Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

[Avernite]

Angels and Demons in my timelines?

Why, I think canonized is a nickname for Dan Brown, now! I doubt Sandalphon and his apple are on the side of evil, what with Matthijs saying Adonai, but he does seem opposed to Spain. So, is Spain, as I have been saying all along, Evil?

I think it is, as evil as the Persians. Matthijs, make us a Dutch world!

[canonized]

It sucks that we know that when you promise something about updates, it's never true

Ugh i've been especially bad lately .

Angels and Demons in my timelines?

Why, I think canonized is a nickname for Dan Brown, now! I doubt Sandalphon and his apple are on the side of evil, what with Matthijs saying Adonai, but he does seem opposed to Spain. So, is Spain, as I have been saying all along, Evil?

I think it is, as evil as the Persians. Matthijs, make us a Dutch world!

Haha , does he do that too ? I wouldn't know XD

Update is about done actually I know i've been bad .

[Elidioemperor]

Ugh i've been especially bad lately .

Aaah, don't worry too much about it! You know we're only joking. Kind of...

[canonized]

Chapter CXLVIII: Toy

6 May 1643

Woodhouse brushed the mud off of his gloves and onto his trousers smearing the already caked fabric. The downpour that flashed outside of the command tent rose up in one direction before, as if whipped by the angry lightning, descended like bullets in the other direction. The wind whistled into the tent and rapaciously lifted the skirts of the makeshift shelter before, for the third time that afternoon, eliminating the candlelight.

“Bring the lamp over here, blast it all,” a voice grumbled at the far end of the table. Lord Fairfax wiped sweat and rain off his forehead. The older gentlemen around him tried desperately to hold down the map of England while the southerly winds were attempting to raise it out of their grasp. An attendant rushed over with some more light for them to read the atlas by.

“I'm afraid we can only assume that Cromwell was surrounded and captured—or killed we haven't received any notes of ransom or negotiation from the Spanish,” one of the colonels reported as he placed his finger a little to the east of London along the Thames. “Attempting to escape through the south was a good idea since most of the trench work was designed to keep Cromwell separated from us,” he paused to make a semi-circular motion with his finger above the city of London, “but the Spanish must have guessed as much when the turn the city to the flame.”

“Perfidious...” Fairfax grumbled as he held his forehead painfully. Lack of sleep and constant march had taken its toll on the relatively young Fairfax. With Cromwell gone, he felt as if he had been limping to London with his right arm lobbed off.

Woodhouse watched the meeting from the edge of the table behind some of the more prominent rebel leaders. For his daring escape from and valiant defense of the rear guard, he had been promoted to the rank of Captain though it was probably helped by the fact that many of the more experienced and regular officers had been either killed or captured at the battle outside of London. Woodhouse, however, contented himself to suck in the air around him coldly through his nostrils before exhaling it out the same way.

The stink of mud from their precarious position just north of the river Cambridge irritated Woodhouse's nose, but after the hard march evading Spanish cavalry columns, the river could have boiled over in blood and he would still have not turned his head. The situation, however, was just as grave as these macabre thoughts that passed through his mind. He could tell Fairfax knew exactly what he was talking about. Spain had sent not just soldiers and not just the German mercenaries they were wont to use, but a professional army—probably portions of the Austrian and Bohemian armies which had decided to remain in the service of the crown after the consumption of these powers into Spain's bosom. In other words: these were professionals. It was a wonder, he thought to himself, that the rebel army did as well as it did against such a force. It was the generals and colonels around him that had praised him for his unorthodox tactics which caught the enemy off guard. Woodhouse was not one to boast, but he grudgingly understood—for the sake of England, of course—that his method of fighting was badly needed by this ragtag host.

The only thing that had stopped the Empire from utilizing these agents before was the issue of pay, and it would seem that a new influx of gold (or credit) had paid these professionals off. “There is some good news,” someone at the table offered. Like famished dogs sensing thrown-away food but too used to pain to show excited faces, the men along the table raised their weary eyes to the speaker and waited cautiously for the telling of it. The eyes shifted quietly until all were on the eyes of a young officer freshly caked in mud like the rest of them.

“Go on, then, Charles” Fairfax commanded him with some urgency while for a moment forgetting his own pains.

The officer shifted his weight uncomfortably from all of the attention and cautiously cleared his throat before producing some official documents from his purse. “I have received word from across the channel that our Dutch compatriots have overrun the garrisons and have forced the Spanish back into France,” was the explanation.

Fairfax nodded solemnly. “Some good news, indeed,” he said quietly as if he was giving permission for the others to allow themselves some small exhilaration. “Hopefully it will convince some of the Spaniards away from our Island.”

