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He can have whatever posts he wants as long as he keeps updating regularly.
Speaking of which, I hope DerKaiser isn't hitting a funk with this project at such a critical moment. I'm confident he'll be back soon though.
Speaking of which, I hope DerKaiser isn't hitting a funk with this project at such a critical moment. I'm confident he'll be back soon though.
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Just a quick note: this is naturally not abandoned- not at all!
Unfortunately, at this particular moment, reality is making itself felt rather painfully: I was in a play for the entire of last week, and I have two essays of coursework due by Thursday this week which I left a little late... On top of that is all the work I have to do normally, plus all the other various things I fill my time with.
All this has left me with not much time to write an update, but that doesn't mean one isn't coming! I know what I'm going to write- I just haven't had time to write it yet! I will, however, soon have no more coursework and my Easter holiday (starts the end of this week), which will give me a lot more time to get this going properly again. That's not to say I definitely won't update again before the end of the week, I certainly hope to, but I may not have the time.
Thanks for your patience though guys, and keep checking back!
DerKaiser
Unfortunately, at this particular moment, reality is making itself felt rather painfully: I was in a play for the entire of last week, and I have two essays of coursework due by Thursday this week which I left a little late... On top of that is all the work I have to do normally, plus all the other various things I fill my time with.
All this has left me with not much time to write an update, but that doesn't mean one isn't coming! I know what I'm going to write- I just haven't had time to write it yet! I will, however, soon have no more coursework and my Easter holiday (starts the end of this week), which will give me a lot more time to get this going properly again. That's not to say I definitely won't update again before the end of the week, I certainly hope to, but I may not have the time.
Thanks for your patience though guys, and keep checking back!
DerKaiser
It is indeed mid-term season in lots of places . Can't wait to see you back in action at Easter break !
Yer off the hook for now....
Seriously, this AAR is pretty much 3/4 my internet entertainment while I'm at work.
Seriously, this AAR is pretty much 3/4 my internet entertainment while I'm at work.
<happily sings>
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! HIS truth is marching on!
</singing>
Still here waiting.
Vive le Kaiser!
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah! HIS truth is marching on!
</singing>
Still here waiting.
Vive le Kaiser!
canonized- Double agents definitely do have an important significance, though not merely in their traditional role (more on this later). Already, Price's fear of a double-agent in Alejandro has caused him to make some poor decisions... But the more significant reasons for the First Army's blindness is tacit local support for the royalists and simply stupid generalship.
alex- It would be just his style to find a suitably rousing tune! As for Alejandro, well... We can only hope!
robou- Well Tibalto isn't a bad general, he's a reckless one. Even he has the common sense not to attack in the middle of the night! But yes, it will be very interesting to see just how he turns out as a king (if he gets his chance, that is).
Jhovozhymeh- Glad you're enjoying it! And the real question is, will the First Army get time to effect such a major change?
mad general- Just wait for it...
billy bob- We're about to see if you're right! And your though about Santa Anna is a very interesting one- a good reminder that one has to be careful just whose word one is trusting.
Andreios- Well I can't tell you that now! Read the update! And those cannon are indeed rather nasty...
Cinead- Well the rebels are trained and properly equipped, so it's not a case of professionals versus rabble by any means. Plus, as we've seen, the royalists hold several key advantages which will certainly take their toll. And this section of the game has indeed been played.
dunklerwald- Remember that they don't even know Tibalto's army are there yet- it's just a hunch on the part of Alejandro, who has no authority in the First Army. I would say they're in trouble.
But, while we're on the topic, don't entirely lose hope of an independent state in the Sonora!
English Patriot- Meticulous planning (combined with enemy blunders) does seem to be paying off rather nicely!
DaveK- Tibalto does die "pretty soon", but that pretty soon isn't imminent, it's in a few years time. He's safe for the moment- otherwise your idea would have been a very plausible, and very intriguing, one!
gis- Coming, coming...
billy bob- It would be an honour!
And, on the subject of landmarks: we recently passed 30,000 views, I reached page 300 on my Word Document for this AAR, and we're coming up to 50 pages on the thread. Drinks all round!
