1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 244 Arms Hide-and-Seek

In the southern Aegean Sea, on the high seas between the islands of Cythera and Crete.

A Royal Navy Hunter-class frigate, like a falcon on the sea, is cutting through the azure waves at high speed. Thick black smoke billows from its smokestacks, indicating that the boilers are running at full power.

Lieutenant Commander Robert Sterling stood on the bridge, scanning the sea through his binoculars. A haughty smirk played on his sun-darkened face.

According to accurate intelligence from Athens, a Greek smuggling fleet was in this area.

"Report, Captain! A convoy has been spotted directly ahead! A total of twelve cargo ships, flying the Greek merchant flag!" The lookout's shout came from the mast.

Lieutenant Colonel Sterling lowered his binoculars.

"We've got you, you Greek rats."

He gave the order: "Sound the battle alarm! Signal them to stop immediately and submit to inspection!"

The Hunter's whistle let out a long, menacing cry. The signalman gave the strongest possible command via flag signals.

However, a minor "disorder" broke out among the Greek fleet on the opposite side.

One of the cargo ships suddenly billowed thick smoke, its speed decreased sharply, and it raised a signal flag requesting emergency assistance. Immediately afterward, several large wooden barrels "accidentally" rolled off the deck, shattering and spilling a yellowish-green liquid that emitted a strong olive-like odor in the sunlight.

It smells like oil.

This is precisely Antonio Petaras's second option.

He didn't use a single ship as bait; he made the entire fleet the stage.

Lieutenant Colonel Sterling frowned.

According to the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, any vessel on the high seas has an obligation to provide humanitarian assistance to any vessel that sends a distress signal.

"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath.

He believed it was a Greek trick, but he couldn't ignore it. On the high seas, the honor of the Royal Navy was more important than catching a few smuggling ships.

"Squad One, board and inspect the 'damaged' cargo ship!" he ordered. "Squad Two, remain on alert and monitor the other vessels!"

A British small boat carrying fully armed marines approached the smoking Greek cargo ship.

The Greek captain, a seasoned actor hired by Petalas at great expense, displayed just the right amount of panic and anger as the British officers boarded the ship by the gangway.

"Sir! This is piracy! My ship's engine is malfunctioning and leaking oil! We're transporting humanitarian aid to Egypt! You can't do this!"

The British officer ignored his protests and led his men onto the deck.

The deck was a mess, covered in slippery olive oil and scattered wheat. They rushed into the hold and pried open several cargo containers.

Inside, it was filled with genuine wheat.

They then inspected the hold, and indeed, the sealed wooden barrels contained olive oil.

The British officer's face turned grim.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander Sterling observed everything through binoculars from the bridge of the HMS Hunter. He saw that the other Greek merchant ships did not flee, but instead surrounded the "damaged" ship, appearing to be in the same boat.

Legally, he has absolutely no grounds for his claim.

The inspecting officer returned to the small boat and reported to Sterling that no contraband had been found.

Lieutenant Colonel Sterling was so angry he almost smashed the binoculars in his hand.

He could only watch helplessly as the "damaged" Greek cargo ship, with the "help" of other ships, slowly and "laboriously" continued its journey toward Egypt.

For three hours, the British attention was held captive by this "decoy ship".

The main fleet, led by Antonio Petaras and guided by another navigator familiar with the night currents, quietly veered off the main course. They bypassed a vast area of ​​reefs not marked on the charts and silently disappeared into the darkness.

When Harrison received Lieutenant Colonel Sterling's frustrated report at the embassy in Athens.

He slammed the bone china coffee cup in his hand onto the Persian carpet.

"A performance! A meticulously planned performance!"

He knew he'd been tricked. From the smoking ship to the deliberately broken barrels of olive oil, to the indignant captain, every detail was calculated.

But he had no evidence.

He couldn't find any fault with him.

He could only swallow this bitter pill, consumed by impotent rage.

Two days later, in a secluded bay in western Crete.

When Petalas' fleet successfully reached the shore under the cover of night, Venizelos and his rebel generals, who had been waiting for a long time, erupted in a deafening cheer.

Hopefully, it arrived along with these cargo ships.

"Quick! Unload the 'flour' and 'olive oil'!" Venizelos personally directed the unloading, his face beaming with the joy of victory.

The rebel soldiers excitedly pried open the wooden crates that were printed with "Athena Flour Company".

The brand-new Mauser rifles gleamed with a cold metallic sheen in the moonlight. The ammunition boxes were filled with golden bullets, like ripe corn kernels.

"Distribute weapons! Quickly! One for each person!"

However, when the first batch of rifles and ammunition were distributed to the soldiers...

A fatal problem has emerged.

"Sir! This...this bullet is wrong!" A soldier held up a bullet, gesturing to his rifle with a puzzled expression. "This bullet is a whole size bigger than the barrel; it just won't go in!"

"Nonsense! How could that be!" an officer shouted, taking the rifle and bullets and testing them.

His face instantly turned ashen.

One after another, the same questions came from different corners of the unloading site.

The rebel leaders opened all the ammunition boxes and compared them.

A chilling outcome lay before them.

Of the weapons brought by the fleet, a full third were rifle ammunition, the caliber of which was completely incompatible with rifles!

This was not an accident.

This was not a mistake during transportation.

These mismatched munitions were cleverly mixed in with normal ammunition boxes, indicating that someone had tampered with them at the Athens arms factory.

Venizelos stood before the mountain of weapon crates, his joy vanished completely.

He recalled the crown prince who had ruthlessly purged the oligarchs in Athens.

He understood instantly.

This was not sabotage by the British. It was the most insidious stab in the back by enemies from within Athens, those who survived the purges, those old forces who did not want to see Constantine, did not want to see a powerful Greece rise again.

Constantine gave him a chance, but also dug a huge trap for him and for all of Crete, enough to bury everyone.

He looked at the soldiers around him who had just begun to feel hope, but were now lost in confusion again.

He knew he had no way out.

He had to use these broken, even flawed, weapons to break through the most fortified fortresses that the Ottomans had built up over hundreds of years.

The difficulty of this uprising instantly transformed from hardship to hell.