[b]Madrid, Spain[/b]

Alfonso Sotelo - strongman of the Spanish Republic - strode with purpose down the corridor of the Hall of the Republic. Clacking of his leather dress shoes against marble tile echoed through the cavernous hall and beat a martial rhythm to which his entourage bodyguards and of assorted goons marched. Behind him they traded folders and parlayed in hushed, hastened tones; preparations made ahead of the words their Prime Minister would soon declare before the whole of the Earth. Sotelo shared none of their concern.

Suited guards standing at rigid attention on either side of a doorway nodded respectfully as their head of state approached. From beneath the threshold, the dull roar of a gathered crowd could be plainly heard. Sotelo stopped before the threshold and took a brief pause, collecting his thoughts as his fingers wrapped around the handle. His shoulders rose and fell as he took one last deep breath. He siezed the handle and drew open the door, leaving his entourage behind as he stepped outside to make history.

Beyond the doorway was a bannistered patio overlooking the parkland of the grounds; an empty platform of tile and mortar save for a vacant podium at the fore that beckoned Sotelo forward. On the manicured grounds beneath, a throng of camera-wielding onlookers leveled their lenses and took aim at Sotelo as he stepped outside. A thousand lightning-flashes of white light greeted the Prime Minister as he approached the podium. Camera apertures snapped shut again and again, joining together with the polite applause of ten thousand onlookers and journalists. Crews representing the televised networks honed the lenses of their tripod-mounted cameras as their Prime Minister took to the podium decorated not with the coat of the Second Republic as would be expected - but that of Alfonso Sotelo's administration: a red shield emblazoned with a white lion.

"Spaniards," Sotelo began, gripping the podium and pulling himself to the triad of microphones pointed up to his mouth. His cold eyes scanned about the gathered throng, immediately squelching the applause. "Italians, Portuguese, Maltese, French, Prussians, Americans - and all people that desire a just world - I thank you for joining me today. Whether you stand here in the very nexus of this great nation, or instead listen by radio from some far-flung post on the very fringe of the world, I thank you all for joining me for the passing of this moment into history... This watershed moment that will be remembered henceforth for as long as history is written down.

"Today is a day four years in the making. Since the day of my inauguration, I have lost much sleep to see that the efforts of the coming days came to pass - this endeavor born from the dark days in the summer of 1976. That black August, where Marxist fanatics - brutes who attempted through sadistic means what they could not accomplish through the channels of democracy - so callously ended the lives of three hundred of our countrymen, destroyed the very center of governance of our nation, and in so doing stole from us the greatest statesman Spain has ever seen.

"For four years, we have remembered our dear Miguel Tejero, but on this day, we avenge him!"

Applause erupted from the audience at this juncture, putting Sotelo on hold as he held his leveled hands out, signalling for quiet once more.

"Today is the day that the Republic takes the offensive against the communist threat. As I speak, our grand Armada has positioned itself off the coast of North Africa and begins now its assault against an expeditionary force of the armed forces of the Ethiopian Empire. In a bid to expand their socialist sphere, an Ethiopian army has moved in recent days to claim Egypt - leaderless and adrift in the collapse of the Ottoman Empire - to lay claim to their northern neighbor. Today the battle has been joined."

"The Republic will tolerate the presence of a socialist state on its periphery no longer - the zenith mark of global communism is today, from now on it shall recede across the globe as in Africa. From this day forward, the armed forces of the Second Spanish Republic have been wholly committed to the destruction of the House of Yohannes and the liberation of Africa from socialist meddling. The hour for diplomacy and negotiation has passed; the might of our Republic's armed forces takes the place now of bargaining and talk."

"And to those sympathizers of Marx - puppets of the Chairman Hou - know that nowhere on this Earth will you be safe from the wrath of a vengeful Spain. The hour of your reckoning has come at long last - and we will be the ones to administer it."

[b][i]Golondrina[/i], Port Fuad, Egypt [/b]

Klaxons rang through the interior of the cruiser, sending soldiers bursting forth from their cabins into winding hallways of riveted bulkheads and metal. Boots rumbled down the grated floors as they coursed through the vessel's insides like rats scurrying from a sinking ship. Red strobelights washed over the faces of the vessel's security detail - among which was the fresh Ejercito recruit Luis Morazan. Red light illuminated a worried visage as he made for the sunlight at the end of the corridor.

