1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 194 The Mars of Thessaly

Winter is coming.

In the mountainous region bordering Thessaly, the first snow fell earlier than usual.

The attackers were also driven to a final frenzy. Their commander, Ottoman border guard Captain Qasim, needed to complete one last "cleaning" of the area before the heavy snows closed the mountain passes. His target was a remote mountain village called "Deer Hunting Village."

This village, like a nail, was firmly planted in his path of clearing out the enemy. The villagers were almost all hunters, skilled with guns and incredibly tough. Several small-scale raids had been driven back at the village entrance. Qasim decided that this time, he would personally lead a force of nearly a hundred men to completely wipe this disobedient village off the map. He would use the destruction of this village as his winter gift to Constantinople.

Night fell, like a giant black cloth, shrouding the rolling mountains.

Under the cover of night, nearly a hundred bandits, like a pack of hungry wolves, silently surrounded the small deer-hunting village from three directions, leaving it completely isolated.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

In the center of the village, the ancient alarm bell was suddenly struck. The rapid and piercing sound shattered the tranquility of the valley and destroyed the villagers' last vestiges of peace.

Dozens of villagers rushed out of their wooden huts and gathered in front of the village chief's door. They carried a variety of weapons—old single-shot hunting rifles, woodcutting axes, and even a few pitchforks for harvesting hay.

The village chief was an old hunter with gray hair, but whose back was still ramrod straight. His name was Elias. He took a puff of his pipe, looked at the shadowy figures moving about in the darkness outside the village, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

"You saw it all?" His voice wasn't loud, but it was unusually calm.

The villagers didn't speak, they just nodded silently, gripping their weapons tightly. Fear spread across everyone's face.

"Surrender means death. The women and children of the village will be violated. Our food will be burned. Our bodies will be eaten by wild dogs." Elias's voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Resistance might mean death. But we are hunters, not sheep waiting to be slaughtered!"

The old village chief tapped his pipe on a stone to shake off the ash. He then took his gleaming ancestral hunting rifle from the wall.

"Grab your guns! Take your knives! Follow me!"

"Today, we're not hunting deer! We're hunting jackals!"

His words were like a spark, instantly igniting the long-suppressed fighting spirit in the villagers' hearts!

"Kill these bastards!" A young hunter, his eyes red, let out the first roar.

The instinct for survival overcame the fear of death!

However, Elias did not order the villagers to hold out in the village. He knew that with their limited manpower and rudimentary weapons, fighting a positional war in the village would be tantamount to suicide.

"Listen up! Everyone, take your weapons, ropes, and all the nails and sharpened wood you can find! Divide into five groups and head into the mountains!" The old village chief pointed the barrel of his hunting rifle at the bottomless dark forest behind the village.

"This mountain is our home! We know every tree, every rock, and every crevic here!"

"Tonight, this forest will be their graveyard!"

The villagers no longer hesitated. They quickly divided into groups, grabbed everything they could, and like ghosts, silently disappeared into the forest they knew so well from the mountain path behind the village.

The entire deer-hunting village was turned into a ghost town. A huge trap prepared for the enemy.

Ottoman Captain Qasim waved his hand.

"Charge in! Kill all the men, leave the women alone! Burn down all the houses!" he issued the ruthless order.

The bandits let out an excited howl and surged towards the seemingly undefended village like a tidal wave.

However, when they rushed into the village, they found it deserted. A deathly silence reigned, broken only by the howling of the night wind through the empty streets.

"Where is he?" Qasim frowned, a sense of foreboding creeping into his heart.

Just then.

"Bang!"

A sharp gunshot rang out from the woods on the hillside opposite the village. A bandit who was about to kick open the door of a wooden house had a burst of blood on the back of his head and fell straight to the ground.

All the bandits were startled and raised their guns, firing wildly in the direction of the gunshot.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two more gunshots rang out, coming from a completely different direction. Two more bandits fell to the ground.

