Around 1:00 p.m., the Allied fleet launched its assault.

A formidable formation of ten battleships and over thirty minesweeping destroyers steamed into the Gulf of Saros, casting terror into the Ottomans watching from shore. Under a rain of enemy artillery shells and plumes of seawater shooting into the air, the fleet anchored and prepared for bombardment.

At first, the barrage was sporadic, with each shell landing about a minute apart as seaplanes circled above to help adjust aim. Firing from a rolling sea made it difficult to hit targets accurately, so the initial shots allowed them to calibrate, after which the same caliber guns would be fired with identical settings to increase accuracy.

After about ten minutes, the sound of artillery intensified into a thunderous, continuous roar, and the western section of the A-line trench was engulfed in flames.

But Charles and the rest of the soldiers dared not lift their heads to watch, for their own defensive line was also vulnerable to stray shells. Battleship guns were known to deviate by several miles at times, especially during full salvos when the ships' recoil would disrupt accuracy. This was precisely why "first-shot accuracy" was so critical in naval warfare—if the first round missed, subsequent shots would become even more difficult to aim.

Hunkered down in the bunker, Charles noted that the rumble of this barrage was even more powerful than the earlier artillery. Yet, oddly enough, he felt a strange sense of security this time.

…

Meanwhile, at Bolayir, the Fifth Army Headquarters.

Only three miles separated Sanders from the front, where, if he climbed the hill on the west side of the headquarters, he could see the Ottoman forces charging the enemy lines through his field glasses.

One assault after another had been repelled, with heavy losses suffered each time. Though exact numbers were still unknown, estimates suggested over four thousand casualties.

In Sanders's mind, the lack of hand grenades and mortars in the Ottoman ranks was a significant factor in these failed offensives. He felt a pang of guilt; he had assumed that in a naval and landing battle, the Ottoman forces wouldn't need grenades. Only now did he realize how foolish that assumption was.

Immediately, he contacted Germany, urgently requesting an emergency shipment of grenades and mortars from Austria-Hungary. However, these supplies would take at least two days to arrive.

When the rumble of cannons finally reached Sanders, he was unsurprised. His radio operator had already informed him that the Allied fleet was within range and ready to bombard.

Staff Officer Quinn had repeatedly urged Sanders to move the command post to a safer location, but Sanders refused.

"If I withdraw from here, it's an admission of defeat," Sanders stated calmly. "The soldiers will no longer charge the enemy lines fearlessly. Is that the outcome you want to see?"

"No, General," Quinn replied firmly. "I don't want to see that outcome. But I assure you, even if you retreat, they will continue fighting to the death."

He added pointedly, "After all, this is Ottoman land. We aren't fighting for you, General."

Sanders merely chuckled and said nothing further. As a German, he, too, wasn't risking his life for the Ottomans. His loyalty was to Germany. Of course, he didn't say this out loud. There was no harm in letting them believe otherwise.

When the bombardment began, Sanders was calmly seated at his desk, his gaze fixed on the map. With the Allied fleet now involved, the chance of reclaiming the trench seemed increasingly remote.

What kind of force was this, he wondered, that could withstand waves of attacks by 20,000 men and remain unyielding?

Could it truly be, as rumors suggested, Charles's unit?

Could someone like Charles really be on the front lines himself?

Sanders couldn't believe it. If Germany had someone like Charles, they would have deployed an entire army just to protect him, not sent him into battle.

At that moment, Bahar burst into the office, his face smeared with soot, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head from an injury sustained during the retreat from Bucier. Undeterred, he had continued to lead from the front, even organizing a countercharge in person.

Sanders evaluated Bahar silently—a brave career soldier with both courage and intellect.

"General," Bahar spoke urgently in broken German, "the enemy is bombing the west. We should launch an offensive!"

"Now?" Sanders replied with a raised eyebrow. "You believe that when our two-pronged assault couldn't break their line, we can somehow succeed while they're focused on the western bombardment?"

"I know we can't break through," Bahar replied, "but if we don't act now, the west will collapse, and we'll lose any chance of reclaiming the trench."

Sanders paused before responding quietly, "Colonel, I believe the crisis in the west isn't caused by the enemy's bombardment. It's a matter of morale."

"Morale?" Bahar echoed, surprised.

Sanders nodded and asked a series of questions. "Do you think the west is short of soldiers?"

Bahar shook his head, puzzled.

There were over seven thousand men from a regiment and a militia in the west, along with logistical and engineering units. In total, they had more than ten thousand men.

"Are they short on ammunition?" Sanders continued.

Bahar shook his head again. Ammunition wasn't the issue; most of the men were falling before they could fire many shots, as they struggled to even breach the enemy trench.

"And they're not lacking food either, correct?" Sanders asked, making his final point.

Bahar nodded, agreeing that while supplies weren't abundant, there was enough food to hold out until they either won or surrendered.

"You're right, General," Bahar replied. "But they're cut off from their supply lines. So, food and ammunition will run out eventually."

"Time is precisely what we need, Colonel," Sanders replied. "If we can't take it today, we'll try again tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. But it seems the west may not last that long."

Bahar considered Sanders's point: whether they reclaimed the trench or not depended on the western forces' ability to hold. If they held out, they could keep pressure on the Allied lines from both sides. If they fell, the Allied landing forces would pour in reinforcements and supplies unimpeded, putting all of Gallipoli in jeopardy.

Yet still, Bahar was unsure. "But what else can we do, General, other than launch another attack?"

Sanders looked him in the eye. "I hear that you're highly respected among the Ottoman troops."

"That's true," Bahar nodded, "since I've always fought alongside them."

Then, seeing Sanders's expectant expression, he asked, "But how does that relate to this battle?"

Pointing to the western position on the map, Sanders replied, "If you went there in person with a detachment, do you think they'd hold out for another two days?"

Bahar understood at once: Sanders wanted him to go west to boost morale and lead the defense within the enemy's encirclement.

"Consider it done, General!" Bahar stood at attention, declaring resolutely, "I'll set out at dusk and take a boat to circumvent the enemy line."

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