1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 222 The Storm Is Brewing

"Purify!"

King George I's roar, mixed with the sharp whistling of his sword cutting through the air, echoed in the royal conference room.

Baron von Schneider's body trembled uncontrollably at the sound of the sword. His face, usually bearing the rigid expression of a Prussian, was now deathly pale. He looked at the old king, sword raised high and hair standing on end in fury, at the crown prince and his wife standing side by side, their expressions cold and stern, and then at the Greek ministers and generals whose rooms were ablaze.

He lost.

A crushing defeat.

The German plenipotentiary ambassador didn't utter another word. He simply bowed deeply to the king in an extremely stiff salute, then turned and fled almost as if fleeing from the conference room that had so humiliated him. With each step, he felt as if countless gazes were piercing his back.

Baron Schneider left in a disheveled state, and the oppressive atmosphere in the conference room instantly exploded.

"Your Majesty is wise!"

"For Greece!"

The old Minister of War was moved to tears. He knelt on one knee and kissed the king's sword. The other generals followed suit, and a fervent cheer erupted. Prime Minister Trikoupis stood to the side, his expression shifting before finally settling into a long sigh. He understood that from the moment the king drew his sword, the Greek chariot had been pushed onto a track of no return.

George I's chest heaved violently; the act of drawing his sword had exhausted all his strength. He braced the sword against the ground to steady himself. He looked at his son, his gaze complex.

Constantine stepped forward and took the sword, which symbolized supreme military command, from his father.

The warmth of the king's palm still lingered on the hilt of the sword.

Very heavy.

This sword carries not only the glory of a royal family, but also the future destiny of a nation.

"Father, please rest." Constantine's voice was calm, yet carried a reassuring power. He helped George I back to his throne, then turned to face the assembled officials and ministers.

"Pass on my orders."

His voice wasn't loud, but it silenced everyone's shouts.

"Captain Metaxas."

"Here!" Ioannis Metaxas stepped forward, his body ramrod straight.

"You shall immediately return to the General Staff and, in the name of the Supreme Command, issue a general mobilization order to the First, Second, and Third Army Corps. All reserve forces shall complete their assembly within twenty-four hours."

"yes!"

"Minister of the Navy."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Order the fleet to set sail immediately, blockade the eastern shipping lanes of the Aegean Sea, and keep the Ottoman navy firmly in check."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

"Chancellor of the Exchequer."

The Chancellor of the Exchequer shuddered and stepped forward, his face as white as paper. "Your Highness..."

"Can we issue bonds now? How are the preparations going?"

"It's...it's all ready. It can be issued at any time, just give the order. However, these bonds were originally intended to alleviate normal financial pressures..." The Chancellor's voice trembled.

"Change it now. I want to see the first batch of war bonds on the Athens Stock Exchange in three hours."

The orders were issued one by one, precise, ruthless, and devoid of any emotion. Constantine was calm and decisive; every order was accurate and flawless.

Sofia stood quietly behind him, pouring him a new cup of coffee without saying a word. But her presence itself was a form of silent support.

When the imperial council ended, it was already dawn.

But Athens, this ancient city, was destined to have a sleepless night.

The king's decree, like a thunderclap, traveled throughout Greece via countless telephone and telegraph lines. Just an hour later, the urgent extra edition of the Athena newspaper was being waved by newsboys and scattered to every corner of the city.

The huge title, printed in blood-red:

"Punish the drug dealers! The King draws his sword!"

"Clean up the border! Protect our fellow Thessaly people!"

"Crown Prince in command! Greece's fury will engulf the Balkans!"

The entire city of Athens was utterly awakened from its slumber. At first, there was astonishment, then ecstasy. Countless citizens flooded the streets, singing the national anthem, waving their blue and white flags, and cheering towards the royal palace. Long-suppressed national emotions were completely ignited in this moment.

At the same time, an inconspicuous side hall of the palace was brightly lit.

The Director of the Royal Intelligence Service, Alexandros, stood before his superior, Crown Prince Constantine.

"Your Highness, everything has been arranged." Alexandros's voice was as concise as ever.

"Very good." Constantine looked out the window at the bustling city, his eyes unusually cold. "How do you plan to 'leak' the information out?"

"Yes," Alexandros said, handing over a document. "I've already arranged three lines."

