The knights and soldiers responded to Archimandrite 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 turned into a string of rubble under the bombardment of the artillery fire and fell into the boundless Mediterranean.
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 cracked 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 drew a parabola in the air and fell into the urban area of Valletta Port.
The twelve-pound cannonball could penetrate the thatch and wooden roofs built by the citizens with almost no obstruction.
Cannonballs fell into houses in the city one after another, and 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 through his chest. He struggled in unimaginable pain for more than a minute before dying with regret.
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 these sad and wronged cries were 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 Captain 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 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 kind of special landing ship abandoned all artillery arrangements just to be able to carry more Marine soldiers for beach landing.
Archimandrite Giotto squinted his eyes and observed the sailing ships speeding on the sea. After a moment, he frowned and said:
"The full complement 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 spat and cursed:
"The number of marines in a squadron is definitely less than 3,000. They probably used a lot of sailors on the ships to make up the number. It seems that the British are determined to capture 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 sins of the Maltese people."
The landing and attacking clippers were still approaching rapidly, and according to visual inspection, they were less than 3,000 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 in the eighteenth century the morale-impacting effect of artillery far exceeded its killing effect.
This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! Those Corsican Defense Force soldiers could basically maintain order and obey the command under the heavy fire, because their beloved Governor Bonaparte was also with them
In the midst of this deadly hail of bullets.
The two thousand French soldiers seemed to be somewhat demoralized under the continuous shelling. Major Serurier also noticed this keenly. 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 piers will undoubtedly make the already low morale worse.
Seeing that Serrulier did not reply, Grosso and Archbishop Giotto followed the major's gaze and looked at the soldiers hiding behind the bunker. They instantly understood what Major Serrurier 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 swear to protect. It is only natural that we should pour 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 war cry of the roaring naval guns:
"All knights, charge with me! These heretical devils trample our brothers and sisters with cannon fire and occupy 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 without a trace of confusion under the call of the war cry.
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 the invading enemy.
"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 uniforms mixed together and swarmed off the ship.
A hundred yards away from them were the knights holding swords against 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 in a deep voice:
"Brothers, do you still remember the first half of our oath?"
The knights shouted in unison:
"Guard the Faith!"
"Guard the faith, right now!" Archimandrite Giotto rushed forward with a single stride, 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.
Continuously.
The sound of sword 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 army's formation 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 sailors on the ship who were experienced in combat 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 gain 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 slightly advanced a few dozen yards.
...
In the center of the battlefield, Archbishop 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 staggered back a small step with his strong body. Then he took advantage of the opponent's full swing of the sword and knocked him down with the round shield of his left hand.
The dock fell into the turbulent sea water.
"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.
.
This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! And Archimandrite Giotto did not have the energy to review his achievements. He quickly scanned the battlefield with his peripheral vision, and soon noticed the anxiety in the port.
situation.
"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.
At the rear, Major Serulier also put down his monocular with worry and said anxiously to Lawrence:
"These British guys...the firepower provided by those naval guns is almost equal to 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
By then the defense line has been breached..."
Faced with Serulier's admonishment, 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 Cerulier 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 that you had a backup plan... Could it be?"
Lawrence nodded, his eyes still fixed on the St. Denis:
"The letter was asked by Josip to be forwarded to Toulon. Although doing so would be a great favor to the Duke of Choiseul, it seems that the trump card was chosen correctly."