1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 45 The King's Rejection! The Howling of the Old Powers!

Metaxas walked down the red-carpeted corridor of the palace, clutching the brand-new draft budget report that still smelled of fresh ink. He felt as if he were walking on a hot iron plate, not a carpet.

"Tear up that riddled-with-problems, toilet paper-like annual budget report from the Army Department. I need a new one by noon tomorrow."

"A budget that...can win the war."

The Crown Prince's order was like a branding iron, deeply imprinted in his mind.

The title of Chief Attendant-in-Arms, which sounded incredibly prestigious, became a Damocles' sword hanging over his head within the first hour of taking office. He had no office of his own, no subordinates, not even a single messenger at his command. All he possessed was a pass to enter and leave the palace, and the heavy trust placed in him by the Crown Prince.

The first thing he needed to do was go to the War Department and obtain all the original lists of military equipment inventory, personnel rosters, and detailed logistical expenditures. Only with these could he expose the massive abscess in that budget report.

When Metaxas appeared at the entrance of the Army Department building in his brand-new sergeant uniform, the guards at the door did not even salute him. Instead, they scrutinized him with a scrutinizing and somewhat contemptuous look until he presented the Crown Prince's handwritten order, at which point they lazily allowed him to pass.

Inside the building, the atmosphere was even colder.

Every officer who saw him, regardless of rank, seemed to instantly become blind. They either walked briskly with their heads down or turned to talk and laugh loudly with those around them, completely ignoring his presence. An invisible, hostile wall hung in the air.

He walked into the Army Archives.

"I need to review last year's artillery maintenance records and ammunition consumption lists," Metaxas said to the major in charge of the files.

The major slowly put down his coffee cup, glanced at him with a forced smile.

"Oh? It's Metaxas... Lieutenant? No, he's now His Excellency the Attendant-in-Arms." He deliberately emphasized the word "Lieutenant-in-Arms." "Unfortunately, those files were just sent to the logistics warehouse a few days ago for the annual inventory. You may have to wait a month or two."

Metaxas's heart sank. "What about the pay records for active duty personnel?"

"That's even more unfortunate," the major said, shrugging, his sarcasm undisguised. "Salary payments are handled by the finance officer, and our finance officer suddenly fell ill this morning and is resting at home. Who knows when he'll be back?"

The entire Army Department turned into a slippery behemoth, using the most "legitimate" reasons to shut him out.

The news arrived even faster than in Metaxus.

The crown prince bypassed the Ministry of War and appointed an artillery lieutenant with no experience as chief aide-de-camp. This news exploded like a bomb in both the military and political circles of Athens.

General Nicholas Zolbass, the Minister of War and a senator who had retained his position during the Greco-Turkish War by "heroic retreat," rushed into King George I's office immediately.

"Your Majesty!" His white beard trembled with rage. "This is an insult to the entire Greek army! How dare a greenhorn, a bookworm who only knows how to talk the talk, place himself above all the generals with illustrious war achievements!"

"His Highness the Crown Prince's decision completely violates the military's tradition of seniority-based promotion! This will dishearten all the soldiers who have shed blood for their country!"

King George I was leisurely pruning a pot of roses from Germany. He didn't even turn around, but simply said, "Zorbas, the chief aide-de-camp, is Connie's personal advisor, responsible for providing him with personal military advice. This is the Crown Prince's private matter and not a formal military appointment."

"But he interfered with the budget!" General Zorbas raised his voice. "He wants to redo the budget! This is a challenge to the authority of the War Department!"

King George I finally put down the small scissors in his hand, turned around, and looked at the excited general with a calm expression.

"My son thinks the budget you made is a pile of garbage."

"Then he needs someone to help him write something that isn't garbage."

"If you don't want to be humiliated, you should have submitted a budget report that would satisfy my son from the beginning. Instead, you're coming to me crying and complaining like this."

