Chapter 5 #2
The bronze cannon recoiled violently, opening a burst of fire in the middle of the blizzard.
The iron ball crossed the pass in a perfect parabola, flying too high, it seemed, missing the French soldiers by hundreds of meters.
The revolutionaries even let out a mocking cheer as they watched the shot fly over their heads.
But the mockery died in their throats.
The ball struck with mathematical precision the base of the massive glacier suspended atop the mountain. The impact triggered a chain reaction. A colossal crack split the white marble of ice, and in the next instant, half the mountain collapsed.
A monumental wall of thousands of tons of snow, ice, and rock plunged from the sky like the fury of a pagan god, rushing down the pass with a deafening roar that drowned out even the sound of the cannons themselves.
The French soldiers looked up in terror, but there was no time to flee.
The avalanche swallowed the vanguard and the flank of the revolutionary army in a matter of seconds, burying their artillery batteries, their horses, and their ambitions beneath meters of compact ice.
The pass that had once been an open path instantly became an impassable wall of snow.
Silence returned to reign over the Pyrenees, broken only by the breath of the wind.
The few surviving Spanish soldiers looked around, stunned by the tactical miracle they had just witnessed. Don Luiz cleaned the French blood from his blade in the snow, walked over to Alejandro, and looked at the wall of ice that now blocked the enemy's advance for good.
The veteran captain placed a hand on the young Castilian's shoulder, a fierce pride shining in his eyes.
"Nunc Minerva, postea Pallas... you just defeated an entire army using geometry, Alejandro. Count Mendoza sent us to the slaughterhouse. But he just handed us our greatest victory."
Alejandro tucked his engineering instruments into the pocket of his torn uniform and looked south, beyond the mountains, toward where Barcelona and Elena awaited him.
"We survived the ice, my colonel. Now it's time to go collect the bill in Madrid."
News of the incredible victory in the Aran Valley traveled faster than the freezing wind of the Pyrenees.
When the carts carrying the wounded and the few survivors of the Royal Corps of Engineers crossed the gates of Madrid, the people took to the streets.
Flowers were thrown from balconies, church bells rang out in jubilation, and there was a sense that the Spanish monarchy had struck a mortal blow against the advance of Jacobin heresy.
Alejandro de La Vega and Don Luiz rode at the head of the small detachment.
Their uniforms were worn, scorched by gunpowder and stained with the blood of battle, but the bearing of both men was of steel.
The military prestige of the two had reached its peak among the troops; the surviving soldiers looked at Alejandro not merely as an officer, but as a commander capable of performing miracles through science.
However, as they crossed the gates of the Royal Palace for their audience with the Crown's generals, Madrid's political reality exacted its price cruelly.
The audience hall was packed. At its center, wearing a dark red velvet coat embroidered with diamonds, stood Count Diego de Mendoza. He did not look like a man who had spent the last months shivering in a trench; he looked like the very architect of Spanish glory.
"Your Majesty, illustrious generals!" Mendoza's voice rang through the hall, pompous and theatrical, as he pointed to Alejandro and Don Luiz entering.
"Behold the brave executors of my plan! When I designed the defense strategy in the Pyrenees and insisted on sending the Corps of Engineers to the Aran Valley, I knew exactly that the geography of that gorge would give us victory.
I anticipated that using artillery against the frozen slopes would be our only salvation!"
Alejandro felt his blood boil. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The man who had tried to send them to their deaths in a frozen slaughterhouse was now, before the entire court, reaping the laurels, the applause, and the privileges of the genius that had belonged exclusively to Alejandro.
The fat-bellied generals applauded, praising the Count's "long-range vision." The King, impressed by the doctored report Mendoza had presented hours earlier, nodded in approval.
Don Luiz, sensing Alejandro's surge of fury, stepped discreetly forward, blocking the young captain's path and giving him a cold, warning look. Keep your mind clear. Not here.
Mendoza walked over to the two officers, a smile of pure aristocratic triumph stamped across his fine face. He leaned in slightly, speaking just low enough for Luiz and Alejandro alone to hear:
"A perfect plan, don't you think, gentlemen? You get the medals for bravery for the physical effort... and I get total control of the Ministry of War and the Crown's eternal gratitude for saving Spain. The peasant thought mathematics would save him from me, but in the end,
his brilliant mind worked to pave my way to the top."
Mendoza stepped back, chuckling softly, and returned to the ministers' side, cementing himself as the most powerful man at court in that moment. The Count's power had doubled, and his influence over the Viscount of Madariaga — Elena's father — was now absolute.
Later that same night, in a dark, isolated tavern on the outskirts of Madrid, far from the court's spies, Alejandro slammed his metal mug against the wooden table in fury.
"He stole our victory, my colonel!" Alejandro roared, brown eyes blazing with indignation. "That damned parasite never felt the taste of ice or the smell of gunpowder. He wanted us dead, and now Madrid's papers call him 'The Savior of the Frontier'! How can we accept such an injustice?"
Don Luiz, who calmly watched the foam on his beer, raised his gray gaze. There was no anger in his face, only a surgical coldness.
"Accept? We're not going to accept anything, Alejandro," Luiz said, his voice mild but heavy with a dark promise.
"But you need to understand how the world of wolves works. Mendoza has climbed too high, too fast. And the higher a man rises on lies as his foundation, the more violent his fall when the truth pulls out the rug. The prestige we hold with the royal soldiers is worth more than his gold.
The army knows who pulled that cannon's cord."
Luiz leaned over the table, his eyes fixed on his pupil.
"Mendoza thinks he's won because he's secured power in Madrid and marriage to your Elena. But the war in Europe is only just beginning. The Crown will need real engineers soon, not parlor generals. Let him wear himself out under the weight of his own false laurel crown. When the right moment comes,
we won't just take back what's ours... we'll destroy the Count."
Alejandro looked at his mentor. The fury in his chest began to transform into a cold and dangerous patience.
He knew Luiz was right. Count Mendoza had become a giant, but the boy who had come out of the mud of Castile had already learned that even the greatest fortresses fall if you know how to calculate the exact fracture point.