No sooner than Luis stumbled out into the harsh white light of the Egyptian sun, he was directed by a shouting deck officer to the prow, where the rest of his squad had taken up position along the waist-high extension of the hull that demarcated the edge of the deck. Luis fell in alongside his companion Hector and a smattering of deckhands - all distinguishable from the Ejercito soldiers by metal flack jacket draped over their chests.

"This is it, cabron!" Hector grinned, jabbing Luis in the side with his elbow. "We get to see some fucking action!"

Luis gave a weak and unconvincing smirk before glancing out to the scene playing out around him. Beyond the water, a little less than a mile away, the twin ports of Said and Fuad smoldered - evidence of the battle between the Ethiopians and the forces of whatever Egyptian warlord had assumed control of this swathe of the former Ottoman Empire. Columns of black, acrid smoke joined the minarets of the the Port Fuad Mosque in reaching into the hazy, azure sky. And betwixt the two ports, straddling the Suez Canal and the path of the Spanish armada, was a single warship anchored defiantly in place - her guns pointed at the great flotilla lumbering toward it.

The [i]Aksum[/i], Luis had heard it called, was all that stood between the Spanish Armada and the coast of the Ethiopian heartland. The fifty warships of the Armada could have reduced the lone Ethiopian ship into a hunk of scrap at the bottom of the canal without the slightest difficulty. And that - Admiral Santin seemed to believe - was exactly what the Ethiopians wanted. The canal as it was could only barely accommodate the draught depth of the heavy Spanish destroyers or the mighty aircraft carrier that served as the Armada's flagship: [i]La Ira de Dios[/i]. A sunken wreckage across the floor of the canal would render it impassible to anything heavier than a dingy for months, forcing the Armada to backtrack across the Mediterranean and steam across the entire coast of Africa - giving the Ethiopians a month and a half or more to prepare their defense. If the Spanish were to attack from the Red Sea - the [i]Aksum[/i] had to remain intact.

The Ethiopian ground forces that had taken up position at the mouth of the canal, however, had no such importance to the Spanish mission. They were to be destroyed with extreme prejudice. Luis could feel the cruiser's engine rumbling under his feet; crushing waves beneath it's steel bow as diesel smoke belched forth from a smokestack amongst the radar masts and antennae. The two 80mm turrets that comprised the [i]Golondrina's[/i] primary armaments pointed steadfastly forward, but the smaller deck guns could be heard chattering as they turned portside - toward Port Said. As they pivoted toward the cities, a pair deck officers marched by briskly pushing a cart of firearms by as they went. Wordlessly, one of the officers shoved a FE-74 assault rifle into Luis' arms and continued on down the line. The ugly, metal contraption felt greasy in his fingers and stank of gun cleaner. Luis had practiced extensively with Spain's standard issue rifle in basic training, but this was the first time had held a gun in a combat scenario. It felt so much heavier than he remembered. Beside him, Hector grinned widely as he inspected the weapon in his arms.

"Listen up!" A deck officer commanded as he strode by the Ejercito contingent and the armed deckhands. "As of 14:35 local time, the Prime Minister has issued a declaration of war against the Ethiopian Empire! The [i]Estado Mayor[/i] has passed down orders to engage the Ethiopian armed forces or other hostile elements in Port Fuad and Port Said!

"What that means is you are to hose the shit out of anything without the God-given sense to get out of the way of our Armada!" The officer explained. "The deck guns will have the first volley - after they have fired, weapons will be free! Under no circumstances are you to fire upon the Ethiopian vessel anchored in the canal! Do I make myself clear?"

"[i]Entendido, senor![/i]" Was uttered in unison.

"Then lock and load!"

The FE-74s made a metallic clank as their levers were pulled forward and the safeties disengaged. Luis, upon readying his weapon, glanced up at the bridge above them. The captain was visible through the glass, looking through a telescoping eyeglass. He slapped the instrument shut and pointed at the base of a collection of tenement buildings. Luis' eyes followed his fingers and saw what he was pointing at: figures darting through alleyways and into the wharfside edifice. For the first time Luis had seen the enemy with his own eyes.

"Hostiles sighted!" Was called from the team manning the deck gun. A sweat-drenched deckhand donning a flack jacket spun a handcrank wildly, gradually lowering the cannon down to the appropriate angle - the third or fourth floor of the building. Once the gun had been aimed, the deckhands loaded the breaches with two shells the size of a fire hydrant. Screeching gulls, pops of gunfire coming from the harbor, and the sound of waves breaking against the hull prevailed for a moment.

