AN: chapter four! It's by far my favourite ;)
Before reading it, make sure that you've read chapter three. I posted it two days ago, but Fanfiction is on a rebel phase and didn't send the email notifications, I think. I re-posted it like five times and it didn't help =_= Heck, I don't even know if you'll be notified of this update. (If you aren't, I swear I'll go one by one and maually notify you.)
Now, allow me to reply to a guest review that said Spain was OOC because of the way he treats New Granada:
Yes, the Hetalia canon states that Spain was stern towards his colonies (except Romano), but history states that Spain was the colonizer that best treated them. And, honestly, if I had to choose between Hetalia-canon and actual history, I'll stick to history; particularly if it's a historic fanfic. I'm glad we had this conversation n_n
Let's proceed to the chapter, hope you like it as much as I do! :D
ENGLAND
"This is what happens to those who betray the king," England read out loud the banner the Spaniards had displayed next to the hanged Portuguese on the walls of Cartagena. "Poor bastard," he sighed, lowering his spyglass.
"He knew the risks he was taking," Vernon shrugged, nonchalant. "And we're going to avenge him soon anyway."
"True. What's the plan?"
"We'll attack from the front, straight and simple; reach the city, use the scales, and take it. They may fight like devils, but only because there are thick walls between them and us. Remove the walls and they'll be nothing."
You clearly haven't lived the 16th and 17th centuries, England thought. You should consider yourself lucky for not having faced the Spanish tercios(1). An empire as big as Spain's doesn't stand for so long thanks to smiles and hugs.
"Have you told Wentworth?" he asked instead. "He's not very happy with you."
"He'll forget everything once we take the city," Vernon waved his hand, clearly not bothered by the very likely rage of the Lieutenant.
"Very well, then. Start the attack whenever you deem it appropriate."
SPAIN
"How are the trenches going?" Lezo asked as they walked down the corridor, the sound of his wooden leg against the stone floor echoing on the walls.
"We're digging fairly fast," Spain answered. "The civilians are helping; even the women that refused to be evacuated are lending a hand!"
Lezo made a face. His wife was one of the women that had chosen to stay, despite him practically begging for her to leave. Josefina surely had a lot of faith in him, maybe more than Lezo himself.
He shook his head, trying to focus on what was important.
"How's New Granada?" he asked, genuinely worried for the young colony. The siege was putting a lot of pressure on him: he barely slept or ate, and while he tried to put on a brave mask, they could clearly see the worry and despair beneath it.
"He's better," Spain answered. "I think he's glad you're finally in command; he's happier, not as desperate as he was before."
"I'm glad to hear that. Both of you being in a more or less good mood helps lift the men's spirits."
They reached their destination then, a small room in which New Granada waited for them with two men.
"Your two volunteers," he said, pointing at them.
"Thank you very much," Lezo answered, slightly bowing his head. He then turned to the men and said: "I'm not going to sugar-coat this: you're about to go on an almost suicide mission that'll probably won't work and will most likely claim your lives. Are you still on board?"
The two men shared a brief glance, and then one of them said:
"Sacrifices must be made at war, sir."
Lezo smiled.
ENGLAND
"Why are we advancing so slow?" he grunted. It was like San Luis all over again: they were more, they had more and better weapons, yet they barely managed to advance without a great number of casualties.
"That damn Lezo," Vernon hissed by his side. "He's dug trenches on zig-zag; our soldiers are being fired at from two fronts and have a hard time defending themselves."
To make things worse, many of their soldiers were starting to fall sick. The unhealthy conditions of the ships had led to an outbreak of the plague. England was certain that the Spaniards inside Cartagena were suffering from it as well, but they could fight it better. Them, being as they were, stocked in overcrowded ships, could barely prevent infections.
"We have to take the city as soon as possible," he said.
"I know. The moment we manage to reach the walls, it'll all be over."
"Are the scales ready?"
"They are."
They heard then voices calling them, and turned just as some of their men embarked, dragging two Spaniards with them. England eyed them, suspicious, and asked:
"Prisoners?"
"Deserters, sir."
He raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the Spaniards, who shifted from one foot to the other, understandably nervous before his presence.
"Deserters, you say? Is that so?"
"It is," one of the Spaniards answered before any of the English could. "Sir."
"Why would you betray your country and king?" Vernon asked them. "Particularly after that," he added, pointing to where the corpse of the Portuguese rotted under the sun.
"The result would be the same if we stayed in there," said the other. "Those idiots don't realize that the battle is lost; it was lost before it started!" He paused for a moment and looked at his companion before adding, low: "We just want to go home."