DaveK- As I said in my most recent comment, I'm certainly not considering dropping this! And here's your update- enjoy!
TheExecuter- Now here's a man who knows an awful lot about sporadic updates! I haven't checked up on "The Last Mission" for a while though, so who knows, perhaps I'll get lucky!
To all- Thanks for your patience, guys, it's been a very busy week or two! I know have a brief period of grace as the holidays have begun, though of course that simply means that the real life distractions will be different- not necessarily any less. I'm going to Mexico for a week next Wednesday, so I doubt updating will be possible there, so my plan is to update at least three times (including this coming one) between now and then. After that, expect a return to a more regular update schedule.
Until then, many thanks for your support, keep reading, enjoy!
alex- It would be just his style to find a suitably rousing tune! As for Alejandro, well... We can only hope!
robou- Well Tibalto isn't a bad general, he's a reckless one. Even he has the common sense not to attack in the middle of the night! But yes, it will be very interesting to see just how he turns out as a king (if he gets his chance, that is).
Jhovozhymeh- Glad you're enjoying it
! And the real question is, will the First Army get time to effect such a major change?mad general- Just wait for it
...billy bob- We're about to see if you're right! And your though about Santa Anna is a very interesting one- a good reminder that one has to be careful just whose word one is trusting.
Andreios- Well I can't tell you that now! Read the update
! And those cannon are indeed rather nasty...Cinead- Well the rebels are trained and properly equipped, so it's not a case of professionals versus rabble by any means. Plus, as we've seen, the royalists hold several key advantages which will certainly take their toll. And this section of the game has indeed been played.
dunklerwald- Remember that they don't even know Tibalto's army are there yet- it's just a hunch on the part of Alejandro, who has no authority in the First Army. I would say they're in trouble.
But, while we're on the topic, don't entirely lose hope of an independent state in the Sonora!
English Patriot- Meticulous planning (combined with enemy blunders) does seem to be paying off rather nicely!
DaveK- Tibalto does die "pretty soon", but that pretty soon isn't imminent, it's in a few years time. He's safe for the moment- otherwise your idea would have been a very plausible, and very intriguing, one
!gis- Coming, coming...
billy bob- It would be an honour
!And, on the subject of landmarks: we recently passed 30,000 views, I reached page 300 on my Word Document for this AAR, and we're coming up to 50 pages on the thread. Drinks all round!
DaveK- As I said in my most recent comment, I'm certainly not considering dropping this! And here's your update- enjoy
!TheExecuter- Now here's a man who knows an awful lot about sporadic updates
! I haven't checked up on "The Last Mission" for a while though, so who knows, perhaps I'll get lucky!To all- Thanks for your patience, guys, it's been a very busy week or two! I know have a brief period of grace as the holidays have begun, though of course that simply means that the real life distractions will be different- not necessarily any less. I'm going to Mexico for a week next Wednesday, so I doubt updating will be possible there, so my plan is to update at least three times (including this coming one) between now and then. After that, expect a return to a more regular update schedule.
Until then, many thanks for your support, keep reading, enjoy!
The Rout Of Santa Maria
Santa Maria, California, December 27th 1860
The sun rose silently, barely touching the tops of the hills that stood tall to the east of Santa Maria plain. The first rays of the sun glinted off the dew on the withered winter grass, on the still-rushing surface of the river, on the mass of tents on the plain, and on the cannons high above.
On the ridge, the sun rose with one word.
“Fire!”
The mouths of three hundred cannons answered with a roar. For a few brief seconds longer, the plain below lay undisturbed, before the artillery of the Californian Kingdom found its mark. Great plumes of soil, smoke and shattered wreckage were tossed high into the air as shells ripped through the flimsy canvas of the First Army’s exposed tents. The noise was awesome: an unending, thundering drumbeat played out on the slumbering bodies of the Republicans. From high above on the ridge, the watching hunters could not hear the rising shouts and screams from the stricken encampment, but they could just see the figures of men swarming, running in circles, towards the river or away from the hills.
