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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 8 years ago

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Legacy - Chapter 36

Mexico stopped pacing again and walked back over to the window. America didn't think to say anything. He knew what his lover was capable of, he had heard the stories. He had been there when Texas nearly died on his doorstep. But he had expected to hear some sort of regret or guilt when it was recounted. Instead Mexico had been so cold. There was no emotion whatsoever. Mexico seemed to be truly lost in his own past now. His comment was not directed at anyone when he said, "If I had just taken the time to listen to Ignacio, everything would have been different. But I was young and I was reckless. None of it seemed truly real to me yet."

America nodded because it seemed to be the right thing to do, not because Mexico could see it. He wondered if it would even matter if he said anything, Mexico would probably not even hear him. This was dangerous emotional territory and America knew it. Mexico's emotions had been in check for most of the story due to his exceptional control. But slowly, the cracks were going to start showing. America was hoping that his lover would still be in control when he got to the Mexican-American war or this entire experience of storytelling might turn into one of their notorious fights. But at the moment, all seemed calm. Mexico continued to talk, "If there was one person that I would apologize to in my history, it would be him. I was so blind to everything but my own vengeance that I didn't take the time to just hear him out. He was far wiser than me or Miguel, and I brushed him aside."

America finally spoke, "How could you have known what was going to happen? You were young." He got conformation that Mexico was actually listening when the other turned around and said, "You were younger when you rebelled and you didn't make such a stupid mistake." The American responded with the best thing he could possibly think of, "But I wasn't as emotional as you were. England wasn't that cruel, just a bit unfair. He didn't take the drastic steps that Spain did." Mexico sighed and turned back around, speaking as he did so, "I could tell you about every intermediate battle, but I think you would get bored since you have the attention span of a chinchilla. Most of them weren't vitally important anyway."

America attempted some levity in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You didn't get any of your scars from any of them, then?" He attempted to snicker, but it didn't work. Mexico responded with a glare, "No, most of my scars came from you. But there is one injury I got before I faced Spain." He gestured to a small scar across the bottom of his ribcage. Mexico explained, "I took a bullet there during one of the scrimmages. It just barely strafed me, but it was enough to shed blood and cause some pain. I didn't think it would be a problem, but it turned out to be the one thing that tipped the scale" _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Texas carefully applied a cloth to his brother's wound. Mexico clenched his teeth as the pain from the contact rushed through him. He was leaning back on his elbows on a bed in order to make the wound more available to Texas, who was attempting to clean it. The wound seemed to hurt far more now than it had when it had actually happened. Mexico had been genuinely surprised when he had looked down to see blood. It had happened during the last scrimmage which was expected to be one of the last ones before the army was able to reach the capital.

From the fact that no reinforcements had been sent to any of the cities thus far indicated that Spain had arrived and was directing movements of troops. This seemed like his style to keep troops in the capital, the viceroy would have sent troops to every city so far in an attempt to slow the revolution. Spain's strategy was far smarter. Spain knew that eventually the rebellion would have to move to the capital, and that would be the place that keeping a large army would be the most beneficial. Mexico wanted his capital back, but there was something about imagining Spain expecting a warm welcome and finding no one that was supremely fulfilling. By now the European must suspect what was happening. On the other hand, Mexico cringed at the thought of the Spaniard sleeping in his bed.

Texas pressed the cloth harder against the wound in an attempt to clean the deepest part of the wound. Mexico hissed through his clenched teeth. Texas saw the reaction and said scornfully, "You should be more careful. This wound could have been a lot worse." Mexico didn't listen to the chiding. It had been exciting to finally get close to the action. His aim had been much better than the man who had attempted to kill him and had successfully put a bullet between soldier's eyes right after he had taken a bullet to the ribs. The wound should heal quickly, but Mexico wasn't healing as fast as he usually would because of the instability in the country. In this way, the revolution was not beneficial. Until one side of the other won, Mexico would be stuck healing at a much slower rate. He responded to his brother, "It's only a scrape, I will heal eventually. It's not worth you worrying."