"We— We're willing to guide you to the easiest spot to raid the city from. If you attack from there, the battle will finally over."
"The only thing we ask in return is that you take us back to Spain."
"That's all we want. Sir."
England looked alternately from one to the other, frowning. By his side, Vernon did the same, only that his gaze also jumped to his country from time to time. Finally, England ordered for them to wait there and dragged Vernon to his cabin, considering that they'd better discuss it in private. "Tell Wentworth to come as well!" he ordered before closing the door. "If he's still alive," he muttered.
SPAIN
Spain let himself fall on the bed with a groan. He was exhausted. If it weren't because Lezo had ordered him to (and then practically dragged him to his room), he would still be out there fighting, and not resting. However, the moment his body touched the soft mattress, he realized how much his body was screaming for some rest. He didn't even bother to take off some clothes.
He was about to fall asleep when a knock on the door interrupted his peaceful rest.
"Yes?" he groaned, annoyed for having been disturbed. However, his annoyance was quickly replaced with worry when New Granada opened the door and stepped in.
His colony was pale and shaking and looked positively sick.
"What is it?" he asked, standing up and rushing to his side. "God, you look awful." He brushed his cheeks with his thumbs, getting rid of the dirt (and a few tears) and adorned them. "Come on, kid, there's nothing to worry about," he lied. "We're going to win," he promised before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"No we're not," New Granada mumbled, his voice quiet and broken.
Spain sighed and looked at him, understanding. "Come here," he said, taking his hand and dragging him to the bed, where they sat together. "I don't know how this is going to end," he confessed. "No one does. What I do know is that I'm going to keep fighting until the end. What I'm certain of is that Lezo won't give up on us, and I don't plan on giving up on him." He lifted New Granada's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. "I can't promise that we'll win, but I can promise that we won't give up hope until the very end."
New Granada bit his lip and looked away, unsure. Knowing he needed comfort, Spain hugged him and placed a soft kiss on his hair.
"You should rest. Get some sleep, yes?" When the colony nodded but didn't move, Spain smiled kindly at him and added: "You can stay, if you want."
"Okay," he said, managing a small smile.
Without another word, Spain laid down, still hugging New Granada, and they were deeply asleep in a matter of seconds.
ENGLAND
"It's a trap," said Wentworth.
"The last time you suggested a trap, it wasn't," Vernon pointed out, referring to the sunken ships in Manzanillo.
"This time I'm sure it is," the Lieutenant insisted.
"I don't think so. Their story is more than believable, and it's more than obvious that the Spaniards are falling into despair."
"The hanging of the Portuguese was a warning. Nobody would try to desert after that."
"Why not? They said so themselves, the result would be the same. And precisely, they wouldn't try such a childish and stupid trap on us, not after having hanged the Portuguese."
Wentworth didn't insist. He had already given up on trying to convince the proud Admiral of anything. Instead, he turned to England, who hadn't said anything yet.
"What do you think, Sire?"
"I think," he answered, smirking, "that we're taking Cartagena tonight."
The Spaniards thanked them effusively when they were notified of their decision. One of them started to talk about his wife and his kids, whom he missed deeply; the other almost started to cry.
"Where's that spot you were talking about?"
"East side of the city, sir. It'll be easier if we guide you; we know the way."
SPAIN
The moment Lezo closed the door behind him, he found himself being hugged tightly. He smiled and returned the hug as well as he could with just one arm.
"I'm so glad you're alive," Josefina sighed, pulling away so she could take a better look at him. "Are you alright? Have you been hurt?"
"I'm fine," he assured her, smiling kindly. "I don't know for how long we'll be able to resist in here, though." His gaze turned sadder when he reached up to caress her cheek. "You should've left while you still could."
"I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone," she replied, stern. "And thank God I haven't— look at you! Go to sleep right now!"
"Yes, ma'am," he said mockingly, rolling his eye, but complied nonetheless.
"Laugh all you want, Blas, but this is the hard truth: you may be an Admiral of our king's navy, but I am the biggest authority at home."
"And I'm glad you are," he yawned, laying down. "I still think you should've left. It's not safe here."
"Which is precisely why I decided to stay," she retorted. "How can I leave you somewhere that's not safe?"
He didn't reply, having already fallen asleep. Josefina sighed and knelt beside the bed. "Sleep tight," she whispered before pressing a loving kiss to his forehead.
ENGLAND
The English soldiers walked quietly, protected by the darkness of the night, as they followed the two Spaniards that guided them to victory. They could barely see where they stepped, since the trees covered all the light the moon and stars sent, but they trusted whomever was walking in front of them.