The cannons fired for half an hour, gouging great holes into the ground below, smashing tents, equipment and soldiers alike; and then, as abruptly as the firing had started, it stopped. Vast palls of smoke billowed from the ridge, as fires began to flare up in the plain below. Now those high above could hear the anguish of those below. But above the desperate cries and moans of the First Army of the Republic of California, a clear, harsh sound called repeatedly. The bugles were sounding the royal cavalry to attack. Slowly, in neat lines between the dormant guns, the immaculately-uniformed horsemen filed past. They were massing on the ridge, and to those men below who had turned their fearful eyes in the direction of their doom, they appeared only as a great shining line, as of the first glimmer of dawn over the horizon. The sun was shining on their breastplates, on their stirrups and spurs, and on their sabres.
In the centre were the best-dressed cavaliers, who seemed in their pride to sit a little higher in the saddle. Banners of purple and gold fluttered in their ranks, flying from the long cavalry lances that each rider carried. At their front, one man spurred his horse a little ahead of the rest, and reined it around to survey those that followed him. He was smiling. His right hand, decorated with a flawless golden signet-ring, flashed to his side and with a great sweep of the arm he produced a coldly-shining sabre and raised it aloft.
“Bourbon Lancers!” He cried aloud, though surely at most only a small portion of his men could hear him. “For God, for Country, for King!” Those that could hear him answered with a guttural roar of approval, those that could not hear him mimicked their comrades, and within seconds the entire host of the cavalry, Bourbon Lancers or not, was cheering. As it began, so, gradually, the noise subsided. The man in front turned his horse to face down the slope, perhaps a five or ten minute gallop to the encampment. He lowered his sabre, dead level, aiming at the First Army.
“Vengeance!” He howled, and spurred his horse on with a vicious kick. The creature burst into a sudden gallop, and it was the moment for which the entire of the cavalry had been waiting. They followed him down the hill. As the fires within the encampment of the First Army began to spread, scattering the soldiers of the Republic like fearful children among their tents, the horsemen of the Californian Kingdom charged.
The sounds of wounded and dying men were distracting the commanders of the First Army, as they struggled to concentrate on the matter at hand. It was, on reflection, lucky that the sudden end to the barrage against the camp had left an eery quiet- otherwise nothing that anyone had to say would have been audible. Not that anything anyone had to say was of much use at this point.
“We must return fire!” Came the distant voice of Captain Price. “If the bastards have finally summoned up the nerve to come and face us, we’ll blow them off the ridge! Get the guns into position!”
His words were quite lost on General Paul Jackson, who had turned an uncommon shade of grey and who was yet to make eye contact with anyone. “I assure you, Captain,” he gasped, “that will be quite impossible. We did not encamp in fighting order. It will take at least an hour to arrange our troops for battle.”
“Well tell them to make a bloody start now, then!” Price shouted. Already that morning he had raised his voice more times than during the entire of the march northwards, and he seemed unlikely to moderate his tone in the near future.
“Captain,” put in Don Alejandro del Serrano, “it really does not work in that way. We cannot simply start moving into battle order when we are under fire.”
“The firing has stopped!” Retorted Price. “And I must say I find your objections to be most unhelpful. I did not say it wasn’t difficult, I merely said that if we are going to fight a battle, we may as well order our troops accordingly.”
“We are not going to fight a battle.” Replied Alejandro. “There is no battle to be fought here. This is a rout- the destruction of an army- nothing more.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Snarled the government officer.
“I suggest that we try to convey as many of our soldiers as possible across the river, and instruct them to make their way to San Francisco with all speed. I fear that beyond that we must consider the First Army disbanded.”
“Disbanded? This is ridiculous! There are fifty thousand men in this force, are you suggesting that we write them off and make an impromptu dash across the river?”
“I am saying that you can either salvage a little, or lose all.”
“This is absurd alarmism! I will have no part in it!” Price turned away from Alejandro, addressing Jackson. “For God’s sake, man, get a grip on yourself and try and put some semblance of order in this mess.”