Texas glared at his brother and swiftly changed the subject to a different complaint, "Why are you having me do this? Nursing is woman's work." Despite his complaints, Texas was doing an excellent job of caring for the wound. It was very cleanly cared for, which would keep it from becoming more of a problem than necessary. Mexico responded, "Of course it is, which is why you're doing it." The younger of the two responded by pressing the cloth into the wound harder than necessary. Mexico understood that the action was punishment for calling his brother feminine. He corrected to a more accurate statement, "Gah…fine, it's because Piri doesn't have the same gentle touch that you do. You're doing a far better job than she would have." With this far more complimentary statement, Texas eased the pressure.

There was no longer any blood, which meant that Texas had done all he could for now. The younger then picked up a linen bandage and started to wrap the bandage around his brother's torso. Mexico closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his brother's hands brushing lightly against his skin as they wound the bandage. It was nice to feel such gentleness after the last month of nothing but fighting and killing. With his eyes closed, Mexico was able to imagine that the soft skillful fingers belonged to Colombia or Brazil, although she would never do this. It was a very sensual moment, which was strange considering that the two boys were related.

The bandage was quite tight, which was constricting the Mexican's diaphragm slightly. Mexico opened his eyes again and looked at Texas, who was very focused on what he was doing. The older brother spoke, "Could you loosen that a little? It's going to restrict my movement." Texas looked up at his brother and defiantly tied a knot in the bandage. Mexico sighed, "Aren't you supposed to do as I say?" He didn't expect the other to actually change anything he was doing. Texas patted his brother's knee and said, "I'm doing what's best for you and it might just make you a little less active." Mexico leaned forward and said with a smirk, "But you wouldn't really want that, would you?" He placed his hand on Texas's cheek and softly ran his thumb over the boy's lower lip.

Mexico wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he was suddenly seized with a curiosity. Texas really did look quite a lot like him, especially in this light. Mexico found his own reflection enthralling, but seeing and feeling Texas was different. It was like touching that reflection with all the softness and warmth of real flesh. Mexico found himself wondering how it would be to taste his own reflection. Texas was kept in place by the hand on his face, although he could have gotten up and walked away if he wanted to. Mexico leaned un even closer and said in little more than a whisper, "I don't think I ever properly expressed how grateful I am for how much you've done for me. I owe you so much." He used the hand on his brother's face to ease the younger boy closer and kiss his cheek sweetly. Texas closed his eyes for half a second and then reopened them. He seemed to understand what was going on now. His eyes showed that two parts of him were battling.

Mexico continued to kiss his brother, moving to the corner of his mouth. It was only when their lips overlapped completely that Texas finally seemed to decide and pushed himself away. He said, his voice shaking, "I wanted your affection for such a long time, but this is wrong. You are just lonely and looking for anything to sleep with. We would both regret it later." Mexico didn't feel as put out by this refusal as he had by Argentina's. This had been an experiment and it had failed, that was all. Texas had an excellent point, Mexico had been longing for someone else's touch for at least the last couple weeks, if not longer. Since he had kissed America a little more than a month ago, he hadn't had any truly affectionate contact with anyone. This situation had just been a momentary loss of control. Texas stood up, since he had been on his knees to deal with his brother's wound. He started to walk out, but he turned around at the door and said, "If you're missing Spain so much, you shouldn't have rebelled against him. I'm sure he would be willing to fuck you if you just went back to him."

What had been a sweet moment suddenly turned combative. Mexico was immediately incensed by the statement. He stood up and took a couple steps towards his brother. When he spoke, it was with very deliberate control, "What kind of whore do you think I am? Do you really think I would let Antonio violate me?" Texas snapped back, "Why don't you call him Tony? I know that's what you moan when he has you. I think you would fuck anything that moves, even me." Mexico went from angry to completely enraged. His blood was hot and pounding through his ears. He would not be called a whore, especially by his brother. This wasn't an insult he was going to let stand.

He took a couple more hurried steps forward and struck Texas across the face. The force was enough that the younger boy was forced into a kneeling position. Texas cradled his injured face and looked up at Mexico, who was glaring down at him. As was usual with Texas's temper, he started to deflate now that Mexico's dominance was clear. He said softly, obviously not trying to move his, now bruised, jaw, "You hit me." Mexico knelt so that he was at his brother's level.

