Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 535 Clash (Part 7)

As the evening sun slanted down on the Spanish camp outside Guadalajara, it bathed the entire camp in a warm golden light.

Tents spread out along the gentle slope, like giant mushrooms suddenly emerging from the soil, carrying a sense of weighty security and tranquility.

In the camp, there were whispers and crude jokes among the soldiers, the clanging of armor, the clatter of horses' hooves, and the aroma of beans wafting from the cooking area. All of these sounds created a rare sense of relaxation during wartime.

Not far away, several cavalrymen who had just finished their patrol were sitting on a stone by the horse stable, holding earthenware bowls filled with warm bean soup.

"I heard the lieutenant colonel and his men are chasing a silver convoy belonging to the Xinhua people?" The younger cavalryman, Carlos, licked the rim of his bowl, his eyes gleaming. "If we can intercept it, how many silver coins do you think we'll each get?"

Juan, the veteran beside him, smiled, took a sip of soup, and steam rose from the corner of his mouth: "Don't think about those good things. The lords above aren't that generous. Unless we successfully retake Guadalajara, we might get some insignificant rewards."

"Heh heh, as for the gold and silver treasures looted from the new Chinese, the lion's share will inevitably have to be handed over to the governor's district. I've heard that many officials, nobles, and landowners in the vicinity suffered heavy losses due to the new Chinese invasion. If they were to learn of this..."

"Oh, that's a pity." Carlos's face showed a hint of regret. "I wonder if the lieutenant colonel could have intercepted the Xinhua convoy?"

"We'll definitely intercept them. With the speed of our cavalry, the Xinhuas have no chance of escaping," Juan said confidently. "By tomorrow morning, we might get news of the lieutenant colonel's great victory!"

Carlos nodded, finished the beans in his bowl, got up, dusted off his saddle, and touched the sword at his waist.

It was passed down from his father, and he always hoped that he could use this sword to achieve merit and win honors, and to secure a bright future.

In front of the main tent in the center of the camp, a Burgundian cross flag fluttered slowly in the breeze, striving to demonstrate the kingdom's majesty and glory.

Inside the command tent, General Toledo was leaning over a large wooden table, his fingers holding a quill pen, marking something on an open map.

On the map, the areas controlled by the Spanish army were marked with dense red dots, while the city of Guadalajara was encircled by a blue line. However, next to that blue line, there were several small "cannon" symbols, which made Toledo's brow furrow slightly.

"General, your dinner is ready," came the servant's respectful voice from outside the tent.

Before Toledo could respond, a rapid sound of hooves suddenly came from the direction of the camp gate. The sound grew closer and closer, carrying an almost out-of-control panic, breaking the tranquility of the camp.

The soldiers who were wiping their weapons stopped what they were doing, the cooks in the stables straightened up, and even the sentries gripped their muskets and looked in the direction of the sound.

Scouts or messengers would never run this fast unless something serious had happened.

Soon, a cavalryman covered in sweat broke through the camp gate. His brown warhorse's hooves flew, its mane soaked with sweat and clinging to its skin. It was foaming at the mouth and its nostrils were flared wide.

The cavalryman's armor was askew, his helmet was nowhere to be found, his hair was disheveled and stuck to his forehead, and his face was full of panic. Before he could even rein in his horse, it reared up and threw him heavily onto the open ground in front of the command tent.

"General!...General! Something terrible has happened!" The cavalryman struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood seeping from his knees, and scrambled to the entrance of the command tent, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, "Our cavalry...our cavalry...is all gone!"

"What did you say?" Toledo's eyes narrowed sharply as he stepped out of the tent, his usually composed demeanor now filled with disbelief. "Say it again! How could Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez's seven hundred cavalrymen all be gone?"

The cavalryman collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling with tears: "We were chasing...chasing the convoy of the new Chinese, and we went into the Saint Martin Valley...it was a trap!"

"Blocked in front, ambushed behind... The Xinhua soldiers' musket fire poured down like a torrential rain, making it impossible for our men to break through... We were guarding the valley entrance, but we were scattered by hundreds of Xinhua soldiers, who then blocked our retreat again. Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez and his men... they're all trapped in the valley, not a single one of them has escaped!"

With a loud "boom," as if a thunderclap had exploded in front of the commander's tent, the surrounding soldiers and officers who had rushed over upon hearing the news were all frozen on the spot, their faces filled with shock.

General Toledo's face contorted, and his body swayed slightly. He instinctively reached out to grab the tent pole beside him, his knuckles turning white from the force.

Seven hundred cavalrymen!