The general did not respond. He was gazing through his field-glasses, eastwards, towards the hills, and the hands that held the binoculars high were visibly beginning to shake. “Too late, Captain…” He stuttered.
Price squinted in the same direction, and, seeing little, snatched the field-glasses from the trembling general and raised them. For an interminable second he stared eastwards, and then he lowered his hand slowly, before silently offering the glasses to Don Alejandro.
The magnified sight that greeted the latter’s eyes was an incredible one. As cruel as it was, one could not consider it anything less than magnificent. Innumerable cavalry were pouring off the ridge, bearing down on the encampment whose edges were utterly undefended. Behind the horsemen, the winter sun was rising. The Bourbon Lancers were charging out of the sun.
Don Carlos twisted in the saddle and brought his sabre down in a cruel slash, catching the fleeing man in the back between his naked shoulder-blades. He hadn’t even managed to dress himself properly, and now he fell forwards with a shriek of surprise, and would not rise again. The rider leaned forwards and swung his blade ahead of him towards a man wielding a bayonet attached to no rifle; the man tried to duck, lost his footing, fell, and was trampled under the hooves of the horse.
Don Carlos rode on through the shattered camp, and watched the enemy scatter among the tents. Already he could see them throwing down their weapons, crying out their desperate wish to surrender, raising their hands high into the air. The camp was burning. Far behind, although he could not see them, Carlos knew that the infantry were slowly marching down the hill; the Battle of Santa Maria- the rout of Santa Maria, was already over.
But he didn’t look back. Don Carlos spurred on his horse eagerly, making for the river, where the flags of the Californian Republic and the standard of the First Army hung limply on their high poles, without a breath of wind to raise them up. When they asked who had completed the triumph at Santa Maria, who had captured the colours of the enemy and presented their generals with total defeat, everyone would know the answer: Don Carlos del Serrano.
The enemy were pressing in. The encampment of the First Army had become a chaotic maelstrom of death and despair. By now, it no longer needed field-glasses for the generals to see what was coming. The figures of horsemen were getting closer.
“Now, Captain Price!” Shouted Don Alejandro. “There is nothing left here! I assure you that Tibalto will have prisoners of rank shot! They will still need officers in San Francisco! It is time to give the enemy possession of the field!” For a silent moment, Price stared blankly at him, as though he hadn’t heard him. Alejandro spoke again, this time quieter. “Run away, Captain Price…”
The cavalry of the enemy were getting closer and closer. “I cannot ‘run away’, Don Alejandro,” replied Price, the faint hint of a sneer still in his voice. “I have a duty. I have a responsibility. I am charged with bringing these troops to San Francisco.”
“That is no longer possible!” They could see the faces of the horsemen now, see their sabres swinging up and down and the flash of their pistols. “For God’s sake, run away now or you will never leave this place!” The shouts and cries of those being struck down by the enemy were now becoming clear, individual, distinct from one another. “Will you simply stand here and wait for them to finish you off?” Alejandro stared at Price incredulously, who simply looked away, then at Jackson, who, apparently unable to stand any longer, sat on the damp ground with his head in his hands. Neither said anything.
“Fine!” Shouted Alejandro. “Fine! If you want to stay here and die, so be it!” The enemy cavalry were almost upon them. “Caballeros, goodbye and good luck!” The Santa Maria River was no more than a few paces from where they stood. Alejandro turned and ran towards the grey water, ripping off his brocaded jacket with its ornate insignia as he went, wrenching his sword from its sheath and throwing it to one side. Without breaking stride, he jumped, head first, into the freezing river. Immediately, the sounds of the dying First Army were drowned out, as the Santa Maria’s current carried Don Alejandro del Serrano westwards, towards the sea.
The captured soldiers of the First Army sat on the grass in a vast sprawl. Dotted among them were armed soldiers in Monarchist uniform. At the front of the great mob, some twenty or thirty men stood in a line, hands tied, awaiting the inevitable. Mirroring them ten paces away stood a single rank of riflemen, ready to carry out the sentence. Two men on horseback were conferring.
“And there is no sign of del Serrano?” Demanded one of them, whose head was adorned with a golden circlet.