Mexico grabbed Texas's chin and forced their eyes to meet. Despite his anger, Mexico was completely in control of himself. His voice was level when he spoke, "Diego, we are brothers and for that reason I love you, but I will be clear about one thing: If you ever even hint that I slept with Spain again, I will do much worse than one slap. Do you understand?" Texas tried to look away, but his brother's hold was too strong. He just nodded without saying a word. Mexico released his brother and stood up. He left the room with Texas still kneeling on the floor behind him. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Yet again, America was shocked by the lack of emotion in the retelling. Only the anger seemed to be sincere. Mexico smirked as he finished the story about Texas, "You said I abused him for no reason when you took him in. Well, now you can see that I gave him fair warning." America hardly knew what to say. He had no idea this had been going on in the middle of the revolution. He had been under the impression that, although the tensions had existed before, Texas and Mexico hadn't actually come to blows until much later. It made sense, because a country's emotions could be much more volatile during any period of political upheaval.

He responded to Mexico, "You shouldn't have hit him. I mean, he can be a complete dick, but that doesn't give you the right to smack him around." Mexico laughed, "He was my property at the time, I had the right to do whatever I want to him. It didn't matter though; I had more important things to worry about than a little tiff with my brother." Mexico started to walk around again, getting more agitated, "While I was working on my domestic affairs, Spain was building up his defenses in my capital, and the weirdest part was that I could feel it." America watched as his lover ran his hand over his heart, his nails making tiny white lines on the flesh.

The American couldn't understand the feeling because he had capitals scattered among states. His heart didn't truly lie in Washington DC because that capital was not well established at least from a historical standpoint, But for Mexico, it must be worse because Mexico city had always been the capital, not to mention it was built on the exact same land that had formerly been the Aztec capital. In short, it was Mexico's heart in more than one way and losing it to Spain must have been more incentive for him to continue the revolution.

Mexico walked over to the window again, but stayed there only briefly. He continued to talk, ignoring any reactions from America, "I told Miguel what it felt like and he promised me that we would advance as fast as possible in order to gain control of the capital. As far as I could tell, he was keeping his promise. One battle was really important and I remember it very well." ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The camp was now housed just outside of Toluca, which was as close as they had thus far gotten to Mexico City. It had been a month and a half since Hidalgo had given his rousing speech in Dolores, but the thrill of it had not yet worn off. Mexico's excitement was actually building, which had seemed hardly possible. The army was growing. After every city was seized, more peasants joined the army, bringing their own weapons. This was both good and bad. The larger army inspired more fear as it moved. Mexico could feel the sentiment of the royalists in the back of his mind, and this told him that they were scared. Royalists were beginning to fear for their own positions. They knew that the revolution wasn't a passing movement that could be easily crushed by the Spanish.

The growing sentiment was the good, but there was a bad that either balanced or outweighed the good. The militia had hardly been organized to begin with, and the increased size was destabilizing the army further. It was all but impossible to keep the army from looting and pillaging in the cities that had already been taken, which was stirring discontentment in the officers, who felt like they had very little ability to control anything. Mexico watched as Hidalgo and Allende worked in opposition of each other. One was attempting to convince the officers to push for time to stop and train the army to have more discipline and control, the other was attempting to soothe tempers in order to keep the momentum moving. Mexico continued to agree with Hidalgo, as troublesome as the disorder was, if the momentum was lost then the revolution would soon stagnate and the fervor in the peasantry would dissipate. So, as it was, they continued to move forward despite Allende's objections.

It was the afternoon in late October and Mexico could feel that something was about to happen. By this point, it was a familiar sensation. Before every battle, he felt a mounting sense of excitement, which only abated after the final gunshots, had been quieted. There was something addictive about the rush, the more he had, the more he wanted. He walked into the building where Hidalgo had set up command, like many of the other occasions; it was a small wooden building. Once he got inside, he saw Miguel leaning over a map of the area. The priest looked up at Mexico as he walked in and smiled.

