A More Personal Union

[Saya Aensland]

Originally Posted by Thespitron 6000

their name, which the Japanese transliterate as “Gurumiruginu”.

What's the OTL name for these guys?

[Thespitron 6000]

Originally Posted by Saya Aensland

What's the OTL name for these guys?

The Larrakia.

[Xgentis]

Interesting Henri III need to make a rousing speech to encourage his peoples to fight on.

[Grouchio]

When's the next update?

[Thespitron 6000]

Spring 1592: With Savoy threatened, John of Austria must divert his armies away from the planned link-up with Alva and turn to face La Noue once more near Turin. John is disappointed and frustrated, but cannot allow La Noue to be rampaging to his rear. Reluctantly he turns east and abandons any plans to catch the French in a pincer movement. Although John pursues La Noue across Savoy, the wily old general resurrects his glory days against Spain almost three decades prior and never gives battle, instead roaming across the Savoyard countryside, sacking and pillaging as he goes. This maddening dance continues throughout the spring, with John never getting closer than a few days behind La Noue.

With the fields of France now free of snow and slush, the Spanish resume their offensive, although their numbers have been diminished somewhat over the winter by chilblains, dysentery, and typhus. As a result, the Battle of Limoges is a brutal, bloody affair, fought over three days in March across the modest hills surrounding the city, as the French make the Spanish pay for every inch. Orleans has turned command over to the capable Henri de la Tour vicomte de Turenne, a skilled and ingenious general, but even he cannot make up for the fact that the French are heavily outnumbered. The French armies have been reinforced over the winter, but so have the Spanish, and the French are forced to fight on three fronts simultaneously. Navarre and the Republic are primarily naval powers, and Denmark is far away, preoccupied with Sweden. Henri le Cyclope is grateful for his Scottish subjects’ assistance in Wallonia, but he needs more men. Not surprisingly, his forces in the south of France suffer for it. After three days, nearly twelve thousand soldiers lie dead in the fields surrounding Limoges, the majority of them French. Alva simply uses his superior numbers to grind the French under Turenne into oblivion. Seven thousand dead, many more wounded, and for all that the French are forced to retreat. Not north, towards Orleans, where they might still harry and ambush the Spanish, but instead towards the east and Clermont. For the Spanish, the road to Orleans lies open.

When word of the disaster at Limoges arrives in Paris, Queen Madeleine weeps bitter tears, while Henri himself hurries to raise more troops. There is no time for recriminations, for despair. He does allow himself the luxury of firing off a sharp letter to Elizabeth Tudor: “I find myself most meanly treated by you, beloved Aunt, for it is understood unto me that I should be gifted with thy legions, and no legions come. And now I shall thrust my hand betwixt the millstones once more, for love of kingdom and subjects. I shall not reproach, for when hath Elizabeth Tudor ever kept her word? ‘Twas my own foolish lack of wit, to believe when no belief was to be had.”

His letter reaches Elizabeth, who reads it carefully, and thinks hard.

Francis Drake puts in at London, but finds no one willing to listen to his warnings about the Spanish fleet at Cadiz, their only concern the recent defeat of the French at Limoges, and what is to be done about it. Baffled by the Court’s lack of concern about this news, Drake decides to do something about it himself.

Orleans lies just eighty miles from Paris, in a charming valley on the banks of the Loire. It is here, in the last part of May, that the French make their stand against the Spanish, at the Tourelles. The Duke of Orleans, perhaps feeling some sentiment for his namesake city, demonstrates a fire unknown in him prior, and manages to march his men in a broad arc, circumventing the Spanish and beating them to the city. From Paris, Henri III brings thirty thousand men, bolstering the total French forces to nearly sixty thousand. Digging in deep around Orleans, they prepare for Alva’s attack. Alva, meanwhile, has nearly seventy thousand men, and gaining more all the time, as, attracted to victory, mercenaries are eager to sign up with the Spanish cause and win treasure and plunder.

“This is the hammering now,” says Henri the night before the battle commences, “let us see what is to be forged.” At dawn the Spanish bombardment of the French positions opens up, and the Battle of Orleans begins. The French must win. If they lose, especially control of the vital Loire bridges, then the Spanish will be able to push on to Paris, and the war will be lost. Already Spanish cavalry troops have skirted the French and are on the far side of the Loire, in the suburbs of Paris.

Henri’s commander is the sixty-two-year-old Francois de Montmorency, the last link to the old days of Francis II, the days before constant war has nearly crippled France. Montmorency, whose nephew Claude is proving so able in Wallonia, is old and frail, nearly blind and suffering from gout. Henri does not care. Before the battle, he clasps the old general’s hand. “Bring me victory,” he says, “as you brought my father victory.”

“It shall be my greatest honor, my final honor,” wheezes Montmorency, before taking the saddle.