“None, Majestad. Some of the higher ranks of the enemy assert that he fled, but whether that can be proven or not…”
“I would not doubt it, Felipe. Alejandro has always preferred to run away, as long as I have known him. It is a shame not to have him here, but I doubt there is much damage he can do to our cause any more…”
“Indeed no, Majestad.”
Don Tibalto gave a satisfied smile. Then, with an abrupt kick to his horse’s flanks, he rode forwards, looking over the vast crowd of defeated Republicans in front of him.
“Soldiers!” He roared, and again, it seemed unlikely that all of them could hear him. “Your battle has been fought, and it is lost! Over there,” he gestured with an arm towards a vast fire burning in the distance, “the bodies of those of your comrades who chose to take arms against fate are being commended to the air. The Republic of California is dead! The Kingdom has arrived! You are faced, soldiers, with a choice. Declare your allegiance aloud to me, King Tibalto the First, and be embraced as a faithful subject who has seen the error of his ways; or stay silent, stay stubborn and foolish, and you will be an enemy of the King, and face a life of hardship and disfavour, as befits those who oppose justice! These men whom you see before you have chosen the latter course. They are officers- men of standing in the old order whom I cannot allow to flourish further. They are seditious, treacherous and cruel, and for that they are punished!” The men in the line were looking hopeless and fearful. One, wearing the torn uniform of a government official, had clearly already been whipped. “You are not officers, you will be spared death!” Tibalto continued, addressing the vast mob again. “But let this example stand as a lesson to you all: the King of California shall not be trifled with! Swear allegiance to me, or be my enemy!”
He pulled harshly on the reins of his horse, turning it around so that he looked at the firing squad. “Fire!” He screamed. Two dozen shots and more rang out, the men in the line fell as one.
Don Tibalto turned back to the First Army. “I am the King of California! Are you for me, or are you against me?”
There was silence. Then a man near the front of the prisoners stood up, and raised his arm in a salute. “Long live the King!”
“Long live the King!” Hundreds, thousands of voices took up the chant, acclaiming the horseman who stood before them.
But there was another sound, vying with the first among the defeated soldiers. Mingled with the cries of newfound loyalty, men were beginning to sing, and gradually the verses grew louder, rolling over the heads of the First Army, past Don Tibalto on his horse, floating over the bodies of the fallen officers.
Tibalto rode abreast of Don Felipe again. “Not a bad response, I think.” He said calmly. “You will identify those that affirm loyalty to the Kingdom and put them in uniform. The rest shall be dealt with later.” He rode away, turning his back to the shattered remnants of the First Army of the Californian Republic, whose soldiers had already begun fighting amongst themselves.
Santa Maria, California, December 27th 1860
The sun rose silently, barely touching the tops of the hills that stood tall to the east of Santa Maria plain. The first rays of the sun glinted off the dew on the withered winter grass, on the still-rushing surface of the river, on the mass of tents on the plain, and on the cannons high above.
On the ridge, the sun rose with one word.
“Fire!”
The mouths of three hundred cannons answered with a roar. For a few brief seconds longer, the plain below lay undisturbed, before the artillery of the Californian Kingdom found its mark. Great plumes of soil, smoke and shattered wreckage were tossed high into the air as shells ripped through the flimsy canvas of the First Army’s exposed tents. The noise was awesome: an unending, thundering drumbeat played out on the slumbering bodies of the Republicans. From high above on the ridge, the watching hunters could not hear the rising shouts and screams from the stricken encampment, but they could just see the figures of men swarming, running in circles, towards the river or away from the hills.
The cannons fired for half an hour, gouging great holes into the ground below, smashing tents, equipment and soldiers alike; and then, as abruptly as the firing had started, it stopped. Vast palls of smoke billowed from the ridge, as fires began to flare up in the plain below. Now those high above could hear the anguish of those below. But above the desperate cries and moans of the First Army of the Republic of California, a clear, harsh sound called repeatedly. The bugles were sounding the royal cavalry to attack. Slowly, in neat lines between the dormant guns, the immaculately-uniformed horsemen filed past. They were massing on the ridge, and to those men below who had turned their fearful eyes in the direction of their doom, they appeared only as a great shining line, as of the first glimmer of dawn over the horizon. The sun was shining on their breastplates, on their stirrups and spurs, and on their sabres.