"We're almost there," one of the Spaniards whispered loud enough for those who were close to hear.
"Are you ready?" the other asked a bit louder.
An English soldier tripped on a fallen branch and fell against a tree. He cursed under his breath and looked down to spot the branch and kick it in frustration; and when he looked back up, he met an unknown face.
He didn't even have time to scream.
The heavy thud of a body falling to the ground alerted those who were closer. They turned fast to see what had happened, and what they saw froze the blood in their bodies: a partner bleeding out on the floor with a deep cut in his neck, and a tall, broad man, tanned, with messy dark hair and bright green eyes, who looked at them with the most feral grin they'd ever seen.
"Hola," he simply said.
Some of them had time to think that the stories England had told them during the journey to Cartagena about Spain's ferocity didn't do justice to reality before the rest of the Spaniards fell on them.
Far from there, on the deck of their ship, England and Vernon chatted when, suddenly, the country went pale and lost his balance. His green eyes opened wide and he started to open and close his mouth, as if he wanted to speak but didn't know what to say.
"What happened?!" Wentworth, who had seen it from afar, rushed to their side, worried. "What is it?!"
Still in shock, England pointed to the east side of Cartagena, and finally managed to stutter a word:
"Ambush."
"What?" Vernon and Wentworth exclaimed at the same time.
"It's a bloody massacre," England managed to whisper.
Vernon swallowed. "That means that the Spaniards have sent a lot of men there," he tried to reason. "So the other two attacks we've sent will manage to break their lines."
"They'd better do," England grunted before rushing to his cabin, urgently needing to lay down.
Vernon looked to the east side of the city, where his soldiers were being massacred… Where they had been led to by two Spaniards. He heard Wentworth moving closer to him and he pursed his lips.
"If you say I told you so," he snarled, not even bothering to look at him, "I'll shoot you in the face."
SPAIN
He cleaned his cutlass on one of the dead Englishmen's shirt. He hadn't brought his halberd, since it couldn't be used to its full potential because of the trees, nor his red coat, since it could've been spotted easier than the dark clothes he was wearing instead; and still they had recognized him. They had tried to run away, not expecting the hoard of Spaniards that awaited them.
Spain smiled, satisfied. He would consider this payback for San Luis.
He only wished he could have seen England's face.
He heard his men laughing and congratulating each other for the success, especially the two 'deserters', who had surprisingly survived. And to think that nobody expected for the plan to actually work…
"Let's go back to the city!" he ordered once his cutlass was clean. "It still needs to be defended!"
ENGLAND
"What do you mean the scales are too short?!" Vernon yelled, hysteric.
"Exactly that, sir," Washington said between pants. "We reached the walls, placed the scales, and they were almost two meters shorter!"
"B-But they were perfectly measured! They can't have made the walls taller!"
Washington shrugged. "I don't know how, but they have," he stated. "I swear the scales didn't reach the edge."
"Admiral," England called him, suddenly intervening. He was looking at Cartagena with his jaw rigid and his fists clenched.
"Yes, Sire?"
"Do you, by any chance, recall that city having a pit around it?"
"A pit?" he asked, surprised. "Certainly not, Sire, I—" He stopped abruptly, realizing what England meant. "Oh." Impulsively, he kicked the ship's mast, furious. "God damn you, Lezo!"
SPAIN
"Three simultaneous attacks; all three of them effectively repelled," Lezo smiled, proud of himself, as he received reports.
The ambush had been a triumph: the English hadn't expected it and had fallen completely into the trap. (He still couldn't believe it.)
The pit, dug by soldiers and civilians alike, had been another success: a two-meters deep pit around the walls made them two meters taller, thus disabling the perfectly measured scales.(2)
And firing at the enemies as they tried to run up the hill had been as effective as always.
However, these three victories were more moral than anything else; they were still sieged and running out of both food and ammunition. But the plague is still affecting them, he thought, hopeful. With a little bit of luck, it'll end up incapacitating them.
Maybe what we need is to buy some time…
ENGLAND
"That's it," Vernon said through gritted teeth. "We're launching an attack, forward. We're going to reach the doors, knock them down, and raze that bloody city."
England had decided that he was going to be with the soldiers this time, just because he wanted to be the first one to set foot on Cartagena. Because they were going to take it. He refused to consider any other option.
And so, early on April 20th, 1741, the English army started to move towards Cartagena. The zig-zag trenches were still operative and were giving them a tough time, but they had more cannons on their side, which they had disembarked from the ships.
