Inside the Allied Command Headquarters, Archduke Albrecht frowned deeply as he studied the troop deployment map sent from the front.
"General Desmet, isn't your troop deployment along the coast a little too weak?"
There was no helping it. The Anti-French Alliance held the advantage in every respect, except at sea, where it was at a disadvantage.
The Mediterranean Sea front was still manageable. The French and Austrian navies were evenly matched, and both feared the United Kingdom might reap the benefits as the fisherman, so neither dared risk a decisive naval battle.
The North Sea was different. Whether it was the Belgian Navy or the German Confederation Navy, both were frail as reeds before the French Navy.
Even after Vittorio Emanuele III left London, neither navy had sent warships to receive him.
There was no other reason—they simply did not dare. The French Navy had already blockaded their doorstep. Any warship leaving port would be gone for good.
The Anti-French Alliance had lost control of the seas in the North Sea, and coastal defense had become a harsh reality Belgium and Germany had no choice but to confront.
Belgium's coastline was not long, only sixty-six kilometers, but even that was not something a few garrison regiments could defend.
As Archduke Albrecht knew, the few garrison regiments Belgium had deployed along the coast had all been temporarily expanded after the war began.
Their structure consisted of a small number of retired officers and soldiers, temporarily recruited noble officers, and a mass of young and middle-aged men.
The retired servicemen among them were worth mentioning. Most were over fifty; the younger ones had all gone to the main forces.
The officers and soldiers alike were also castoffs filtered out by the main forces. There was no helping it. Even though the Belgian