From Corsica to the Fourth Rome

Meanwhile, the Saint-Denis went on deck

"Yes, that's it, to hell with the French and the Corsicans!"

Colonel Mohan was holding a telescope. He had already ordered the St. Denis to approach the Malta Island about 600 yards away to personally observe the battle situation in Valletta Harbor from the offshore.

Witnessing the gryphon squadron firing raindrops of shotshells towards that damn Malta Island, and watching his own soldiers slowly advancing forward, Colonel Mohan became more and more excited. He waved his hand and called his adjutant loudly, and ordered:

"Tell the ships on the north side to stop firing at those empty fortresses and gather them all at the port! I want that Lawrence Bonaparte to know that his little trap can also make people I was fooled once, and he will realize how weak he is in front of this absolute firepower!"

He couldn't help laughing, as if the shame of the failed first raid was fired with the shells. Looking at the advancing landing troops, Colonel Mohan suddenly felt the pleasure of getting revenge.

As long as the island of Malta is finally taken, who cares about a small failed attack.

However, before Colonel Mohan's laughter came to an end, he heard an almost broken anxious cry coming from the deck:

"Wait! Colonel!"

Colonel Mohan's adjutant was still lowering his head to record his instructions, but he saw another officer running in front of him in a hurry. Without saluting or reporting, he directly opened his mouth and anxiously interrupted Colonel Mohan's deployment.

Before Colonel Mohan could frown and reprimand, the officer shouted first:

"Colonel, we just received a report from the Glory that a fleet was spotted to the northwest!"

"Fleet?" Colonel Mohan was stunned for a moment, then subconsciously asked: "What flag is flying?"

"It's Iris Citi."

"What? The French fleet? Are you kidding me!" Colonel Mohan shouted, his face full of disbelief.

He personally pointed the telescope to the northwest, but due to the obstruction of Malta Island, Colonel Mohan could not see what was abnormal on the northwest sea, so he had to ask the officer repeatedly:

"Are you sure about the size of that fleet?! What did the report from the Glory say!"

"The size of the fleet cannot be determined yet, but the scouts on the ship can conclude that the flagship sailing at the head of that fleet is a French ocean-class line ship!"

"Marine Grade"

Colonel Mohan's mind went blank, as if the term "ocean-class" was some incantation that could not be recited, and it took him a long time to recover.

Several people present were all outstanding officers of the Royal Navy. They all knew what the Ocean-class line ship represented. It was the most advanced and most powerful first-class line ship designed by France.

A first-class line ship, a warship with three or more artillery decks and a crew of more than 900 people, was destined to be an exclusive ship for a very small number of maritime powers from the moment it was designed due to its high cost.

For example, Nelson's flagship Victory and Spain's Holy Trinity, these famous battleships in history are all first-class line ships.

Historically, only twelve ocean-class line ships were produced until the end of the Napoleonic era. In an era when the number of battleships in major countries was generally in three digits, the production volume could be described as pitifully small.

But now, the French fleet actually used a rare and powerful first-class ship as its flagship. After calming down, Colonel Mohan immediately knew the true identity of that fleet:

"What the hell! That's the main fleet of the French Mediterranean Fleet!"

The officer who came to communicate bit his lip and said nothing. After learning that the flagship of the fleet was a first-class ship, he had already reached the same conclusion as Colonel Mohan.

After a moment of silence, the officer said seriously:

"What's worse, Colonel, that fleet is heading straight for the island of Malta."

“Coming for Malta”

Colonel Mohan repeated these words, and his eyes instantly became confused.

What was the purpose of this damn fleet that suddenly appeared? The French clearly did not issue any statement about providing protection to the Knights Hospitallers.

And if the French were determined to protect the Knights, why did they let Bonaparte and his Corsican army be stationed on the island of Malta?

Question marks kept hitting Colonel Mohan's mind. He closed his eyes in pain, and then hit his head twice, forcing himself to open his eyes.

Colonel Mohan no longer wants to think about the answers to these questions. At least at this moment, what he wants to do is not a detective, but a naval commander responsible for the entire fleet:

"Pass my orders"

Within seconds, Colonel Mohan’s voice became extremely weak and tired:

"The entire fleet immediately lifted the siege of the island of Malta and returned to its normal marching formation. If the French continued to approach, they would move south to avoid it and then return to Gibraltar."