Qasim's expression changed. He realized they had fallen for a trap! The enemy wasn't in the village at all; they were in the mountains!

"Scatter! Get into the woods! Drag them out!" Qasim roared.

Taking advantage of their superior numbers, the bandits began to rush towards the mountains and forests on both sides of the village.

However, what awaited them was a deadly web woven by hunters.

Just as one of the bandits rushed into the woods, his foot suddenly slipped, and he screamed as he fell into a cleverly disguised pit. At the bottom of the pit were dozens of sharpened wooden stakes.

Another group of bandits, while chasing a fleeting shadow, had one of their men trip over an almost invisible vine. Instantly, a massive log, hanging from a tree and bound with sharp stones, swept across, smashing three or four bandits in half at the waist!

The bandits were thrown into complete chaos. Their prized military skills proved utterly useless against this most primitive and savage jungle trap. They couldn't locate the enemy's main force; all they could hear were sporadic sniper shots coming from all directions and the screams of their comrades.

The villagers, on the other hand, were like the most experienced hunters. In small groups, they moved through the forest like ghosts, utilizing their exquisite knowledge of the terrain. They never fired a second shot; after firing one, they immediately moved to the next ambush point.

A young hunter hid behind a huge rock. Through a crevice in the rock, he calmly aimed at a bandit leader who was shouting loudly, trying to regroup his men.

He held his breath.

The moment the other person turned around, he pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The foreman fell to the ground with a thud. The young hunter didn't hesitate for a moment; he crouched low and quickly disappeared into the deeper darkness.

This is not a battle.

This is a hunt.

The prey are these arrogant bandits.

The battle raged all night. As the first rays of dawn tore through the darkness, the surviving bandits were utterly demoralized. They abandoned more than thirty corpses and scrambled away from the hellish forest.

The village chief of Elias, leaning on his hunting rifle, emerged from the woods. A blood-soaked strip of cloth was wrapped around his arm.

The villagers gradually emerged from their hiding places. Their faces showed a mixture of exhaustion, sadness, and the exhilaration of victory.

They paid a heavy price in this battle. Nearly ten brave villagers were laid to rest forever in the mountains and forests they had sworn to defend.

But they won.

They successfully defended their homeland using the most primitive methods, with the dignity and blood of hunters.

This "defense of the deer village," a battle where the weak triumphed over the strong, was like a spark thrown into a powder keg, spreading at an astonishing speed throughout the lifeless Thessaly border region in just a few days.

It ignited the long-extinguished anger in the hearts of all the oppressed and bullied farmers!

Athens, Royal Palace Military Conference Room.

Constantine, along with all the senior generals of the Greek army, were here.

Metaxas stood before a huge military map, using a thin wooden pole to review the recently concluded "Battle of Deer Hunt Village".

"...The villagers did not choose to defend their village, but instead used their most familiar weapon—the forest. They broke up into smaller groups, dividing the entire battlefield into dozens of independent hunting grounds. Every attack was precise and deadly. The bandits' numerical advantage was gradually diluted..."

Metaxas's analysis is professional and calm.

Constantine listened quietly. His gaze was fixed on the tiny red dot on the map that represented "Deer Hunting Village".

Suddenly, he stood up abruptly.

All the generals present were startled by his sudden action.

Constantine looked at no one; he walked straight to the enormous map of Greece. His eyes held no joy of victory, but rather burned with an unprecedented, almost frenzied excitement!

He stretched out his hand, his fingers tracing across the entire Thessaly plain, over the red areas marked "under attack."

He turned around abruptly, his gaze fixed intently on Metaxas.

"Metaxus!"

His voice trembled slightly with excitement!

"Do you see? The real army isn't in our camps! It's in the fields, in the mountains! It's in the hands of every farmer who picks up a pitchfork and defends their land!"

"Why should we place our hopes on weak police officers and regular troops who are unable to be deployed?"

"Why can't we turn the whole of Thessaly into one giant 'deer hunting village'?"