1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 259 The Final Madness

In the headquarters of Commander-in-Chief Edheim Pasha on the Thessaly front of the Ottoman Empire, the atmosphere was as oppressive as a frozen swamp.

A flurry of intelligence reports arrived, piling up on the long table.

"Report to Pasha! The Greek 3rd Infantry Division has arrived in the Zorkos region!"

"Report! The Greek Crown Prince's personal artillery brigade is moving towards the town of Tirnavos!"

"Report! Our informant in Athens confirms that the Greek Parliament has authorized the Crown Prince to use the final tranche of the national war reserves!"

Every piece of intelligence confirms the same fact: Constantine has gone mad. He wants to achieve his goal in one decisive battle, a strategic showdown on the central front of Thessaly against the main force of the Ottoman Empire that will determine the fate of both nations.

Edheimpasha's eyes were bloodshot.

He was like a gambler who had lost everything at the card table, staring intently at the last card dealt by the dealer.

The diplomatic humiliation, the crushing defeat on the Epirus battlefield, the ridicule from his domestic political enemies, the cold gaze of the Sultan... all the pressure weighed on him like mountains, making it hard for him to breathe.

He needs a victory.

A brilliant and overwhelming defensive counterattack!

This is his only hope to regain his honor, retain his power, and even silence public opinion!

He wanted to wash away all the stains on himself with the blood of the Greeks on the plain of Thessaly!

"Lord Pasha, this is a trap!"

A calm yet sharp voice shattered the frenzied atmosphere in the command center.

Major von Riedl, the German military advisor, stood solemnly before the map.

"This is such an obvious and clumsy trap! No rational commander would display his offensive intentions to the enemy like a parade! Constantine is no fool; his command in Epirus proves he is a cunning adversary!"

Von Riedel's fingers tapped heavily on the area on the map where the Greek army was assembled.

"He's trying to lure us in! He wants us to put all our reserves, all our eggs in one basket! His main force is definitely elsewhere!"

Every word von Riedl uttered was like a red-hot steel needle, piercing Edheim Pasha's already sensitive and fragile nerves.

To him, the German warning sounded less like a well-intentioned reminder and more like a condescending mockery.

They mocked his incompetence and the stupidity of the Ottoman army.

The burning flames of shame and resentment had long since consumed his reason.

He was fed up with these Prussians' meddling! By what right did they use a few flawed theories to deny the centuries-old war experience of our Ottoman warriors?

He was fed up with being manipulated by a Greek kid in his early twenties!

He needed a victory, a resounding victory, a victory won in the Turkish way! To prove to the Sultan, to the world, and most importantly, to himself, that he, Ederhem Pasha, was still the lion of the Ottoman Empire! Not a toothless old dog!

"That's enough!"

Edhem Pasha let out an angry roar and slammed his hand on the table, causing the ink bottle on the table to jump up and spill a stain.

He abruptly stood up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on von Riedel.

"Major! I'm reminding you, I'm the commander-in-chief here! Not you!"

"The Greeks are nothing but a bunch of cowards who dare to boast only because they have a few new cannons! Their soldiers are nothing but farmers and shepherds who have never seen blood! When they actually use their own flesh and blood to storm our fortified positions, they will understand what real war is!"

Von Riedel opened his mouth as if to say something more, but seeing Edheim Pasha's almost frantic expression, he wisely kept quiet.

He knew that saying another word would only provoke a stronger rebellious attitude in the Pasha.

He could only watch helplessly as this proud lion walked step by step into the trap tailor-made for him.

Edheim Pasha ignored the German advisors, turned around, took his command sword from the wall, and drew it halfway out, the blade gleaming coldly in the light.

"Relay my orders!"

His voice echoed throughout the command post.

"Order! The Imperial Fourth Army stationed in Caterini, immediately move south to reinforce the central defenses!"

"Order! The Imperial 6th Cavalry Division stationed in Kozani, abandon outer perimeter defenses and move towards Larissa to prepare for a flanking counterattack!"

He paused, took a deep breath, and gave the last, and most fatal, order.

"Move my Imperial Guard reserves, those two infantry regiments transferred from the Sultan's personal guard, up there! Deploy them at the heart of the defensive line! I want to prepare the most magnificent tomb there for that arrogant Greek crown prince!"

The order was quickly written down by the adjutant, then stamped with the commander-in-chief's seal, and sent to the various units by messengers.

Edheim Pasha stubbornly issued these orders.

He staked his last trump card—his elite troops, the best-equipped and most tenacious in battle, which symbolized the glory of the empire—on this gamble.

He wanted to defeat Constantine on the battlefield Constantine had chosen, in the way Constantine expected, in a fair and square manner.

The massive Ottoman army began an unprecedented large-scale mobilization.

Legions, one after another, like sluggish behemoths, left their original defensive zones and slowly moved toward the designated "battleground" in the center of Thersauri.

The entire frontline defense deployment was left riddled with holes due to this large-scale troop withdrawal.

Especially in the rugged northern mountains, the already weak defenses are now practically non-existent.

Nobody noticed.

Nobody cares.

All eyes were drawn to the "battle of the century" about to unfold on the central plains.

This blindfolded imperial behemoth, as it charged toward the red cloth before it, unknowingly exposed its most vulnerable and delicate neck—the supply line that sustained the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers on the front lines—completely to the darkness and the hunter's already sharpened blade.