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July, 1960 - Lisbon, Portugal
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Dom Duarte Nuno, Duke of Braganza, was not enjoying himself. He was looking at the reports on his desk that had been handed to him by a worried looking intelligence officer from the Army. The man, standing stock still in front of the Duke, was visibly nervous and worried and the Duke had to admit he couldn't blame the man.
 
Two weeks before rumours had flown that the Spanish had been planning an invasion of France and he has relished the thought of the two powers slugging it out. The Spanish were cagey as ever however and had moved quickly to announce that they were engaging in war games to test new technology. For a week there had been manoeuvres in the Spanish mountains along the French border with an ever paranoid and fractured French state watching with some trepidation. Then, without a shot being fired across the border, the war games were declared a great success and the military units that had been deployed to the north began to move south, and then to the west.
 
Some had returned home but a generous portion, supported by other units who had not taken part in the war games, began to appear along the Spanish - Portugese border. They moved quickly as if the operation had been pre-planned. Trains ran on a schedule that had not been so neatly adhered to since the first rails had been laid down so many years before. Flights of Spanish warplanes were reported all along the border and nervous peasants who freely crossed the borders with their sheep noted an increased presence of Spanish police.
 
The first realty check for the Duke himself had been one day ago while he sat on his terrace on the third floor of the Palace, enjoying the sweeping vista of the city and the ocean beyond. He had been enjoying a stiff coffee and a shoulder massage from his favourite mistress, the Duchess was out of town, when the phone nearby had rung. The phone existed for exactly two reasons. One was to warn him of his wifes return, the other was for emergencies.
 
"Your Grace, I suggest to find some binocular and take a look out to sea."
 
The voice on the other end had been short and to the point before the line went dead. The Duke had seized a pair of binoculars usually reserved for beach gazing and turned them out to sea. At first he could see nothing, just an endless sun drenched Atlantic ocean. Then, as he scanned to the north, he saw the ships coming around the headland. There were twenty vessels, all of them bristling with guns, and all of them flying the Spanish flag. In their midst was the strangest vessel the Duke had ever seen. It looked like someone had chopped the superstructure off of an old cruiser and put a flat deck on it. Why he wasn't sure.... As if reading his thoughts, a small black dot suddenly rose from the vessel, circled once or twice and then flew out over the open ocean. His jaw dropped. An aircraft carrier. Where the hell had the Spanish gotten an aircraft carrier?!
 
The phone rang again.
 
"Yes?" He had shrugged off his mistress and was standing with the phone in one hand, his binoculars in the other as he stared at the ships that were growing larger. Another plane rose of the deck of the aircraft carrier.
 
"A message from Grand Viceroy Delgado. Shall I bring it up or would you like me to read it off to you?" The voice was no longer calm. It was worried.
 
"Read it, read it." The Duke said savagely.
 
"Very good sir." The man cleared his throat. "The Kingdom of Spain demands the immediate and unconditional surrender of the Kingdom of Portugal." There was a silence as the Duke gaped out over the city. The voice went on when he didn't reply. "He says you have 24 hours to reply or they attack. A similar message has been delivered to the National Assembly."
 
As if to drive the point home the battleship that led the Spanish Armada trained its massive guns on the entrance to the Port of Lisbon and fired a salvo. Massive geysers of water exploded near the headlands and he could see people running for cover. Out at sea, two long low destroyers darted out to intercept a Portugese steamer making for port. He saw a brief exchange through bullhorns and the Portugese flag came rippling down.
 
Not two minutes later the air suddenly filled with a thunderous roar as a massive armada of warplanes roared overhead. There were hundreds if aircraft. Bombers were stacked in bombing formation while fighters swarmed around them, and fighter bombers dove low over the city. The Duke knew Portugal was not prepared to go to war with Spain. He turned and hurried for his bedroom. He would dress and hurry to the National Assembly. They needed to surrender before the Spanish decided to fire a few more warning shots on target.