Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology-Chapter 1210: WWI: The assault on Constantinople (4)

Witnessing a scene that looked like an iron bastion coming closer on its own, the Duke of Bucharest, who had sworn to command the coastal defences on the Bosphorus Strait as well as defences on the southern frontier with confidence, with great bravado, did not know what to say.

It was not like he had not seen the war tractors of the Bharatiya Empire move; it was just that he hadn’t seen so many of them being used at the same time.

"Have all the war tractors across the frontier been gathered here?" He couldn’t help but doubt.

Soon, a hint of panic finally appeared on his face because the war tractors were simply absorbing too much of their firepower. The infantry at the back was not being hit at all.

He immediately got angry and, in a fit of rage, he looked at his subordinates and roared, "You dumb bastards, have the sharpshooters kill those operators first, do I have to explain such a thing? Are you a bunch of toddlers?"

"If it were so easy, wouldn’t we have already done it, you moron?" was what the generals being scolded wanted to say. Thankfully, they kept those words to themselves and instead put on suitably embarrassed expressions, allowing it to appear as though the Duke of Bucharest remained in firm control of the overall situation. To further appease him, they outwardly equipped a few more sharpshooters at the rear of their infantry groups. In reality, however, they had already ordered those sharpshooters to focus their aim on the operators of the war tractors. The Duke did not need to tell them twice.

The reason that, despite assigning all the sharpshooters to a single task, there was little success in stopping the war tractors was simple. The gaps they could target were far too narrow. The operator’s viewing slit from inside the war tractor was only a few inches wide, and even that opening was not fully exposed; it was covered by a metallic mesh.

Even if a bullet somehow passed through the narrow slit, it would often be deflected by the mesh. Once deflected, where the bullet went became a matter of chance. If fortunate, it might strike the operator. If not, it might hit nothing at all. Most of the time, it would hit someone, but usually it would be a soldier inside the war tractor rather than the operator himself. Even then, the damage was limited, as the wounded soldier could administer first aid on the spot, or, if the injury was serious, exit the vehicle from the rear.

The thing that gave the generals a toothache was that even if by a lucky circumstance the operator was hit by a bullet and is unable to operate the war tractor anymore, all the other soldiers within the tractor are also capable of operating the tractor, so the man who is hit immediately gets substituted by another man, and the advance continues.

All these things should be something that the Duke should be aware of, but

Everyone looked through the corner of their eyes at the Duke of Bucharest, Stefan Miroslav Dragonov, and shook their heads, this guy, who is at banquets most of the time, boasts a big game, but in reality is an absolute fool.

’In his old age, His Highness is too easily influenced by the words of others. Otherwise, why would His Highness replace the commander of the Southern Frontier with this fool just because of a few words from the prince?’ One of the generals thought to himself, letting out a sigh of regret.

The European artillery manufactured by several different companies and several different makers, ranging from the French to the English to the Prussian to the Polish and even to the Austrian, was all included in the battle

And due to the European Union taking charge of the overall battle and the logistics of it, the Union forced the gunmakers to unify standards so that the ammunition is interchangeable, and thanks to this decision the Europeans were able to avoid the Ottoman problem where, being made by hand, not all cartridges fired the same way, giving the Bharatiya Empire a huge advantage.

However, unfortunately, that alone was not enough; the European artillery bombarded the advancing Bharatiya Army, but the Bharatiya artillery was not falling behind at all despite having fewer artillery pieces, in fact, one could say that the Bharatiya artillery was gaining a steady advantage.

And it is thanks to the advanced artillery units of the Bharatiya Empire, the mortars, the rifled artillery, howitzers, the machine guns, the volley guns, the breech-loading siege guns, and most importantly, the missiles that were launched from a platform over a kilometre away, which left a miniature mushroom cloud every time it hit.

The Europeans could not compare with this combination in either firepower or the diversity and the coverage.

If the Europeans were attacking as if they were in a frontal combat, the Bharatiya combat was all encompassing with each type of weapon having a distinct role, handling a specific part of the battle, making the Bharatiya offensive much more efficient as if it was not an army waging a war but an orchestral performance with each unit and each type of artillery being its own instrument, with the commander as the conductor playing the whole army like a single giant instrument.

Barely an hour after, the European Union was pushed back again and again, and the line of defence was breached several times until the line of defence actually merged with the coastal defences on the southern side of Constantinople.

Commander Vaibhav Krishnamurthy of the Bharatiya Army and Commander Papadopoulos of the Greek army both looked at each other with smiles on their faces. The objective for their charge is right in front of them, and they are about to succeed.

The troops in the army, be it the Persians, the Yezidis, the Omanis, the Southeast Asian or the soldiers from various vassal kingdoms, all understood that they were about to win the battle, so their morale increased even more, and the intensity of their fire reached a crescendo, making it almost impossible for the Europeans to cope.

The Duke of Bucharest no longer had the confidence or the nonchalance he had only a few hours ago; he was almost cowering in fear as he clenched his fists, trying to take control of his body. "Dammit all," he cursed and decisively retreated, completely ignoring the troops still behind.

