Morning over the Aegean Sea was cold and clear.
The sun had only begun to rise above the water when the Greek ships moved slowly across the calm sea. Smoke from their funnels stretched behind them in long gray trails.
On the bridge of the armored cruiser Averof stood Admiral Pavlos Kountouriotis.
Several officers watched the horizon through binoculars.
Suddenly a shout came from the lookout high on the mast.
—"Ships on the horizon!"
The officers immediately raised their glasses.
Dark silhouettes were emerging from the morning haze.
One officer spoke quietly.
—"The Ottoman squadron."
Kountouriotis took the binoculars and studied the distant ships for a long moment.
Then he spoke calmly.
—"Signal the fleet."
Signalmen quickly began raising flags.
Battle alarms rang across the Greek ships.
Sailors ran toward the guns.
Gunners opened breech mechanisms and lifted heavy shells into the chambers. Turrets slowly turned toward the enemy.
On one of the Ottoman battleships an officer also watched through binoculars.
—"Greek ships approaching."
The commander replied calmly.
—"Prepare the guns."
Sailors took their positions beside the cannons.
Loading crews began passing shells forward.
A few minutes later a Turkish gun fired.
The thunder rolled across the sea.
The shell fell into the water ahead of a Greek ship.
A huge column of water rose into the air.
On the bridge of Averof an officer said quietly.
—"Short."
Kountouriotis answered.
—"Return fire."
Greek guns fired almost together.
The heavy turrets recoiled after the blast.
Shells flew across the water.
A few seconds later they splashed around the Ottoman ships.
The spotting officer shouted.
—"Short!"
The artillery officer responded quickly.
—"Raise the sights two hundred meters."
A minute later the guns fired again.
This time one shell exploded close to the side of a Turkish battleship.
—"Close!"
The gunners began loading again.
—"Shell!"
—"Breech closed!"
—"Fire!"
Another volley roared over the sea.
The battle continued.
Shells fell around the ships.
Sometimes water rose beside the hulls and splashed across the decks.
On one Ottoman ship a shell struck the superstructure.
The explosion burst above the deck and fragments of metal scattered in every direction.
Sailors rushed toward the fire hoses.
On the bridge of Averof, Kountouriotis continued watching the battle.
Finally he spoke.
—"Full speed."
In the engine room the engines increased their power.
The cruiser began accelerating.
The artillery officer looked toward the admiral.
—"We are moving ahead of the other ships."
Kountouriotis nodded.
—"Yes."
Averof surged forward and passed the rest of the Greek ships.
Now its guns fired at the Ottoman ships from another direction.
—"Target the leading battleship."
—"Load!"
—"Ready!"
—"Fire!"
Shells struck toward the Turkish ship.
A moment later the observer shouted.
—"Hit!"
An explosion burst near the bridge.
Smoke rose above the deck.
Turkish sailors ran toward the flames.
Another Greek shell struck the stern of a different battleship.
Metal shrieked.
Fragments flew across the deck.
On the bridge of the Ottoman flagship the commander spoke firmly.
—"Turn back toward the Dardanelles."
The ships began turning away.
On Averof an officer reported.
—"They are retreating."
Kountouriotis watched through the binoculars for several seconds.
Then he lowered them.
—"Let them go."
The officer looked surprised.
—"We will not pursue?"
The admiral shook his head.
—"No."
He looked across the sea.
—"They will not leave the straits again."
He added quietly.
—"The Aegean Sea is ours now."
Several hours later the Greek ships moved slowly across the water.
The smell of smoke and powder still hung over the decks.
Sailors inspected damage.
Carpenters were already repairing holes in the metal plating.
On one ship a doctor bandaged the arm of a wounded sailor.
—"Shrapnel."
—"Will he live?"
—"Yes."
On the bridge of Averof the officers studied a map.
One of them said.
—"The Ottoman fleet has returned to the Dardanelles."
Kountouriotis nodded.
—"And it will remain there."
Another officer asked.
—"Is this the end of the naval war?"
The admiral remained silent for a moment.
Then he replied.
—"It is the end of their fleet."
He pointed to the map.
—"Now the Ottoman army in Europe will receive no reinforcements."
The officers exchanged glances.
One of them said quietly.
—"Then the Balkans will decide the war."
Kountouriotis looked out over the sea.
—"Yes."
He added calmly.
—"And they already are."
Several days later cold rain fell over Constantinople.
Water ran down the stone streets and gathered in shallow puddles along the sidewalks. Carriages moved slowly through the mud while pedestrians hurried along under dark umbrellas.
But inside the Ministry of War no one paid attention to the weather.
Officers moved quickly through the corridors.
Couriers arrived every hour carrying telegrams from the front.
In one of the large rooms several generals stood around a table covered with a map of the Balkans.
The Minister of War held a fresh report in his hand.
He spoke briefly.
—"Confirmed."
One of the generals asked.
—"Confirmed what?"
The minister placed the document on the table.
—"Our fleet has returned to the Dardanelles."
Silence spread across the room.
A staff officer spoke cautiously.
—"Then the Aegean Sea is lost."
The minister nodded.
—"Yes."
He moved his hand across the map.
