From Corsica to the Fourth Rome

"Tit for tooth!"

"Blood for blood!"

The knights and soldiers responded to Patriarch Giotto's roar with waves of irregular but powerful sounds.

The cold raindrops hit them, but the boiling blood in their veins prevented them from feeling the slightest coldness or retreat.

The Royal Navy's naval guns are still roaring. The entire Griffin squadron has nearly 700 naval guns in total. The spire of the fortress on the west side of the port has been turned into a string of rubble under the bombardment of artillery fire, falling into the boundless Mediterranean Sea, splashing. A high wave rises.

Several other major castles were also unable to survive this overwhelming firepower, especially those near the coast. After several rounds of bombardment, their outer surfaces were already covered with ferocious bullet holes and cracks.

Fortunately, these stone buildings that have experienced vicissitudes of life were designed with a certain degree of artillery bombardment in mind, so they would not collapse under the firepower of British warships in a short period of time.

In addition to the artillery shells concentrated directly on the castle fortress, more artillery fire fell into the urban area of ​​Valletta Port after drawing a parabola in the air.

The twelve-pound shells penetrated the thatch and wooden roofs built by the citizens with almost no obstruction.

Cannonballs fell into houses in the city one after another. Citizens were killed or injured almost every second by the rocks thrown up by the shells.

The most unlucky person was directly hit in the torso by a British lead artillery shell, and a large bloody hole was completely penetrated in his chest. He struggled in unimaginable pain for more than a minute before dying with hatred.

The city was full of citizens crying, either because of fear, because of pain, or because relatives and friends were seriously injured and they were calling for doctors.

These innocent and fragile people could only cry sadly in front of the flames of war that suddenly ignited. Even this sad and wronged cry was quickly drowned in the heavy rain and the roar of naval guns.

After nearly a hundred rounds of bombardment, the entire city of Valletta Port is close to a ruins. Shells, rubble, broken beams and injured and crying citizens can be seen everywhere, even in the strongest fortress. It was already riddled with holes.

At this time, the Griffin detachment also discovered through offshore reconnaissance that most of the troops on Malta Island were concentrated in the area around the port.

Under the command of Colonel Mohan, the Royal Navy warships began to gradually shrink the encirclement net toward the port, and at the same time poured overwhelming lead bullets and shotgun shells into the area, trying to use fire suppression to cover the landing troops.

"These damn Brits! Devils who deserve to go to hell!"

Archbishop Giotto was choked by the smoke and dust from a lead bullet that landed thirty feet in front of him. He coughed repeatedly. He cursed and looked around. This once prosperous port was now a hell on earth. Those who were once familiar with it were The shops and houses have been turned into piles of unfamiliar debris.

Seeing his hometown where he was born and raised turn into such a purgatory, Archimandrite Giotto could not help but clenched his fists tightly and did not loosen his grip even when his nails were embedded in his flesh.

In order to pursue the destruction of personnel, British warships switched to using shotguns to bomb the port area. Although the soldiers were able to get some cover with the complex and intricate buildings around the dock, under the rain of bullets, they were still bombarded all the time. At every moment, knights and soldiers were carried to the rear for first aid treatment while wailing in pain.

Grosso poked his head out from a semi-underground building similar to a bunker, observed the situation on the sea, turned to Lawrence and Giotto and shouted:

"It looks like the British are going to launch a landing attack."

On the sea, more than twenty two-masted sailing ships were heading towards the dock area at full speed under the wind, with a speed of nearly forty knots.

This special landing ship abandoned all artillery arrangements just to be able to carry more Marine soldiers for beach landing.

Archimandrite Giotto squinted his eyes to observe the galloping sailing ship on the sea. After a moment, he immediately frowned and said:

"The full crew of a clipper of this type is about 150 people, which means that the British landing force must be at least 3,000 people."

"Damn it, their commander is really crazy." Grosso's mental estimate was consistent with Archbishop Giotto's, and he couldn't help but spit and curse:

"The number of marines in a squadron is definitely less than 3,000. They probably used a lot of sailors on the ship to make up the number. It seems that the British are determined to take Malta."

Major Serurier couldn't help but look worried while listening to the analysis of the two men. In his opinion, the three thousand British soldiers with absolute firepower advantage might not really be able to penetrate the defense line composed of knights and soldiers.

