1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 223 This is the Greek speed

The day after the general mobilization order was issued.

The Kingdom of Greece, with a speed that astonished all European observers, completed the warm-up of its war machine.

Constantine, in the name of the Supreme Command, issued an ultimatum to the Ottoman Empire. The ultimatum was extremely arrogant and left no room for diplomatic negotiation. It demanded that the Ottoman Empire close all "opium trading posts" on the Thessaly border within forty-eight hours, hand over the "murderers" who "killed" the Greek border guards, and "apologize" to the Kingdom of Greece.

This ultimatum is less a diplomatic document and more a public declaration of war.

Accompanying the issuance of the ultimatum was the ultra-high-speed operation of the entire national transportation system.

Throughout the nation's railway hubs, train whistles sounded incessantly throughout the night. Trains laden with soldiers and military supplies roared towards the northern border like steel dragons. In the ports, merchant ships temporarily requisitioned, flying naval ensigns, slowly sailed out of the harbor, forming a massive transport fleet, towed by tugboats.

On the streets of Athens, young and middle-aged men were almost nowhere to be seen. They had answered the nation's call, donned military uniforms, and boarded trains heading north amidst the tears of their wives and mothers.

The whole of Greece seemed to have transformed into a giant military camp overnight.

The port of Piraeus, headquarters of the Hellenic Workers' Welfare Association.

This place was originally an abandoned warehouse, but now the walls are covered with portraits of Crown Prince Constantine and the association's flags.

The lame guild leader, Stavros Vlahopoulos, stood on a makeshift platform made of ammunition boxes. Before him stood hundreds of the guild's core members from the port, railroad, and arsenal.

When the royal summons was solemnly handed to him by a royal guard officer, this man, who had never shed a tear even after losing a leg on the battlefield and having his credit stolen by his superiors, had tears welling up in his eyes.

He was not excited about the war.

He sought unprecedented recognition and respect.

Your Highness the Crown Prince has not forgotten them! At this moment that will determine the fate of the nation, the first people His Highness thought of were these working-class people, whom the old nobles and capitalists regarded as "tools that could be discarded at will"!

Stavros unfolded the order stamped with the royal wax seal, his heart pounding with excitement, his blood boiling.

He cleared his throat and roared at his brothers below the stage with all his might.

"Brothers!"

His voice was loud and clear, drowning out the sound of the harbor whistles.

"His Majesty's decree! His Highness the Crown Prince's summons! They are in my hands!"

He held the document high, causing a stir among the crowd.

"How did those high and mighty officials view us before? They called us peasants, mere beasts of burden who only knew how to do stupid labor! They withheld our wages, stole our credit, and treated us like dogs!"

Stavros's voice was filled with deep-seated hatred. Many of the workers in the audience clenched their fists, their eyes blazing with anger.

"But! His Highness the Crown Prince is different!" Stavros changed the subject.

"Who gave us fair working hours? Who established a medical mutual aid fund so that we have money for treatment when we are injured and compensation for our families when we die? Who established night schools for workers so that even roughnecks like us can learn to read and write and acquire skills? It was His Highness the Crown Prince!"

"Your Highness the Crown Prince!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Now, the country needs us! His Highness the Crown Prince needs us! Those Turks are selling drugs right to our doorstep and bullying our people! What should we do?"

"Fight them!"

"Fight back!"

"Yes!" Stavros shouted, waving his hand and raising his voice to the highest register.

"The time has come to fight for the King and the nation! Now is the time for us to prove our worth! We are not livestock! We are the workers of Greece! The Crown Prince's most trusted force!"

"From this moment forward, all railways, ports, and arsenals will operate on three shifts! The machines must not stop, but the workers can be rotated! Every drop of sweat we shed is a bullet fired into the enemy's chest! We will show His Highness the Crown Prince, and the whole world, the power of the Greek workers!"

"For the Crown Prince!"

"For Greece!"

Fanatical shouts emanated from the warehouse, echoing throughout the entire port of Piraeus.

Driven by this fervent spirit, a miracle occurred.

The loading of the first batch of supplies, which was originally expected to take 72 hours, was completed in just 30 hours.

At Athens Central Railway Station, the lights in the dispatch room remained on for three days and three nights. Organized by an "association," railway workers spontaneously formed inspection teams, meticulously checking the rails and sleepers inch by inch along the railway line. Any minor hazard was immediately reported and repaired. Their work efficiency was three times higher than under the strictest supervision during peacetime.

At Antonio Petaras's shipping company, the newly minted oligarch stared in disbelief at his crew. Under the coordination of the "Association" representative, these seasoned veterans, who usually slacked off, were now acting like completely different people. They refused Petaras's offer of triple overtime pay, demanding only enough bread and coffee. They said they were working for His Highness the Crown Prince, not for capitalists.

For the first time, Petalas felt a genuine sense of awe for the ever-smiling Crown Prince.

The port of Piraeus became a magnificent pre-war symphony. The whistles of steamships, the roar of trains entering the station, the heavy panting of cranes lowering their weight, the chants of workers working in unison, and the hoarse commands of officers—all these sounds blended together to compose the prelude to a people's war unique to Greece.

In the military factory, workers spontaneously hung portraits of the Crown Prince on their machine tools. Every shell and every rifle they produced carried their support for the Crown Prince and their desire for victory.

Their enthusiasm stems from the simplest form of gratitude. The Crown Prince has given them dignity, welfare, and hope. Now, they want to repay all of this, many times over, to the Crown Prince and the country.

A special train adorned with royal insignia is traveling smoothly on the railway heading north.

Inside the carriage, Constantine put down the documents in his hand and looked out the window.

The train was passing through a huge supply depot. There, thousands of workers, sweating profusely, were unloading boxes of ammunition from the train onto horse-drawn wagons under the banner of the "Greek Workers' Welfare Association".

There was no whipping by the overseer, no scolding by the officers.

Only the association's core members were loudly coordinating and directing, along with the workers' resounding chants. They were shirtless, their bronze muscles gleaming in the sunlight. Although sweat poured down their faces, each one radiated a high-spirited, heartfelt pride.

Captain Metaxas also noticed this scene. He looked at the workers, at their boundless energy, and a look of bewilderment and awe crossed his eyes. As a pure soldier, he couldn't understand what force could enable these undisciplined civilians to display such astonishing organization and discipline.

"See that? Metaxas," Constantine's voice rang in his ears.

"Your Highness, I saw it. But... I don't understand," Metaxas said honestly.

Constantine's gaze shifted from the workers to the face of his capable assistant.

"The German military ideology you admire emphasizes discipline and obedience, turning people into machines. That's not wrong; on the battlefield, we need such machines."

Constantine paused, his voice becoming deep.

"But war is never just a matter on the battlefield. Fifty percent of the victory in a war is determined before the war even begins."

He pointed out the window to the workers sweating profusely.

"This is the true strength of Greece. It is the ordinary people who build cannons for you in peacetime, transport supplies for you in wartime, and have unwavering faith in the nation."

"They believed in me, believed that this war was to defend their homeland and honor. Therefore, they were willing to give everything for this war."

Constantine turned his head and looked at Metaxas's serious face, which looked thoughtful.

"Remember, Metaxus. You can only command a few hundred thousand soldiers in uniform. But I can mobilize the whole of Greece! That is why we are destined to win."

The train slowly passed the transfer station, leaving the bustling scene of labor behind.

Metaxas remained standing by the window, silent for a long time.

Looking at the Crown Prince's calm profile, he gained a new and deeper understanding of the word "war" for the first time.