xymnovel Chapter 230: A "Victory" Prepared for the Enemy
Chapter 230: A "Victory" Prepared for the Enemy
In the Ottoman command post, Major von Riedl was heartbroken.
He watched wave after wave of soldiers rush futilely toward death, then vanish like bubbles.
He couldn't wait any longer!
He shoved aside the guards who were blocking his way and rushed into Edhempasha's command tent for the third time.
"Pasha!"
He rushed to the map and, with a red pencil, drew a sharp arrow on the side of the map, on the rugged mountain area.
"We can't break through from the front! It's a meat grinder! We must infiltrate through the mountains! Attack their flanks and rear! That's their weak point! As long as we send out an elite mountain force, we can..."
"That's enough!"
Edheim Pasha was now blinded by defeat. Every "correct" suggestion from von Riedel felt like a resounding slap across his face.
He abruptly stood up from his chair and shoved von Riedel, who was leaning over the map. The German major stumbled, knocking over the water bottle holder next to him.
"I don't need you, a foreigner, to teach me how to fight!" The old general's roar shook the entire command tent. His hand rested on the sword at his waist.
"If you dare to use your theoretical armchair strategizing to undermine my troops' morale again, I'll hang you at the camp gate, treating you like a Greek spy!"
The tent was deathly silent; no one dared to utter a sound.
The other Ottoman officers kept their heads down, not daring to utter a sound.
Von Riedel stood there, straightening his disheveled uniform. He looked at Edheim Pasha, who was now acting like a madman, his lips moved, but he ultimately didn't utter a word.
His gaze shifted from anger to utter disappointment and icy sorrow.
At night, the lights of Larissa's command post, like an isolated island in the darkness, remained brightly lit.
The daytime hustle and bustle had faded away, leaving only the ceaseless ticking of the telegraph machine.
Alexandros Dimitriopoulos entered silently. He made no extra sound, simply placing a newly deciphered encrypted telegram gently on Constantine's desk.
The telegram was short, containing only a few words, but it clearly recorded the heated argument that had taken place in the Ottoman command post during the day.
The source of the intelligence was marked with a code name: "Translator".
He was a Turkish translator whom the Royal Intelligence Service had cultivated at great expense to work alongside Major von Riedel. He was also a minor Ottoman nobleman with a gambling addiction, willing to sell anything to pay off his gambling debts.
Constantine read the telegram but said nothing.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the smooth mahogany table surface.
"Da...da...da..."
Each strike resonated deeply in the hearts of everyone in the command center.
Von Riedel's judgment was correct.
In the mountainous flanks, the Greek defenses were indeed relatively weak as they concentrated their forces on the front. If Ederhem Pasha were truly cornered and adopted this suggestion to force a breakthrough from the flank with a large force, then his painstakingly constructed frontal defenses would risk being cut in half.
A potential threat.
Constantine's lips curled slightly, but no one noticed his smile.
Threats also mean opportunities.
A bolder, more vicious plan quickly surfaced in his mind.
He's going to set a trap.
A scheme that exploits internal contradictions within the enemy.
One thing that turned von Riedl's "correctness" into a fatal "mistake".
A scheme that makes Edhem Pasha's "stubbornness" appear as "brilliant".
He wanted to personally deliver a "victory" to the enemy, and then turn that victory into poison that would devour them.
"Order, Colonel Nikolaus, commander of the flank defense forces, come to me immediately." Constantine stopped knocking; his voice was soft, but exceptionally clear.
A few minutes later, a burly, dark-skinned officer, exuding an air of mountain life, strode in.
"Your Highness!"
Constantine didn't waste any words. He walked to the map and pointed to the route that von Riedel had suggested.
"Colonel Nikolaus, I need you to do something."
He issued a secret order.
"Select a company of your most elite, fastest, and best-acting soldiers. Tomorrow at four in the morning, have them disguise themselves as routed stragglers and 'flee in disarray' along this route to our rear."
"You can lose equipment, but not all of it. Create the illusion of a panicked rout. Understand?"
Colonel Nikolaus was stunned.
This is an absurd order. To send the most elite soldiers to play the role of cowards?
But he didn't ask why.
In this new army personally created by His Highness the Crown Prince, obedience is the first principle.
"Yes, Your Highness! I guarantee the mission will be accomplished!"
Constantine nodded, then turned to Alexandros, who had been standing by his side.
"Alexandros, now it's your 'translator's' turn to step in."
His voice was lowered even further.
"Let him, 'inadvertently,' reveal von Riedel's infiltration plan to those radical 'Young Turk' officers in the Ottoman army."
"You need to make him convey the feeling that this German advisor, because of the failure of the frontal attack, has looked down on our traditional Turkish courage and tactics, and believes that only by relying on his kind of 'opportunistic' infiltration can we win the war."
Alexandros's eyes lit up. He instantly understood Constantine's intention.
His Highness the Crown Prince is about to ignite another powder keg within the Ottoman army!
A group of ambitious men who had studied in Europe, held themselves in high esteem, and harbored resentment towards old-school generals like Pasha and foreign advisors like von Riedel. They desperately needed a victory to prove their worth and the superiority of the new tactics they had learned.
"I want those arrogant young officers to see this pursuit as an opportunity to prove they are superior to the Germans," Constantine said, his voice as cold as ice as he looked at Alexandros. "They'll be eager to take the bait."
"And Edheim Pasha, in order to suppress the German advisors and to send these disobedient troublemakers to their deaths, will 'tacitly approve' this 'reckless' action."
He walked back to the table, picked up the intelligence report, and lit it over the candlelight.
The paper curled up in the flames, turned black, and turned to ashes.
"This trap requires the 'cooperation' of all three parties to be perfectly closed."
Constantine's gaze drifted to the dark night sky outside the window.
"And all we need to do is tighten the noose at the finish line."