Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 532 Clash (Part 4)

On July 18, 1642, at noon, the Spanish camp, located two kilometers southeast of Guadalajara, lay helplessly on the scorched earth, like a wild beast withered by the blazing sun.

In the camp, soldiers dozed off in twos and threes, leaning against the shade of their tents, their faces covered by their wide-brimmed hats.

More than ten Native American servants slowly carried buckets of water from a nearby stream. Cool water overflowed from the sides of the buckets and was immediately swallowed up by the parched land.

Even the yellow flag with a red Burgundy cross of the Kingdom of Spain in the center of the camp hung limply at the top of the pole, motionless.

Only when the gold thread embroidered on the flag occasionally glitters under the blazing sun does it remind people of the royal majesty.

A gentle breeze blew by, and the corner of the flag swayed lazily for a moment before drooping limply again, as if even this flag, a symbol of conquest and glory, had succumbed to the scorching heat.

The cavalry camp was more lively. A troop of lancers had just returned from patrol, their sweaty horses snorting. The riders nimbly dismounted and tossed the reins to the waiting grooms.

The removed armor and discarded weapons were piled up haphazardly, gleaming blindingly in the blazing sun.

The air was filled with the smells of horse sweat, leather, and metal.

"This damn weather!" a young cavalryman complained as he removed his breastplate, his face covered in dust and sweat. "I'm practically roasted alive!"

“Save your energy, Jose,” the senior sergeant said, wiping his rifle. “We might have another mission this afternoon, to continue searching for those pesky rebels.”

Several curtains were hung high in the command tent, but they still couldn't dissipate the stuffy air inside. General Don Francisco de Toledo sat behind a simple marching table, his brow furrowed as he looked at the map, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Several high-ranking military officers surrounded the area, their expressions agitated and excited, their eyes fixed intently on a location marked with a red circle—a valley more than 30 kilometers west of Guadalajara.

"General, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" Cavalry Commander Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez exclaimed excitedly, pointing sharply to a spot on the map. "According to reliable intelligence, this convoy consists of at least 150 wagons, escorted by only a little over 200 men. Based on the local militia's description, the wagons are most likely carrying gold and silver treasures plundered from Guação and the surrounding estates! If we can intercept them…"

“Too much of a coincidence, Lieutenant Colonel.” Lieutenant Colonel Salvador, commander of the Puebla Legion, shook his head cautiously. “Just when our army is pressing in, a convoy laden with treasure appears? I suspect it’s an elaborate…trap.”

Colonel Mendoza from Mexico City, however, had a gleam in his eyes and licked his chapped lips: "A trap? According to information from various sources, the Xinhua army numbers only about 3,500. While they are defending Guadalajara, do they still have the capability to set a trap for us dozens of kilometers outside the city? Even if they do, the threat posed by this trap must be extremely limited! I believe this is an attempt to transfer their wealth before the city falls."

“I agree with Colonel Mendoza’s analysis!” The young Major Diego was eager to try. “The Xinhua’s forces are limited and cannot cover two battlefields at the same time. Otherwise, they would be easily defeated one by one by us.”

General Toledo remained silent, his eyes fixed on the map on the table, caught in a difficult choice.

"Report to the General..."

Just then, a cavalry scout ran in, covered in sweat and dust.

He saluted, his breathing still ragged: "General, we've verified it. There is indeed a large convoy heading west, near Tara Manor, about thirty kilometers from here... The ruts are deep, and the horses pulling the carts look like they're struggling; the load appears to be very heavy."

A burst of excited whispers immediately filled the tent, and the officers' eyes burned even brighter.

“See! I told you it was true!” Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez almost jumped up. “General, please give the order immediately! Let me take the cavalry to intercept them! Every quarter of an hour we delay, they get further away from us.”

General Toledo slowly raised his head, his gaze sharp: "Lieutenant Colonel, have you ever considered why such crucial intelligence was initially discovered by chance by a few militiamen, instead of our professional cavalry scouts?"

“This…” Alvarez was speechless for a moment.

“General, our reconnaissance has been focused on the east and south of the city,” Colonel Mendoza continued, “because these two directions are the primary targets of our main camp's vigilance. Who would suspect the enemy would be secretly transporting valuables from the west?”

At that moment, a commotion and shouts from the guards came from outside the tent.

A Spanish militiaman, covered in dust, was brought in. He looked exhausted, with cracked lips, torn clothes, and a mixture of fear and urgency in his eyes.

