Shipka, while we were dragging ourselves through the endless Balkan mountains.

We managed to slip past any Bashibouzuk units in the area and eventually were found by Austrian-Hungarian Military scouts in the mountains. Once we were identified by our boys, attached to the Imperial forces, we were led to the Opalchenci. At that moment I felt both happy and sorry. They were in a horrible shape. The Austrians had given them new uniforms and taken care of the volunteers, but many of those men were broken, you could see it in their faces. Too many fathers had buried their sons and the other way around, but you could also see the pride of their victory in their faces. It made me hurt even more, because I remember the thousands we couldn't even bury in the ruins of Sofia. I remembered the face of broken men who had died for their homeland.

I felt bad I couldn’t join them in the fighting; Slave ykov had recovered somewhat, but his face still bore the signs of the fighting in Sofia. Eventually, after much bickering with the guards, we were led to the Generals, but just as we entered the tent I saw Benkovski, flaming, glaring at Botev.

“No! My men will not die to serve as a buffer for the Empire!” Georgi blared his teeth
“They are not a buffer, Benkovski!” Botev angrily retorted “They will lead the way! First in the fray, they will show the world what we are made off.”

“Weren’t we heroes enough?!” Benkovski answered sharply “Did we not die enough on that bloody hill?”

“The whole world is watching! And you are going to make us look like cowards!”

“I am going to keep us alive. If you want to kill yourself, by all means, go to the forefront of the battle. But I intent to leave this war with a semblance of a military, God knows, we will need it afterwards as well!”

I could only cough, to get their attention. Both men stopped and glared at me, and then their faces immediately softened.

“Jesus.” Botev let out. “…Stambolov.”

“The very same.” I said, and with a step forward I punched Benkovski as hard as possible. Before Botev could respond Bekovski’s guards leapt at me. Those men had been with Benkovski from the start, they were two Croatians and a German who were working on the railway, Father Kiril, a local priest and Zahari Stoyanov, as well as others. They were a good 15 strong and followed Benkovski everywhere, refusing to be separated. Some, like Stoyanov, became commanders of the different parts of the newly formed “army”. The others had over time morphed into his official bodyguards and they did their job well today, Stephen the Dalmatian, one of the Croatians pushed me to the ground.

“What the hell…” Botev said as he got close to me.

“I will punch you as well, you fucker!” I screamed back. Just for a second, my calm demeanor had morphed. I was angry, angry at myself for Sofia, but I blamed them, only later would I realize it wasn’t their fault. “You bastards abandoned us!”
“We didn’t…”

“LIER! YOU ABANDONED US, WE DIED IN SOFIA…”

Botev’s yell was even louder, as he responded “We did what we could! You all knew the risks! We warned you against engaging the Ottomans on your own!”

Before I can retort, I was rushed out of the tent and restrained.

A standard-bearer of the Opalchenci in Shipka


Excerpts from:
“Establishment of the Bulgarian National State:
1804-1918” by Charls and Barbara Jelavich
©Bulgarian State Press Ltd
​

The Battle of Stara Zagora (Zagar-i-Atik) was the beginning of something way larger in the war for Liberation of the Bulgarian nation. As thousands of Russian troops rushed through Romania, the Austrians crossed through the Danube and landed in the North, with the march south through the country and the victory at the battle of Shipka, Austria-Hungary had quickly crossed through the treacherous Balkans and was now poised to strike southwards. And Stara Zagora was the gate-keeper into the Thracian plains, where it was just a straight waltz to Edirne and Constantinople.

It was here where the first splits in the rebel forces were seen, the conflicts between the strong personalities of Botev and Benkovski were increasing steadily as the military was closing to the city of Stara Zagora. The former demanded that they fight on the front lines, accusing Benkovski of cowardice for refusing to send his men to the front from the get-go. A lot of rebels were also disgruntled with the current leadership, some of the Hajduk who had joined the movement were unhappy at the strict adherence to military guidelines, which the marauders wanted nothing to do with. And then there were Levski’s men…

----------

The hooves of the horses were breaking the ground underneath, the rain had ended the previous day but the heavily forested area was still wet and soft. The thundering of the horses was only broken up by voices of a few men singing. They were singing songs about the simple farm life, the fieldwork and some had devised songs about the war, about fighting the occupier. Singing was imbedded in the Bulgarian soul, the song of the field was a direct result of being part of the Ottoman Empire, or as they were now increasingly calling it, the Occupation. Levski’s men were marching and he could sense they were fearless, and he was terrified of that.

He knew very much what being fearless could bring, he had informed them about the disaster of Sofia and the follow up information that had reached him a few days ago, and while some of them were devastated. Many more were angry and wanted revenge. This had forced Levski to abandon further campaigns into Ottoman Thrace and turn north, because they would rather break rank then leave the events in Sofia without a reprisal. They were understandably angry. But what worried him even more was the intervention of the Austrians and Russians. His steel-colored eyes bore into Ilyo Voyvoda, the man was one of the oldest and most respected Voyvodas in Macedonia and his name was known to both friend and foe. He was also effectively Levski's second in command here.

“Iliya, ride with me.” Levski said in his iron voice, the Voyvoda leveled with him while the rest of the troop moved at a faster pace, leaving the two men behind. Ilyo wore a heavy cloak to cover himself, underneath one could see the brown-ish waistband where a Hayduk would keep his weapons. He was almost regal and Levski knew very well that this was important for some of the vagabonds around Iliya, because it was part of their “gentlemen thief” understanding. He respected that, but he found it too flashy, too kitsch. Levski was always dressed simply, now he was covered in a worn out black cloak and he was wearing the same cloths as when he was freed. He also smelled horrible, but he was not the kind of person to care about that.

“Iliya, what do you think about the Kaiser and Tsar’s men” Levski begun, with the same tone he always speaks in, the ice-cold voice that became warm and inflamed only when speaking about the freedom the people deserve.

“They are going to enslave us Vasile. These people care not about our well-being, they care only about expanding their domains.”

“True. I know some of the men have expressed sympathies with the Russians or Austrians.”
“Yes, deacon, they have...” Iliya almost sounded ashamed “...and some are openly talking about Slavic unity. While others just want the Empire gone.”

“We need to think about the future after the war, Voyvoda, wouldn't you agree?”
“Yes, sir, we do. “

“Don't call me that, Voyvoda, you know very well I have no love for titles.”
“But you use mine?”

“I do. Because it tickles your vanity, Voyvoda, and you fight better that way.” At that Iliya laughed heartily.

“They will install a monarch, Iliya. They will attempt to control our nation completely and their fights will destroy us from the inside.”

“We both knew your dream was unattainable, Vasile.” Levski's face remained unchanged. He was committed to the idea of a republic, but that idea was slipping further and further every day. And he was worried about the moment when he would meet the Austrians, which was now getting sooner and sooner as they were marching North.

“Not if I can help it.” Levski said as he forced his horse to go faster.

 

[Damascius]

From one Master to another? Mm?

 

[BgKnight]

From one Master to another? Mm?

In the game of Empires, it is the small guys that loses.