Yet the Spanish cannons in Cartagena somehow had more range than theirs, which made them much more deadly.
"They've put them on mobile ramps," Wentworth finally understood. "They can move them, thus they've extended their shooting range."
He could've predicted Vernon's next words:
"God damn you, Lezo!"
What neither he nor any other Englishman could've predicted was that, at noon, the church bells inside the city started to chime and the Spaniards stopped firing at them.
"What the—?" England muttered, confused. "Cease fire!" he ordered, trying to understand what was going on.
He could see the Spaniards on top of the walls, standing solemnly. Are they going to surrender—? he thought, not understanding anything that was going on. But then he saw Lezo himself carrying a Bible and reading loud and clear a passage, and his jaw dropped. Were— Were they really having mass in the middle of a battle?!
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he mumbled, unbelieving. He spotted Spain among the Spaniards on the wall, his red coat standing out, and despite the distance, he knew the other had seen him too. He made a gesture that wanted to more or less represent his thoughts, which were What the actual fuck?!; Spain's only reply was to shrug.
The service wasn't long. Once it was over, Spain turned to the English soldiers and yelled: "Sorry for the interruption! You can continue shooting at us!" before disappearing once again behind the walls.
Without losing a second, England gave the orders to keep advancing. And then he understood the purpose behind the mass.
"It's too hot, sir," a captain informed, panting. "We can barely walk two steps without passing out."
Even from the walls of Cartagena they could hear an enraged England as he screamed "I can't believe we fell for it!" over and over again.
SPAIN
If all the remaining Spanish soldiers agreed in one thing, it was that tricking the English —with the ambush, the pit and the mass— had been the most fun they had had in years. Sadly, that didn't change the fact that they were still locked in Cartagena with little food, they were still widely outnumbered, and the English were now very pissed off.
Those Spaniards who weren't firing the cannons or defending the trenches has gathered behind the doors of Cartagena. Instead of the joyful atmosphere they usually created, this time it was silent, save for the occasional prayers and 'it's been an honour fighting with you's.
Sat on a bench, apart from everyone else, Spain held New Granada close as the boy trembled, scared. He kept trying to calm him down, whispering soothing, encouraging words.
It's not over yet.
There are many men here still willing to fight and die for us.
As long as they're breathing — as long as I'm breathing — the battle's still going.
England hasn't won. Not yet.
The colony seemed to calm down a little, although he remained close to Spain, probably feeling safe in his embrace.
His despair was understandable. If Cartagena fell, Spain would survive — weakened, wounded and humiliated, yes, but even if his whole Empire fell, he'd most likely remain alive as a small European country. New Granada, though? The boy didn't stand a chance.
If Cartagena fell, New Granada wouldn't live much longer.
"It's okay, Sergio, I'm here," Spain whispered against his hair. "England will have to go over me to get to you."
They could hear the screams of the Englishmen outside the city; the sound of the cannons on top of the walls.
"It's okay, kid. I'm here."
He then heard the unmistakable sound of a wooden leg hitting the ground and looked up just as Lezo reached them.
"We're going out to meet them," he said.
"What?" New Granada and Spain replied at the same time, shocked, looking at him in awe.
"We're running out of cannonballs," he explained. "Once we do, the English will run up the hill without resistance, break down the doors and take the city."
"So you suggest a desperate, suicidal attack."
"The last desperate, suicidal plan I made was a huge success," Lezo retorted, referring to the ambush. "The best defence is a good attack; and they fear boardings, close combat, you said so yourself! They won't expect it. if we stay here, we'll be massacred and lose the city."
New Granada shuddered at those words. Spain felt it and hugged him tighter, sighing.
"Okay," he agreed. "We're going out."
Lezo smiled kindly. He then gave a quick look around and said: "Give a speech." When Spain frowned, he elaborated. "Give an uplifting speech. Raise the men's spirits; make them believe in victory. They're scared," he lowered his voice, moving closer to him. "They know the English won't be taking prisoners; they've almost completely given up hope. Return it to them."
Spain took a deep breath and then nodded. He let go of New Granada, who smiled weakly at him, and stood up, picked up his halberd, fixed his coat.
The Englishmen kept screaming and the cannons kept firing, but when Spain stood up on a protrusion of the wall, he knew everyone's attention was on him.
And he suddenly knew exactly what to say.
"Over a century and a half ago," he started, loud and clear, "our king Philip II built an enormous armada to conquer England. You may have heard of it; the English like to call it 'The Invincible', and they love to remind us that it failed.