“Unlikely,” Woodhouse snorted to himself. He could sense Fairfax shared his sentiment, but was not broadcasting it to the rest of the room.

“The Prince of Orange is making his way with thirty thousand men into France,” Charles continued to report.

Fairfax watched Charles's hand move along the designated path that his communication informed him. The commander's eyes brightened for a moment. “If he shows that he can take Paris, then Spain must concede to Dutch independence,” Fairfax speculated. “Madrid is not going to risk losing France as well. If the rebellion spreads to Paris, then we have all won—perhaps even France might win their freedom.”

“With France cut off, Germany, too, might finally move against their Imperial masters,” someone else along the council speculated. “It could mean the total collapse of the Empire.” Such words, uttered as if they were profanities against a deity, filled the men in the room with a sudden terror and exultation simultaneously.

Charles looked about at the grave faces and waited a moment before continuing his report: “As of this moment, the Spanish army is regrouping north of Paris while the Prince is marching down hoping to surprise them in their disarray,”Charles also procured a separate map from one of the other tables and spread it around below the map of their current situation. His finger traced the route of the Dutch army slowly.

“Very well, we cannot waste this opportunity,” Fairfax snapped his comment as he stood up straight and faced his commanders. “We will go on the offensive.”

“But sir, is that truly wise--” someone was about to object, but Fairfax continued with his explanation undeterred.

“Right now the enemy believes us to consolidate our strength and—with Cromwell gone—to not have any strength to contest their hold on London. We are far fewer than they, far less equipped, and they will not be expecting an attack. If they believe us to attack at all, they will expect us to attack London, and so we will make them believe just that. However, our true objective is to cut off their supply point back in Brighton and Sussex.” The thud of Fairfax's finger onto that portion of the map drew all eyes to the point where the Spanish naval supply route terminated at Brighton. “Then mobility will be on our side. London will be hard for the Spaniards to hold especially if our forces will be quick to move around them and avoid any direct contact. He will hold onto the capital while we cut him off at the neck.”

Fairfax looked about at his men and he knew he had sold them on the plan. Their eyes, although inured by months of fighting and depressed by the defeat at Brighton and London were now once again beginning to find strength. The daring move with the combination of indirect tactics enticed many of the commanders into believing that victory might indeed be possible.

“There is one more piece of good news I need to mention,” Charles said with a cough almost reluctantly. Fairfax's surprised look was mirrored by everyone else around the table. Perhaps unused to receiving good news twice in a row, they looked at Charles with a kind of confusion.

“There's more?” Fairfax was almost afraid to ask.

“Yes,” Charles replied unsteadily as if he might suddenly cripple the men around him. “The communication with the Dutch also reported back that half the Spanish Armada has been stalemated by the Persians and that Cadiz was set ablaze. The shipyards are destroyed. What's left of the Armada is heading back to Lisbon.”

There was a short silence that followed and even the roaring of the wind calmed at the unexpected news. Many of the officers looked at each other and Fairfax seemed to have a grim expression on his face. He moved his eyes to Woodhouse who seemed to also share his misgivings. One of the officers, a younger one, was one of the more puzzled of the group. He gave his confusion some form: “Well this is good news indeed, isn't it?” he asked out loud looking at his comrades, though many of the older ones closer to Fairfax shot him a look as if they were chastising a dog not to speak. The young man defied their gazes with his massive grin.

“In one way it is good news,” Woodhouse was the one who spoke now, “it means that the enemy will be hard pressed to reinforce himself as well as maintain operations in the Mediterranean. It also means that Rome will continue to remain in Persian hands.”

“And better for it!” the young man spoke up as if only encouraged by Woodhouse's statement and by the looks of the men around him. “Isn't this what that evil Popish city deserves? They simply traded one heathen ruler for another!”

Another air of silence descended upon the crowd and Fairfax moved to one side of the tent as if he perceived something across its canvas barrier flying away and his gaze desperately chased it. All awaited his words on the matter. Woodhouse, too, seemed keenly attentive to the commanding officer and his grave eyes held up ponderous brows. “As long as it aids us in our independence, let the Persians do what they will.”

The words seem to have only slipped past the prison of Fairfax's teeth as he spoke it. Woodhouse's face loosened and his gloves nearly slipped out of his fingers. He wished to say something, but Fairfax turned back around with a face as solid as cold iron. Woodhouse's lips moved as if he was to say something, but instead clenched his jaw shut. One of the other offices returned the meeting to the table in the midst of them. “My Lord General, when would you like us to proceed with operations for Sussex?”

