Kisakov found his own idea absurd, but if it truly succeeded, the chances of the plan to behead Murad V and retake Constantinople would rise enormously.
It was just a pity that he had no way to contact the fleet. Otherwise, the fleet commander would certainly alter his tactics because of this.
"Sodaci!"
"Captain, you called for me?"
A tall soldier covered head to toe in gunpowder residue ran over, his eyes clear and youthful.
Kisakov felt a trace of envy toward this soldier before him, who could read battle reports, calculate multiplication and division, and even write poetry.
Though he himself came from a noble family, he was merely a minor country noble. The other man, meanwhile, was only a common citizen, yet reportedly had even been admitted to university. He had no idea why this boy had come to a place like the battlefield, where one was simply throwing away one's life.
But Kisakov knew very well that Sodaci was the only man in his unit besides himself who could explain things clearly, and the only one besides himself who could communicate with superior officers.
"Sodaci, I have a task for you."
"Yes, Captain."
Sodaci gave a solemn salute, looking as though he were ready to face death without flinching, while unconsciously sniffing.
"All right, all right, put your hand down. I'm not sending you to die. I need you to return and deliver a message to the fleet commander. Tell him that we've captured the northern battery intact. Send over some professional artillerymen, and we can establish a real position here.
"Once we get a foothold, those Ottomans will be completely finished."
Kisakov tore the epaulette from his shoulder, then took out a small box.
"This is my family crest. It'll get you an audience with the