The Andes Dream-Chapter 230: The Krugger–Isabella Strategy

Isabella smiled in relief. Though her knowledge was still amateur, she had indeed sensed something wrong in her father’s body — lessons carefully taught by Grandma Maria. Knowing he would send for her allowed Isabella to relax.

Carlos smiled at the sight of her easing expression. Then he turned his attention to Krugger, who had stood like a third wheel throughout the entire exchange, holding the plan awkwardly in his hands, unsure when to speak.

"Tell me, Krugger. What happened?"

Krugger stepped forward and handed him the documents without ceremony.

Carlos began to read.

The proposal outlined a three-stage lightning strike — a strategy that abandoned defensive positioning entirely in favor of aggressive expansion.

The first stage: The Water Attack.

Rather than marching overland toward Venezuela — which would alert Spanish forces and risk heavy casualties — Krugger proposed using the internal river networks. Flat-bottomed barges would be constructed, reinforced with thin layers of Francisco’s Roman cement, allowing cannons and troops to move silently through the swamps toward the lake.

Krugger’s reasoning was straightforward: Roman cement resisted salt and moisture far better than traditional materials. If it could endure ocean air, it would thrive in river water. No other available material matched its resilience.

Carlos nodded slowly at this portion. The logic was sound.

It was the second stage that troubled him.

The San Andrés Distraction.

While the Medellín forces advanced through the rivers, Krugger proposed sending word to the troops stationed in San Andrés. They would "borrow" local vessels and operate as privateers — assaulting merchant ships and drawing the Spanish navy toward Cartagena. If successful, this maneuver would leave Maracaibo exposed or minimally defended.

Carlos frowned.

If mishandled, such actions could draw Spain’s full attention to San Andrés and doom the already vulnerable troops stationed there. The island was not a major port — its insignificance had allowed them to hide, but it also meant limited naval resources. Acquiring seaworthy vessels would be difficult.

And there was another concern.

Prussians were renowned for their land warfare — disciplined, brutal, efficient.

At sea, however, they were far weaker. Even Portugal or Spain possessed superior naval tradition. Acting as raiders was one thing; confronting the Spanish navy directly would be another. If cornered in open waters, their ships would become food for the sea.

Then came the third stage.

And this was the part that made Carlos inhale sharply.

The Fortress in a Week.

Once the expedition reached the narrow entrance to the lake — the "Bar" — they would not merely seize the existing Spanish fortifications. They would construct entirely new battery positions using pre-mixed, fast-setting Roman cement.

In theory, the structures could be operational within a week.

Carlos trusted Prussian engineering discipline. If anyone could attempt such a feat, it would be them.

But time was the true enemy.

Cartagena lay roughly a week away by sea. Even if Roman cement set quickly, it required at least two days to harden sufficiently against heavy cannon fire. Considering the manpower required to build multiple batteries and fortifications, there was a real possibility that only a fraction of the defenses would be ready when the Spanish navy arrived.

And if they arrived before the walls were hard enought...

The entire expedition and their whole autonomy could colapse in a single battle.

Carlos lowered the papers slowly.

Krugger waited until Carlos finished reading.

"By the time Bogotá realizes we are moving on Maracaibo, it will already be too late," he said, his voice cutting cleanly through Carlos’s silence. "Of course, we must secure Honda first. That prevents the Spanish forces in Bogotá from striking us in the rear. It also prepares the path for your eventual move on the capital."

He stepped closer to the desk, tapping the map.

"You would command the most strategic port in the Caribbean. Bogotá itself would become a prisoner. Once you control the lower Magdalena and the Cesar River, you would possess your own maritime route to Europe through Maracaibo. It would no longer matter which viceroy Spain sends to New Granada—each of them would think twice before daring to move against you."

Carlos slowly raised his eyes, the reflection of inked coastlines dancing in his tired gaze.

"You’re suggesting we abandon the Valley’s defensive posture and gamble everything on a sea we have not even seen," he said quietly. "And once we take these steps, Spain becomes our direct enemy. We would become their primary target. Their armies come from Europe. If we control the northern economy, they cannot defeat the fanatics without first destroying us."

"Precisely," Krugger replied without hesitation. "It places us at the forefront of the war — against Spain, and perhaps against the fanatics as well. But we must seize the initiative. Hiding in this valley will not protect us forever."

He straightened.

"Spain is entangled with the French Republic. This is our window. If we do not grow strong now, they will eventually recover and reinforce Venezuela. And to the west, the fanatics could take Buriticá."