Again and again, the Spanish pikemen are thrown back from the French field fortifications, as French cannons pound them from inside the defensive line. The weather is very hot, and the stink of sweat is added to that of blood and gunpowder. Men lie wounded on the battlefield, screaming for water, for their mothers. Using the new flintlock-and-knife, the French formations are more nimble, but they lack the ability to press into the “push of pike” like their Spanish counterparts, a fact that costs them when their mobility is hedged in.

The day grows so hot that at noon a short ceasefire is called, to prevent the horses from dropping dead of heatstroke.

Having watered their horses, the two armies resume murdering each other in great lots, and despite Montmorency’s generalship, which keeps his army together despite the enormous toll of men, the French are simply outnumbered. By nightfall, the King and his advisors are discussing tactical retreat. Give the men a few days of rest, hit the Spanish again in a week or so when they’re fresh, argues the Duke of Orleans. Montmorency won’t hear of it. This is the war, he says firmly, France shall be won or lost in these fields. Henri agrees; the thought of losing Orleans, the site of one of his ancestors’ greatest triumphs, is abhorrent to him. The battle will continue on the next day.

When morning arrives, the Spanish are dismayed to see the French still willing to fight. Assaulting the French positions has cost them grievously, and Alva can’t understand why the French won’t crack. Their position is impossible, and they’re outnumbered. Still, if they want to fight, a fight they’ll get.

“Truly, our backs are against the wall,” writes Turenne in a letter to his wife. The second day of the battle is even more brutal than the first, as the heat continues through the middle of the day and dark storm clouds roll in from the west. But there is no rain to relieve the oppressive heat, and men cook inside their own armor, forced to strip it off and expose themselves to enemy fire or risk being burned by hot metal.

By noon, Alva has pushed deep into the French fortifications on the western wing, which are beginning to fall to the Spanish, but shortly after one in the afternoon, the commander of the assaulting forces, Claude de Berlaymont, a Catholic Fleming, is shot and killed by a stray ball fired from the French defenses. The resulting confusion causes the offensive to stumble, and for a short while a calm descends over the battlefield. Silence reigns, and the French can only watch and wait for the Spanish to resume their attack; their positions are too valuable to leave. Alva, meanwhile, is confident that the battle will be over by nightfall.

Without warning his men on his left flank come under withering arquebusier fire, and the boom of cannons from the west startles everyone, including the French. Regiments in the Spanish left flank attempt to turn, but are hammered by cavalry who seem to have come from nowhere. The horsemen beat back the shocked Spanish, who crumple in the face of this new foe, and within fifteen minutes the commander of the newcomers makes it to the French defensive line. Mounting the earthen berms, Sir Edward Cromwell roars, “MEN OF FRANCE! ENGLAND IS HERE!”

Thirty thousand Englishmen, moving like the wind from Calais, are almost to Orleans, having departed from Dover a month prior. Spanish scout cavalry, not realizing their significance, have bushwhacked the couriers from the English to Henri’s command center, and now their arrival comes as a total but welcome surprise to the French. As the first English regiments arrive, they assault the Spanish from the west, forcing Alva to split his attention between the defending French and the oncoming English. As sun sets, the English have arrived in sufficient force--bone-weary but present--to stymie the Spanish drive northward.

Recognizing that he lacks sufficient men to take the English and the French, during the night Alva begins withdrawing troops to a more congenial position, further south. Let the Alliance hold Orleans; he can always come back and take it later. Right now, he needs a plan of attack to deal with both armies. And he needs to let his king know what has happened. He immediately dispatches riders south, to inform Philip and Ferdinand that the English have arrived in France.

[Grouchio]

BTW, is this Alva still the Iron Duke? He's be late into his 80s by now.

[Thespitron 6000]

Originally Posted by Grouchio

BTW, is this Alva still the Iron Duke? He's be late into his 80s by now.

Whoops, it's his son. Updated to reflect that.

[Thespitron 6000]

Summer 1592: With the English now on the Continent, Ferdinand of Uceda moves forward with his plans. He’s in an unusually good mood, as by dispatching thousands of troops to France, the English have left themselves open to invasion by sea--exactly as he predicted. Now it is simply a matter of releasing the trap. He’s held back thousands of men, hundreds of ships, kept his sword in its sheath even when harassed by the Navarrese and the Dutch, but it has been worth it. In the massively fortified port of Cadiz, his Armada sits, waiting for the word to sail upon England, to savage that nation. And then the world shall be at his feet. His sense of satisfaction is almost palpable.

Francis Drake and his small fleet arrive off the coast of Cadiz. The garrison commander is first startled, then amused at the arrival of the English privateer. Drake’s ship, the Revenge, is so distinctive that Spanish captains and admirals know it by sight. “So the madman wisheth to smite himself upon our shore?” scoffs the commander, the Duke of Medina-Sidonia. “Then let him, for our sands are iron, and he shall mislike them.”

Drake detaches his flagship, the Revenge, and sails on, leaving behind his other ships, and his son Henry, as the Revenge enters the port of Cadiz between the massive barrier citadels. By now, the English ship has drawn an audience, as Spanish sailors and soldiers crowd the battlements and gawk at the “madman” who sails so obliviously to his doom.