On the other side of Constantinople, Lieutenant General Pulkit Sharma, the person who commanded the Bharatiya Alpha motorcycle unit, made it to the outskirts of Constantinople along with his soldiers, but Pulkit did not slow down the advance, the accelerator which was held was not let go, instead he made a few gestures with his hand and promptly took out a mask that was stored in the glove compartment of the motorbike.

Upon receiving Pulkit Sharma’s order, several motorbikes revved their accelerators to the maximum and surged ahead of the main group. Each rider carried a massive gun in hand, its barrel so wide it looked as if an entire tin can could fit inside it.

The next moment, they pulled the triggers. What appeared to be metal canisters shot out from the muzzles and arced through the air.

As soon as the canisters struck the ground near the city guards of Constantinople, they began releasing thick clouds of smoke, quickly obscuring the guards’ vision. But sight was the least of their concerns. The moment the guards inhaled the smoke, they began to grow drowsy. One after another, they collapsed to the ground like lifeless bodies.

The several dozen bikes that shot the sleeping gas stopped right before the smoke cloud, but the other motorcycles did not stop and directly plunged into the grey mist.

Pulkit Sharma immediately drew out a compact machine gun and began spraying bullets into the smoke-filled air. There was no clear target to aim at, as his vision was completely swallowed by the thick grey smog, but that did not matter. He knew that behind the guards who had already collapsed lay more defenders, still standing, still unaware of what was truly happening.

As far as he was concerned, this was the perfect moment to strike, to cut down the city guards stationed at the rear while they were still disoriented and caught off guard.

Along with Pulkit, several other motorcycles at the front did the same thing, and sure enough, blood-curdling screams were soon heard.

As the bikes came out of the white fog, what welcomed them was a bloodied mess of human corpses and the twitching bodies hanging on to dear life.

The over 2000 motorcycles accelerated to the top speed of 40 kilometres per hour, the engine had already overheated due to continuous riding, but the goal was only a hand’s reach away; they could not give up now.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

Along the way, various groups of city guards tried to stop them, but they were all picked off by the individual motorcycle groups.

Soon, the alpha team arrived at the shore, where they could see hundreds of artillery pieces installed right next to each other.

Pulkit Sharma’s eyes blazed bright, "Split into three groups and quickly destroy these guns."

"Also, remember if you are running low on explosives, you could simply kill the operators."

Right after giving the orders, he disappeared like the wind along with his own group, reaching the area he chose. He got off the bike, picked up the rifle and immediately started to unload onto the enemy as he advanced forward.

His group provided him with cover fire while he, on one hand, kept his aim pointed at the direction where the enemy was located and on the other hand reached into his backpack and took out a dynamite, a newly researched explosive that is currently only manufactured in small quantities.

He quickly lodged the dynamite between the gears of the turning mechanism of the artillery, lit it and quickly retreated.

Soon explosions began to ring out, and the artillery pieces collapsed one by one, even before they could be put into use.

The movement of the alpha team was like a routine dance performance: a person moves forward with the explosives, a squadron provides cover fire, and a squadron acts as a reconnaissance operative deciding on the next target.

30 minutes passed, and nearly 50 to 60 artillery pieces had been destroyed. Normally, this would have been impossible since the frontline troops on the other side of the Bosphorus would immediately spot them and kill them all, but hearing the gunfire and blood-curdling screams from the other end, they seemed to be preoccupied.

However, unfortunately, their actions could not go on forever; the troops from Arnavutköy who were called urgently finally made it to the shore.

"Retreat," Pulkit Sharma decisively ordered.

They no longer used the bikes as they were already scrapped; they got on the boats on the shore and physically paddled across the Bosphorus Strait.

Out of the 2100 troops that left from the beach, nearly 1800 survived, while the remaining were either injured or dead.

However, halfway across the Bosphorus, the European troops started to shoot at their boats. Pulkit Sharma immediately ordered everyone to duck down in order to avoid direct contact with bullets, but he knew it could not go on forever, so he decisively had everyone jump into the strait and swim across with their own bodies.

This was an extremely dangerous situation. At the point they had chosen to cross, the Bosphorus Strait was not particularly wide, only about a kilometre from shore to shore. Since they had already made it halfway, the remaining distance was roughly 500 metres.

Unfortunately, they were exhausted. The entire operation had lasted only a few hours, but every moment had been filled with high-intensity action. On top of that, the weapons they had carried earlier were incredibly heavy, each weighing between 50 and 90 kilogrammes, draining their energy and stamina even further. Although they no longer had to bear that weight, their muscles were already fatigued from the strain.

Getting into the water, it is no longer the bullets they have to worry about, but drowning.

Pulkit Sharma was desperate; he knew there was a high chance his entire unit would get wiped out, but now that they had survived against all odds, were they going to die now that refuge was so close?

At that moment, a miracle did happen; the gunshots that were pointed towards them for some reason stopped.

Pulkit resurfaced, stopped paddling and looked at the shore with a confused expression. Why did they stop shooting all of a sudden? He vaguely saw them looking towards a direction with a horrified look on their faces. He then realised something, and he looked in the same direction as well.

"Hahahahah"

It was the Bharatiya Battle Group; they were here.