Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 447 The Situation is Set

Millions of Harazars have revolted. Doesn't the King of Afghanistan have his own supporters?

Yes, they certainly exist, but they are currently observing the situation. If the rebels fail, they will press their advantage; if the king fails, they will enclose territory to protect themselves.

The insurgents had reached the vicinity of Baraki Barak, less than 12 kilometers from Kabul. The King of Afghanistan, aware of the area's importance, dispatched Crown Prince Mohammed to lead troops to resist the insurgents.

On March 28, the insurgents began their attack on Balaki Barak. The insurgents claimed to have 3 men, but in reality they only had a little over 20. However, they possessed 15 cannons, making them a formidable force.

The roar of artillery explosions heralded the start of the battle. Unlike the previous probing attacks, the morning's fighting did not begin with any close-quarters assaults; the rebels fired cannons directly at the castle.

In the first round of test firing, a shell that veered off course landed six or seven meters away from the defending gun emplacement. The violent explosion knocked down more than a dozen soldiers within the kill zone. Cries for help, shouts for help, and the roar of artillery fire drowned out the commands of the defending commander. The city wall position was thrown into chaos by the sudden and intense artillery bombardment.

"Your Highness, the enemy's artillery is too powerful. Many people have already been injured."

As Muhammad watched the soldiers being carried away, he grew increasingly tense. He had mobilized most of his army here; if he couldn't hold this position, Kabul would be defenseless and ultimately destroyed.

"We must hold this place! Bring all the citizens up here! Hold it!"

The citizens were mobilized to participate in the defense, and they could provide reserve forces for the troops when the war was stalemate. However, in the unfavorable situation where the strength of the two sides was too great and the offensive and defensive situation was reversed, they were not specially trained and their psychological quality could not adapt to the harsh battlefield environment. Instead, they were more likely to become destroyers who undermined the morale of their own side.

The horrific scene terrified the citizens. Some, overwhelmed by fear, huddled on the edge of the city wall, convulsing. Others, witnessing the horrific sight of their comrades' dismembered bodies, suffered mental breakdowns and screamed as they fled in all directions above the city wall.

The rebels' breakthrough point was the southwest corner, a place particularly vulnerable to attack due to years of neglect, according to local residents who had escaped. Therefore, artillery fire was concentrated there, and finally, a section of the city wall collapsed under repeated bombardment, leaving a narrow breach. Hundreds of soldiers, led by their rebel commander, surged towards the breach.

The Hazara warriors surged toward the three-meter-wide breach like a tidal wave. Their Tehran-made rifles gleamed coldly in the sunlight, the names of the twelve Imams engraved on the buttstocks shining with blood. In their panic, the defenders formed a human wall, bayonets piercing the chests of the first insurgents to break through, but they couldn't stop the second and third waves that followed—these mountain people from Bamiyan, clad in simple leather armor, seemed like an avalanche, utterly unaware of fear.

The battle for the breach quickly devolved into a brutal hand-to-hand combat. A one-eyed Hazara veteran stabbed three defenders with a captured British bayonet until the blade bent and lodged in their ribs; a seventeen-year-old insurgent rolled into the enemy ranks with a lit explosive charge, the blast sending both sides' corpses flying ten meters into the air. By the time the Crown Prince's Royal Guard finally arrived, a wall of corpses half a person's height had formed at the breach, the thick blood making boots slippery, and charging soldiers fell in droves amidst the gunpowder smoke like wheat being harvested.

"Your Highness! The southwest tower has fallen!" The adjutant, his face covered in soot, stumbled in to report. Muhammad turned to look and saw that the rebels' green flags had already been planted on the tower's arrow slits, and snipers were firing down on the officers from their vantage point.

"Follow me, let's drive them back." Muhammad grabbed his scimitar and led his guards toward the southwest corner.

The scorching sun baked the battlefield until it was scorching hot. By noon, the defenders had run out of ammunition, and the militia composed of civilians began to flee. Some tried to lower themselves down the city walls with ropes, but were riddled with arrows and muskets by the rebels; more deserters trampled each other in the narrow passageways of the city gates. Muhammad's attempts to persuade them to return were futile.

"Go back! Don't retreat!" Muhammad roared.

These words had no effect; instead, they fueled the resentment of many soldiers, who pushed Muhammad aside and fled for their lives.

The rebel demolition team finally blew open the main city gate. Blood-soaked Hazara warriors poured in like a flood, carrying the heads of the defenders on spears and scorching every carved wooden door with gunpowder. Muhammad was forced to gather the remaining troops to reach the inner fortress, fighting and retreating along the way, losing many soldiers in the process.

Gunfire, artillery fire, and explosions mingled together, and the city was filled with the sounds of fighting. The insurgents entered the city in groups of ten or a hundred, with machine guns leading the way and small mountain guns and mortars following behind. After suffering more than 1,300 casualties, they gradually gained the initiative in the street fighting within the city and continuously dispersed and cut the defending forces into isolated small units.

Without central command and guidance, although there were still many remaining troops in the city, their fighting on their own could only cause some minor troubles for the rebels, but could not change their doomed fate.

The final resistance lasted until the moon was high in the sky. Muhammad huddled in the cellar, listening to the cries above him gradually fading. As the insurgents cleaved open the oak door with axes, he was loading the last bullet into his flintlock musket with trembling hands—an antique his grandfather had seized from the Sikhs.

"I will never be your prisoner!"

After saying this, Muhammad shot himself in the temple and died in front of the rebels.

At dawn, the citizens emerging from their homes witnessed a horrific scene: three hundred spears stood atop the walls of Baraki Barak, each spearhead impaling a skinned corpse. At the very center stood a figure wearing a crown studded with emeralds, and a golden anklet, a symbol of the crown prince, swayed in the wind. Further along the mountain roads, the rebel artillerymen were dragging their spoils toward the capital, the bloodstains left by their wheels gleaming like a crimson carpet in the rising sun.

In the Battle of Balaki Barak, the insurgents captured the city at the cost of 7800 lives. It was just a stone's throw from Kabul.

When the news reached Kabul, the king was terrified and disoriented. He collapsed to the ground, cursing his son in his heart, "I gave you most of the army! And this is all?"
Where are the British reinforcements? They promised to help, but it's been days and we haven't seen a single one. But now's not the time to talk about that. The insurgents are almost at Kabul, and we need to run. Anyway, we can still take this place back.

On April 4, the King of Afghanistan, accompanied by his ministers, harem, and a large amount of treasure, left Kabul, intending to travel to Peshawar, where it would be easier to obtain support.

(End of this chapter)