NationStates Jolt Archive

General Sanchez's Geurilla Camp, Colombia Territory

"General! Senior Mantilla has arrived...", General Sanchez gave the messanger a stern look, "Pablo... how many times have I told you... No interuptions between the hours of nine to noon." The ununiformed scout straightened up, "Sorry sir, I... I did'nt know what time it was." "Use the sun.", "Of course General... well sir, Mantilla awaits you in the barracks.", "Thank you, dismissed Private." The small private quickly saluted and scurried out of the tent, off to attend to various duties. The General let out a long sigh before closing his journal and tucking it away in a large sea chest. After inspecting his old Spanish Military Uniform in the old cracked mirror, he exited the tent, taking sight of the busy little camp, filled with tents, camp fires, random piles of supplies and soldiers drilling. All for the greater cause of freedom. It would be their's one day... one day...

"Senior Mantilla, I apologize for keeping you waiting, I know how much you despise venturing out into the jungle.", Sanchez entered the makeshift wooden barracks, greeting the shrewd, well dressed merchant from Bogota. "Not at all...", Mantilla replied, clearly upset as he swatted a mosquito from his neck. "I have your supplies. I assume you have upheld your part of the bargain General?" Sanchez motioned to two guards in the back of the room. Minutes later, they returned, carrying a large chest, setting it down before the merchant. Sanchez kicked the chest open, revealing stacks of gold bars. The man's eyes lit up, gold reflecting his greedy pupils as he inspected the first of many bars. After some time, he closed the chest and rose to his feet, smiling. "Excellent Senior... General. Your weapons shall be unloaded immidietly.", the merchant, rushing out the door began to yell at several of his hired guns, motioning for them to begin unloading his shipment of weapons. "Rapido! Vaminos! Vaminos! Get them off the wagons, you two, take the chests and load them on the wagon!" The wagons were filled with muskets, powder, ammunition... and even a cannon. This piece of technological genous struck awe into Sanchez's soldiers, as they had never seen somthing of the sort in South America. Over 500 muskets total, enough to arm another battalion, launch another raid. Steal another Spanish shipment of Gold from Peru.

Sanchez's force numbered no more than 750, this number would double once word hit Bogota of the need for soldiers. Firey, angry liberationists never ceased to fill the streets and taverns of Bogota, the only thing that kept a full blown revolution from errupting was the lack of weapons. For the people of Colombia were a violent breed, but the resistance did not stop in Colombia. In Venezuela, General Martinez controlled another 500 men, in Ecuador, Colonel Franco another 300. Peru, though not as organized, held thousands of able bodied men, as did the rest of South America. If there were enough guns, Sanchez could host an army of 500,000. However... that number of weapons was never to exist.

The General returned to his tent later that afternoon, after all the arms has been locked away, he sat down, and began writing a letter to the King of France.

OOC: Info to be added.

This is excellent stuff. I'll add it straight onto the first post on the main thread. Keep it coming.

We are most interested by this proposition. We are greatly enamoured by your endeavours in conveying this letter to us and we shall respond just as gracefully. Sweden at present is indeed locked in mortal combat with the Spanish adversary and would also like to see men freed from their imperialist yoke. We will send what we can, which is evidently not money.

We shall send a shipment of 4,000 muskets and 200 rounds for each weapon, along with 18 brand new 12 pounder cannon. We will send them via the baltic ports and the ships shall travel under Portuguese colours. A Portuguese ship seen heading for the Southern Americas will not be remarked upon by our Spanish friends and will not be hauled over. Especially with Spanish naval patrols no longer active in any strength on the route since the dispersal of the Grand Fleet into the Caribbean.

Although we are helping you with your freedom, freedom comes at a price. We expect to have friends in South America once this long business is done.

Accompanying the shipment will be a cadre of 19 serving officers from our armed forces under the command of Major Groenborg. 4 of these officers serve with the cavalry, 9 are artillery officers and the rest are with the infantry. We hope you will find this most useful in your struggle.

Best Wishes,
King Karl X

The Docks of Cartagena, Colombia Territory

"Ocean Air makes me quezzy. Never could stand the sailor's life...", Corporal Jorge Martinez grumbled as he sat on upon a large wooden crate on the docks. "You kiddin me boy? It beautiful...", the old soldier inhaled deeply, "Clears our yer system, it does." It was a particularly pleasant day in Cartagena, sea gulls squaking, the ocean breeze cooling off the heated Decemeber afternoon. Children playing futbol in the streets, merchants arguing, Spanish Soldiers drinking and laughing, oblivious to what was going on. Around three o'clock, several hours after Colonel Hernadez and his men had arrived, a merchant ship bearing Portugese colors sailed into the harbor... it was the ship. Shortly after it had docked, Hernadez went to greet the Swedish sailors, and the business was under way. Crate upon crate of musket was unloaded, ammunition powder. The cannons however were left on board, to be unloaded further down the coast, away from the Spanish Guards.

