1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 260 A Forced March in the Dark

While all of Europe's attention was focused on the dusty plains of Thessaly.

While Edhem Pasha and his generals were eagerly preparing for the Greeks' "battle of honor,"

Ioannis Metaxas and his newly named First Mountain Hunter Division had long since vanished from everyone's sight.

After capturing Epirus, they did not rest, nor did they participate in the grand "armed parade".

After leaving one-third of their army to organize defenses, they set off with a force that resembled a band of true mountain demons, embarking on another arduous and extraordinary forced march along the rugged and steep northern Pindus Mountains in the pitch-black night.

The hardships of the march exceeded everyone's imagination.

There is no road here.

There were only sharp pebbles, slippery moss, and bottomless ravines.

In the pitch-black night, the soldiers could only rely on the faint starlight in the night sky and the heavy breathing of their comrades ahead to determine their direction.

To ensure that no light is emitted, the lighting of any torches or oil lamps is strictly prohibited throughout the entire process.

One wrong move and you could fall off a cliff and be smashed to pieces.

Each soldier carried over thirty kilograms of equipment and supplies, the heavy burden making every step feel like walking on cotton. Exhaustion washed over them like a tidal wave, almost swallowing their last shred of willpower.

But the entire team maintained a formidable level of discipline.

No one spoke, no one complained.

In the silent mountains, only the heavy rustling of footsteps on the gravel and the soldiers' labored yet still labored breathing could be heard.

They were the elite soldiers personally selected by Metaxus from the entire army, the most resilient and hardworking soldiers in Greece.

They believed only one thing: this taciturn general was leading them to an unprecedented victory.

During a short rest, the team stopped in a sheltered mountain hollow.

A young lieutenant, unable to contain his confusion, leaned close to Metaxus and asked in a low voice, "General, where...where are we going? Shouldn't we be supporting His Highness's general offensive? Why are we heading north?"

Metaxas did not answer immediately.

He took out a simple map wrapped in oilcloth from his pocket and unfolded it on it by the faint moonlight.

He pointed to a small, inconspicuous town on the map, far behind the Ottoman defenses.

The town is called "Elassona".

Then, in that calm and even voice, he addressed the lieutenant and all the officers around him who had their ears pricked up:

"The final assault is here."

"However, we were the ones who fired the first shot."

In a valley twenty kilometers from the town of Erasona, scouts from the Jäger Division, like ghosts, silently captured an Ottoman logistics patrol. Through separate interrogations and intimidation of the prisoners, Metaxas obtained fragments of crucial intelligence: one prisoner confirmed that Erasona was the largest supply transit point; another inadvertently revealed that due to the southward redeployment of the main force, only a battalion of the old, weak, and disabled remained in the garrison; and a squad leader, under duress and inducement, drew a rough sketch from his memory of the town's outer defenses and main warehouse area.

The intelligence wasn't perfect, and even differed from pre-war intelligence. But for Metaxus, that was enough. He looked at the sketch in his hand, a flicker of fervor appearing in his cold eyes. Prince Constantine had torn open a wound for him, and he would use his bayonet to widen it into a fatal one!

The opportunity His Highness Constantine created for him was even more perfect than he had imagined!

He immediately summoned all officers of company rank and above.

In the cold night wind, he issued the final battle orders.

"The First Battalion is responsible for cutting off all telegraph lines connecting the town to the outside world and blocking the road to the north. No one is to be allowed to escape alive!"

"Second Battalion, raid the ammunition depot and shell storage on the east side! Remember, do not use grenades, use bayonets and silent weapons to take out the sentries! After taking control of the storage, plant the explosives inside and wait for my signal!"

"The Third Battalion, personally led by me! Our objective is the grain depot and armory on the west side!"

He raised his head, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping across the faces of every officer.

He recalled the look in Prince Constantine's eyes when he pointed to the map in Athens and said, "This is yours." It was an unquestionable trust, a heavy weight of entrusting a corner of the nation's fate to his hands. He, Ioannis Metaxas, a soldier of commoner origin, had sought nothing more than this in his life.

"Gentlemen."

His voice was clear and cold in the night wind.

"His Highness has given us the opportunity to make history."

"Tonight, we will light the grandest fireworks display for the Ottoman Empire!"

Before dawn, in the darkest hour, the town of Erasona still slumbers.

The soldiers of the mountain hunter division carefully smeared their faces and arms with black coal ash mixed with lard; the cold, greasy sensation made them even more alert. The air was filled with the damp smell of earth and the faint stench emanating from the distant livestock sheds. In the distance, a dog barked once or twice from the town, then fell silent again. One soldier nervously licked his chapped lips, tasting a hint of blood—his own.

They inspected their rifles, silently attaching bayonets. The faint sound of the latches engaging was the only melody at that moment.

Like a group of silent death gods, they split into three groups and silently infiltrated from the darkness, surrounding the supply base that was still asleep and held the lifeline of the entire Ottoman Empire's front line.

Dawn is approaching. And the feast of death is about to begin.