Texas Crisis

Beneath the golden fleur-de-lis banner, the naval lieutenant general and Governor of Cuba stood on the bridge, binoculars in hand as he watched the British landing operation.

"Disciplined and well-equipped. Since when did that pocket army of the Englishmen become so formidable?"

Governor Enrique was no fool who had risen through empty rhetoric, illustrious birth, or nepotism.

On the contrary, he was a typical commoner general. He had hunted down Carlist rebels supported by the English in the mountains and had fought the British Army before. He knew full well that these English war machines were far more than just impressive-looking.

The captain of the Saint Joan of Arc, a naval colonel, reminded him, "With all due respect, Governor Enrique. The Cuban Squadron has only one battleship, three cruisers, and several small and medium gunboats. Before the Richelieu and the home fleet arrive, we should avoid clashing with the English."

Enrique snorted. "I may not understand naval warfare, but I can still count."

After a brief pause, he continued, "So what, we just slink away with our tails between our legs? Colonel Guillaume, we've yielded to those damned, grass-eating goat-fucking, Hell-bound, Satan-worshipping Englishmen far too many times!"

Enrique was a Spaniard, a new representative of the bourgeoisie, and a trusted general personally elevated by Queen Isabella II.

It was also Isabella II's marriage alliance with the Bourbon dynasty in this timeline that had brought about the birth of the Franco-Spanish Union.

Ever since France had helped Spain reclaim Gibraltar, which it had lost nearly two centuries earlier, during the last War of the Spanish Succession, Governor Enrique had become an unwavering Francophile.

In his eyes, only by clinging tightly to France could Spain, whose national strength had steadily declined, restore its former glory.

Colonel Guillaume hesitated before saying, "I think