1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 246 The Bloodstained Letter

On the sand table in Larissa's command post, two blue and white flags, like nails, pierced the body of the Ottoman Empire. Constantine's gaze fell upon the city, silent for over four hundred years; the entire chessboard of the Eastern Mediterranean was set in motion because of him.

However, on the other side of the chessboard, in Athens, the fervor of victory was waning.

The first trains carrying wounded soldiers, whistling mournfully, slowly pulled into Athens Central Station. There were no bands to welcome the heroes, no crowds waving flags. The platform was deathly silent, the air thick with the mingled odors of disinfectant and blood.

Those carried off the train carriages were no longer the spirited young men who had set off for the war. Some had lost arms, others legs, their young faces contorted with pain and high fever. More numerous were stretchers covered in white sheets; beneath that white lay the names of those who would never return home.

These names were printed on thin lists and posted on the city hall bulletin board. People crowded around, standing on tiptoe, searching through the rows of printed characters for the name of their husband, son, or brother. If they found it, there was a suppressed sob; if they didn't, there was a moment of relief followed by a deeper fear.

The price of victory, though slow to come, was sharp and piercing to the heart of Athens.

In the salons of the noblewomen, the once enthusiastic discussions about the victory at Ioannina had turned into complaints about the war.

"My God, I heard the Thessalonian front is a giant meat grinder right now."

"Edheim Pasha's army is like an insatiable cockroach; why does Prince Constantine continue the fight?"

"When will this war finally end? My lace supplier has run out of stock."

Complaints, like mold in the damp season, quietly spread through the luxurious halls.

At a routine meeting of the Royal Foundation in the Royal Palace, Sofia was listening to a report on the distribution of pensions to the families of fallen soldiers. She was dressed in a dignified black suit, her expression solemn.

Halfway through the meeting, an attendant approached somewhat awkwardly and whispered, "Your Highness, Countess Demetra insists on seeing you. She says it is something extremely urgent."

Sophia looked up. Countess Demetra was a famous socialite in Athens, known for hosting lavish dinner parties.

"Have her wait in the side hall," Sofia instructed.

After the meeting ended, Sophia entered the side hall. Countess Demetra was completely devoid of her usual elegance; her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were red and swollen. The moment she saw Sophia, she rushed over, lifting her skirt, almost kneeling on the ground.

"Your Highness! I beg you, save my son!"

Two maids quickly helped her up.

The countess pulled a letter from her handbag and handed it to Sophia with trembling hands. "This...this is a letter Andres sent back from the front!"

Sofia took the letter; the envelope was stained with dark brown spots. She pulled out the letter, which bore hastily written, weak handwriting. The Countess's only son, Andres, had been wounded in both legs by shrapnel from a grenade during trench warfare on the Larissa front. In the letter, he didn't describe the ferocity of the battle, but repeatedly recounted the scenes in the field hospital at the rear.

"...Mother, this isn't a place to save lives, it's hell. My wounds are black and oozing pus; I can smell my own rotting. The doctor said there's no medicine left, not even clean bandages... Nico, in the bed next to mine, was telling me about his sister's wedding yesterday, and this morning, his body was cold..."

Sofia's fingers traced the tear-stained creases on the letter, and her heart clenched.

The Countess's sobs interrupted her thoughts: "My Andres, he only broke his leg! But now, the letter says he's dying! Because of the infection! Because there's no medicine!"

Tucked into the end of the letter was a thin piece of paper. It wasn't letter paper, but a handwritten report, the handwriting even neater and colder.

The report listed a series of shocking names and numbers: a batch of quinine had disappeared but appeared on the black market in Athens; morphine, urgently needed at the front, had been replaced with ineffective glucose water; and disinfectant alcohol that was supposed to be sent to field hospitals had been secretly mixed into strong liquor by officers in the logistics warehouse.

Behind each record lies the name of a few old oligarchic families whose assets shrank during the financial reforms, yet they remain deeply entrenched in the logistics system.

Sophia clutched the piece of paper tightly, its edges digging painfully into her palm. She looked up at the tearful Countess and said, "Countess, please go back. I assure you, Andres will not have suffered in vain. Not a single Greek soldier will."

