November 15, 1814.
Barracks of Fort Santiago.
The wooden door shut with a dull thud as Capitán de Fragata Ortega entered Andres's quarters. The space was modest, no more than a small desk, a cot, and a chair. A single oil lamp burned at the center, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. Andres stood at attention by the desk, saluting crisply.
"Sit, Lieutenant," Ortega ordered, dropping heavily into the lone chair as though he owned the room.
Andres obeyed, though he remained upright, disciplined, his hands resting on his knees. Ortega set his cane against the desk and exhaled, rubbing his temple.
"This colony… how quiet it feels compared to the storm beyond," he muttered, half to himself. His sharp eyes then fixed on Andres. "I did not come here merely to watch peasants stumble through drills. There is something larger, Lieutenant—something that may soon claim you and your men."
Andres said nothing, waiting.
Ortega leaned forward, folding his hands atop the desk. "Tell me, what do you know of the Americas? Beyond these islands."
Andres's brow tightened slightly. "Only what the academy taught, Señor. That Spain's colonies stretch from Mexico to Peru. Vast, but rich."
"Vast," Ortega repeated with a dry chuckle. "Too vast. And now, bleeding." He tapped a finger against the desk. "Revolutions are spreading like fire in dry grass. Mexico, Venezuela, New Granada… criollos like yourself rising against the Crown. They whisper of independence, of republics, of cutting their ties with Madrid. And Spain—Spain is weakened."
Andres didn't interrupt him speaking.
"The war in Europe against that Corsican bastard, Napoleon, has drained the Crown of gold, of ships, of soldiers. Reinforcements are thin. Madrid demands its loyal colonies provide men. Which means, Lieutenant…" Ortega's eyes narrowed, "…you."
Andres felt the words settle like stone in his chest. "Deployment?"
"Yes." Ortega sat back, lips curling faintly. "You and your company of Indio soldiers. One hundred and twenty men, if the rolls are correct. You will march not through the streets of Manila, but in the fields of New Spain. Mexico."
Andres's eyes flicked briefly to the lamp flame, the thought gnawing at him. Mexico. Across the ocean.
"Why us?" he asked carefully.
Ortega smirked. "Why not? Spain cannot strip every peninsular regiment from Europe. Not when the continent is still trembling from war. So they send what they can. Colonial troops to fight colonial rebels."
He let the words sting before continuing. "Do not mistake this for honor, Novales. You and your men are to plug a wound in the empire's flesh. If Mexico collapses, the disease spreads here, to Manila, to Lima, to Havana. And then all this—" he gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the colony itself, "—crumbles."
Ortega studied him for a long moment, as though weighing the boy who sat before him—the Criollo lieutenant with eyes far older than his years. At last, the comandante gave a curt nod and rose.
"Good. I expected less, truth be told. See to your company, Novales. They are Spain's burden now."
He took up his cane, rapped it against the floor, and strode out of the quarters without another word.
The door closed behind him, leaving him alone in his office.
So it's finally happening, huh? The Spanish Empire is declining. Well, it had been declining ever since the Bourbons bled it with their endless wars. And the fact that Napoleon's brother was even put to the Spanish throne caused it to lose a sense of legitimacy from the colonies. After all, who would want to have a master who isn't even Spanish?
Mexico. Venezuela. New Granada. Entire lands in revolt. Criollos rising against Peninsulares, against the very system that spat on them as second-class.
It was bitterly ironic. Here he sat, a Criollo himself, ordered to march Indios across the ocean to fight fellow Criollos who no longer wanted Madrid's chains.
He tapped the folder lightly. So this is what Spain thinks of us. To be used to fight their wars, to kill those who share our blood, so they may keep their throne intact. Tools, not men.
This is just ridiculous. Spain surely doesn't know how to run a proper empire. They are too weak. But nevertheless, he doesn't intend to be just a dog to Spain. After all, his goal all along was to free the Philippines from the chains of its master and declare independence with him at the helm.
However he couldn't do it just now as he doesn't have any kind of power. Luckily, the deployment overseas is the perfect opportunity to make a name for himself.
He rose to his feet and stretched his arms.
"Time to play a long game."