Mexico walked up to the other side of the table, fully expecting a briefing. Hidalgo spoke to his country, "I've got news for you: This one is going to be a real battle." The other responded, "Oh, in what way?" The priest straightened up, which he did surprisingly quickly considering his age, and looked straight at Mexico, "The governor of the town sent for troops from the viceroy, and it seems that he actually got a response. We're going to actually be dealing with a Spanish army." The Aztec boy felt himself beginning to smile; despite the fact that he knew this should be bad news. First, this indicated the first real move by Spain to stop the advance. The spot was well chosen, this town created a bottleneck before the actual capital. A couple well placed regiments could wreak absolute havoc on a rebel army attempting to make a move on the capital, thinning out the ranks at the very least. This would, of course, be a problem.

Mexico knew that his own geography was against him and that the army was nowhere near organized enough to deal with the Spanish in a tight spot. It was true that he would have superior numbers on his side, but that might not be enough. But, this meant something momentous: Spain was paying attention and playing his cards carefully. That alone was enough to give Mexico hope in the moment because it meant that he was one step closer to seeing the look of shock and loss on his colonizer's face, which was the thing that he had done all of this for.

After musing for a couple minutes, he looked back up and said, "Are we prepared to deal with a trained army?" The priest had obviously been contemplating this when Mexico walked in and quickly said, "We can defeat them, certainly, we have the larger force." Mexico walked around the table and stood next to Hidalgo. He looked down at the map, although he didn't particularly need to. He knew the geography naturally because it was a part of him. He spoke after seeming to look at the map, "But a better trained army can easily defeat a force twice the size. If they position themselves here, they will be very hard to dislodge." While he spoke, Mexico pointed to a specific spot on the map that corresponded to the physical place where the army could easily place themselves to have the high ground.

Hidalgo also pointed to the map, "I may not be a strategist, as Ignacio likes to say loudly and often, but our forces are large enough that a direct assault could be effective." Mexico wasn't sure he agreed with the logic, but he was inclined to trust Hidalgo. So far, the priest had proven his worth time and time again. However, he said, "I think you should put Ignacio in direct command this time, his military expertise could be invaluable." The priest grudgingly nodded, "I see your point. I will have someone inform him".

A true military man would help keep control of the army at the very least and that would give the revolutionary forces a much better chance of winning. On that, at least, Allende had always been right. Mexico kept his remaining doubts to himself. His mother had taught him a long time ago not to rely on numbers, especially large numbers that lacked discipline. But he knew that to stop now and organize and train would be folly, many of these men were farmers and peasants and would take significant time to train. That pause would cause the farmers to leave to till their fallowed fields. But that would be the least of it; the time would also enable Spain to bring more reinforcements across the Atlantic. The edge in battle wasn't worth the losses that it would cost.

Hidalgo changed the subject, "How's your wound? Is it healing?" Mexico subconsciously put his hand on his ribs where the gunshot had been. It had hardly healed at all due to the chaos in the country. Certain movements still caused the wound to hurt and bleed slightly. But, he didn't want to cause Hidalgo unnecessary worry in the middle of such an important time. He said evasively, attempting to not lie, "It is healing." The priest nodded, "I'm glad, we need you to be ready for the battle. We should make our move very soon." _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The morning was crisp, at least as crisp as it was ever going to get in a tropical climate. To Mexico, it felt very much like any other eve of battle with the excitement rising in his blood. He knew that there was going to be much more riding on this battle than ever. They couldn't fail here; this was the key to getting to the capital. Mexico yet again made sure all his weapons were in place. Since the first battle, he had gone from carrying one pistol to carrying two. He was perfectly capable of dual wielding and having the ability to fire off two shots in a matter of seconds was instrumental. It made it so that almost no mortal could touch him.

Philippines was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with Mexico's sword across her knee. She was carefully running a whetstone over the blade to sharpen it. She was doing this simply out of obedience. She was very mad at him at the moment because she had yet been unable to take part in any of the scrimmages. The tension between her and Texas was something that Mexico hadn't yet done anything about. He could have mediated it, but that would take time and energy, neither of which he had to spare.