That was the most elite mobile force in the Spanish legion, the spearhead he used to cover the battlefield, protect the main force, and drive away the Indian forces. How could it just disappear like that?

He recalled that a few days earlier, more than 300 advance troops had been attacked by the Xinhua Army and almost completely wiped out. He was still comforting himself that it was "just a minor defeat" and that as long as the main force arrived, they would be able to take back Guadalajara.

But now, seven hundred cavalrymen—his most mobile and powerful force, the eyes and teeth of the legion, and a vital safeguard for the safety of this army deep in enemy territory—have fallen at the hands of the Xinhua people.

Toledo's gaze fell on the distant city of Guadalajara, whose gray-black silhouette suddenly became ferocious, as if it were grinning and mocking his arrogance.

"General, the loss of the cavalry... is catastrophic. It means we've lost our ability to cover the battlefield and can no longer effectively drive away those savage Indians who harass our supply lines like hyenas," said Lieutenant Colonel Salvador, who arrived after hearing the news, his expression grave.

“More importantly…” he paused, his tone growing even more somber, “we are engaged in a decisive battle with the Xinhua army in Guadalajara. Even if we win, we cannot expand our gains. And if the war goes against us…”

He didn't say anything more, but the officers present all understood what he meant.

A retreat without cavalry cover would be a rout and a massacre.

A nameless worry and...panic, like the twilight gradually spreading outside the tent, quietly enveloped everyone's hearts.

In just a few days, the vanguard of more than 300 men was annihilated in a thunderous attack, and now more than 700 cavalrymen have been lost. The overwhelming numerical and psychological advantage they had previously held has vanished in an instant.

It seems that the initiative on the battlefield has been lost to us Spaniards.

"Summon all senior officers to the main tent for a meeting..." General Toledo swayed almost imperceptibly before walking into the tent expressionlessly.

He went to the table, staring intently at the map, finding the area marked as the Valley of San Martin, as if trying to see right through it.

"Foolish Alvarez..." He grabbed the map and angrily tore it into pieces, venting his frustration and bewilderment. The annihilation of seven hundred cavalrymen—this wasn't just a bad start, it was a devastating blow!
After a long while, General Toledo slowly raised his head, his face ashen, and the sharpness in his eyes seemed to have been worn away by the bad news.

"General, everyone has arrived..." Major Castro, the adjutant, whispered a reminder.

"Gentlemen..." General Toledo regained his composure, his gaze sweeping over each of the solemn-looking officers, his voice carrying a hint of barely perceptible weariness, "The thing we feared most has happened."

As he spoke, he walked around the table to the center of the tent. "Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez and his cavalry... were completely wiped out. This is the greatest loss for the entire legion. At this moment, I'm sure you all realize a serious problem: we have lost our only mobility and sharpest teeth on the battlefield."

“General, we must hold our position!” Lieutenant Colonel Salvador said with utmost caution. “Two consecutive defeats have proven that the Xinhua Army is not an easy enemy to deal with. Therefore, as a precaution, I suggest we hold our ground and await reinforcements from Mexico City!”

"Hold your ground and wait for reinforcements? I think that's a very unwise choice," Colonel Mendoza immediately retorted. "How long will it take for messengers to travel from here to Mexico City, for reinforcements to assemble and advance? A month? Two months? Can our supplies last that long? Don't forget, without a well-organized cavalry force to deter them, those Indians will tear our supply lines to shreds! If our supplies are cut off, we will be in an unpredictable and dangerous situation."

"So what do you mean?" Lieutenant Colonel Salvador asked.

"Retreat!" Colonel Mendoza said decisively. "Retreat immediately to Trakpak, a city six miles away. There are fortified walls, comfortable houses, and sufficient food reserves. We can use the town to stabilize our position first, and then plan our next move."

"Withdraw? Withdraw this far without even a major battle?" A cold voice rang out, it was the young Major Diego again. "The Governor ordered us to attack the new Chinese and recapture Guadalajara, not to retreat from the battlefield after just one defeat. That would allow the enemy to laugh at our cowardice."

“Major Diego, the outcome of a war cannot be determined by just one or two battles.” Colonel Mendoza’s expression darkened, but he still maintained the necessary restraint and respect for this nobleman from the Madrid court. “The current situation is clear: we have lost a valuable cavalry unit, are unable to support our supply lines, and are temporarily unable to launch a fatal blow against the new Chinese.”

"A strategic retreat is a wise choice for us. It is necessary to temporarily retract our arms when we are about to throw a punch."

“Colonel, I understand your caution and prudence,” Major Diego said, looking at him sharply. “But I believe that when the enemy is weakened, one should immediately swing a fist and strike him hard, rather than temporarily retracting one’s arm to conserve power.”