Fairfax approached the map-table once more and moved his eyes about the two scrolls unfurled. “Our friend the Prince of Orange will have to take this city here if he wants his rear secured on the way to Paris,” Fairfax said quietly as he pointed to a section of the map where the route to the Oise valley was interjected by a fortification. “What is the name of that place, lieutenant?”

One of the men closest to where the commander's finger rested leaned in with the lamplight to discern the writing. “Rocroi, sir,” he replied before pulling back up.

“If he keeps marching at this speed,” Charles informed them, “he'll probably reach the city and invest it in thirteen days.”

“Then in thirteen days we shall move--”

“Sir,” Woodhouse moved forward quickly, “I would like to volunteer myself and my regiment to lead the attack on Brighton.” Fairfax turned to the bold rogue-turned-officer and narrowed his eyelids as if Woodhouse was becoming dimmer in his sight.

“Very well. You have proven that your skirmishing tactics have been very useful to us: Captain Woodhouse will lead the column. Very good gentlemen, by Providence, as we surround the Spanish, our Dutch allies will reach and secure Rocroi. May God's light shine on England once more and these clouds of dark days dissipate...”

---

The wooden sword seemed lighter than he remembered. It bore the nicks and craters of repeated conflict with other objects, but it still retained that elegant design that had satisfied the one holding it into believing that it was truly a soldier's weapon. Perhaps because he had gotten older, or perhaps he had been so used to the weight of metal on his limbs that the man handled the little toy with greater ease.

“We have to leave now, my Lord,” a voice skipped in the background. “If we wait any longer they will completely surround us. We have to at least get you and your family out of here.”

The fingers manipulating the toy paused for a moment before placing the object back down into the chest from where it had risen from. The object rested on some old books and boxes which immediately hailed the soft impact of the play-weapon with a rush of dust into the air. “I wish I could take these with me,” the man said quietly a smile forming carelessly on his lips.

“We won't have much room for baggage, sir,” the voice in the periphery said in desperation. The voice was drowned out by a sudden explosive crash coming from far away. “Your wife has entrusted the task of getting you to your horse to me.”

“She was a fine home—for as long as she and I have kept it,” the man commented as he looked about him almost ignoring the other voice. The walls, thickly laid with old stone, was a strange mismatch with the modern palaces of other noblemen throughout Europe. The bare architecture resembled better the old fortifications of the Kingdom of Jerusalem than of a Ducal house. “This was a soldier's house,” the man said quietly. “I shall miss her greatly.”

The other man who possessed the voice calling out for evacuation seemed to pause in the periphery as he blurred into a far off unseen observer. “We will return someday, sir,” that blur replied after a silent minute. “We will see her once again.”

“I am getting too old, Kevin,” the man said to his observer as he closed the chest to his old toys. “I'm not as good at my warcraft anymore.”

“Not at all, sir,” the peripheral man protested. “You led our men admirably: we had very little support from Madrid or Paris but we managed to hold off the insurgency for quite some time.”

“Not as long as I had hoped,” was the response, “but like I said, I'm getting old—the enthusiasm needs to come from you younger ones now.”

“Perhaps,” was the bold return, “but there is still so much of your genius that you have to impart on us. There is still much we can do, but we must first leave now. We will return here, my Lord, I have faith that we will.”

The man nodded in agreement and rested his right hand on his hilt before half-marching towards where Kevin was motioning. “My daughters?” was the quick question as energy began to spur that once nostalgic throat into a more martial tone.

“Already with the Madame,” was the reply as if anticipated.

“If we get through this alive, Kevin, you better make me grandchildren,” the man snorted as they both began to make good time down the hallway.

“When we do, I promise you, sir, that I'll be returning to my happier duties.”

“Where is that brat Orange's army heading next?” was the next surge of speech.

“Rocroi, sir,” Kevin replied.

“He's not stupid, I'll give him that,” was the grumble, “how many men do we have left still able to fight?”

Kevin's face, veiled by the candle-less darkness of the abandoned home, smiled a little at the question. “A hundred of our veterans survived. Two hundred militia are scattered elsewhere,” was the quick response.

“That will have to do. We'll rendezvous with them at the designated location. Go on ahead and make sure my family—our family—gets to the road to Cologne. I will await your flag in three days and we make a hard march to Rocroi. If my instinct is correct, Melo and the French divisions will attempt to contest Orange there.”

“Very good, sir, shall I communicate anything to your wife?”

“Tell Kassandra that she's free to spoil herself at Cologne. God knows she's hard a Spartan enough of a life with me.”

