The Andes Dream

Lucky for her, perhaps because Francisco was already accustomed to long walks carrying heavy loads, he wasn't among the wounded by midday. When he finally finished the march, Johann—his aide—and several officers close to his grandfather were waiting at the end of the Harz mountain range.

Johann looked at Francisco and frowned."Did you train in New Granada? Were you part of the army or something like that?"

The aide and the officers also stared curiously at Francisco, expecting an affirmative answer. They couldn't understand how this young man had managed to overpower all their soldiers and still finish the march first.

Francisco nodded, then shook his head."I did train in New Granada, but not as a soldier—more as a merchant. My father worked for the Cádiz Company, an enterprise tied to the royal family. Before my family's… radical ideas, I was supposed to inherit his position. That was the whole reason I was taken to Spain in the first place, to be born there."

Johann raised an eyebrow."Are all merchants in New Granada as resilient as you?"

Francisco nodded."Of course. New Granada lies in the northern part of the Andes mountain range, so walking through mountains is a basic necessity if you want to make money. Since I was young, my father would take me to distant towns far from the capital so I could experience the work I'd do in the future. And, well… the Spanish royal family can be a little picky. Sometimes they demand things from places very far away."

Johann furrowed his brows and exchanged glances with his officers, as if they needed to discuss something privately, but none of them dared to speak with Francisco still there. Francisco noticed this and said:

"I'll head to the medical camp to see Catalina, if you don't need me anymore."

Johann waved his hand."Go on. Leave the rest to us old men."

Francisco nodded and walked toward the camp. The soldiers' cries of agony could be heard from a distance, and once he got closer, even the smell of the place reached his nose. After he opened the tent flap, Catalina — who was tending to a wounded soldier — turned toward the entrance. The moment she saw Francisco, she completely ignored the injured man and ran straight to him, leaving the poor soldier speechless… and Ludwig equally stunned as he watched from the side.

Catalina asked, "Are you alright? You didn't get hurt anywhere?" She examined Francisco from head to toe.

Francisco answered awkwardly, "Don't worry. I just finished the march first and decided to come see you."

The soldiers around them suddenly went silent. Their mouths hung open as they stared at Francisco like he was some kind of monster. One by one, they lowered the volume of their groans. Losing to that kid was already humiliating enough—crying in front of him would be shameful enough to make them want to leave the army altogether.

Ludwig, noticing how quiet the soldiers had become, raised an eyebrow and muttered, "Pride really is the best tool against soldiers." Then he looked at Catalina with a reproachful expression."Catalina, continue with your work. Don't leave the soldier alone for too long."

Catalina blushed slightly, hurried back behind the wounded man, and inspected his leg again."Does this hurt?" she asked.

The soldier wanted to scream yes, but with Francisco standing beside her, he couldn't bring himself to do it. A small tear slid down his cheek as he forced out, "A little… but not much."

Catalina frowned, puzzled. Five minutes ago the man had acted as if he were about to die, and now he claimed it barely hurt.

Francisco watched the scene with amusement. He could more or less guess why the men suddenly pretended to be fine, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "I'll sit outside the tent. If you need me, just call me."

Catalina nodded, though Francisco wasn't entirely sure she even heard him. Still, he stepped out, sat down, and opened a book he had taken from the library.

Meanwhile, Johann and his inner circle of officers, after seeing Francisco walk away, finally spoke up.

"This is bad," one muttered.

"That's right," another said. "If this boy is just a merchant, then the Spanish soldiers in New Granada must be at least twice as strong and resistant."

Johann looked toward the mountain range with a thoughtful expression."It's already been five minutes since Francisco arrived here, and we still haven't seen a single other soldier."

His aide hesitated."Maybe Francisco found another way back without being noticed? You know… he is still a kid. Maybe he was just being playful?"