Facing the main force of the French Mediterranean Fleet whose combat power far exceeded his own, Colonel Mohan adopted the most standard countermeasure - avoidance.

No matter what the purpose of that fleet is, Colonel Mohan cannot allow the Griffin detachment to continue its current encirclement formation. This formation is full of flaws and is extremely vulnerable to counter-encirclement by the French fleet.

Once the French really come to defend Malta, the Griffin detachment that maintains this formation will undoubtedly be buried in this Mediterranean storm.

After receiving the order, the officer immediately set off to convey the order issued by the Saint-Denis through semaphore, not daring to delay for a moment in the face of the increasingly approaching French fleet.

The adjutant glanced at the battle still going on in Valletta Port from a distance, looked at the landing troops who had gained a slight upper hand, and sighed and asked:

"Sir, what about these landing troops?"

"It is too late and there is no way to make them retreat."

When Colonel Mohan said these words, his whole body was trembling slightly. It was not only the Marines who landed on the island of Malta, but also an unknown number of them were members of the Griffin detachment who had gone through many life-and-death battles and ten-day battles. An elite sailor tempered by years of hard work at sea.

Although he knew that in the face of the safety of the entire fleet, these soldiers must be abandoned on the island of Malta.

But when Colonel Mohan really made this decision, he still felt his heart bleeding severely.

"You powerless beast!"

Facing the siege of two British soldiers, Archbishop Giotto shouted angrily. He first raised his shield with his left hand and blocked the slashes of the two men at the same time.

Taking advantage of the flaw exposed when the two men closed their hands, Giotto's long sword in his right hand stabbed into the chest of the soldier on the right as accurately and quickly as a poisonous snake. Immediately, he did not draw the sword, but let go of the hilt and put on the sword. The right fist of the plate armor hit the soldier on the left heavily on the head.

The two besieging soldiers fell down almost at the same time. Archimandrite Giotto stepped forward and pulled out his long sword, opened his mouth slightly and let out a breath.

"Huh? Weird."

Archimandrite Giotto, who had just finished a bloody battle, had time to glance at the British ships leaving Valletta Harbor on the sea. Only then did he suddenly notice the roar of naval guns that had been lingering in his ears. I don’t know when it ended.

The tall British line ships and frigates also sailed away from the coast of Malta one after another. Archbishop Giotto, who was experienced in sailing, could see that those British ships were all under full sail. It was as urgent as running away from a sea volcano that was about to erupt.

Archbishop Giotto and the knights were not the only ones to notice this. The British soldiers fighting on the dock also gradually discovered this.

The ships they regarded as their second home were constantly moving away from them at this moment, becoming smaller and smaller and blurry in their field of vision.

"What the hell, what happened!"

"When did the fire support stop? Damn it, that's the Saint-Denis, why is it heading south?!"

"Hey! Idiots on the ship! The battle is not over yet!"

Those British soldiers in the back row who had not yet participated in the battle stared blankly at the Griffin detachment gathering together in a mighty manner, and then driving straight south, seeming to have completely forgotten that there were more than 3,000 soldiers. Marines and sailors are still fighting on the island of Malta.

Some British soldiers also tried to get together and shout in unison at the departing ships, but this behavior was undoubtedly self-deception and in vain.

Even the non-commissioned officers and officers who commanded the landing force were dumbfounded. Their superiors had never told them how to deal with this situation.

No matter how you look at it, no matter how the British soldiers find reasons for the fleet, an indescribable complex emotion instantly arises in their hearts - the feeling of being abandoned and betrayed.

This negative emotion spread like a plague among the British soldiers. Even the soldiers on the front line were no longer interested in fighting the enemy in front of them. They handed over the front they had just advanced with countless lives to the Knights, one after another. He retreated in defeat.

For these soldiers, they can hardly find a reason to continue fighting with the enemies on the island. Only when facing the fierce attack of knights and soldiers, those British soldiers will raise their hands in order to protect themselves. sword.

Archimandrite Giotto keenly noticed the change in the morale of the British army. Although he still did not know what happened and why the British warships fled Malta in such a hurry, as a commander who was trusted by everyone, he still refused to let go. After passing any fighter plane, he made an immediate decision:

"Everyone listen to the order, don't rush to attack, just surround the enemy and gradually shrink the encirclement!"

