Chapter 790: The Mediterranean Standoff
Dimoulin's brow furrowed deeply.
Before the French army entered Genoa, a group of hotheaded young men had set fire to the grain warehouses.
As a result, he had been unable to replenish supplies from the city.
The Crown Prince's orders were clear: hold Genoa for two months.
Yet, he still had no plan for getting through the next twenty days.
After a month of relentless assaults from 50,000 enemy troops, French casualties were severe.
If food shortages hit now, the army would collapse instantly…
The ground shuddered again.
Suddenly, Junot burst into the room, his voice urgent.
—Commander! The enemy is launching a major assault from the north!
Dimoulin snatched his hat, jammed it onto his head, and, despite his aging legs, rushed toward the northern front.
After just a few strides, he turned back and shouted to his aide.
—If any ships reach the harbor, report to me immediately!
—Yes, General!
Junot handed him the reins of his horse, his expression grim.
—The British warships surround the port. Our ships can't get through…
Dimoulin, struggling onto his horse, panted heavily.
—The Crown Prince promised me that supplies would arrive.
—If he said they'd come, then they will come.
—Our job is to hold the damned Austrians back until then!
Whipping his horse forward, he galloped up a dusty hill to observe the battle from above.
Taking the telescope from his aide, he instinctively turned toward the harbor, muttering under his breath.
—God help us… Let me see the supply ships soon…
Ten Days Earlier – Ligurian Sea, Near Genoa
Inside the officer's cabin of the British flagship HMS Victory, Lord Hood was bored out of his mind.
He flipped lazily through the yellowed pages of an old sailor's journal, occasionally sipping his tea.
Then, a knock sounded at the door.
From outside, Rear Admiral Collingwood's voice called out.
—Commander, sir! The Old Coin just returned with a report—French fleet activity detected at Toulon!
Hood's eyes brightened instantly.
He snapped shut his book, threw on his coat, and stood up sharply.
—Summon all captains and senior officers to the war room!
—Aye, sir!
Twenty Minutes Later – War Room, HMS Victory
Hood pointed at the sea route between Toulon and Genoa on the map.
—Captain Nelson, you will lead the frigate squadron.
—Your orders: monitor this waterway closely.
—Not a single French ship is to pass unseen.
—Yes, Admiral!
Normally, a squadron of frigates wouldn't require an officer of Nelson's rank.
A commander or even a lieutenant commander would usually suffice.
But this operation was critical—the French fleet must be found and neutralized.
Hood would trust only Nelson for the job.
Next, he turned to his chief of staff.
—Send word to Admiral Hotham's squadron.
—Have him ready for battle at any moment.
—He must hold the Toulon fleet in place for at least half a day.
Hotham was leading a blockade squadron outside Genoa, composed of:
4 third-rate ships5 fourth-rate ships5 fifth-rate ships16 frigates
A smaller force than the French Mediterranean Fleet, but Hood trusted Hotham's seamanship and tactical skill.
He was certain that Hotham could stall the French for six to seven hours.
Meanwhile, Hood's main fleet remained hidden 60 nautical miles southeast of Genoa.
They could resupply from Tuscan ports and reach Genoa in half a day.
If the French fleet moved, Hood would crush them.
He knew the French had no choice.
Nearly 30,000 French troops were trapped in Genoa.
Without supply ships, they would either surrender or starve to death.
Hood had deliberately lifted the blockade on Toulon to bait the French fleet into sailing out.
Now, after a month-long siege, the French were finally forced to act!
The British Mediterranean Fleet immediately went on high alert.
Twelve Hours Later – The First Report
A British oar-powered sloop sped toward HMS Victory.
A lieutenant climbed aboard and delivered the latest intelligence to the war room.
—The French fleet is heading southwest?!
Hood stared at the report in confusion.
He turned to the frigate officer delivering the message.
—Are you sure about this?
—Yes, sir! The Sawfish is still tracking them.
—They have 16 first-rate ships, 20 second-rate ships, and a large number of frigates.
Hood's brow furrowed deeply.
That was definitely the main force of the Toulon fleet.
But why weren't they sailing toward Genoa?
Rear Admiral Collingwood pondered the situation.
—Admiral, perhaps they plan to rendezvous with the Spanish fleet before heading to Genoa?
Hood nodded slowly.
—That's the only explanation.
He glanced at the fleet position map on the wall and gave new orders.
—Send Captain Louis' squadron to Valencia Bay.
—If they spot the French fleet, they are to harass them and report back immediately.
Louis commanded a convoy escort squadron, initially formed to protect British merchant ships from French frigate raids.
It was a fairly strong fleet, including two third-rate ships of the line.
At that moment, they were just half a day's sail from Valencia Bay.
Next, Hood turned to his officers and raised his voice.
—All ships weigh anchor immediately.
—We sail for Valencia.
—If the French and Spanish fleets are joining forces, then we shall destroy them both at once!
Hood was confident.
Even combined, the French and Spanish fleets were only 80% the size of the British Navy.
And Hood had Dutch warships at his disposal as well.
Within twenty minutes, over a hundred British warships began sailing westward across the Mediterranean.
The Next Day – Unexpected News
As Hood smugly discussed his strategy for crushing the Franco-Spanish fleet, another report arrived.
A courier frigate, the Sawfish, had returned with urgent news.
The frigate captain stood at attention.
—Admiral! The French fleet changed course at the eastern side of the Gulf of Lion!
—They are now sailing south!
Hood's face darkened with frustration.
—What the devil are they up to?
—Are they planning a holiday in North Africa?!
Just then, Nelson entered the war room.
After scanning the report, he turned to Hood.
—Admiral, no matter what the French are planning, as long as we keep to their north, we can block any path to Genoa.
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