“I shall see you in a few days time then, General.”

As both exited onto the courtyard, Kevin made his way to the carriage along the edge of the garden greens while a page hurried to the remaining man's side. “Your horse, General Schenkhuizen,” the page said with a pant.

Interlude

An attending boy opened the car door and Thomas Royce climbed into the back seat. It's not safe here anymore, we'll have to switch locations for now was still ringing annoyingly in his ear. Rodrigo had entered the vehicle from the other side. The doors shut around them with a dull thud. Randall was already sitting across from them: it was one of those vehicles that had the strange back seats that faced each other. The engine started and the motion forward was dulled by the heaviness of the car: no doubt from the protective armour that lined its shell.

Randall looked first to Thomas who still maintained a sour expression and then shifted his eyes to Rodrigo. “There was something I wanted to ask,” Randall began quietly. Rodrigo looked straight at him and waited for the query. “I really can't go back to my life now, can I?”

The question was deceptively simple at first that Rodrigo took a moment to look at Randall's sincere stare. Tom himself emerged from his sulking just for a moment to look at Randall before turning back to the tinted window that shaded the outside world from him. “No I'm afraid not,” Rodrigo answered, “Not until... not until the 'threat' is eliminated.”

“When will it be?” was the simple question in return. “When will this all end? Do you intend to run for the rest of your life?”

Rodrigo squashed his forehead together as if in pain. “I'm not sure when this will all end. Although we've shut down their base in Siberia, there are still elements of this group that move about hoping to catch Tom... as you already know.”

“No one can live like this,” Randall continued to say. His simple, exasperated statements hit Rodrigo each time as striking condemnations—especially as they came from someone who had not been introduced to and who had not been tainted by the serious struggles that he and Tom had already endured. “Do you really even know what you're doing?”

“Yes, of course,” Rodrigo said back quickly. “We were just caught unprepared. We are almost finished setting up the final blow which will hopefully end all of this.”

“Fancy,” Randall half-mocked the statement. “I'm assuming all of this has to do with those Timepiece devices, then.”

“Yes... the Timepiece is the foundation of the enemy's plan. They will stop at nothing to bring Tom to it.”

“And you haven't changed Tom's mind about all of this yet, have you?”

Rodrigo sighed openly before shooting a look directly at Tom. “He's making us wait... He's making the whole world wait.”

Chapter CXLIX: Foundation / Late Repentant (coming soon)

[Woody Man]

The Spanish Empire attacked on all sides! The fact that the Armada has taken such losses is only heartening in the short term, all Europe may have to fight a grave war if the Persians continue their advance..

I hope Spain will negotiate with Europe!

[Capibara]

For a moment I thought the chapter's title was "Troy", the horse helped with the confusion

Rocroi? That's not good for the Spanish Army. Some bad memories they have of that place, at least in our Timeline Waiting eagerly to read the chapter of this battle of Rocroi

[Milites]

I sure hope Turenne will show up :P

[Judas Maccabeus]

300 men, and his wife having a Spartan existence? This is blasphemy! This is madness!

If Schenkhuizen starts SHOUTING! EVERYTHING! HE! SAYS!, I quit.

[ColossusCrusher]

For some reason, pronouncing Grubby's name as Shen-qui-zen makes me think of HADOKEN!

[Avernite]

For some reason, pronouncing Grubby's name as Shen-qui-zen makes me think of HADOKEN!

Do not do such things to proper Dutch names, heretic!


As to the English, seems they, too, are not entirely sold on the idea of Spain being crushed by Persia. Intelligent (and quite an achievement for perfidious Albion )

Onwards, however, to our brave Dutch friends. You can pick between Schenkhuizen and Oranje

[canonized]

The Spanish Empire attacked on all sides! The fact that the Armada has taken such losses is only heartening in the short term, all Europe may have to fight a grave war if the Persians continue their advance..

I hope Spain will negotiate with Europe!

Hard decisions have to be made ahead ! And yes , Persians moving up on Germany , Italy , and North Africa , while the English are in Revolt , Dutch into France and the russians into Norway .

For a moment I thought the chapter's title was "Troy", the horse helped with the confusion

Rocroi? That's not good for the Spanish Army. Some bad memories they have of that place, at least in our Timeline Waiting eagerly to read the chapter of this battle of Rocroi

Haha , indeed . Rocroi will be a centerpiece of the upcoming chapters .

I sure hope Turenne will show up :P

Haha , not for a few decades I'm afraid XD

300 men, and his wife having a Spartan existence? This is blasphemy! This is madness!