—"We can no longer transfer troops from Asia Minor."
One of the generals said quietly.
—"Then the armies in the Balkans will receive no reinforcements."
Another officer added.
—"And the Bulgarians continue the siege of Adrianople."
For a moment the minister remained silent.
Then he asked.
—"Where is the army now?"
The chief of staff pointed to the map.
—"Most units are retreating toward the Chataldja line."
One general lifted his head.
—"The final defensive line before the capital."
The minister slowly nodded.
—"Exactly."
The room fell silent again.
Rain tapped against the windows.
Finally one of the senior generals spoke.
—"We must consider a ceasefire."
Several officers exchanged uneasy glances.
Another general asked cautiously.
—"After all the losses?"
The first man answered calmly.
—"Otherwise we may lose the capital."
The minister looked again at the map.
Red marks representing the armies of the Balkan League were slowly moving toward Thrace.
He spoke quietly.
—"Prepare a proposal for negotiations."
Several weeks later representatives of the European powers gathered in London.
A long table stood in the center of the conference hall.
Maps of the Balkans were spread across its surface.
Diplomats slowly took their seats.
The Ottoman delegation looked tired.
The representatives of the Balkan states appeared confident.
A British diplomat opened the meeting.
—"Gentlemen, Europe hopes this war will soon end."
The Serbian representative spoke first.
—"Our armies liberated lands that had been under Ottoman rule for centuries."
The Bulgarian diplomat added calmly.
—"And we expect a fair division of those territories."
The Greek representative said.
—"Our fleet controls the Aegean Sea."
He paused for a moment.
—"The Ottoman Empire can no longer hold the Balkans."
The Ottoman representative replied quietly.
—"We are ready to discuss peace."
But tension slowly grew in the room.
The diplomats began arguing about borders.
The Serbian delegation pointed toward Macedonia on the map.
The Bulgarian diplomat frowned.
—"Those territories were promised to Bulgaria."
The Serbian representative answered.
—"Our armies liberated them."
The Greek diplomat added.
—"And the Greek army as well."
Silence returned to the room.
The British diplomat studied the map carefully.
Then he spoke quietly.
—"It seems, gentlemen, that ending this war may be more difficult than we expected."
After several weeks of negotiations in London the mood among the Balkan delegations slowly began to change.
At the beginning of the conference the representatives of the Balkan League had spoken as allies.
Now disagreements appeared more and more often.
In one of the conference rooms the Serbian and Bulgarian delegations gathered for a separate meeting.
A large map of Macedonia lay on the table.
The Serbian representative pointed to the central part of the map.
—"Our armies occupied this territory."
The Bulgarian diplomat answered calmly.
—"According to the treaty this region should belong to Bulgaria."
The Serbian representative slowly shook his head.
—"When we signed that treaty no one expected the war to unfold like this."
He moved his hand across the map.
—"The Serbian army liberated Skopje. Our troops marched across most of Macedonia."
The Bulgarian diplomat frowned.
—"A treaty is still a treaty."
The Serbian representative replied coldly.
—"The treaty was signed against the Ottoman Empire."
He paused.
—"Now the situation has changed."
A heavy silence filled the room.
The Bulgarian diplomat spoke quietly.
—"You wish to revise the borders?"
The Serbian representative looked directly at him.
—"We want a fair division."
In the spring of 1913 a closed meeting of the Bulgarian government took place in Sofia.
Ministers and senior generals gathered in a large room.
A map of the Balkans lay across the table.
One of the generals pointed to Macedonia.
—"These territories must belong to us."
One of the ministers spoke cautiously.
—"But Serbia refuses to hand them over."
The general answered sharply.
—"Because they believe themselves to be the victors."
Another officer added.
—"But it was our army that defeated the Ottomans in Thrace."
He pointed to the map.
—"Adrianople was taken by the Bulgarian army."
The Minister of Foreign Affairs spoke quietly.
—"And if the negotiations fail…"
He paused.
—"What then?"
The general answered without hesitation.
—"Then we will resolve the question by force."
Several ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them said quietly.
—"That would mean war against our former allies."
The general shrugged.
—"The Balkans have always been like this."
By the summer of 1913 tension between the former allies had become visible even along the borders.
Serbian and Bulgarian troops were now positioned close to each other.
Sometimes small firefights broke out between patrols.
Officers tried to avoid open conflict.
But the atmosphere was growing more tense every day.
In one Serbian headquarters an officer spoke to his commander.
—"Bulgarian units are strengthening their positions."
The commander looked down at the map.
—"They are preparing."
—"Preparing for what?"
The commander answered briefly.
—"For another war."
Meanwhile in Belgrade Skoropadsky once again stood near the window of the Russian mission building.
Fresh telegrams lay on the table before him.
He slowly read a report from Sofia.
Then he placed the paper down.
A diplomat entered the room.
—"Any news?"
Skoropadsky answered calmly.
—"The Balkan League is breaking apart."
The diplomat frowned.
—"So the war is over?"
Skoropadsky slowly shook his head.
—"No."
He pointed toward the map of the Balkans.
—"The first war has ended."
He paused for a moment.
—"Now the second one is about to begin."