Mexico finally spoke to her, only half expecting a response, "Piri, I need that sword now." She sighed and set aside the whetstone, "I'll give it to you under one condition: You actually talk to me. I realize you have been busy, but that is no excuse for treating me like your maid." Mexico smirked; this was a prime example of the ferocity that he loved about Philippines. He had agreed with Allende that this was the morning that they would move the army into position to make a move on the royalists. Mexico hardly had the time to have an argument, so Philippines could have the high ground because of the time crunch.

Mexico responded, "You know I could wrest the sword from you if I wanted to. You don't get to dictate when we speak." She stood up and took a few steps backwards, still firmly holding onto the sword, "Don't play that card with me, I know you too well. You won't attempt a confrontation now because you want to save your strength and energy for the real fight." Mexico conceded that she was right; he didn't have much ability to control this conversation. So, he changed his tactic, "Fine. What do you want to talk about? Make it quick." She started to nervously drum her finger against the flat of the blade, as though she was carefully considering her words. But her gaze was steady and met Mexico's without a trace of doubt, "Why did you train me if you were going to keep me out of combat?"

He had expected this question from the start of the conversation, and he had an answer. It wasn't necessarily the one he wanted to give, but it was the truth, "I meant to have you by my side, since you fight almost as well as I do. But Diego is making things complicated. I don't want to upset him more than necessary." Philippines raised a single black eyebrow skeptically, "Why does he get to change your plans? He's your brother. He's stuck with you. Let him be upset, he can't exactly leave you. Let me be of use to you."

Mexico considered this carefully. He didn't want to be hard on Texas, especially after they had just fought, but at the moment Philippines was far more pressing. A sudden idea struck him, one that would be a good way to pacify all parties involved. He said, matching the girl's gaze, "Actually there is something you can do to be of use." Philippines continued to look skeptical, "It better not involve your socks." He took a step forward and said directly, ignoring the other's sarcastic comment, "I need you to do a little recognizance for me. I want you to sneak back to the capital and tell what Spain's defenses look like. I don't want to walk into an ambush after we win today. And if you can get close to Spain, tell me what kind of emotional state he is in, because I'm sick of guessing." It seemed like the perfect solution to Mexico. He wouldn't be actually spending time with the Philippines, which would keep Texas happy. She would be able to do something interesting enough to satisfy her. Most importantly, Mexico would be able to gain vital information. Mexico was going to have to face Spain eventually, and having more information would just put him at more of an advantage.

Philippines looked to be considering the idea carefully, "Do you trust me to do it?" Mexico could see that his answer would be her indicator of if he was just attempting to brush her off. Accordingly, he said, "Of course I do. You are small and quiet enough to get around without getting noticed. But if someone takes notice, I know you won't hesitate to put a blade between their ribs." She smiled at the last part of the statement, which meant that Mexico had convinced her. She finally loosened her grip on his sword and looked way from his face, "I'm sorry for the trouble, but I will do this for you." Knowing that the discussion was now over, Mexico reached out and put his hand on the handle of the sword, which he then easily pulled out of Philippines' grasp. He placed it in the sheath at his hip before moving to put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "Piri, I trust you completely and I know you trust me. You will never stop being important to me." She finally smiled, and the smile was genuine, "Good luck today and I will see you when we both get back." With that, they parted ways. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mexico leaned forward in his saddle, waiting for Allende to finish giving orders. The mortal had decided that a straight assault like the one Hidalgo had initially suggested would not be effective with the royalists so firmly entrenched in their positions. Instead, he had decided on a flanking approach, which would require splitting the forces into three. The idea was that the army, which was much larger than the royalist forces, would surround the smaller force. It was an excellent strategy, if it actually worked. The problem was yet again that the army hardly had the discipline to carry out a complicated strategy. Allende had attempted to lessen the disorder by appointing an officer to command each part of the army. At this point, all of the forces were in place and Allende was just quickly checking that everyone was clear on the strategy.

