[center][h3]Of Rebels and Assassins  - Part I[/h3][/center]
[b]Porto, Spain - August 02, 1960[/b]

Juan Carlos, King of Spain, sat in the left hand side of the swiftly moving staff car, a miserable shell of a man who smiled fraudulently at the waving crowds as he passed by. Beside him, cold and untouchable as she had been since the day they married, sat his Queen, her own smile broad and happy as she waved to the enthusiastic crowd. It was their first trip outside Madrid as a married couple and she had chosen Porto.

"They are due for some happiness after all the horror they have seen." She had declared hotly when he tried to protest. Porto had been, after all, the epicentre of Portuguese resistance.

That resistance had been brutally crushed by Spanish troops. Any man who carried a weapon in the streets of Portugal out of uniform was shot on sight. Those who resisted were arrested and their families with them, all of them vanishing the back of black vans, now known locally as "The Crows". Anyone who was dragged screaming into the vehicles were never seen again and slowly the resistance had begun to wane as people came to fear the Spanish more than they hated them.

The hatred lingered of course and that was why the Queen had chosen Porto for their visit. Her own popularity with the Portuguese people had not diminished with her marriage to the Juan, in fact many seemed to feel she had been forced in to it. Others even suggested that she was protecting the Portuguese population as many of the harshest measures taken by the Spanish, like an early curfew, shooting anyone on sight who failed to move out of the way of their convoys, all ended when she became Queen. Even the Spanish people themselves had been horrified by the shootings and now enthusiastically supported their new Queen. 

"They already love you..." Juan had grumbled and then shrunk away as she turned on him with a snarl. 

"Well if you were half a man you might have put a stop to the reprisals!" She had screamed the words at him in their bedroom, a bedroom that was increasingly like a battleground.

"I don't control the army!" He had retorted, his own temper rising, it was unfair that she even suggest he had anything to do with the actions of Spains troops.

"You could have appealed to Delgado, I did, and look how it stopped. You're just a coward!" She had turned way before he could respond and he knew, deep down, that she was right. He was terrified of Delgado, and, truth be told, he held his new wife in the same regard.

And so they found themselves driving through the main thoroughfare of Porto in an open topped staff car with heavily armed Cazadores in front and behind, ever watchful of the crowd. It seemed that most people were in a forgiving mood despite what had happened in the city, or it was at least an excuse to cut loose as more than half of those present seemed quite intoxicated and they pushed and shoved, trying to reach out and touch the car as it passed. 

The square was huge, large enough to fit several thousand people, fringed on all sides by small cafes and shops that had only recently reopened for business. Children sat on their parents shoulders to wave at the Royalty and a few people tossed flowers in front of the vehicle as they went. It was a far cry from back to normal but at least the city no longer felt as though it was cowering.

As they approached the centre of the square, coming abreast of a massive fountain that bore some Portuguese saint on it, Juan glanced to his right just in time to see three men shove their way to the front of the crowd. They glared at the vehicle, making it clear that they bore its occupants no love. Nor were they alone, while many waved and called greetings, others cursed and swore, it was a strange mix. To Juan's amazement, two of the men he was staring at drew submachine guns, the third a revolver, from beneath their coats, and he barely had time to duck down before they opened fire on the car. 

As the first bullets hammered into the Royal car, another engine roared from deeper in the square and screams sounded as a van tore through the crowd and slammed into the leading Cazadore vehicle, hitting it so hard that it toppled over onto its side, pinning a Cazadore beneath it. The mans screams were audible even above the gunfire 

Bullets shattered the windscreen, the side mirrors, and tore away the drivers hat even as he swore and clapped a hand to his neck as blood sprang from a bullet strike. Panic spread through the crowd and they began to stampede, pushing and shoving to get away from the shooting. Some fell as the attackers bullets missed and tore into the crowd. Then more shooting as the Cazadores engaged the attackers in a hail of gunfire that cut the three gunmen down. The attackers vehicle meanwhile had come to a halt, its engine smashed, and three men leapt from it, drawing more weapons as they ran toward the Royal couple.

Juan could only stare about in terror at the chaos unfolding around him. Next to him, her eyes wide and her face white, Mariana crouched beneath the edge of the armoured door panel. She was in the safest place of all, the attackers were not close enough to the vehicle to be able to direct their shots down at her, but more than a few had narrowly missed the King.

As the three new attackers advanced, one was tackled by a Cazadore who had emerged from the wrecked police vehicle, blood streaming down his face. A second died as a burst of machine gun fire from the rear vehicle cut him nearly in half. The third managed to evade the gunfire however, and leapt up onto the hood of the staff car, which had slowed, aiming his revolver at Juan even as his other hand gripped the broken frame of the windshield.

Hatred gleamed from dark eyes as they stared down the barrel of the revolver as the King locked eyes with his assassin. The man couldn't have been a day older than Juan, perhaps twenty, perhaps younger. His lips were peeled back from his teeth in a snarl, his eyes were impossibly wide, and behind the hatred Juan could see his own fear as if looking in to a mirror. The man blinked once, seemed to hesitate, and then pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

A thin white finger pulled desperately on the trigger again and Juan felt himself flinch even as he heard the click of the hammer slamming home. He had expected a bullet, but no pain shot through him. The driver, hand still gripping his neck, stomped on the brake peddle just as the gunman gave a scream of dismay and aimed the revolver again. The abrupt stop sent the gunman toppling over onto the roadway in front of the vehicle and before he could stand the driver shifted into gear and slammed the heavy car over top of him. The sound of bones breaking lost beneath the screams of hundreds of onlookers. 

An instant later the car was surrounded by Cazadores as they exchanged rounds with two other attackers who appeared to have arrived late to the party. One died, the other falling with a bullet in his spine before the Cazadores seized him and dragged him toward their vehicle. All of the gunmen appeared to be young and they were no soldiers, their gunfire was poorly aimed and they shot indiscriminately into the crowd or at the police who protected the King and Queen.

The square emptied quickly and the screaming slowly died away. It seemed almost silent save for the moans of the man pinned beneath the heavy staff car. The Royal Couple were miraculously unharmed but their driver, his frantic motions having possibly saved their lives, could not save his own, and died in the blood soaked drivers seat before help could reach him. The Cazadore who had been pinned when his car was hit died as well, along with two others who had been hit while shielding the Royal couple with their bodies.  

Around them the square was dotted with the bodies of fallen civilians, hit in the exchange of gunfire. Some cried for help, others simply stared in muted horror at their wounds. The distant sound of sirens heralded the approach of ambulances and reinforcements as those police in the motorcade formed a perimeter around the Royal couple.

Juan has pissed himself and he glanced up to see Mariana staring at him in disgust. She was shaken but unharmed and, before he could speak, she pushed open the door of the car and stepped onto the blood soaked street. A Cazadore protested but she waved away his words as she knelt next to one of his wounded comrades and spoke quietly to the man, taking his hand in hers and shaking it.

She moved among the Cazadores, wounded or not, thanking them, even as they closed their protective screen around her. Juan, still crouched in the bottom of his bullet riddled car, watched how the policemen smiled at her and bowed low when she thanked them. He knew it should be him out there, being a leader, showing his subjects how he appreciated him, but all he could do was slowly sink into a sitting position and begin to cry.