Johann's frown deepened before he slowly said,"I thought the same at first… but last night I sent some of my elite scouts to watch the mountain range, in case someone tried to cheat. They're the best of the best in the Prussian army, yet all I've received are reports about a few soldiers fooling around — nothing about Francisco. If he really did cheat, then that's even worse for us. Crossing mountains fast doesn't necessarily make him a better soldier… but if he managed to slip past my scouts without being seen, then our army is useless."

A heavy silence fell over the officers. A few even nodded grimly.

Johann sighed."We need to accept it. Spanish soldiers may be mediocre here in Europe, but in New Granada… they might be far more dangerous than we assumed. There's a reason they've held that territory for so long, even with constant British attacks."

The officers nodded again, until one spoke up:"Well… at least we found out before going to New Granada. This gives us time to adjust. If we'd discovered this there, the situation would've been dire."

Johann finally relaxed a little."You're right. Now our goal is simple: reach a point where no soldier ends up wounded after marching through this range."

The aide hesitated."No wounded? Sir… that's a bit unrealistic. This terrain is still dangerous. Accidents will always happen."

Johann sneered."You call this terrain difficult? When we arrived, Francisco asked, 'This is the hardest mountain here? It looks like the hill behind my father's estate.' At first I thought he was pretending — acting arrogant, like a child trying to show off in front of his family. But after today's march, I'm sure he meant it. So tell me: if our men can't cross this mountain without injuries, how do you expect them to survive in a truly hellish environment?"

Silence took over again.The officers stared at the Harz range, suddenly unsure of everything.This looked like the hills behind Francisco's estate?

Just what kind of nightmarish land were they heading to?A few even wondered if it was still possible to return quietly to the Prussian army before anyone noticed.

Jokes aside, the Prussian officers began to take much more seriously what they were preparing to do. After all, even if Spain was no longer the hegemon it once was, it remained one of the great powers. Their soldiers, even if they looked a bit undisciplined, were still a hardened bunch — and those stationed in New Granada were probably worse, given the land they lived in.

After ten more minutes, the Prussian soldiers finally began to reach the end of the march. They were clearly far more exhausted than Francisco — sweating, uniforms disordered, some dragging their steps. Johann and the officers frowned at the sight. The aide was about to scold them, but Johann lifted his hand to stop him, then said in a firm tone:

"Rest where you are. You may send one man for every four to bring water from the river. Remember to boil it and wait for the rest of the company to arrive."

The soldiers immediately dropped to the ground, worn out from the march. They used their own supplies as makeshift pillows and even began playing small games to decide who would fetch the water.

The aide waited for Johann to finish giving orders, then asked quietly, "Sir… why didn't you let me scold them?"

Johann sighed."Because this is their first time doing a march like this. Exhaustion is normal. And they haven't even eaten meat this week. For the next march, we'll give them meat the day before."

The aide nodded, and after looking at the soldiers' exhausted faces, he let out a small sigh of pity. Johann noticed.

"I would worry more about yourself than about them, my dear aide," Johann murmured. "On the next march, we will be participating."

The aide froze, staring at Johann with a speechless expression.

Johann shrugged."You don't expect us to be slower than our own men, do you? Look at them — clearly we're not used to harsh terrain. So we officers will be training harder. I can be lenient when our men are outmatched by Francisco… but if you officers are outmatched by that kid, I will be very disappointed. And you know what happens when I'm disappointed, don't you?"

A chill ran down the officers' backs as they remembered the punishments Johann used to deliver when he was "sad." Their pity for the soldiers evaporated instantly, replaced by fear.

Johann smirked at their reactions — but then his expression shifted when his gaze returned to the Harz. This mountain range which Francisco casually called a "hill"… The worry on Johann's face could no longer be hidden.

Seeing the young soldiers lying on the ground, exhausted but laughing together, he suddenly understood:The campaign in New Granada was going to claim lives — many lives. Perhaps even his own.

For the first time, he wondered how many of those smiling, youthful men would survive what awaited them on the other side of the ocean. And the thought struck him harder than he expected.