"Hmm?..." Colonel Mendoza frowned and looked over in confusion.

Major Diego scanned his conservative colleagues and said loudly, “Gentlemen, we should not be intimidated by the Xinhuas as our cavalry suffers annihilation. Yes, we have indeed lost cavalry, but please do not forget that the main force of our legion is still intact! There are still more than four thousand experienced soldiers in the camp, and we still have an absolute numerical advantage over the Xinhuas!”

As he spoke, he walked to the entrance of the main tent, pointed outside, and said, "And what about the new Chinese? How many troops would they need to wipe out Lieutenant Colonel Alvarez's seven hundred cavalry? At least fifteen hundred, maybe even two thousand! What does that mean?"

He looked around at everyone and raised his voice, "This means that the city of Guadalajara is currently extremely weak in its defenses! There may only be a little over a thousand defenders left, or even fewer!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a buzzing sound immediately filled the tent.

Major Diego's meaning was clear: take advantage of the fact that the Xinhua Army in Guadalajara was weak and launch an attack immediately!

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" he continued, "While the main force of the Xinhua Army that ambushed and attacked our cavalry has not yet returned, while they are exhausted and may still be basking in the afterglow of victory, let us concentrate all our forces and launch a fierce attack on Guadalajara with the utmost determination! With a numerical advantage of several times, surely we can take down a city with a sparsely defended city?"

"Attack the city?" Colonel Mendoza said worriedly, "Major Diego, have you forgotten that the new Chinese have been capturing Guadalajara for two months? Given their efficiency, they must have carried out large-scale reinforcement and repairs to the city's defenses. We have also observed their defenses in person these past few days; at least ten cannons are deployed on the city walls. Even if they only have a thousand soldiers left, they can repel our attack with their fierce firepower. Therefore, I don't think this is a good opportunity; on the contrary, it will cost us a lot."

"The cost?" Major Diego's expression grew even more agitated. "Is there no cost to waiting and retreating? If we sit idly by and watch the Indians cut off our supply lines, waiting for the main force of the Xinhua Army to return with the momentum of their great victory and coordinate with the defenders inside the city, will our situation be any better than it is now? A full-scale attack may result in bloodshed, but it may be our only chance to turn the tide!"

He took a deep breath and smiled slightly: "Colonel, you may have forgotten that when Guadalajara fell, although more than two thousand defenders and residents escaped, there were still more than three thousand of our Spanish compatriots inside the city. They were brutally imprisoned in the city by the new Chinese, suffering all kinds of terrible torture and humiliation, and they were hoping day and night for the Kingdom's army to come and rescue them!"

"I believe that once we begin our siege, the Chinese in Singapore will be thrown into chaos. At that point, will they still be able to completely control the more than three thousand people inside the city? As soon as the cannons fire outside the city, the Spanish compatriots inside will likely rise up in response. With attacks from both inside and outside, even the most fortified city can be breached!"

These words were highly inflammatory, and even the officers in the tent who had initially advocated caution began to show signs of hesitation and contemplation.

The allure of victory and the possibility of a desperate comeback began to outweigh the fear of unknown risks and heavy casualties.

All eyes were once again focused on General Toledo, who had remained silent.

The general's gaze shifted back and forth between the location of Guadalajara on the map and the area representing the Valley of San Martín.

He rested his chin on his right hand and occasionally stroked his short beard, revealing his intense inner struggle.

Outside the tent, a gentle breeze blew, stirring the campfire and making a whooshing sound.

The footsteps of the patrolling soldiers in the camp sounded particularly heavy and unsettling at this moment.

Having already made one wrong choice that cost the cavalry force, another defeat would likely worsen the situation.

But Major Diego's words, especially the possibility of collusion from within and without, burrowed into his mind like a venomous snake, growing into a dangerous temptation.

The overwhelming numerical superiority was a reality, the assessment that the city's garrison might be weak was also logical, and the possibility of Spanish residents acting as internal agents within the city offered an alluring glimmer of hope.

If he can conquer Guadalajara in one fell swoop, all the losses will be made up, the tide of the war will be turned completely, and glory and victory will belong to him, Don Francisco de Toledo.

The risks are enormous, but the rewards are equally astonishing.

The shadow of defeat and the allure of victory were locked in a fierce struggle within him.

Finally, he slowly raised his eyelids, a resolute look flashing in his eyes.

He swept his gaze across all the officers in the tent, who were holding their breath in anticipation, his deep, powerful voice breaking the suffocating silence:

"Pass on my orders..."
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(End of this chapter)