Mexico was impatient; he wanted the fighting to start. Allende finally appeared again out from between the trees. The mortal rode up so that he was next to his country. Mexico had not had a conversation with Allende since the mortal had sworn he would not fight alongside Hidalgo. Once they were even again, Mexico said, "Does this satisfy you, Ignacio? You finally get to lead like you always wanted to." Allende picked up on the tone, which was slightly critical, "I am grateful that you're giving me the chance to lead, especially since our last conversation went so badly. I have had time to think since then and I forgive you because you are young and reckless, but I do not forgive Miguel because he is far older and should know better."

Mexico did his best to ignore the morality in the statement. He had had more than enough of the feud between the two leaders. Instead, he responded to the first part of the statement, "You were right about one thing: Miguel is not a military man and it would be unwise to let him control the army during a real battle. You are much better suited to lead the troops here." Allende looked around quickly before looking back at Mexico, "There is nothing more we can do to prepare. We just have to hope that the men have some discipline for once. I shall signal for the troops to move. So, if you want to say something beforehand, you should say it now." Mexico thought for a second. He was anxious to get the battle started. So he said, "I have no reservations. Do you want me to stay back here with you?" The mortal responded with a simple nod, "I think that for now there is too much risk. You are injured already and there will be many casualties. Stay here for now."

Mexico kept himself from making any noise in response, although he would like to scoff. His leaders were almost paranoid in their protection of him. Considering how slowly he was healing, it was probably a good thing, but Mexico couldn't help feel that he had done very little to further the revolution. He had been on the sidelines of every battle and it was getting irritating. He had been shot by one clever soul who had actually waited for most of the blood shed to be over and then attempted to kill an officer. It was a pity that such guts had gone to waste.

Allende gave a signal and the troops began to surge forward towards the royalist position. Mexico's hands clenched upon the reigns so hard that his knuckles began to turn pale from loss of blood flow. There was a moment of pregnant silence where the charge seemed to move closer to the other army, which was just visible in the distance. Suddenly the calm October air was broken by the sound of cannons being fired in quick succession. The earth beneath the feet of the revolutionary army seemed to explode into showers of fire and clay. Mexico quickly inhaled out of excitement. He could smell gunpowder on the air as well as the underlying salt-iron scent of blood. This meant that the first casualties must have occurred.

Allende put his hand gently on Mexico's tensed hand, "Be patient, Alejandro. The cannons are a problem we have not encountered before, but you have to trust me." The sounds of battle continued to rise from the simple pounding of marching footsteps to one punctuated by the deep bellows of iron cannons and the occasional tinny shot of a musket, even though the armies were out of range of each other at the moment. Mexico desperately wanted to join the charge, but he had enough sense to keep his horse in place. The black stallion seemed to be just as anxious as his master. He continued to snort and paw at the ground. Mexico found himself wondering how the other two portions of the army were faring while fire rained down on the main body of troops.

The thick pine forest hid everything on the sides, which made it impossible to see the progress. The main armies were now clashing openly, with the obvious flashes of muskets firing off. Even from here, it was obvious which army was winning. The royalist army was holding its ranks while the insurgents were falling into disarray. Mexico saw that what he feared would happen was happening. Allende saw it too and swore under his breath, "Damn it all, they're going to retreat. I'm going to have to get them to regroup. As he said it, the situation became very clear. The revolutionary army was breaking ranks and turning now. They weren't able to handle the barrage of cannon fire coupled with the extraordinary defensive position of the other army. Within minutes, the retreat was pretty much consisted of the whole of the force.

They fell back to where they had started. In their wake, there was a trail of battered earth, pitted with metal projectiles. The ground was also covered in the blood and broken bodies of the fallen, far more of them ununiformed revolutionaries. The red of blood stood out strikingly against the green surroundings. The scene was as striking as it was disappointing. The first attempt at dislodging the royalist army had been a spectacular failure.

Mexico felt angrier than disappointed. This should be easy for him with all his military training, but the royalist army had easily thrown back a much larger force. He turned to Allende, whose hand had long since slipped off his own, "How's your confidence now, Ignacio? Can we salvage this?" He could see the worry playing across the soldier's face and knew that the mortal was realizing, as he was, that the situation was a good deal direr than initially anticipated. Allende, however, spoke with a kind of cool confidence, "We can still win, if we can keep the army busy while the other two flanks close around them. Once we have them surrounded, they will be forced to yield." Mexico saw the sense in the plan, but feared that the army wouldn't be able to pull it off.