In the centre were the best-dressed cavaliers, who seemed in their pride to sit a little higher in the saddle. Banners of purple and gold fluttered in their ranks, flying from the long cavalry lances that each rider carried. At their front, one man spurred his horse a little ahead of the rest, and reined it around to survey those that followed him. He was smiling. His right hand, decorated with a flawless golden signet-ring, flashed to his side and with a great sweep of the arm he produced a coldly-shining sabre and raised it aloft.
“Bourbon Lancers!” He cried aloud, though surely at most only a small portion of his men could hear him. “For God, for Country, for King!” Those that could hear him answered with a guttural roar of approval, those that could not hear him mimicked their comrades, and within seconds the entire host of the cavalry, Bourbon Lancers or not, was cheering. As it began, so, gradually, the noise subsided. The man in front turned his horse to face down the slope, perhaps a five or ten minute gallop to the encampment. He lowered his sabre, dead level, aiming at the First Army.
“Vengeance!” He howled, and spurred his horse on with a vicious kick. The creature burst into a sudden gallop, and it was the moment for which the entire of the cavalry had been waiting. They followed him down the hill. As the fires within the encampment of the First Army began to spread, scattering the soldiers of the Republic like fearful children among their tents, the horsemen of the Californian Kingdom charged.
***************
The sounds of wounded and dying men were distracting the commanders of the First Army, as they struggled to concentrate on the matter at hand. It was, on reflection, lucky that the sudden end to the barrage against the camp had left an eery quiet- otherwise nothing that anyone had to say would have been audible. Not that anything anyone had to say was of much use at this point.
“We must return fire!” Came the distant voice of Captain Price. “If the bastards have finally summoned up the nerve to come and face us, we’ll blow them off the ridge! Get the guns into position!”
His words were quite lost on General Paul Jackson, who had turned an uncommon shade of grey and who was yet to make eye contact with anyone. “I assure you, Captain,” he gasped, “that will be quite impossible. We did not encamp in fighting order. It will take at least an hour to arrange our troops for battle.”
“Well tell them to make a bloody start now, then!” Price shouted. Already that morning he had raised his voice more times than during the entire of the march northwards, and he seemed unlikely to moderate his tone in the near future.
“Captain,” put in Don Alejandro del Serrano, “it really does not work in that way. We cannot simply start moving into battle order when we are under fire.”
“The firing has stopped!” Retorted Price. “And I must say I find your objections to be most unhelpful. I did not say it wasn’t difficult, I merely said that if we are going to fight a battle, we may as well order our troops accordingly.”
“We are not going to fight a battle.” Replied Alejandro. “There is no battle to be fought here. This is a rout- the destruction of an army- nothing more.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Snarled the government officer.
“I suggest that we try to convey as many of our soldiers as possible across the river, and instruct them to make their way to San Francisco with all speed. I fear that beyond that we must consider the First Army disbanded.”
“Disbanded? This is ridiculous! There are fifty thousand men in this force, are you suggesting that we write them off and make an impromptu dash across the river?”
“I am saying that you can either salvage a little, or lose all.”
“This is absurd alarmism! I will have no part in it!” Price turned away from Alejandro, addressing Jackson. “For God’s sake, man, get a grip on yourself and try and put some semblance of order in this mess.”
The general did not respond. He was gazing through his field-glasses, eastwards, towards the hills, and the hands that held the binoculars high were visibly beginning to shake. “Too late, Captain…” He stuttered.
Price squinted in the same direction, and, seeing little, snatched the field-glasses from the trembling general and raised them. For an interminable second he stared eastwards, and then he lowered his hand slowly, before silently offering the glasses to Don Alejandro.
