Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

The adjutant brought Hossem the fleet’s casualty summary.

Outside the officers’ cabins, the faint moans of wounded sailors could still be heard, despite the officers repeatedly issuing stern orders for silence.

Hossem irritably tossed the casualty report aside.

He didn’t need to look because he had personally participated in the entire day’s battle; he already knew the losses by heart.

The French fleet launched a total of five attacks, damaging one third-class ship and two fourth-class ships.

Yes, the damaged third-class ship was the “Thesus,” the one he was aboard.

Although the damage was limited to two barrel-sized holes on the foredeck, which barely affected combat, the French cannon fire caused casualties among 16 sailors.

The situation of the two fourth-class ships wasn’t much different—the most severe damage was to the “Coarse Fin Shark,” which had lost its aft sail—but the sailors suffered significant casualties, which would greatly affect morale.

Of course, he had already chosen to ignore the losses of the cruiser fleet that had initiated the harassment of the French fleet but was thoroughly countered.

Those small ships didn’t matter much to him.

Hossem and the senior officers deliberated through a meeting until 2 a.m., yet they couldn’t come up with any effective tactics. They only dispatched two ships to make contact with Lord Hood’s main fleet.

The next day.

A scene similar to yesterday unfolded once again.

Flexible French steam warships repeatedly charged at the ponderous British battleships, “biting” them before swiftly retreating, reorganizing, and charging again…

They harassed in this way continuously until the sun dipped in the western sky, at which point their whistles rang out, signaling their withdrawal.

However, after yesterday’s practice, the French sailors had clearly refined their tactics, enabling them to launch six attacks in total and wound four British battleships.

In the “Thesus’s” conference room, Hossem was nearly losing his sanity.

Faced with French sail and oar ships, which should theoretically be sunk by a single broadside, he was frustrated by his inability to lay a finger on them while being forced into a defensive position.

Especially the “Coarse Fin Shark.” Today, due to its sluggish pace, it was struck yet again by concentrated French attacks, where its starboard aft section was blown open significantly, sending several cannons plunging through the breach into the sea.

“General, I think my ship needs to return to Gibraltar for repairs,” the captain of the “Coarse Fin Shark” murmured quietly, “I fear the upper structure of the stern will collapse…”

Hossem frowned and shook his head. “The French might very well be resupplying at a port north of Corsica. If the ‘Coarse Fin Shark’ leaves the fleet and is discovered by them, it will be extremely dangerous.”

Lieutenant Colonel Smith angrily interjected from the side: “General, we ought to seize the initiative. If we can find just one opportunity, we could annihilate those French cruisers!”

“That’s exactly what the French hope for,” Colonel Harriet countered immediately across from him. “If we chase after those smoke-belching ships, the French transport fleet will immediately depart Port of Marseille to deliver supplies to Genoa.”

Someone mumbled under their breath, “And we couldn’t catch up with them anyway…”

Lieutenant Colonel Smith raised his voice: “We can’t simply stay here! The French cruisers will come again tomorrow.”

The others nodded reflexively, “Yes, we can’t remain passive and be beaten any longer.”

“We must come up with something!”

“Transport fleet?” Hossem repeated the words, then abruptly raised a hand to silence those present, saying, “We’re leaving here at dawn tomorrow.”

“General, but Genoa Port…”

Hossem smiled faintly. “We’ll sail towards Marseille. That way, we can intercept the French transport ships en route.”

“Afterward, we’ll maneuver in the waters between Marseille and Genoa to evade interference from French cruisers.”

In an era without planes or radar, finding an unpredictably maneuvering fleet on the open seas was an immensely challenging task.

The French would need to scatter a significant number of warships if they hoped to locate the British fleet assigned to Genoa.

And by the time they consolidated their ships and organized an attack after sighting the British fleet’s position, several days would already have passed.

Hossem knew well that time was on his side.

Even if Lord Hood didn’t bring back the main fleet, the conflict at Genoa Port would conclude within a maximum of ten days.

All Hossem needed to do was find a way to stall for those ten days.

What he didn’t notice, however, was how his thoughts had unknowingly shifted from how to defeat the French fleet to how to simply delay them.

And yet, he commanded nine battleships – far more powerful than the enemy’s mix of cruisers and frigates…

Early the following morning, when the French steam warship squadron arrived south of Genoa Port, they discovered that the British fleet had disappeared.

Quasi-General Di Chaiya immediately sent out escort ships to search within a 20-nautical-mile radius, confirming that the British had indeed left.

Standing on the foredeck of the “Tunis,” he exhaled deeply. “It seems the British are even less patient than I had expected.”

He gestured to the adjutant beside him. “Contact Marseille immediately and inform them that Genoa’s blockade has been lifted.”

“Understood, General.”

The steam frigate “Cape Parrot” ran at full power and delivered the good news to Marseille within a day.

The first batch of five transport ships, which had been prepared in advance, promptly left port and set sail for Genoa.

However, when the transport ships entered the Côte d’Azur waters the following day, they encountered British oar and sail ships.

Soon after, Hossem’s Genoa fleet appeared in the eastern sea lane.

In a panic, the transport ships turned to flee, but laden as they were with cargo, their speed was painfully slow. Ultimately, only two ships managed to return to Marseille, while the other three were captured by the British fleet.

Onboard the “Tunis,” Quasi-General Di Chaiya’s expression turned grim.

He hadn’t anticipated that while the British may have abandoned Genoa Port, they were patrolling the Côte d’Azur waters.

With the transport ships’ speed, chances of sneaking through were slim.

Nearby, the captain of “Cape Parrot” suggested, “General, should we escort the next batch of ships from Marseille ourselves?”

Before Di Chaiya could respond, he realized the futility of the proposal.

His steam warships excelled in harassment tactics but were entirely ill-suited for escort duty.

The British battleships could easily withstand the small French warships’ attacks and sink the transport ships—a few volleys from a third-class ship would suffice to obliterate them.

Di Chaiya gripped the railing of the deck tightly. In just over ten days, General Demobin’s supplies would be exhausted.

Though he had repelled the British fleet, he hadn’t foreseen that the British would resort to such shameless stalling tactics.

At that moment, a timid voice came from behind him: “General, I may have a solution to deliver supplies to Genoa…”

Turning, Di Chaiya saw a soldier no older than his twenties.

He tried to recall the young man’s name. “Henry Demville? You’re a high-level sailor responsible for the mainsail, correct?”

“That’s me.” Demville bowed nervously, “It’s an honor that you remember my name.”

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