"What they don't want to remember is that it wasn't them who defeated it, but a thunderstorm, and that almost two thirds of the ships returned safely to Lisbon.(3)
"And do you know what else they don't want to remember? That the following year it was England who built a huge armada, and that he was defeated by the peoples of Galicia, led by one brave woman."(4)
He had unconsciously raised his voice, he was almost screaming now, but he didn't care, because the men were looking at him, were listening to him, and he could see that fierce spark in their eyes awakening.
"And do you know what they won't want to remember? How three-thousand Spaniards with six ships defended a city from thirty-thousand Englishmen with one hundred and eighty ships; how they lost a battle that everyone thought they'd win. Because when the last cannonball is fired, we're going to go out there and fight them without mercy, for they won't be having any mercy for us; and we're going to teach them one thing."
He paused to take a deep breath, unwillingly giving his speech a dramatic effect, and then he simply added:
"We don't need a storm to protect what's ours."
The effect was immediate: everyone started to cheer, and scream, and bang their weapons together. Spain smiled, happy to see he had managed to do what Lezo had asked of him —heck, he had convinced even himself!—, and stepped down, going back to the colony and the Admiral.
The moment he reached them, New Granada launched himself over him and hugged him tightly.
"We're going to win," he said, confident, and Spain was pleased to see he had gone back to his old self. "We're so going to kick England's ass."
"That was an impressive speech," Lezo congratulated him. "I'd clap if I could."
Spain burst out laughing.
And then the cannons stopped firing.
ENGLAND
The Spanish bastards had finally run out of ammunition for their cannons, England noted, smirking. Finally. He scanned the walls, trying to spot the white flag he was certain the others would raise any time soon. However, it didn't appear, and he frowned. Come on, Spain, you either surrender now or wait in agony in there for a little longer. Ah, but you're too proud to accept you've lost, aren't you?
Why can't you see it?
It's over.
Then he heard a wild roar, followed by ferocious screams, and he froze when he saw the doors of Cartagena opening and the remaining Spanish soldiers running down the hill, wielding their bayonets and launching themselves over the English. The bright red of Spain's coat caught his eye, and he looked in disbelief as his enemy swirled his halberd and slaughtered every unfortunate Englishman that happened to be in his path.
That wasn't right.
He was the one attacking, not Spain.
The ones that had to scream in terror were the Spaniards, not the English.
The English were supposed to take the city while the Spaniards begged for mercy, not run away from— Wait.
Run away.
They were running away.
Flabbergasted, he looked around as reality sank in: his soldiers were running away, chaotically escaping to the ships. He barely had time to wonder what had been the problem —Vernon or Lezo?— before Spain appeared right in front of him, wearing that feral grin he had learnt to fear. His face was blood-freckled, the edge of his halberd was dripping crimson, and there was a fire in his eyes brighter than the Sun than didn't set on his Empire.
For the first time since the campaign had started, England was scared. More than that, he was terrified — and with good reason.
"Hola, Arturo," Spain said, his voice deep and coarse and terrifying.
England yelped and ducked clumsily, barely managing to dodge Spain's halberd.
Then, panic took over.
He turned and started to run alongside his soldiers, only wanting to reach the relative safety of the ships.
Notes:
(1) The tercios were the Spanish Empire's most feared troops. They were the best military of the 16th and 17th centuries.
(2) Not really a note; I just wanted to say that the scales is probably my favourite part of this battle. Just imagine the Englishmen's faces when they didn't reach the edge of the wall. Just imagine...
(3) Just as Spain says, the Great Armada wasn't defeated by the English, but by bad weather and, let's face it, bad commanders. After its """defeat""", the Brits, because they're so funny, started to mockingly call it "the Invincible Armada", and to this day that's the name that people (even Spaniards) know it by.
(4) Often called "the English Invincible", it failed even harder than the Spanish. The defeat suffered in this attempt to destroy what was left of the Spanish fleet was what threw Sir Francis Drake into shame. The 'brave woman' Spain talks about is María Pita. What did she do? When the English attacked Galicia, the population was scared and running away; but she took a brick, threw it at an Englishman, hit him on the head, killed him, and then yelled "Those who have balls, follow me" and they kicked the English out. But of course, the only "Invincible" people remember is the Spanish *rolls eyes*
AN: I like to call that last offensive "300 meets the battle of Helm's Deep" :P It's not over! There are still... two... maybe three chapters left. I can't tell for sure. I can't promise that I'll update as early because, heh, I have exams to study for and I've been procrastinating long enough ^^"
Anyway, reviews are very much appreciated! You're allowed to praise Lezo as much as you want~