1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 250 Loyalty Blossoms in Desperate Circumstances

In a hunter's cabin in the Thessaly Mountains, Spyros was cleaning his rifle. A carrier pigeon landed, and he took a small scroll of paper from his leg band, unfolded it, and his expression changed drastically. The paper contained the association's top-secret code. He rushed out of the cabin and lit the wolf dung piled on the roof. Three plumes of smoke rose straight into the sky. Moments later, similar plumes of smoke rose from the distant mountains—one, two, three… He grabbed a horn from the corner of the wall and blew the agreed-upon assembly call. A chorus of horns echoed through the valley. Spyros slung his rifle over his shoulder and roared at the members who were arriving from all directions, "The Queen at the nearby hospital is in trouble! Everyone grab your weapons and follow me!"

Kennan's roar instantly silenced the fleeing soldiers.

The Ottoman soldiers, who had been busy setting fires and looting, suddenly stopped in their tracks. The savage killing intent in their bloodshot eyes quickly faded, replaced by a more primal and fervent greed.

That Prussian princess! The Crown Princess of Greece!

Capture her, present her to the Sultan, and you will enjoy endless wealth and glory!

"Surround that tent!"

"Don't burn him! The Sultan wants him alive!"

The routed soldiers were no longer a scattered pack of wolves. Under Kennan's command, they instantly transformed into a pack of hyenas with a clear objective, closing in and surrounding the dilapidated operating room tent from all directions.

The nature of the battle changed completely in that instant.

"Hold on! Protect His Highness!"

Captain Alexandros roared as he shot down an approaching enemy with his rifle. Hot cartridge cases bounced out, and he pulled the bolt back to aim.

The remaining royal guards, along with the lightly wounded who were still able to move, spontaneously gathered at the tent entrance, using their own flesh and blood to build the last line of defense.

A young soldier with a missing left arm picked up a fallen iron tent frame with his right hand and stabbed it into the leg of an Ottoman cavalryman who was charging at him.

The warhorse let out a mournful neigh and crashed to the ground, pinning the cavalryman beneath it.

Before the cavalryman could struggle to his feet, another wounded soldier with bandages wrapped around his head pounced on him and bit down hard on his throat.

This is no longer a hospital, but a primitive gladiatorial arena.

In a corner of the chaotic camp, inside a relatively intact supply tent.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer's wife, Madame Pavlos, was huddled behind a pile of blankets, trembling like a leaf in the wind. The other ladies around her were pale with fright and could only sob quietly.

Madame Pavlos's face was also full of fear, but deep in her eyes, there was a trace of calm that was hard to detect.

She quietly took out a small sterling silver makeup mirror from her jewel-encrusted handbag.

Her movements were very light and discreet.

Using the firelight outside as a light, and taking advantage of a moment when no one was looking, she aimed the mirror at a cut in the top of the tent and shook it three times rhythmically towards the southern mountains.

The firelight reflected in the mirror, like a fleeting star, disappeared into the dark forest.

After doing all this, she immediately put the mirror away, covered her head again, and let out a scream that was louder and more miserable than anyone else's.

The protective barrier of the operating room tent is being crumbled inch by inch.

The number of guards and wounded soldiers was too small; they were facing a group of madmen on horseback.

"Bang!"

Captain Alexandros fired the last bullet from his gun. An Ottoman soldier grinned and swung his sword at his arm.

The captain parried with the gun, but the force was so great that his hand was split open and the rifle flew out of his hand.

Three gleaming sabers slashed at the tent entrance from three directions simultaneously.

The defenses are about to collapse.

Kennan reined in his horse and stood outside the encirclement, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. He could already see the white figure inside the tent, holding a revolver, trembling but still standing.

He licked his chapped lips, preparing to rush in and enjoy the thrill of capturing this canary.

Just then—

"Bang! Bang bang! Smash!"

A burst of fierce, chaotic, yet incredibly dense gunfire erupted like a storm from the western perimeter of the hospital camp!