After seeing the Countess off, Sofia did not return to her own palace. She changed into the simplest gray dress, put on a veil, and, accompanied only by a maid, rode in an unmarked carriage to a small chapel in the port district of Piraeus.

Inside the church, Stavros Vlahopoulos, a lame veteran, had been waiting for some time. He saw the Crown Princess, leaning on his cane, struggling to bow.

"No need for formalities, Stavros," Sofia's voice echoed in the empty church. "I need to know the truth."

Stavros's expression was complex, a mixture of anger and helplessness. "Your Highness, what you heard is probably true."

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, which was filled with information collected from the front lines and the rear by members of the "Workers' Welfare Association".

"Those damned parasites! They don't care how many people die on the front lines!" Stavros's voice was filled with suppressed rage as he slammed his cane heavily on the ground. "They bought cheap canned food from the Germans and replaced the beef we were giving our soldiers with. They resold the medicine meant for the wounded to private clinics at exorbitant prices. These rumors started circulating only at the docks, but recently, someone has been paying more people to spread them. They say that His Highness only cares about fighting, using soldiers as cannon fodder, and doesn't even care about their lives."

Stavros raised his head, and in his one good eye lay the most basic loyalty of the working class. "Your Highness, the workers don't believe it. We all know that His Highness the Crown Prince is doing it for Greece. But... but the gentlemen and ladies of Athens, they believe it. People's hearts are breaking."

Sofia listened quietly, her gaze fixed on the frescoes of the church dome depicting the Passion of Jesus.

After a long silence, she spoke: "Stavros, thank you for telling me all this. Starting tomorrow, the 'Workers' Welfare Association' needs to do something else for me."

Late at night, the study in the palace was brightly lit.

Sophia dismissed all the maids and sat alone behind her large desk. She neither wept nor prayed. She spread out a sheet of paper, picked up her pen, and the nib flew across the paper.

What she wrote was neither a letter nor a diary.

It was a plan. A detailed plan to form the "Queen's Medical Team," to go to the front lines, to reorganize logistics, and to comfort wounded soldiers.

The next day, a meeting was held before the emperor.

When Sofia, dressed in a pristine white gown, calmly appeared in the all-male cabinet meeting room, all the ministers looked on in surprise.

When she finished reading her detailed plan in a clear and calm tone, the entire conference room erupted in excitement.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense!" The Chancellor of the Exchequer was the first to stand up, his obese body trembling with agitation. "What a perilous place the front lines are! Her Highness the Crown Princess is of inestimable value; if anything were to happen to her, who could bear the responsibility?"

"Your Highness, we understand your kindness," the Minister of War said, his tone condescending and dismissive. "But logistics has its own rules. Your presence will only cause trouble."

"The national treasury is empty! Where will the money come from to organize another medical team?"

"There has never been a precedent in history for women to interfere in military and political affairs! This is against propriety and against the established order!"

Opposition arose one after another. They used every reason imaginable—etiquette, security, finances—to try to nip Sofia's idea in the bud. They couldn't allow the power of the royal family, like a scalpel, to be inserted directly into their logistical system, which they had cultivated for many years.

Sofia stood there, silent, letting the vile words be hurled at her. She simply watched King George I, seated in the main seat, his brow furrowed.

King George I was also caught in a dilemma. He was proud of his daughter-in-law's courage, but also worried about her safety, and did not want to escalate the conflict with the entire civil service.

Just when the meeting reached a stalemate, and the Chancellor and others thought they had the victory in their grasp.

A royal attendant rushed into the conference room with an encrypted telegram and presented it to the king.

King George I opened the telegram.

The telegram was sent by Constantine from the Larissa front.

There is only one sentence above.

"Athens is my rear, and Sophia is my other front. Please grant me your permission, Father."

The telegram was light, but George I felt the weight of every word on it. He looked up at his daughter-in-law. In Sophia's blue eyes, there was no pleading, no fear, only an unwavering determination.

The king slowly stood up.

The conference room fell silent instantly.

"In the name of the King of Greece, I authorize Her Highness the Crown Princess to assemble a royal medical team to go to the front lines."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the majesty of a king, echoing in every corner of the conference room.

"This matter need not be discussed further."

Sophia, lifting her skirt, gracefully and deeply curtsied to the king's throne amidst the shocked, resentful, or incredulous gazes of all the ministers.