“General, I am Juan Martinez, the one who spotted the convoy.” The militiaman gave a nervous, awkward salute, his voice hoarse. “I and three others escaped from the San Cristóbal estate and headed south to avoid the war zone, intending to hide for a while. We spotted this convoy over at the other side of the canyon.”

"Both of our companions were captured by the new Chinese; only Junior and I managed to escape. Oh God, Junior's leg was cut open; he might never walk again!"

“Well, tell me in detail what you saw.” General Toledo gestured for a guard to give the militiaman a glass of water, his eyes fixed intently on him.

The militiaman greedily drank the water, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "The convoy is long, General, at least half a league. The wagons are all covered with canvas, but in some places the silver reflects off the surface. The guards are in black uniforms—those are the new Chinese. There are also many Indian laborers and Spanish residents, who look like they were forcibly conscripted." "How many guards?" Colonel Salvador pressed, leaning forward.

"About two hundred men, uh, no more than two hundred and fifty, General... Mainly infantry, with a small number of cavalry scouting ahead and on both sides of the convoy."

Silence fell again inside the tent, broken only by the distant neighing of horses and the occasional fluttering of flags in the wind.

Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez looked anxiously at the general, his fingers unconsciously tapping the hilt of his sword.

General Toledo stood up, walked to the tent entrance, and gazed at the silhouette of Guadalajara in the distance.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, soaking the collar of his military uniform.

His gaze shifted back and forth between the distant city and the map on the table, weighing the risks and opportunities.

“Calculating the time…” the general suddenly spoke, “if the convoy set off when we were at the city gates, three days would have covered exactly six leagues. That seems… quite reasonable.”

“And if they really intend to transport the looted treasure…” Alvarez quickly added, “now is the perfect time. Once the battle begins, it will be too late.”

Lieutenant Colonel Salvador remained skeptical: "But General, what if this is bait? The Xinhua might be trying to force us to divide our forces, or it could be a trap to lure us into an ambush..."

“Therefore, we need to be cautious.” Toledo turned to face the officers, his eyes hardening. “Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez, you will lead your 700 cavalry to investigate that convoy. Remember, not a full-scale attack, but a three-pronged advance. You will lead the main force in the middle, with a 100-man vanguard and a rearguard on either side. If anything suspicious is discovered, retreat immediately; do not linger.”

Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez stood at attention and saluted: "Yes, sir! I guarantee I will reclaim Spain's wealth!"

“The most important thing is to bring the soldiers back safely,” the general corrected him sternly. “Wealth can be created again, but well-trained cavalry is hard to replenish. If you suspect a trap, I want you to retreat immediately, understand?”

The lieutenant colonel nodded solemnly: "Understood, General."

The order was quickly passed on.

The previously listless camp suddenly came alive with activity. Cavalrymen hurriedly donned their armor and checked their weapons and equipment, grooms busied themselves preparing saddles and feeding water, and officers loudly relayed orders. The entire camp seemed like a beehive that had suddenly awakened.

The sounds of clashing metal, hoofbeats, and commands mingled together, breaking the afternoon's dullness.

Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez stood in front of the command tent, watching the busy soldiers, feeling both excited and apprehensive.

He knew perfectly well that this might be a trap, but the allure of glory and wealth was too great.

More importantly, if he could recover the stolen treasure, his status in the army would be greatly enhanced, and he might even receive the royal family's approval.

“Alvarez, my dear comrade…” Lieutenant Colonel Salvador approached, lowering his voice, “Be careful on the road. I have a feeling this is too much of a coincidence. Remember the General’s words, don’t take risks.”

Alvarez smiled confidently and patted his old friend on the shoulder: "Don't worry, Salvador. I'll be careful. Besides, in open terrain, who can stop seven hundred Spanish cavalry? Even if it's a trap, we can break through it."

An hour later, the cavalry was ready.

Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez mounted his horse with fluid and elegant movements.

He surveyed the orderly ranks; in the sunlight, the lancers' lances stood like a forest, their breastplates gleaming, and their warhorses snorted and pawed the ground restlessly.

"For His Majesty the King, advance!" the lieutenant colonel commanded, waving his hand.

The cavalry, like a torrent of steel, slowly flowed out of the camp and headed west.

The vanguard of 100 men has already scouted ahead halfway, while the defense maintains a proper distance to follow the main force.

General Toledo and his officers stood on the camp's watchtower, watching the cavalry depart until they disappeared into the distant dust. He continued to gaze westward, as if he could see through the scorching plains.

"May God bless them." The general made the sign of the cross on his chest and prayed softly, but a faint unease crept into his heart.
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(End of this chapter)