Returning to his flagship on the right-wing squadron, Lavallette gathered his captains, briefly explained the situation, and began issuing orders in an unchallengeable tone.
"The light, fast warships left by the Papal States along the way are only two or three per batch, extremely flexible, and can freely decide whether to fight or flee.
Therefore, we cannot send out too many ships at once, otherwise, we will alert the enemy, and they will directly flee; the main fleet will not be able to catch up, and fragmented pursuit will easily lead to being defeated one by one.
I plan to first send out only one warship for a probing attack, to lure the enemy ships into battle.
Once they engage, try to entangle them, and then we will immediately send out more warships to surround, chase, and intercept them, striving to capture some enemy soldiers, ascertain the Papal States' intentions, and then make further arrangements.
Is that clear?"
"Clear!" all the captains replied in unison, several of them silently praying that they would not be the one sent as bait.
A moment later, on the right wing of the Venice fleet, a rather unlucky young captain named Wyatt, with a look of utter despair, slowly led his galley out of the formation.
He had sisters married into Spain and relatives thriving in Germany; he had originally just tried to make a living in Venice, but now he was being sent to his death.
On this small galley, dozens of slave oarsmen and two dozen soldiers were crammed in.
The slave oarsmen were temporarily conscripted in large numbers at extremely low cost; they had no combat training whatsoever, and their treatment was comparable to that of livestock.
Among these slave oarsmen were people of all sorts: Moors, Tunisians, Slavs, Greeks... most were bought or captured from various places, with absolutely no identification with Venice culture, no sense of belonging at all, and naturally, their morale was imaginable, but they were strong, could row, and were easy to command.
The slave oarsmen rowed very slowly, and the captain did not urge them on; whether it was to save their strength for a sprint, a chase, or an escape, it was better than wasting it now.
"Milo! Look, the enemy only sent out one ship! Riccardo told us to intercept directly if the enemy ship count was low, and one ship can't possibly be considered many! Let's fight!"
Captain Nino shouted to the friendly captain beside him; the two were long-time comrades and their families had been acquaintances for generations, so they worked together seamlessly, and in terms of both status and experience, they were no less impressive than Riccardo.
It was precisely for this reason that they were left behind to form the first line of defense.
"Indeed," Milo analyzed calmly, "but it's still better to be careful, let it get a bit closer before engaging, then maintain distance for long-range attacks, try to avoid close-quarters combat, and especially watch out for their ram to prevent being entangled."
"Good! Once it enters the range of our ship's cannons, we'll spread out to the left and right and sink it!" Nino exclaimed excitedly.
As he was about to enter the enemy's range, Wyatt looked back at the unmoving Venice fleet, then looked at the enemy ahead, took a deep breath, and encouraged with a forced bravery: "Full speed ahead! Ram the warship on their left! As soon as we hit it with our ram, we'll immediately return!"
Upon hearing this, the entire ship of slave oarsmen suddenly saw hope for survival, and as if injected with adrenaline, the ship's speed surged.
Wyatt understood that as long as his ram successfully struck any of the enemy ships, the enemy would not be able to escape as they pleased, and his mission would be considered complete.
Even if he turned around and fled after ramming, he would not be punished upon his return, and might even receive a reward.
"It's coming for me! Suicidal! Don't just stand there, move the ship, to the right, to the right!" Seeing the enemy's intention clearly, Milo's blood boiled; he directed while personally loading the bow cannon.
Wyatt clearly saw Milo's actions on the other side, but he didn't care and had no intention of firing his own cannons.
Firing at this distance, whether or not it would hit was almost entirely up to Jesus.
Furthermore, cannons on small galleys usually did not exceed twenty pounds; even if they hit, the damage they could inflict on the hull was extremely limited, only causing minor casualties to soldiers, and even ten direct hits in a row might not incapacitate the enemy warship.
Although the enemy was deliberately maintaining distance, his ship was still constantly closing in, and the closer it got, the faster the bait captain's heart pounded, wishing he could close his eyes, ram the enemy, complete his task, and then turn around and flee.
Suddenly, a cannonball whistled through the air, and the rapidly moving Venice galley, by some miraculous stroke of luck, caught the cannonball that had arced through the sky with a magical maneuver.
Before anyone could react, an unexpected loud explosion erupted on the ship; the unarmored slave oarsmen were instantly caught in the blast, and the powerful airwave swept up torn bodies and spraying blood, throwing them high into the air.
Immediately following, a series of explosions occurred; the flying corpses, before they could fall, were torn into more pieces and thrown up again by more bodies, with continuous splashing sounds of falling into the water, and the sea surface quickly turned crimson in circles.
A series of violent explosions not only caused nearly half of the ship's crew casualties but also resulted in severe damage to the hull; parts of the side were directly blown off, and several large holes burst open in the bottom, with large amounts of seawater gushing out from the holes, extinguishing the flames ignited by the explosion.
The warship, which had just been moving at full speed, was now helplessly spinning in the middle of the sea, spouting water.
"Quickly plug the holes!" The bait captain's face was cut by shattered wood splinters, but he had no time to treat his wounds; disregarding the blood still dripping from his face, he personally led and organized the response.
"Yesss! I hit it! I hit its ammunition box, God bless! Tuscany will win!" Hitting an ammunition box with one shot at this distance, there was no other explanation except God's blessing; Nino was overjoyed and beaming.
"Tuscany will win!" Tuscany's morale greatly boosted, and even the slave oarsmen, unable to control themselves, raised their hands and cheered loudly, prematurely celebrating the easy victory.
Unlike the Venice slave oarsmen, those recruited by Tuscany and the Papal States had been carefully selected much earlier and received generous treatment and promises, so their morale was naturally poles apart.
"Damn it! What is this idiotic pirate captain doing! Sending one ship to its death, does he think the enemy is a merchant ship at his mercy?" The fire on the ship was extinguished, but the fire in Veronese's heart flared up; he slammed the mast and cursed loudly.
Lavallette was slightly surprised but not panicked; although the enemy's luck was unexpectedly good, strategically, it might not be a bad thing.
Lavallette's flagship issued a command, and another galley sailed out of the formation.
"Get close to them, and blow them up!"
The enemy was in disarray, and Nino became bolder, gradually moving closer to the enemy, ordering continuous adjustments to the ship's direction, and alternately bombarding with bow and broadside cannons.
However, luck could not last forever; the moving target became a stationary target, and as the distance shortened, more than half of the cannonballs missed.
On the other side, Milo's ship also maintained continuous cannon fire.
Caught in a pincer attack, with constant wails from his comrades, the Venice Navy on board completely lost morale.
The bait captain finished off his wounded and wailing subordinates, attempting to organize a counterattack, but it was almost futile; slaves constantly jumped into the sea to escape, and after deducting those repairing the ship, there were very few usable hands left; it was clear they couldn't hold on much longer.
However, friendly ships coming to the rescue were approaching.