1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 248 When Perfume Meets Rotten Odor

The convoy drove out of Athens, leaving the city's cheers behind. The rolling wheels kicked up dust that shrouded the ornate carriages and military wagons, like a veil separating two worlds. Noble ladies peered out of the windows, chattering excitedly about the upcoming "adventure." Meanwhile, the wives of workers in the wagons silently clutched their medical kits, their gazes fixed northwards on their husbands and sons.

When the convoy arrived at the field hospital behind Larissa, all the noise and fantasies were shattered in an instant.

There are no white buildings here, no tidy hospital wards. Only countless dirty, dilapidated tents, like a huge patch of gray mold, spread across the muddy land.

An indescribable stench, like an invisible wall, suddenly crashed into everyone's face. The stench of blood, the putrid smell of rotting wounds, the sour odor of sweat and excrement, mixed with the pungent smell of cheap disinfectant, penetrated everyone's nostrils and rushed straight to the top of their heads.

In the air, there were the suppressed groans of wounded soldiers, the screams of amputation that came from distant tents, and swarms of greenbottle flies buzzing.

The gates of hell have been opened.

"vomit--"

A young baroness was the first to succumb; she covered her mouth, rushed to the roadside, and bent over, retching violently. Her vomiting served as a signal; several other noble ladies followed suit, their faces turning pale, their stomachs churning, and they vomited profusely on the ground.

The wife of the finance minister, Madame Pavlos, had a well-maintained face as white as paper. She was swaying precariously and had to lean on her maid to avoid fainting on the spot.

Sofia's stomach churned. She bit her lower lip hard, using the pain to suppress the nausea. She saw a nurse rush by, her arms stained with large patches of dark red blood. She saw two laborers carrying a stretcher, the human figure on it contorted, one leg hanging limply from the knee down.

She did not back down.

She walked past the noblewomen who were slumped on the ground, her steps heavy but without stopping, heading straight for the largest tent of wounded soldiers.

The tent flap was lifted, and an even stronger smell wafted out.

The room was filled with wounded soldiers lying haphazardly. There weren't enough beds, so many people were lying directly on the ground covered with dry straw. A young soldier lay in a corner, his body burning hot, his lips cracked and peeling, delirious with fever. His wound on his calf was oozing yellowish-green pus, and a dirty gauze was loosely draped over it.

There is a severe shortage of manpower, and no one can take care of him.

Sofia walked straight over.

A nurse who was changing the dressings of a wounded soldier saw her and was so shocked that she dropped the tweezers she was holding.

Sofia didn't speak. She took a clean water bottle and a reasonably tidy towel from the nurse, soaked them in the basin, and wrung them out. She knelt down and gently wiped the soldier's burning forehead and sweat-covered cheeks.

She moved very quietly, afraid of disturbing the other person.

Then, she used a small spoon to scoop up water and carefully fed it, little by little, into the soldier's parched mouth.

The groans around them subsided. All the wounded soldiers who could move turned their heads and looked at the crown princess in plain clothes with a complex expression.

At the other end of the tent, a veteran whose right arm had just been amputated was trembling violently, his forehead veins bulging and his body shaking as the anesthesia wore off. Yet, he bit down hard on a tattered cloth to stifle the slightest sound.

After feeding him water, Sofia got up and walked to his side. She knelt down again, reached out, and took his intact, calloused left hand in hers.

The veteran shuddered; he recognized the person before him. He struggled, trying to prop himself up with his remaining left hand to salute.

Sofia pressed down on his rough hand. "Don't move." Her voice held a gentle tone that brooked no refusal. "Rest well, my child."

"My child"...

These four words were like a key, instantly unlocking the softest gate in this tough man's heart. His shoulders trembled violently, and cloudy tears silently slid down his wrinkled face. He had shed blood and sweat in his life, but he had never shed a tear in front of others.

Sofia's actions brought about a change in the previously desolate camp.

The noble ladies who had initially hesitated and retreated looked at the Crown Princess's dusty skirt and her focused and calm profile, and their faces showed shame. They gritted their teeth and, imitating her, clumsily began to do what they could: pour water, change bloodstained bandages, or simply sit beside wounded soldiers and read them a letter from home.

The hospital director, an elderly, weary military doctor with graying hair, approached Sophia with a cane, his lips trembling with excitement: "Your Highness, you...you are the goddess of victory sent by God to save us!"

Sofia shook her head. She had been busy all day, and her voice was a little hoarse from exhaustion, but every word was clear.

"Don't call me goddess, I am your crown princess."

That night, Sofia did not rest. She led the head of the guard on a tour of every corner of the hospital. When she reached the medicine warehouse, she was stopped by two guards.

The warehouse manager, a slick-back-haired middle-aged man, slowly came out to greet us. He was a distant relative of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

"Your Highness, it's so late, what brings you here?" He asked with a fawning smile.

"Open the warehouse; I need to check the medicine reserves," Sofia ordered directly.

The person in charge looked troubled: "Your Highness, this... is not in accordance with regulations. Medicines are military supplies, and we need approval from the frontline command before we can open the warehouse for inventory. You see..."

Sophia's gaze passed over him and landed on a pile of crates covered with tarpaulins in the warehouse. The German markings on the crates indicated that they contained the crucial sulfanilamide powder and morphine that Constantine had secretly purchased from Germany.

"I'll say it again, open the warehouse." Sophia's voice was completely flat.

"Your Highness, it really won't work, it's the rule..." The person in charge was still making excuses, convinced that this pampered crown princess was just putting on a show and would never dare to really break off relations.

Sophia stopped looking at him. She turned to the captain of the royal guard beside her, a taciturn captain who had come with her from Athens.

"Captain Alexandros."

"exist."

Sofia spoke calmly, each word like an ice bead hitting the ground.

"With the wartime plenipotence granted to me by the King, I command you to open the warehouses."

She paused for a moment, her blue eyes devoid of any emotion, simply staring coldly at the person in charge.

"If anyone resists, they will be executed on the spot."

The officer's smile froze on his face. He looked into the Queen's emotionless eyes, then at the captain of the guard beside him, who silently placed his hand on the butt of his gun. A chill ran down his spine.

His legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, his crotch quickly becoming soaked.