The calm was broken by the roar of thunder across the water. Fiery flashed burst from the deck guns of a nearby cruiser, and then the cruiser directly behind the [i]Golondrina[/i].

"[i]ABRAN FUEGO![/i]"

A deafening blast shuddered the deck of the [i]Golondrina[/i], and again a second later... followed shortly after by another two blasts from the battery at the rear of the cruiser. A loud ringing buzzed through his ears as he recovered his hearing - a sound followed shortly thereafter by cheerful whoops as puffs of pulverized plaster and brick came off the top of the tenement building, bringing down a large chunk of the facade in a shower of debris. All along the waterfront of Port Said, clouds of smoke were materializing as Spanish shells pummeled the last-known position of the Ethiopians.

Rolling thunder came again from across the sea, this time behind the [i]Golondrina[/i] - a salvo so loud and so powerful that the sheer concussive force of the blasts shook Luis' insides. The destroyers had joined in the assault. Above their heads, the heavy shells whistled through the sky and then arced down, landing deeper into Port Fuad and Said. Great plumes of fire and black smoke blossomed as the heavy shells found their mark - if there was any target at all to begin with. The destroyer volley was more probably a message - the Spanish would suffer no obstacle to stand in their path.

A flicker of movement along the waterfront drew Luis' eye - an armored truck of some sort, speeding along the waterfront road. A wet hiss could be heard over the sound of crashing shells in the distance as it drove past; his eyes registered a flicker of white. Behind him, the deck officer's eyes widened and he braced himself against the metal side of the deck next to Hector.

"HIT THE DECK!" The officer screamed.

A triad of white contrails bobbed and snaked across the water toward the cruiser from the truck. Like a striking Hydra, one of the missiles fell upon the upper hull of the [i]Golondrina[/i], rattling the vessel to its core. Another missile weaved over the lip of the hull and planted itself down into the superstructure of the cruiser - blooming fire and smoke before raining hot scraps of steel down upon the hull. Luis ducked under the lip of the hull and covered the back of his neck as the rockets jarred the ship.

"OPEN UP ON THAT TRUCK!" The deck officer screamed hysterically as he scrambled back to his feet. Hector planted himself back onto his feet and joined the rest of his squad in firing upon the truck speeding down the road. Arpeggios of assault rifle reports rang out across the cruiser as the armored truck made its getaway, soon joined by both of the cruiser's deck guns - eager for revenge. Mushrooms of pulverized asphalt sprang up on the heels of the truck as it drove away, eliciting small arms fire from behind the corners of tenement buildings. Splashes of water and metal pinging against the hull announced to the Spanish that they themselves were under attack. The armed deckhands and Ejercito squads quickly reverted their attention and returned fire on the Ethiopian fireteams across the harbor.

Luis, however, had not fired a single shot - and the deck officer had noticed that he had only come up from cover to peek out at the situation before ducking back into cover. The officer seized Luis by the collar.

"Whose side are you on?!" The deck officer demanded, choking the panicked Luis.

"Your side!" He gasped. The officer dragged Luis up to his feet by his collar.

"Then act like it!" He barked, pointing out across the water. "Fucking shoot something!"

Luis nodded shakily and unleashed a string of bullets across the water. His heart wanted to explode every time a bullet clanged against the cruiser's hull, but fear of the officer kept him firing upon his Ethiopian adversaries. A few meters away from Luis, one of the deckhands caught an Ethiopian bullet to the shoulder, sending him to the deck screaming and clutching at a bloody crater beside his neck. The officer came to his side and flagged a medic down, who immediately set about applying battle dressing. Luis had never seen so much blood in his life. His heart palpitated and his stomach nearly wrung out his lunch onto the deck - and he had only been at war for a little under ten minutes.

As he peered out from behind the lip of the hull to fire, the nearest deck gun exploded with another two reports. Before his very eyes, the deck gun shell hit an abandoned car - obliterating it in a fireball of ignited gasoline. At least two Ethiopians had taken cover behind the car, and Luis saw as both of them ran out from behind cover - each totally ablaze. They ran across the waterfront road toward the harbor. One made it and landed in the water with a foamy splash, the other was less fortunate and caught a bullet in the leg. The burning fighter fell to the pavement, still alive, still burning profusely. The African soldier made a dogged attempt to crawl to the seawall, but the flames soon overtook him and snuffed his life out.

Luis' stomach could not handle the sight of the smoldering man in the distance. Vomit poured down over his chin, and the the fresh recruit collapsed to the deck and fainted.