Carlos’s expression darkened.

"You know what that means," Krugger continued. "Buriticá is the richest gold mine in the central mountains. With that gold, the Vatican, Europe, even our northern neighbors could purchase enough weapons to forge a new kingdom. If Spain stands to our west and the fanatics to our east, we will find ourselves between hammer and anvil."

His voice hardened.

"And like many caught between them, we will be crushed."

Silence filled the room.

Krugger’s blue eyes locked onto Carlos.

"You need more determination," he said, quieter now, but sharper. "It is time to sever yourself completely from Spain — from your family there, from your loyalties. Unless you intend to surrender everything to the Spanish Crown and live under quiet arrest in Spain with your son and daughter for the rest of your life."

He gestured lightly toward Isabella.

"Your daughter helped conceive this original plan. That alone shows she possesses resolve. Do not let me look down upon a grown man for lacking even half the courage of his child."

Carlos turned slowly toward Isabella.

She met his gaze, her expression no longer childish but layered with something heavier.

"Father," she said softly, "I understand that you respect your homeland. But I cannot forgive them for trying to harm my brother. And I do not believe you can either."

She stepped closer.

"I don’t fully understand what holds you back. But I do know this: your family matters more than any crown."

Carlos fell silent.

He could not tell his daughter that it was, in truth, family that restrained him. His relationship with the House of Lerma had never been warm, but blood was blood. Whatever their distance, they were still his family. Even if they would not be executed for his actions, the House of Lerma would suffer. Their lands could be seized. Their name dragged through the mud. Their allies would turn cautious, perhaps hostile.

And his father...

His father was already in fragile health in Spain. The strain of scandal, of political retaliation, might be enough to kill him. Carlos feared that more than anything.

As for his brother, he felt little attachment. After their father’s death, the rise or fall of the house would hardly trouble him. But while his father lived, the matter was far more complicated.

Krugger observed the turmoil in his expression and let out a slow breath.

"Think it over, Carlos. Our time is shortening. We do not know how long the French Republic can hold Spain’s attention. When that war ends, they will turn their full strength toward us."

He then looked at Isabella. She nodded softly.

She stepped forward and embraced her father.

"I love you, Father. I’m going with Grandfather into the city to spend some time with him. I will return to say goodbye once everything is settled."

Carlos smiled gently and nodded. He watched as Krugger and Isabella left the office. The door closed behind them with a quiet finality.

He frowned.

He knew his decision would change the world.

He simply did not know how to make it.

For a long moment, he remained seated. The map of New Granada lay open before him, its edges curling in the humidity. His fingers traced the Magdalena River without truly seeing it. The candle beside him sputtered, wax spilling slowly down the brass holder.

Somewhere outside, a hammer struck stone. Once. Twice.

Medellín was changing.

And soon, so would he.

Only then did the soft sound of the door opening pull him from his thoughts.

Amelia entered the room. She glanced around cautiously, then relaxed when she saw they were alone.

"I heard Isabella arrived," she said softly. "I was worried I might run into her here."

Carlos chuckled.

"What would your servants think if they saw their strong young mistress—the one who escaped the fanatics, survived their bullets, and walked boldly into her father’s enemy’s mansion—afraid of a small girl?"

Amelia let out a small laugh.

"I am not so extraordinary. And she was very serious when she told me she resented me for your wound. Since then, I have not dared to approach her."

Carlos sighed.

"If we are to make this work, you will have to face her one day. As I must. From Krugger’s words, I am certain she already knows about us."

Amelia covered her mouth in surprise.

"How could she know? We have been extremely careful. I even stopped spending nights at the estate so she would not suspect anything."

Carlos shook his head, amused.

"You may hide it from her, but not from the world around us. Maids have seen you leaving my room at dawn. Messengers have found us together in my office. We dine together often enough. Gossip travels faster than armies. If we were young and unmarried, we would already be the scandal of the province."

Amelia laughed softly.

"So widowhood does have its advantages. But now that people suspect, we must make it official. Society may be more forgiving because of our status, but if we continue like this, criticism will grow."

She paused, then flushed slightly.

"That explains why my officers stopped encouraging me to pursue something with you months ago. I believed they were honoring my independence. Now I see they already understood—and felt no need to interfere."

Carlos smiled at the sight of her blushing, but the smile soon faded. A dull headache began to form behind his eyes.

Everything—war, family, love, loyalty—was converging at once.

And he could no longer delay choosing which would survive.