Lawrence just listened silently, took out his pocket watch and looked at the time without saying anything.

Archimandrite Giotto snorted coldly, brushed off the rainwater on the blade with his fingers, stared at the speeding sailing ship and gritted his teeth:

"Their ambition to seize Malta must not exceed our determination to defend the land of our ancestors. I will let all these lemon guys bleed and throw them into the sea, so that they can use their blood to atone for the Maltese's sins."

The landing and attacking clippers were still approaching rapidly, and according to visual inspection, they were less than three thousand yards away from the dock.

Grosso frowned slightly and turned to look at Serurier:

"Major, we have to let the soldiers go forward. We only have a few minutes. We must not let the British easily occupy the beachhead."

Major Serurier leaned out of the bunker, gritted his teeth and glanced at the soldiers who were shivering in various bunkers to avoid the bombardment.

After all, soldiers are also made of flesh and blood. When they hear this thunderous naval gun salvo, and when they see the bloody wounded soldiers being carried out of the battlefield one by one, they will inevitably let the fearful devil take advantage of them. , occupying their hearts.

This is why the morale-impacting effect of artillery in the eighteenth century far exceeded its killing effect.

The soldiers of the Corsican Defense Forces were basically able to maintain order and obey orders under the heavy artillery fire, because their beloved Governor Bonaparte was also in this deadly hail of bullets with them.

The two thousand French soldiers seemed to be somewhat demoralized under the continuous bombardment. Major Serulier also keenly noticed this. In this case, if they were ordered to go out as the main force according to the original plan, Taking bunkers to face the British on empty beaches and docks would undoubtedly make the already low morale worse.

Seeing that Serurier didn't reply, Grosso and Archbishop Giotto followed the major's gaze and looked at the soldiers hiding behind the bunker. They instantly understood what Major Serurier meant.

"Major! Monsignor Bonaparte!"

Archimandrite Giotto stepped out of the bunker without any hesitation, turned to look at Serurier and Lawrence, his tone was full of determination:

"After all, the land of the Knights here is the ancestral land that all knights have sworn to protect. It is only right that we should shed the first blood on this land. This time the defense will be the main force of the Knights. Please also ask. The two commanded the troops to provide support on the flanks."

After finishing speaking, before Laurence and Serurier could say anything, Archbishop Giotto raised his shield in front, without retreating a step, and walked directly towards the sea in the face of the cannon fire, shouting no less than The roaring war cry of naval guns:

"All knights, charge with me! These heretical devils trample our brothers and sisters with cannon fire and invade our land with swords. We want them to know the price of all these atrocities!"

There is no need for any war drums or charging trumpets. Archbishop Giotto's war cry is the call for knights to raise their swords against the enemy.

Under the surprised gaze of the French and Corsican soldiers, the knight who was hiding behind the building bunker like them just now actually drew his sword and rushed out of the bunker under the call of the war cry without any confusion, and tightly Following in the footsteps of Archbishop Giotto.

Cannonballs whizzed past their heads, hitting the ground and throwing up a shower of gravel and debris.

Even so, the knights never slowed down. Their white robes gathered together, like a wave of pure color, trying to swallow up all the invading enemies.

"What a loyal and brave warrior, I really hope he can survive this battle." Lawrence looked at Archbishop Giotto at the top of the white wave, and couldn't help but sigh, and ordered Major Serurier :

"Let the soldiers follow the knight and charge."

Soon, due to the lack of sea firepower on the island of Malta, the British landing ships completely sailed into the pier of Valletta Port and docked. Like their vanguard, they set up a wooden covered bridge to quickly deploy the soldiers on the ship. To the pier.

Marines in dark blue uniforms and sailors in white navy shirts mixed together and swarmed off the ship.

A hundred yards away from them were the knights holding swords towards the enemy and the soldiers coming after them.

Archimandrite Giotto was still at the forefront of the entire team. He raised his sword, pointed directly at the sea, and shouted angrily in a deep voice:

"Brothers, do you still remember the first half of our oath?"

The knights shouted in unison:

"Guard the faith!"