If Schenkhuizen starts SHOUTING! EVERYTHING! HE! SAYS!, I quit.

Haha , that was a little bit by accident actually XD I promise

For some reason, pronouncing Grubby's name as Shen-qui-zen makes me think of HADOKEN!

If you REALLY want to see what the Schenkhuizen house looks like :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73GXqp3l2zw

Do not do such things to proper Dutch names, heretic!


As to the English, seems they, too, are not entirely sold on the idea of Spain being crushed by Persia. Intelligent (and quite an achievement for perfidious Albion )

Onwards, however, to our brave Dutch friends. You can pick between Schenkhuizen and Oranje

Ahh the two great Dutch giants XD I wonder who will prevail , eh ?

[ForzaA]

Do not do such things to proper Dutch names, heretic!

+1

--

I told you a LONG LONG time ago, Canonized, that Spain should've used less stick and more carrot.

EDIT: Hmm... who IS the prince of Orange, actually... I get the feeling Canonized may be coming with a sneaky surprise there.... (A direct cross-corelation between OTL and TTL(timelines timeline) gives us Frederick Henry.. Which should prove an interesting matchup for Schenkhuizen)

[Davout]

Ahem, canonized. Enough with your unnatural fixation with the Dutch.

By 1643, de La Tour d'Auvergne was a Marechal of France and had been soldiering for over 17 years, although he was not at Rocroi. Which leads me to my second quible - where is Le Grand Conde?

[ColossusCrusher]

I just realized that my bastardization lacked the proper HADOKEN-ness.

It's Shenk-hui-zen, emphasis HUI.

[demokratickid]

Ahem, canonized. Enough with your unnatural fixation with the Dutch.

Yeah! Get to the Slovaks already...

[ForzaA]

I just realized that my bastardization lacked the proper HADOKEN-ness.

It's Shenk-hui-zen, emphasis HUI.

I'd like to see you try and pronounce both the "sch" and "ui" combinations correctly

Ahem, canonized. Enough with your unnatural fixation with the Dutch.

It's called karma; It is the natural way of things that the Dutch should be free of the Spanish joke. I dare say that it may not even be Canonized doing that writing, but just the universe trying to establish the proper order

[canonized]

+1

--

I told you a LONG LONG time ago, Canonized, that Spain should've used less stick and more carrot.

EDIT: Hmm... who IS the prince of Orange, actually... I get the feeling Canonized may be coming with a sneaky surprise there.... (A direct cross-corelation between OTL and TTL(timelines timeline) gives us Frederick Henry.. Which should prove an interesting matchup for Schenkhuizen)

Considering we have Fairfax and Cromwell that isn't so far from the mark XD

Ahem, canonized. Enough with your unnatural fixation with the Dutch.

By 1643, de La Tour d'Auvergne was a Marechal of France and had been soldiering for over 17 years, although he was not at Rocroi. Which leads me to my second quible - where is Le Grand Conde?

Shhh ! History is unraveling my surprises ! haha and perhaps it is an unnatural fixation . The Netherlands has always been a golden apple for the Spanish so I guess I'd be fixated with it XD

I just realized that my bastardization lacked the proper HADOKEN-ness.

It's Shenk-hui-zen, emphasis HUI.

I've always thought of it more like shank-ow-zen

Yeah! Get to the Slovaks already...

Haha , I'll try XD

I'd like to see you try and pronounce both the "sch" and "ui" combinations correctly



It's called karma; It is the natural way of things that the Dutch should be free of the Spanish joke. I dare say that it may not even be Canonized doing that writing, but just the universe trying to establish the proper order

psh .. the universe ! in any universe the dutch are always the nasty rebels XD

[Calipah]

The Spanish Empire attacked on all sides! The fact that the Armada has taken such losses is only heartening in the short term, all Europe may have to fight a grave war if the Persians continue their advance..

I hope Spain will negotiate with Europe!

Dear Sir,

I must protest. The Persian Empire has no intention of conquering all of Europe or forcefully spreading Shiite Islam. After all, they are a tolerant, benign entity to whom the masses in Asia, Africa, and Europe look to longingly for salvation and liberty from Spain's inquisitions, forceful conversions, and outright evil (plus a yellow blob is just so tacky.) Huzzah for Persia any day!

[Avernite]

psh .. the universe ! in any universe the dutch are always the nasty rebels XD

1. We are not nasty.
2. We do not rebel once we have won. Which is the natural end result of the laws of nature, and thus in an infinite set many will be found which do not contain Dutch rebels.

[Kurt_Steiner]

Rocroi?

I hope that Alatriste will manage to achieve something different...