The magnified sight that greeted the latter’s eyes was an incredible one. As cruel as it was, one could not consider it anything less than magnificent. Innumerable cavalry were pouring off the ridge, bearing down on the encampment whose edges were utterly undefended. Behind the horsemen, the winter sun was rising. The Bourbon Lancers were charging out of the sun.
***************
Don Carlos twisted in the saddle and brought his sabre down in a cruel slash, catching the fleeing man in the back between his naked shoulder-blades. He hadn’t even managed to dress himself properly, and now he fell forwards with a shriek of surprise, and would not rise again. The rider leaned forwards and swung his blade ahead of him towards a man wielding a bayonet attached to no rifle; the man tried to duck, lost his footing, fell, and was trampled under the hooves of the horse.
Don Carlos rode on through the shattered camp, and watched the enemy scatter among the tents. Already he could see them throwing down their weapons, crying out their desperate wish to surrender, raising their hands high into the air. The camp was burning. Far behind, although he could not see them, Carlos knew that the infantry were slowly marching down the hill; the Battle of Santa Maria- the rout of Santa Maria, was already over.
But he didn’t look back. Don Carlos spurred on his horse eagerly, making for the river, where the flags of the Californian Republic and the standard of the First Army hung limply on their high poles, without a breath of wind to raise them up. When they asked who had completed the triumph at Santa Maria, who had captured the colours of the enemy and presented their generals with total defeat, everyone would know the answer: Don Carlos del Serrano.
***************
The enemy were pressing in. The encampment of the First Army had become a chaotic maelstrom of death and despair. By now, it no longer needed field-glasses for the generals to see what was coming. The figures of horsemen were getting closer.
“Now, Captain Price!” Shouted Don Alejandro. “There is nothing left here! I assure you that Tibalto will have prisoners of rank shot! They will still need officers in San Francisco! It is time to give the enemy possession of the field!” For a silent moment, Price stared blankly at him, as though he hadn’t heard him. Alejandro spoke again, this time quieter. “Run away, Captain Price…”
The cavalry of the enemy were getting closer and closer. “I cannot ‘run away’, Don Alejandro,” replied Price, the faint hint of a sneer still in his voice. “I have a duty. I have a responsibility. I am charged with bringing these troops to San Francisco.”
“That is no longer possible!” They could see the faces of the horsemen now, see their sabres swinging up and down and the flash of their pistols. “For God’s sake, run away now or you will never leave this place!” The shouts and cries of those being struck down by the enemy were now becoming clear, individual, distinct from one another. “Will you simply stand here and wait for them to finish you off?” Alejandro stared at Price incredulously, who simply looked away, then at Jackson, who, apparently unable to stand any longer, sat on the damp ground with his head in his hands. Neither said anything.
“Fine!” Shouted Alejandro. “Fine! If you want to stay here and die, so be it!” The enemy cavalry were almost upon them. “Caballeros, goodbye and good luck!” The Santa Maria River was no more than a few paces from where they stood. Alejandro turned and ran towards the grey water, ripping off his brocaded jacket with its ornate insignia as he went, wrenching his sword from its sheath and throwing it to one side. Without breaking stride, he jumped, head first, into the freezing river. Immediately, the sounds of the dying First Army were drowned out, as the Santa Maria’s current carried Don Alejandro del Serrano westwards, towards the sea.
***************
The captured soldiers of the First Army sat on the grass in a vast sprawl. Dotted among them were armed soldiers in Monarchist uniform. At the front of the great mob, some twenty or thirty men stood in a line, hands tied, awaiting the inevitable. Mirroring them ten paces away stood a single rank of riflemen, ready to carry out the sentence. Two men on horseback were conferring.
“And there is no sign of del Serrano?” Demanded one of them, whose head was adorned with a golden circlet.
“None, Majestad. Some of the higher ranks of the enemy assert that he fled, but whether that can be proven or not…”
“I would not doubt it, Felipe. Alejandro has always preferred to run away, as long as I have known him. It is a shame not to have him here, but I doubt there is much damage he can do to our cause any more…”
“Indeed no, Majestad.”
Don Tibalto gave a satisfied smile. Then, with an abrupt kick to his horse’s flanks, he rode forwards, looking over the vast crowd of defeated Republicans in front of him.