General Zorbas's face instantly turned a deep purplish-red. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word. The king's words were like a slap across his face, burning hot.

"Go back, General." George I picked up the scissors again. "Instead of wasting time here, go back and think about how to do things better next time. Or, hope that Metaxas won't write that report."

Zorbas walked out of the palace, looking dejected.

In Athens's most prestigious officers' club, the atmosphere was far more "lively." A group of bloated generals and field officers sat together, puffing on cigarettes and laughing loudly.

"Have you heard? That Metaxas spent the whole day getting turned away at the Army Department! Hahaha, running around like a headless fly!"

"Serves him right! A clown who went to Germany for a few years to try and curry favor with the Crown Prince, does he even dare to dictate our budget?"

In the crowd, General Pavlos Papageorghiu, the division commander, sat in the main seat, holding a glass of whiskey, a disdainful sneer on his face. He was a typical old-fashioned soldier, burly and loud-voiced, who admired Napoleonic courage and charging, and utterly despised the "rigid" rules and regulations of the German Military Academy.

"A bookworm, the Crown Prince is still too young," Papagiorou thought to himself. "He doesn't understand at all that war is an art, a contest of courage! It relies on the swift charge of cavalry, the fearless advance of infantry phalanxes! Victory belongs to the brave! Not to be calculated using those boring mathematical formulas! That kid, has he ever smelled gunpowder? Has he ever seen blood? Has he ever commanded a platoon of soldiers on the battlefield?"

"General Pavlos, tell me, what exactly does His Highness the Crown Prince see in that boy?" someone asked obsequiously.

Papagiorou took a big gulp of his drink and said gruffly, "What else could it be? Novelty! Like a wealthy lady who likes to keep a little pet she's never seen before! Once she gets tired of it, she'll naturally kick it aside!"

"Well said! The general is wise!"

"Come, let's drink to the general's brilliance!"

The club was filled with a cheerful atmosphere once again.

Night falls.

Metaxus dragged his weary body back to the palace, empty-handed. He hesitated for a long time outside Constantine's study before finally pushing open the door.

"Your Highness, I..." He lowered his head in shame, "I failed to obtain any useful data."

Constantine was sitting behind his desk, flipping through another report that had just been sent from Andreas's office, without even looking up.

"As expected."

Metaxas was taken aback.

Constantine put down the report and looked up at him.

"If they handed everything over to you so easily, they wouldn't be oligarchs and warlords. You're facing a wall. A wall made of interests, tradition, and stupidity."

"What should I do?" Metaxus's voice was tinged with despair.

"I put you in this position not so you could beg them for data," Constantine stood up and walked over to him. "I want you to use your own methods to dig it out and calculate it!"

He pointed to Metaxas's head.

"Professor Andreas, you can deduce the flow of funds for an entire smuggling empire without any firsthand data. You, someone who can calculate the trajectory of artillery shells, surely can calculate the true cost of an army?"

Constantine's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a bolt of lightning, cleaving through the fog in Metaxas's heart.

Yup!

Why would he bother with fake data? He could calculate it himself!

How much bread and water does a soldier need every day? How much maintenance does a rifle require for every hundred shots? The losses and costs of transporting a Krupp cannon from Germany to the port of Athens, and then by mules to the border fortress, can all be calculated using mathematical models!

He doesn't need their data! He only needs publicly available information on equipment models, troop organization, and deployment locations!

"I understand, Your Highness!" Metalaxia's eyes lit up again.

"Very good." Constantine nodded in satisfaction. "However, before that, there's one more thing you need to do."

Alexandros then promptly handed over a gold-embossed invitation.

"Three days later, a banquet will be held at the royal palace to celebrate the signing of the agreement with Britain. All of Greece's military and political leaders, as well as foreign envoys, will be present."

Constantine's gaze fell on Metaxas's face.

"That night, you were standing right behind me."

"I want everyone to see what kind of people I, Constantine, have chosen."