“Shall we fire upon him now?” asks Medina-Sidonia’s lieutenant.

“No. No,” says the Duke. “If we are too eager, he may yet escape. I imagine His Majesty will reward us well, we bring that devil’s head to him. Let Drake enter fully into our snare, then we shall draw it tight. There shall be no escape.”

The Revenge sails on, serene, amid ringing silence. Hundreds of ships, all well armed, could at any moment unleash a barrage that would surely destroy Drake, but they do nothing, almost hypnotized by the Englishman’s audacity.

Then one of the men beside Medina-Sidonia peers down at the ship, and says, in a puzzled voice, “Where is his crew?”

Medina-Sidonia stares, agape, at where Drake stands, alone, at the tiller of his ship, piloting it awkwardly deeper into the port. Then, like a lightning bolt coming over him, he sees how he’s been tricked. “Open fire! OPEN FIRE!!” he screams.

It is too late.

Drake, at the tiller of a ship rigged to go in one direction, before one wind, smiles broadly, feeling the breeze in his hair, even as the cannonballs begin to blur past the Revenge. He feels free, almost--happy. “William, my son, I am with you now,” he murmurs as the prow of the Revenge collides with a massive galleon, driving the ship deep into the Spanish fleet. Then Drake plunges a burning brand into the pile of gunpowder at his feet, a pile that burns fiercely down into the hold--and detonates the four hundred tons of gunpowder and pitch the Revenge carries.

It is said the explosion could be heard in Lisbon.

Ferdinand’s glorious Armada burns at anchor, hundreds of ships set alight by the initial explosion, hundreds more by the explosions of ships’ armaments as fire reaches their holds. Spanish sailors work desperately to stanch the inferno, but to no avail. Only a few dozen ships are saved, while the port is clogged with burnt-out hulls and the piers are horribly mangled, setting work back months if not years.

Ferdinand’s reaction upon hearing the news is best left to the imagination.

[naraht]

Franciscus Draco Suicidium
(or something similar)

[naraht]

Cadiz is 220 miles from Lisbon (more or less) and the Halifax explosion was heard in North Cape Breton about the same amount away (according to Wikipedia). Was the Explosion at the same level? If so, I would expect somewhat more damage to the city, perhaps similar to OTL Capture of Cadiz in 1596.

Note, the OTL Capture of Cadiz and the confiscation of Sherry during that time is viewed by some to be the reason for the popularity in England for the drink. Perhaps something different like a cloud or rain of sherry ITTL...
(Note, I first read that as "could be heard in *London*")

[Pyro]

I think Drake just redefined the word "epic" with blowing up the Spanish armada.

[Razgriz 2K9]

For Francis Drake, he deserves more than epic. He should be this timeline's version of Chuck Norris, that's just how much of a bad@$$ he is.

[Xgentis]

Drake action might be the turning point of the war.
Another thing is that Spain money come from it's colony if the alliance navy manage to isolate it from it's colonies it will quickly goes bankrupt and it's mercenary will melt away.

[Grouchio]

And now the war is France's!

[Russian Sailor]

Originally Posted by Grouchio

And now the war is France's!

The war isn't over yet. GO SPAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DEFEAT THEM WHILE YOU STILL HAVE A CHANCE!!!!! (just kidding)

[chr92]

Bravo for both de Monmorency and Drake. And their victories couldn't be better told.

[Derekc2]

I had the feeling that when Ferdinhed learned all of this he went
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!".

[Yorel]

For some reason, if there was a movie on this timeline, I have the feeling that Drake's death and the destruction of the armada would have Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture in the background...

That was an awesome update. And I just love how Ferdinand of Uceda's well thought plan is ruined by the unpredictable actions of a madman... Like they say on TVTropes: "Spanner in the Works" With a feel of "Roaring Rampage of Revenge" regarding Francis Drake

[Xgentis]

Originally Posted by Yorel

For some reason, if there was a movie on this timeline, I have the feeling that Drake's death and the destruction of the armada would have Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture in the background...

That was an awesome update. And I just love how Ferdinand of Uceda's well thought plan is ruined by the unpredictable actions of a madman... Like they say on TVTropes: "Spanner in the Works" With a feel of "Roaring Rampage of Revenge" regarding Francis Drake

Imagine the years of investment and carefull planing in bot the port and the fleet literaly reduced to ashes and the city itself might be burning. This is a huge blow to Spain war effort it also mean that England and in a in a lesser extent Scotland can reinforce France without fear of invasion, now if the land battle could go as well...
Spain need to be cut off from it's colonies that's where their wealth come from in a way I think the economy of Spain proper is backward due to this reliance on their colonies. Should they be isolated from them their financial situation will crumble fast.

[Razgriz 2K9]

Which means that the Alliance Navies will have to win the sea war while whittling down the Spanish on land. Reduce Spain's capacity to wage war, and you will reduce the Catholic League's leadership to near hell.