"The first lead is through a 'friend' of ours at the French Embassy's military attaché office. Tonight at the poker game, he will 'inadvertently' lose some money and at the same time 'unintentionally' reveal that the Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet will be conducting a 'neutral patrol' off the coast of Crete."

"The second lead is through The Times' Athens correspondent. He's always been greedy, and I've already bought him a small spot on tomorrow's front page for a price he couldn't refuse. He'll publish an analysis of the 'Balkan arms deal,' mentioning that the mobilization of the Greek army 'far exceeded expectations.'"

“The third line,” Alexandros paused, “is also the most direct line. I have already sent someone to ‘lose’ a ‘forged’ draft of a war mobilization plan, with extremely strong wording, in the trash can in front of the Ottoman embassy.”

Constantine turned to look at his taciturn but meticulous subordinate. He was satisfied.

War is not just about fighting on the battlefield. Before the war even begins, the smoke of information warfare has already filled the air. He wanted everyone to believe that Greece had gone mad and was going to commit all its national strength to a fierce, head-on battle against the Ottoman Empire in Thessaly.

One hundred and fifty kilometers away, at the Thessalian border.

The atmosphere inside the Ottoman Empire's border guard headquarters was extremely oppressive.

Commander-in-Chief Edhem Pasha, a white-bearded veteran who had fought in the war against Russia, was observing the situation on the other side of the border with a brass telescope.

An intelligence officer stumbled in, his voice hoarse: "Pasha! Athens... Breaking news from Athens!"

Edheim Pasha slowly lowered his binoculars and took the telegram.

Every word on the telegram made his eyelids burn.

"The king draws his sword... the entire nation mobilizes... a purification campaign..."

After reading the telegram, he picked up another intelligence report, this one from Constantinople, about the British Mediterranean Fleet's upcoming "neutral patrol."

When the two intelligence reports are put together, the truth becomes clear.

"Bang!"

He slammed the sturdy brass binoculars hard onto the table covered with military maps, leaving a deep dent in the map.

"The Greeks? They've gone too far!" The old general's chest heaved violently, his face turning a deep purple with rage. "This is a declaration of war! This is a blatant declaration of war!"

He whirled around and roared at the messenger behind him, "Pass on my orders! Fourth and Fifth Legions, assemble immediately at Larissa! Order all artillery positions to enter first-level combat readiness! I want to build a wall of flesh and blood for those arrogant Greeks on the border!"

As the Ottoman Empire's war machine began to rumble in response to the wrath of Ederham Pasha.

The map room of the Royal Palace in Athens was quiet.

Constantine's finger lightly glided across the enormous military map. His fingertip didn't linger on the heavily fortified Thessaly, but instead swept across the rugged, treacherous, and sparsely populated Pindus Mountains in the northwest corner of the map.

Captain Metaxas stood beside him, quietly reporting on the troop movement plan.

Outside the window, the city of Athens was ablaze with lights, a dazzling sea of ​​stars. In the distance, the faint sound of bugles signaling the mobilization of the militia carried a chilling undercurrent. The air was thick with the smells of gunpowder, dust, and sweat; the tension and excitement of the eve of war gripped everyone's hearts.

Constantine took a deep breath.

He could feel the wheels of history, under his impetus, groaning under the weight of their burdens, before slowly and irreversibly turning in a completely new direction.

And at the end of his line of sight lay the heart of Greece, the port of Piraeus.

The dock was brightly lit, as if it were daytime.

The newly crowned shipping oligarch, Antonio Petaras, was pointing at a massive cargo ship and shouting at a burly, lame man beside him. His voice was completely hoarse, and his expensive silk shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his body.

"Stavros! This ship! It must be loaded with three thousand tons of military rations and ammunition before dawn! This is His Highness the Crown Prince's order!"

The lame man named Stavros was the president of the "Greek Workers' Welfare Association." He wiped the sweat and grease from his face, revealing a set of white teeth.

"Don't worry, Mr. Petalas! My brothers, none of them will be sleeping tonight!"

He turned, waving his arms, and roared at the thousands of shirtless workers on the docks: "Brothers! For His Highness the Crown Prince! For Greece! Give it your all!"

"roar!"

Thousands of workers roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens. Wielding iron hooks and crowbars, they surged like a tide toward the mountains of supplies.

Their sweat is the first drop of hot lubricant on the war machine about to be set in motion.