“Soldiers!” He roared, and again, it seemed unlikely that all of them could hear him. “Your battle has been fought, and it is lost! Over there,” he gestured with an arm towards a vast fire burning in the distance, “the bodies of those of your comrades who chose to take arms against fate are being commended to the air. The Republic of California is dead! The Kingdom has arrived! You are faced, soldiers, with a choice. Declare your allegiance aloud to me, King Tibalto the First, and be embraced as a faithful subject who has seen the error of his ways; or stay silent, stay stubborn and foolish, and you will be an enemy of the King, and face a life of hardship and disfavour, as befits those who oppose justice! These men whom you see before you have chosen the latter course. They are officers- men of standing in the old order whom I cannot allow to flourish further. They are seditious, treacherous and cruel, and for that they are punished!” The men in the line were looking hopeless and fearful. One, wearing the torn uniform of a government official, had clearly already been whipped. “You are not officers, you will be spared death!” Tibalto continued, addressing the vast mob again. “But let this example stand as a lesson to you all: the King of California shall not be trifled with! Swear allegiance to me, or be my enemy!”
He pulled harshly on the reins of his horse, turning it around so that he looked at the firing squad. “Fire!” He screamed. Two dozen shots and more rang out, the men in the line fell as one.
Don Tibalto turned back to the First Army. “I am the King of California! Are you for me, or are you against me?”
There was silence. Then a man near the front of the prisoners stood up, and raised his arm in a salute. “Long live the King!”
“Long live the King!” Hundreds, thousands of voices took up the chant, acclaiming the horseman who stood before them.
But there was another sound, vying with the first among the defeated soldiers. Mingled with the cries of newfound loyalty, men were beginning to sing, and gradually the verses grew louder, rolling over the heads of the First Army, past Don Tibalto on his horse, floating over the bodies of the fallen officers.
Tibalto rode abreast of Don Felipe again. “Not a bad response, I think.” He said calmly. “You will identify those that affirm loyalty to the Kingdom and put them in uniform. The rest shall be dealt with later.” He rode away, turning his back to the shattered remnants of the First Army of the Californian Republic, whose soldiers had already begun fighting amongst themselves.
He's back!
Long Live the King! An excellent victory for Don Tibalto, and it gives me no small amount of pleasure to see Serrano run like a whipped dog!
Long Live the King! An excellent victory for Don Tibalto, and it gives me no small amount of pleasure to see Serrano run like a whipped dog!
VIVA EL REY ! An excellent chapter ! The staccato style of narration between the two camps was an excellent architectural framework for the melee going on . Alejandro's escape was fortunate although i still have my suspicions about the various officers . An excellent job !
Good update, but I am sad to see Alejandro run. So many traiters in the army though.
in the army though.
A rather ignoble flight for Alejandro, as prudent as it might be. The Royalists are on the march. And so is the excellent writing. Have fun in Mexico.
Oh God, please tell me that the defeated First Army soldiers weren't singing that... Californian Republican song. If it becomes beloved as a symbol of defiance to King Tibalto *shivers*
The wise man flees to fight another day, a fitting end to Price. I wonder if a beautiful woman will be the one who saves Alejandro as he lies near death on the shores of the ocean
The wise man flees to fight another day, a fitting end to Price. I wonder if a beautiful woman will be the one who saves Alejandro as he lies near death on the shores of the ocean
At last the Monarchists strike in full.... showing their prowess over the Republicans! Great Chapter!
Argh! Now that was painful! Talk about a rout! At least Price got what he deserved.
What can Alejandro salvage from the situation now? The Republic has no field army capable of resisting Tibalto However, good ol' Serrano's made something from nothing before, so maybe he'll lead a ramshackle force of conscripts to victory against the polished legions of the Royalists
What can Alejandro salvage from the situation now? The Republic has no field army capable of resisting Tibalto
However, good ol' Serrano's made something from nothing before, so maybe he'll lead a ramshackle force of conscripts to victory against the polished legions of the Royalists