The gunshots were varied, ranging from the dull, thunderous roar of old-fashioned hunting rifles to the crisp, clear sound of Mauser rifles, and even the distinctive boom of matchlock guns.

These are definitely not the gunshots of the Greek regular army!

The Ottoman cavalry, who were preparing to launch a general offensive, were caught off guard.

One of the cavalrymen at the forefront had a burst of blood on his chest and fell off his horse with a scream.

Another cavalryman's horse was hit by a lead bullet, and it reared up in a frenzy, throwing its master to the ground.

Kennan's smile froze on his face. He turned sharply, looking in the direction from which the gunshot had come.

On the western edge of the forest, hundreds of dark figures emerged like a tidal wave.

They were dressed in rags, many still wearing shepherd's vests, and carried all sorts of weapons, from the most advanced German rifles to homemade muskets passed down through generations.

But this seemingly disorganized group charged with unusual ferocity. They moved in groups of three or five, providing cover for each other and taking turns firing, unlike any ordinary civilians.

At the very front of the group, a lame man used a long-barreled shotgun as a crutch, limping along at the very front.

He saw an Ottoman cavalryman about to raise his gun, and without saying a word, he raised his hunting rifle and fired.

With a tremendous roar, half of the cavalryman's body was blasted apart.

"Brothers! For the Queen! Slaughter these Turkish bastards!" The lame man roared in Thessalian dialect.

"For the Queen!"

Hundreds of mountain dwellers, hunters, and retired soldiers roared in unison, their voices converging into a torrent that shook the entire valley.

They are all members of the "Hellenic Workers' Welfare Association" in the Thessaly region.

Upon receiving the encrypted message from Athens headquarters at top speed that "the Queen is in danger," the lame veteran, who was also the branch leader, did not hesitate for a moment. He sounded the alarm in the village and mobilized all the association members in the surrounding area who could take up arms.

They did not wait for orders from the army, nor did they consult any officials.

All they knew was that the wife of the crown prince, who had given them land, jobs, and dignity, and the queen who had traveled thousands of miles to the front lines to treat their brothers and nephews, was being besieged by a pack of jackals.

This is enough.

This is their pledge of allegiance!

Inside the operating room tent, Sofia peered out through a gap created by a scalpel.

She saw the reinforcements that seemed to have descended from the heavens.

She noticed that each of them had a blue ribbon tied around their arm—a membership badge for the "Workers' Welfare Association," designed by Constantine himself.

At that moment, for the first time, Sofia felt so directly what kind of powerful seed her husband had sown on this barren land behind those seemingly insignificant land reforms and factory laws.

This seed, in its most critical moment, blossomed into a flower called "loyalty," watered with blood, for her and for this country.

Caught between attacks from both sides, the Ottoman army completely collapsed.

Their prized horsemanship was utterly useless against these mountain people who knew the terrain well.

Just as they were about to charge, deadly bullets would come from unexpected places, such as behind trees or rocks.

This is not a war, this is clearly a massacre!

Seeing that all was lost, Kennan felt a surge of furious anger at being deceived. He knew he had fallen into a carefully designed trap.

He abandoned the fight, turned his horse around, and roared at his few remaining loyal followers, "Retreat! Retreat south!"

He led the remaining few men, like stray dogs, fleeing in a sorry state deeper into the mountains.

The crisis was averted at the last moment before sunrise.

The mountain people did not pursue them; instead, they quickly took control of the entire camp, began treating the wounded, and extinguished the fires.

The curtain of the operating room tent was pushed open by a rough, large hand.

The lame association branch president, leaning on his still-smoking hunting rifle, walked in.

He looked around and saw the bloodstains in the tent, the one-armed veteran who had sacrificed his life, and finally, his gaze fell on the queen, who was covered in blood, holding a revolver, yet still standing straight.

He threw down his hunting rifle, and with all his might, straightened his injured leg and gave Sophia a perfect military salute.

"Your Highness! Spyros, the branch president of the Thessalian Workers' Welfare Association, has been ordered to escort you! We... we're late!"