1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 226 The Silent Dagger

Constantine's order was sent by carrier pigeon from Larissa Command to a secret forward camp deep in the Pindus Mountains.

Upon receiving the order, Captain Joannis Metaxas was vigorously scrubbing his face in a basin of cold water. The icy mountain spring water cleared his mind, which had been fogged up from staying up all night. But the chill rising from his stomach wouldn't wash away.

His "Mountain Hunter Division" was a designation that never appeared in any publicly available serial number.

This army was created by Crown Prince Constantine himself, a monster he personally crafted.

The soldiers were sons of hunters and shepherds, selected from the most barren and rugged mountainous regions of Greece. They could carry dozens of kilograms of weight, traverse pathless cliffs with incredible speed, and distinguish hundreds of plants, knowing which could provide sustenance and which could stop bleeding.

The weapons were custom-made German-made short-barreled carbines, which had a shorter range than standard rifles but were lighter and better suited for rapid response in jungles and mountains. They were also equipped with state-of-the-art, detachable, mule-transportable 75mm light mountain guns.

This force was Constantine's secret weapon, a short blade aimed at the soft underbelly of the Ottoman Empire.

And he, Metaxus, is the one who wields this short blade.

The mission objective, which any military academy instructor would dismiss as madness, was to lead a force of 5,000 men, under absolute radio silence, carrying enough supplies and ammunition for seven days of combat, to secretly cross the Pindus Mountains, which all military strategists considered "inaccessible to large-scale troop movements," and at a designated time, like a boomerang falling from the sky, precisely sever the lifeline of the hundreds of thousands of Ottoman troops on the Thessalonian front—the Ioannina logistics base.

Metaxas dried his face with a rough towel and returned to the map.

On the map, the red and blue markers representing the enemy's position are intertwined. The red arrows are densely distributed across the Thessalian plain, like a gaping maw. In the northwest, the blue arrow representing his surprise attack is like a lonely ghost, drawing a strange, incomprehensible arc across the dark green mountains.

His fingertips repeatedly caressed the winding mountain road.

Along the route, he circled three points with a red pencil. One was a cliff, with a narrow path allowing only one mule to pass, and a bottomless abyss below. Another was an Ottoman border tax station, with only a dozen or so soldiers, but its location was treacherous; in the event of a firefight, the sound of gunfire could be heard for miles. The last point was a swift-flowing river, without a bridge, which had to be crossed at night.

Every step is fraught with deadly variables.

His lips were pressed tightly together, and a vein bulged slightly on his forehead.

He looked at the turbulent river on the map and muttered to himself, "His Highness's theory is 'surprise attack.' According to the plan, we should ford the river downstream. But if I were the enemy, I would also fortify the downstream area. On the contrary, the rapids upstream, which seem impossible to cross, might be the safest route... Using ropes, perhaps we could give it a try."

He stepped out of the tent; the camp was silent. The soldiers were making final preparations, wrapping any metal parts that might make noise with strips of cloth. An old soldier was carefully whittling a tree root with a knife, then chewing it.

"What is that?" Metaxas asked.

"Sir, it's gentian root. My grandma said that chewing this will keep your hands from shaking, no matter how cold it is." The old soldier grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth.

Metaxas nodded without saying anything more. He found his adjutant, an equally taciturn mountain man.

"Sir, the men are having some complaints," the adjutant whispered. "They're saying that these new short-barreled rifles can't even hit a rabbit from 300 meters away."

"Very good." Metaxas's voice was flat. "Tell them that if we fire when we're more than thirty meters away from the enemy, it means we've failed. Our mission isn't long-range shooting, it's throat-slitting."

The adjutant stiffened, stood at attention, and said, "Yes, sir!"

As night fell, Metaxas summoned all his officers. There was no pre-battle mobilization, no impassioned speeches.

He stood on a large rock, pointing to the eastern sky, where the firelight from the front-line artillery battle cast a faint red glow.

"On the plains to the east, our comrades are building defensive lines, preparing to meet the Turkish onslaught with their own flesh and blood. The whole world believes that the decisive battle will take place there."

He withdrew his hand and pointed to the ground beneath his feet.

"They are wrong. We will decide the location of the decisive battle. We will also decide the time of the decisive battle."

"Every step we take will determine the fate of this nation. Every drop of sweat we shed will save our brothers on the plains from shedding a single drop of blood."

He looked around at the young yet resolute faces before him.

"Many say we are ghosts. Because we have no designation, no flag. Our existence is a secret. But today, I tell you, we are not ghosts, we are the daggers of Greece!"

"Check your equipment. Throw away anything unnecessary. We have no backup, no supplies. We only have ourselves and the guns in our hands."

"Set off."

There were no cheers, no slogans.

Only the uniform, click-clack sound of checking the firearms.

Under the cover of night, five thousand soldiers, like a silent black river, silently slipped into the heart of the Pindus Mountains. Their figures were quickly swallowed by the darkness.

The main Greek forces were constructing a formidable defensive line on the Thessalian border with great fanfare. Countless searchlights illuminated the border as if it were daytime, drawing the full attention of the Ottoman Empire.

This truly deadly force, this poisoned boomerang, carrying a light mountain gun and a precision rifle, vanished completely into the western mountains.