After an hour of loading and unloading, the wagons were filled, and the Colonel and hs thirty men were prepared to depart. However, it was then that a pair of Spaqnish Guards approached, suspecting foul play and demanded to see the contents of the wagons. "Seniors, I seriously suggest you fuck off.", the Colonel replied, his hand resting on his pistol inside his large coat. "OPEN IT NOW!", screeched a guard, cocking his musket. "Alright senior, no need to get antsy...", with that, Hernadez opened the flap to the wagon, and two men inside, holding pistols, firing two shots each into the chests of the guards. Not a second later, two SRA Soldiers fired their muskets at a patrol not far down the dock, killing him instantly. They immidietly departed, the horses began galloping down the panic filled streets, pulling with them 4,000 muskets along with thousands of rounds. Several Spanish Guards fired at the caravan along the escape, however SRA Rebels on horseback quickly unloaded pistol rounds unto them, allowing the entire caravan to escape the city, into the jungle with but six casualties.

Later the same day, the 'Portugese' Ship anchored off the coast of southern Cartagena, and unloaded the eighteen 12 pound cannons. These were quickly moved south, to a SRA camp north of Turbo. The weapons would be distributed between the many rebel factions for the upcoming war... it was only a matter of time now.

After the delivery and the narrow escape of the SRA men, the Swedish ship knew it could no longer travel home safely. All Spanish forces would know that the ship was carrying rebel arms. Captain Karllstrom made a hard decision.

That hard decision led to the scuttling of his ship. It had been put to the vote among the crew and nearly all had decided to risk it with the rebels so, that very night after the delivery, the Swedish boat grounded itself on the shoreline near the last known SRA activity. Gangplanks were lowered down and the sailors, led by their captain, stepped tentatively onto the sand, bristling with weapons and burdened by supplies. They used their remaining pack animals to carry supplies inland and then, with a tear in his eye, Karllstrom ordered the scuttling of the ship. The tar soaked rigging caught flame swiftly and the flame spread onto the furled sails. The crew watched sadly as their proud ship burnt itself to a crisp.

Realising that every second was precious, Karllstrom ordered his men inland. Find the SRA he thought, find them, we find another ship home on the other side of the continent. Yet, he had been odly drawn to their cause, it held an odd romanticism and since his wife had died coughing up her lungs back in Helsinki just before they left Karllstrom thought it might not be a bad idea to stay a while. He had applied for a combat command but had been deemed to unstable after the loss of his wife. On the long voyage his rage had cooled, or at least bottled itself up. Here maybe, in this brave new world, he would find new meaning, a new life.

On that contemplative note he lead his men inland, hoping to make contact with the elusive rebels.

"Pssst... ey' esse, gringo's, twelve o'clock.", the small SRA Scout scurried from the top of his camoflauged tree post, and ran down to awake his compadres. "Wake up you damned city boy welp! Spanish! The Spanish are coming!", the small private, filled with stories of Spanish brutality, jumped to his feet, musket in hand. "Where is em'?", shouted the young soldier. "Shut the fuck up ya damned rodent... get up in your tree. Ambush positions boys."

The twelve SRA skirmishers scurried off into separate concealed locations surrounding the small, overgrown path. Muskets loaded, primitive 'grenades' ready... these Spanish Bastards would be gettin hell before they reached the camp. The Lieutenant cocked the hammer of his musket, glancing at the Spanish dogs approaching the ambush... they would be heavily outnumbered in the upcoming fight. Scioli peered across the path, two scouts heavily intertwined behind a wall fo vines and shrubbery, another in the tree across from him, one inside a hole covered with foilage, several more in surrounding trees, another two behind a log... two more still not visible to even the Lieutenant.

"These gringo's look a lil' different...", muttered one of the recruits, everyone knew what Spanish Soldiers looked like... these were not them. It was not long before the entire detachment noticed the difference, in both arms', uniforms, speech, and phyisical characteristics. Lieutenant Scioli jumped from a tree, and ran to the front of the Swedish force, musket by his side. He was immidietly greeted by several Swedish Guns, it was then Scioli's men made themselves known, still aiming at the various soldiers. "What can I do for you boys? Im taking the liberty of assuming you all aint Spaniards..."

Karllstrom stopped dead. He hadn't seen a living soul for miles and suddenly he was surrounded by a scruffy looking mob of gunmen. Where had they come from?

Hurriedly he ushered forward one of his two Spanish speaking crewmen. Through him he conveyed to the man his wish to find and fight with the rebels.

"We have manpower and expertise to offer. My men are not unnacustomed to hardship and we believe the rebel cause is just. Take us to them and you shall have what little gold we have."

Although somewhat taken aback by the rebels, whom these men clearly were, Karllstrom asked himself what he had expected, dashing heroes on horseback? It looked like South America could prove a rude awakening. Still, he had chosen this path, now he must tread it, wherever it lead him.