novelSusiti Chapter 324 Mediterranean, the Lonely Chapter Arrives
Chapter 324 Mediterranean, the Lonely Chapter Arrives
Chapter 324 The Mediterranean, I'm Back
Three days after the signing of the Treaty of London, the morning mist at the mouth of the Thames had not yet dissipated.
The armored cruiser "George Evrov" let out a long, resonant blast of its horn, announcing its departure. Two brand-new destroyers, like loyal hounds, guarded the cruiser's flanks, their sterns slicing through the grey water and stirring up white spray.
Constantine stood on the bridge, the sea breeze billowing the hem of his dark coat. He didn't look back at the city shrouded in gloom. London, along with that thrilling card game, was completely left behind.
Ahead lay the Mediterranean Sea. And his own expanse of clear blue sky.
"Your Highness, everything has been arranged in London." Venizelos walked to his side, the sea breeze ruffling his meticulously styled hair. The Cretan politician handed him a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes behind his glasses filled with unprecedented conviction.
"Our diplomats will remain to handle the subsequent demarcation and asset transfer. They will scrutinize every single detail, leaving the British no room for maneuver."
Constantine took the coffee and sipped it. The scalding liquid slid down his throat, dispelling the morning chill.
Venizelos, looking at Constantine's calm profile, finally couldn't suppress his shock. "Forging a secret Russian treaty to force the British to concede—Your Highness, this move is a classic case study worthy of being included in any diplomatic textbook. I still recall the Marquess of Salisbury's helpless expression before you."
“That wasn’t my doing.” Constantine turned to look at him. “It was Greece’s growing national strength, the fleet that was taking shape behind us, and the determination of every one of our citizens that forced him to make those concessions. I was simply giving Greece the voice it was rightfully entitled to speak for.”
He did not bask in the joy of victory; instead, he shifted the topic, his gaze already fixed on the more distant future.
"Mr. Venizelos, once I return to Athens, I will need your assistance in pushing forward a new bill."
"Please give your instructions."
"I want to establish a National Industrial Standards Committee." Constantine's voice was steady and powerful. "Our future industrial products, from the size of a screw to the width of a railway track, must all have a unified, mandatory standard."
He held up two fingers.
"This serves two purposes. First, to lay the most solid foundation for our upcoming full-scale industrialization. Second," he paused, a glint in his eyes that Venizelos couldn't comprehend, "to pave the way for the horseless carriage in my mind."
"A carriage without horses?" Venizelos was taken aback.
“Yes.” Constantine gazed at the distant horizon. “A steel machine that doesn’t need horses, that can run on burning oil. It will change the nature of warfare, it will change everyone’s way of life. And I want Greece to be the first country to roll it across the entire nation. Mr. Venizelos, imagine the despair our enemies will feel when our soldiers can ride these machines from Athens to the Thessalian border in a single day?”
Venizelos tried to imagine the scene by following his description, and felt a surge of warmth welling up from the bottom of his heart. What he saw was no longer a strange machine, but a brand new, powerful, and terrifying Greece.
He bowed deeply to Constantine.
"I understand, Your Highness. I will ensure that Parliament passes this bill as quickly as possible."
As the two were talking, Alexandros Dimitriopoulos appeared silently behind Constantine like a shadow.
"Your Highness."
Constantine turned around.
"How's that document coming along?"
"All traces have been erased." Alexandros's voice was low, like a whisper in the wind. "The London club had a small fire last night; the cloakroom and ledgers were destroyed. Our creditors" have taken the money and left England, never to return.
"Where is the Russian?"
"Vasily Orlov, due to the 'gambling scandal,' was secretly taken away last night by a carriage from the Russian embassy and sent directly to Dover. He will await a cargo ship bound for St. Petersburg and a trial by a military court." Alexandros's report was concise and efficient. "According to information from our informant within the British Foreign Office, the final investigation report from 'The Hive' is out. They characterize the entire incident as a clumsy conspiracy by Russian intelligence to sow discord between Britain and Greece." Greece has perfectly extricated itself from this affair.
Constantine nodded.
This was the result he wanted. Dead men tell no tales. He wanted the British to hold onto that "evidence," leading to mutual suspicion between them and the Russians.
They were wary of each other. Greece, meanwhile, quietly withdrew, taking with it the richest spoils.
The fleet passed through the Bay of Biscay and entered the Atlantic Ocean. A warm southerly wind blew, carrying the salty scent unique to the Mediterranean. A communications officer hurried up to the bridge and handed Constantine a telegram that had just been received.
The telegram came from Athens.
Constantine opened it. There were no military or national affairs reports, no political reports. There was only a short, neat sentence written in German.
"Connie, the waves are high, take care of yourself. The children are all doing well and are learning to call you 'Daddy.' Love, Sofia."
He stood on the bridge for a long time, holding that thin telegram. The setting sun cast his shadow long across the teak deck. On the sea, the afterglow of the setting sun scattered a patch of gold.
As the fleet approached the entrance to the Strait of Gibraltar, the lookout sounded the alarm. A British patrol fleet flying the Union Jack appeared on the horizon. Four warships, in neat battle formation, headed straight for the "George Evrov".
The atmosphere in the Greek fleet suddenly became tense. Sailors rushed to their gun positions, the dark muzzles of the cannons turning towards the uninvited guests.
The distance between the two fleets was constantly closing. Through binoculars, they could even see the expressionless faces of the British sailors on the other side's decks.
Just as the two sides were about to enter the critical point of each other's main gun range, a string of signal flags suddenly rose from the signal mast of the British flagship.
The captain of the "George Evrov," a seasoned naval veteran, was stunned after deciphering the flag signals. He lowered his binoculars, turned, and reported to Constantine in an incredulous tone, a mixture of excitement and elation: "Your Highness, the British—the British are saluting you!"
Before he could finish speaking...
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A dull, resounding boom came from the British fleet opposite. It wasn't a cannonball, it was a salute!
The fleet representing the British Empire's maritime supremacy made no provocative moves. They fired a twenty-one-gun salute to the Greek crown prince's flagship, according to the highest naval protocol.
This is recognition from the British Empire.
This is the most direct recognition from opponents at the poker table for a newcomer who has earned their respect.
Constantine raised his binoculars and saw the British fleet commander, also holding binoculars, on the bridge of the British flagship. The other man lowered his binoculars, pointed them in his direction, and gave a standard military salute.
Constantine paused for a moment, then gave the order.
"Order the entire fleet to fire its cannons in return."
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The Greek fleet's salute, with the same force, resounded throughout the strait.
The two fleets passed each other.
Constantine lowered his binoculars, no longer glancing at the departing British fleet. His gaze turned to the other side of the Channel, to the azure Mediterranean Sea.
"Command the fleet to accelerate." His voice was calm, but it carried an undeniable power.
"The entire fleet will conduct a live-fire exercise. Target: Due east, 10,000 meters away, simulated enemy ship!"
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The order was quickly relayed.
Moments later, the brand-new Krupp 305mm main guns mounted on the "George Evrov" roared deafeningly!
A massive burst of orange-red flame erupted from the cannon's muzzle. The armor-piercing projectile, weighing hundreds of kilograms, whistled through the air, tracing a perfect parabola across the sea before landing precisely on the target area ten thousand meters away!
A towering column of water shot up from the ground!
The booming cannons proclaimed that the Greek navy, not only in diplomacy but also in strength, was no longer what it used to be.
Constantine stood amidst the earth-shattering roar, the hem of his coat fluttering in the blast waves from the cannon.
He gazed eastward, with only one thought in his mind.
Athens.
I am back.