Once the battered army returned, Allende rode off again. Mexico could easily hear the orders that the mortal was giving, "You need to hold your ground! Keep the troops in line. I don't care what you do to keep order, just do it!" Mexico smirked; he could see that there was definite desperation in Allende. The mortal returned to his original position in a huff. He gave the same gesture that had given to signal the first wave, but this time it was more emphatic.

Yet again, the army surged forward. This attempt seemed to have a little more order to it, with the troops marching forward in rows. Mexico glanced over at Allende, who was running his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner. As before, there was a couple seconds of silence before the cannon fire resumed. Mexico realized that he had started to stand up slightly in his stirrups, still wanting to get closer to the action. The stallion beneath him snorted and pawed aggressively at the ground. Mexico leaned forward and patted the horse on the neck and attempted to be soothing despite his own anxiousness.

Watching this attack was the same as watching the first wave. The charge was riddled with cannon fire. They managed to hold their ground for longer when they reached the main body of the royalist forces. But yet again, they broke and started retreating again. Yet again, Mexico felt his heart sink. Now he knew that he should have taken the time to stop and train the army. If they had any discipline at all, this would not be happening. The better-trained army, although it was smaller, was easily rebuffing all the attacks.

A single messenger rode up to Allende and said the one thing that actually brightened the situation; "The other flanks are now in place." Allende nodded. The main retreating army returned to their original spot. The smell of blood and gunpowder in the air was, at this point, undeniably thick in the air. As the men walked by, it became clear that massive damage was being done. A large portion of the men seemed to be at least slightly injured to some extent. Most seemed to be from flying metal created by the cannon balls. Even though there was so much carnage, Allende finally looked happy. It was most likely because he knew that the positioning of the troops would now allow him to win.

An unexpected guest interrupted his happiness; Hidalgo rode up to one side of Allende. He spoke, "This doesn't seem to be going well for you, Ignacio." Allende glared over at the priest, "You aren't supposed to be here, priest. This is my responsibility and I know what I am doing." The priest responded quickly, "If you know what you're doing, then why are you losing?" The other growled, "Do you have any suggestions that will actually help?" Mexico watched this confrontation with a good deal of interest. The clash between them could very much put the victory at risk. Hidalgo said, "Send a pair of messengers to the royalist general. You have him surrounded and have exhausted his troops with the first two charges. Negotiate his surrender."

The response was immediate, "That is so presumptuous of you. He doesn't see that he's surrounded and I will not compromise that information. In his eyes, he has easily pushed off what he sees as a rabble. He won't agree to anything." Mexico cut in, "I agree with Miguel, but we can't reveal that we have them surrounded, that could be critical information if he refuses." Allende responded grudgingly, "You always agree with him."

He glanced around and gestured to two uninjured men in the forefront of the army and said, "You two, you're officially emissaries now. Tell the general that we will accept his surrender." The two were quickly sent away with a pair of horses whose owners had been killed. Mexico wasn't sure what to expect. He had agreed to this because of the trust he had for Hidalgo, not because he was convinced it would work. He did know that Spanish arrogance very rarely yielded to reason, especially when it came to admitting defeat. He expected the messengers to be sent back with a flat refusal.

The silence dragged on as the thee of them waited for a response. The silence was broken by a pair of gunshots echoing up the valley. Mexico registered almost at once what had happened. He should have expected that the royalists would execute the messengers, but it made his blood boil all the same. It showed an utter lack of respect. Even the worst of enemies owed each other some respect when the met of the battlefield. Mexico saw no reason to restrain his temper, which was now boiling over. He would now put up with this kind of blatant disregard from the Spanish.