Immediately, Giotto said to a French officer beside him:

"Can anyone among your subordinates speak English? Tell them that as long as they lay down their weapons, knights never kill those who surrender. God can witness this."

Although Archbishop Giotto's hatred for the British has been deeply embedded in his heart, just like the gryphon detachment's cannonballs are deeply embedded in the island of Malta, he is also a calm and outstanding commander, knowing that in this kind of situation There is no need to add unnecessary killings under the circumstances.

The French officer nodded. Veterans like them who had fought the Seven Years' War could basically speak a few commonly used English phrases. The rhetoric of persuading surrender was the most commonly used in the war. He took two steps forward and walked toward the dock. The shrinking British soldiers on the outside shouted:

"Englishmen! Lay down your arms, for in the name of God the Knights promise your safety as captives."

Having said that, looking at the Griffin squadron that was already a small black dot in his field of vision, the French officer added:

"You are already beasts in a cage and fish in a dry river. Even your superiors have abandoned you. There is no need to add more killings."

These words immediately spoke to the hearts of the British landing troops. They had already reached this point. What was the use of them even if they got a few more enemy lives on their hands?

There is no soldier who does not desire to return to his hometown with honor. Compared with meaninglessly giving up his life here, becoming a prisoner and waiting to be extradited back to his country, this is undoubtedly the wisest choice.

I don't know where it started. The first British soldier chose to throw the short knife in his hand into the sea, and then fell to his knees on the ground to express surrender.

Like dominoes, more soldiers followed his lead and threw their weapons into the sea. They knelt on their knees and raised their hands. From a distance, they thought they were a group of devout pilgrims coming to the Knights.

The officers did not hesitate to join the surrender. Many of them were from noble families, with substantial family property and outstanding social status. Naturally, they did not want to lose their lives in vain on this desolate island. .

Moreover, Colonel Mohan's behavior of leading the fleet to leave without authorization has been regarded as an act of betrayal by these officers. They vowed to return home alive and prosecute the damn Colonel Mohan in a military court.

"It's unbelievable."

Major Serurier looked at the picture in the lens tube and couldn't help but open his mouth in surprise.

Especially after Lawrence concluded that the gryphon unit's bombardment would soon end, in less than half an hour, the Royal Navy sailing recklessly in this area stopped the bombardment and fled in a hurry as everyone saw. Leaving the island of Malta.

"What on earth is going on?" Major Serulier put down the lens tube and asked Lawrence curiously and excitedly.

"I wrote a letter to Mayor Josip a few days ago and asked him to deliver it to the Mediterranean Fleet Command in Toulon."

Lawrence shrugged, walked out of the bunker, glanced at the knights and soldiers who were handling the prisoners, nodded and explained:

"The letter asks the Mediterranean Fleet to pay attention to the movements of the British in Malta. After discovering that the Royal Navy is heading towards the island of Malta, it will follow them all the way to avoid any surprises in our defense lines on the island."

Having said that, Lawrence also glanced at the gryphon unit that was almost disappearing into the horizon, chuckled and sighed:

"But the Mediterranean Fleet is really cooperative. Judging from the reaction of the British fleet, the headquarters should have sent more than one squadron over."

"Then you really have the face to persuade the French Mediterranean Fleet Headquarters with a letter." Grosso patted Lawrence on the shoulder in amazement.

Lawrence laughed twice at himself, shook his head and said:

"Of course I don't have such a big face. The instructions to the Mediterranean fleet in the letter are all written in the name of the Duke of Choiseul. In the French Navy, the words of our friend the Duke are more effective than anyone else. Due to time Due to the urgency, the headquarters did not have time to seek confirmation from the Duke of Choiseul in Dijon, so it could only cooperate with me to deter the British. Of course, the most they could do was to send out the fleet to scare the British. War with the Royal Navy over a letter from me."

"That's it." Grosso nodded with understanding and said:

"No wonder you said you owed Choiseul a great favor and used his name to command the Mediterranean fleet. This is no small matter."

“Although the effort is huge, the rewards are also really significant.”

Lawrence looked at Archimandrite Giotto, who was walking towards him, and Grand Captain Erwin, who was coming from behind the port, with a satisfied smile on his lips:

"Now, it's time to reap the fruits of my victory."