"Defend the faith, right now!" Archimandrite Giotto rushed forward with an arrow, stabbing the British troops on the dock like the tip of a spear, and shouted:

"There is no need to be kind to heretics and devils. Everyone, follow me and push the British into the sea!"

"Push it into the sea!"

The knights responded neatly, and the shouts even drowned out the thunder in the sky, making the British soldiers who boarded the dock shudder and their legs tremble.

Especially Archimandrite Giotto, who was charging forward. His strong physique and knight's plate armor reminded the British soldiers of Ares, the god of war in Greek mythology. His unparalleled bravery was simply terrifying. Again and again.

The sound of swords fighting soon sounded on the pier of Valletta Port.

The knights' tactics were very simple. They charged as skirmishers and inserted themselves into the British array to break up and divide the enemy's formation, dividing the battle into countless one-on-one sword duels.

And those lone British soldiers could hardly go a few rounds in front of these knights, who were called masters of swordsmanship.

In the eyes of many British soldiers, the tip of the knight's sword is as deadly and agile as a rattlesnake. If you are not careful, the tip of the sword will disappear from your sight, and when you see it again, it will be in front of the knight opposite. He pulled the sword out of his chest expressionlessly.

The few experienced sailors on the ship were able to fight on par with the knights with the daggers in their hands.

These sailors who survived the bloody and cruel battles are undoubtedly the elite of the Royal Navy.

Although the knights have been trained since childhood, many of them lack actual combat experience and cannot get much benefit from them.

Relying on their dense formations and the cover of artillery fire, the British soldiers were also tenaciously launching wave after wave of attacks into the inner side of the port.

For a time, both the offensive and defensive sides fell into a stalemate. The battle line almost remained at the position where the two sides were fighting, and the British even advanced a few dozen yards slightly.

In the center of the battlefield, Archimandrite Giotto allowed a sailor to slash the plate armor on his chest with his sword.

After receiving the opponent's full blow, the Grand Priest only staggered back a small step with his strong body. Then he took advantage of the opponent's full-strength swing of the sword and knocked him down with the round shield of his left hand. The dock fell into the turbulent waters.

"Hiss" The three British soldiers who were about to come forward to besiege Giotto took a breath of cold air when they saw this, hesitating in place and not daring to step forward.

Archimandrite Giotto's robe was completely soaked with blood, but not a drop of it was his own. No one knows how many British soldiers this giant warrior killed under his sword and shield. .

Archimandrite Giotto did not have the energy to review his achievements. He quickly scanned the battlefield with his peripheral vision and soon noticed the anxious situation in the port.

"Damn it, if it weren't for those naval guns"

Giotto knew in his heart that a large part of the reason why these British soldiers were able to compete with the knights was that the gryphon detachment surrounding Valletta Port continued to provide strong fire support.

The roar of these naval guns never stopped for a moment, continuously hitting the Knights' reserve team on the battlefield, making it difficult for them to reinforce and enter the battle.

In the rear, Major Serulier also put down his monocular with worry and said anxiously to Lawrence:

"The firepower provided by these British naval guns can almost match several full artillery battalions! Your Excellency Bonaparte, it is still difficult to determine the outcome on the battlefield. I suggest that you move some distance to the rear to avoid the defense line when the time comes. It was breached.”

Faced with Serurier's advice, Lawrence took out his pocket watch and glanced at the time, then shook his head wordlessly, with no trace of panic or anxiety in his clear eyes.

Major Serurier also noticed Lawrence frequently checking the time. He frowned and looked at the pocket watch in Lawrence's hand and asked:

"Your Excellency Bonaparte, is this...?"

"The British bombardment should stop soon." Lawrence closed the cover of his pocket watch, calmly looked at the St. Denis, which was as tall as a giant beast on the sea, and said softly:

"It is no longer possible for Colonel Mohan to capture the island of Malta from my hands. I hope he will not feel too sorry."

Grosso seemed to suddenly realize something, and quickly looked at Lawrence, a flash of joy suddenly flashed on his face, and asked:

"Wait a minute, you sent a letter to Mayor Yosip last time, saying you had a backup plan. Could it be?"

Lawrence nodded, his eyes still fixed on the Saint-Denis:

"The letter was asked by Josip to be forwarded to Toulon. Although doing so would be a big favor to the Duke of Choiseul, it seems that the trump card was chosen correctly."