He registered in some part of his mind that Hidalgo and Allende were still arguing, but he no longer cared. He gently nudged his horse forward at what was a slow trot. He rode parallel to the lines of troops that had now reformed. He hadn't intended to start speaking. Indeed, it wasn't his style to be this intimate with mortals. He usually left this sort of rabble rousing to Hidalgo, but at the moment he was furious. His rage seemed to come out in the words he spoke, "That sound was our messengers being shot. The Spanish think we are not even worth a negotiation." At this point he paused, not entirely sure why he was even speaking. He looked out over the sea of people and all the eyes that were fixed on him. There was a communal sense of outrage and anger that fueled Mexico's own anger. Being the center of attention felt incredible, and the feeling convinced Mexico to continue his speech, "They see us as nothing more than an unorganized rabble. Let's show them how very wrong they are!"

His voice seemed to gain in strength as he spoke. His horse slowly picked up speed, slowly escalating to a gallop. There were shouts from the assembled men in encouragement. Mexico felt his heartbeat quicken, egged on by the feeling rising from the group. He said, "Let's make them pay for every drop of our blood they spilled! Let's show them that this is our land and no Spaniard will ever defeat us on it!" That was all he need say, the army started to surge forward again. Mexico turned his horse towards the enemy army and started to charge. He was quickly surrounded by the few other men that had horses. He could hear the sound of the men charging forward behind him.

The wind whipped his hair back off of his face and picked up the back of his coat. It was exhilarating, more so than just watching. Mexico felt invincible. The ground in front of him and to the right exploded as another cannon shot hit it, but Mexico kept control of his horse. The fire continued, but the true carnage didn't start until they were within musket range of the royalist army. Mexico saw that the front line was kneeling with a line of bayonets at the level that would easily take out a horse. The first volleys of musket fire seemed to miss Mexico and only graze a few people next to him. As he got closer to the line of bayonets, Mexico knew what he needed to do.

He urged the horse forward closer and closer and at the last moment, Mexico held on tightly and forced the horse to jump over the line of men. He easily cleared the danger without harming his stallion. Once inside, Mexico drew his sword and swung it to the side. It hit a foot solider in the neck, almost decapitating him. Blood sprayed from the neck across the flank of Mexico's horse. Mexico quickly looked around to assess if another retreat was about to happen. But, this time, righteous anger seemed to overrule any fear.

The royalist force was obviously overwhelmed by the force on all sides since the other parts of the army had charged when the main section had charged again. Each royalist solider was dealing with two or three enemies. This, in short, looked clearly like a victory. Mexico had one target left. He wanted to find the general. He sheathed his sword and quickly pulled out both of his pistols. This left him steering the horse with only his knees. He spotted one man in an officer's uniform. He was not the general, but the insignias on the uniform showed that he was a lieutenant. Mexico took aim at the man and fired one shot. The bullet hit the mortal in the middle of the back, which caused him to fall off the horse. Mexico didn't even bother to look to see if the man was dead.

He simply put the empty pistol back in the holster and kept moving forward. He soon caught sight of the general on a handsome brown horse in the middle of the battle. His face was pale and ashen. Obviously, he hadn't expected to be overwhelmed so suddenly. Mexico urged his horse forward. He aimed at the general's horse are fired a single shot. It hit exactly where it had been aimed. The man went down as his horse died beneath him. Mexico rode up to him and drew his sword. He dismounted the horse.

The general took a few seconds to pull himself back up. It appeared that he had injured his leg during the fall. When the mortal stood back up, Mexico put his sword to the man's throat, "So, do you surrender now, Spaniard?" The man nodded, seeming breathless. Mexico desperately wanted to kill the man now, just to make the point that he could destroy anyone he wanted to. He raised the sword to make the kill, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked over to see Allende with his hand on his shoulder. The mortal spoke, "He has surrendered. You've won the battle. Don't kill him." Mexico let the tension go out of his muscles, "He does deserve it though." Allende said in response, "Of course he does, but that isn't for you to do. Let him and his remaining forces retreat." Mexico still felt incredibly angry, but he backed down all the same. To stop the temptation to kill, he turned to walk away, "Fine, you deal with him then."

The general finally spoke, "You're that boy, the one that Spain is looking for." Mexico turned back around and looked at the man and responded, "Yes I am. Don't tell Antonio you saw me. My homecoming is going to be a little surprise for him." Mexico smirked and walked away, looking at the scenes of death and carnage around him.

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