Chapter 887: 795: A Critical Moment

Chapter 887: Chapter 795: A Critical Moment

Actually, Mr. Troc exaggerated the situation a bit too much.

After all, Napoleon had already occupied Milan and was setting up defenses along the Po River to sever the link between Melas and Austria.

In overall strategy, France still held the initiative.

But these were things that the ship owners far away in Greece could not have known. To them, the French Italian Front Army indeed seemed on the brink of collapse.

The room fell silent for a few seconds, then a middle-aged man with a thick beard sitting by the window stood up, adjusted his coat, and said, “Mr. Troc is right. I still need to do business in the Mediterranean, so I must do something.”

He looked at Styler: “Baron Meimark, if you’re willing to pay a 40% interest, I don’t mind sending my ships to Genoa.”

Styler seemed to struggle for a moment before nodding, “Alright, Mr. Borri, 40%. Thank you for your help.”

He used a bit of commercial finesse to make it appear the interest was so high that it pained him.

In truth, he had already decided earlier to use shares of the Eastern Mediterranean Trading Company as leverage to exchange for these ship owners’ vessels.

He believed that the Crown Prince would certainly permit him to do so.

Because compared to the outcome of the war, money was always secondary. Whether spent on logistics or weapons, it was far better than using it to pay war reparations.

Soon, someone called out loudly, “Count me in. It’s time to settle the score with the British who seized my goods in North America eight years ago!”

Ferry glanced at his old friend, sighed, and raised his right hand: “Since Leon has said so, alright, count my ships in as well.”

In truth, he was also swayed by the high 40% interest.

The supplies on the ship were personally bought by him, which already involved considerable profits. Combined with the exorbitant interest, this voyage would earn him nearly six months’ worth of normal income.

Among the ship owners heading for the door, some left disdainfully, but about half turned back.

Troc’s words indeed instilled a sense of crisis in them.

By nightfall, Styler had enlisted 8 steam paddle ships, along with 3 million pounds of grain and a portion of gunpowder.

He excitedly thanked Troc and the ship owners and promised that once the Genoa matter was resolved, he would petition the Crown Prince to grant them a year’s tax reduction.

The transport capacity of steam paddle ships couldn’t compare to large supply ships, but 8 vessels were enough to deliver three weeks’ worth of supplies to the Demobin Army.

The next day.

Under Styler’s “Gold Coin Diplomacy,” half the dockworkers at Piraeus Port were busy loading supplies onto Troc and the others’ ships.

By 3 PM, the 8 fully loaded steam paddle ships, led by the Cape Parrot escort ship, set off westward, trailing long plumes of black smoke.

…

North of Genoa, Novi Ligure Town.

Aus Alliance Army Command Center.

Melas stared intensely at the map before him, veins throbbing on his forehead.

Minutes passed before he finally slammed his palm heavily onto the table, gritting his teeth, “The Chervoni Army must retake Pavia. Meanwhile, we must stay here to continue the offensive!

“Spies in Genoa have reported that Demobin’s supplies can last only two or three more days. We have never been this close to victory before; we must not give up now!”

Ten days ago, when news of Napoleon’s sudden capture of Milan spread here, all Austrian Army officers were stunned.

But after Melas learned that Napoleon had only 12,000 soldiers in hand, he deemed the latter not a real threat, thus ordering an intensified attack on Genoa while only dispatching Chervoni to guard the Pavia crossing.

In principle, his strategy was correct.

After all, Milan was already lost. Rushing back now would likely allow the French forces in Genoa to recover, leaving him with an Italian campaign full of effort but devoid of victories.

Besides, the fall of Milan would naturally be on Bolieu’s shoulders to answer for, while Melas could take credit for annihilating the Demobin Army and capturing Genoa.

Once Genoa fell, his 50,000 troops would sweep northward with ease, reclaiming Milan.

However, this morning Chervoni had sent word that his forces near Pavia had been ambushed by Napoleon. While his quick response minimized losses, his army was still pinned south of the Po River.

Simultaneously, an imperial edict arrived at Melas’ command center, expressing the Emperor’s concern about the situation in Italy. Clearly, His Majesty was deeply displeased with the loss of Milan.

The officers standing in front of Melas exchanged glances, then Argento cautiously stepped forward and suggested, “General, perhaps we should allocate more troops to Pavia. If the crossing becomes…”

“I don’t need your reminder,” Melas, seemingly crushed under the mounting pressure, abruptly roared, “The crossing will remain secure!

“Capture Genoa, then return to Milan, and everything will fall into place!”

…

Genoa.

Demobin rubbed his forehead anxiously and asked his logistics officer in a weary voice, “Only half a day’s rations left?”

“Yes—yes, General…”

Beside him, Ogero exclaimed, “General, if we concentrate our forces, there’s still a strong possibility we could break through toward La Spezia.”

La Spezia was east of Genoa, where the Genoa Corps of the Aus Alliance was at its weakest, numbering less than 8,000 soldiers.

Genoa still had 25,000 French troops—there was a chance they could defeat them.

But Demobin waved his hand gloomily, “That would only take us further away from France. The Austrians would immediately tail us, and we cannot even confirm how much grain La Spezia has.”

Juno argued anxiously, “But at this rate, we won’t even last till tomorrow…”

Demobin sighed heavily, gazing toward the battle-torn front lines: “We’ve done everything within our power. If we’re forced to surrender, His Majesty and Jesus will forgive us.”

The officers in the command center all lowered their heads.

Just then, frantic shouts from Sailu Li’er outside pierced through even the roaring cannon fire, “Ships! Ships are here! They’re our ships!”

Demobin sprang up, moving with uncharacteristic agility as he rushed out of the office and shouted toward Sailu Li’er, “What ships? Did you see it clearly? How many are there?”

“I saw them with my own eyes, I swear! There are 7—no, it seems to be 8 ships, all steamships, and they’re already in port!” The latter was so ecstatic his pitch changed, “Governor Abiasso has already sent people to unload the cargo.”

Demobin felt a surge of immense joy rushing through him. He crossed himself fervently, “Thank you, almighty Jesus, thank you for not abandoning us…”

Indeed, Troc and his crew had run at full throttle throughout their journey, sailing as long as they could faintly discern the sea around them.

In this way, they managed to deliver the supplies to Genoa Port in less than six days.