The Hannibal of the Spanish Empire
January 1629. The mountain passes crossing the Alps from Geneva were frozen solid, gripped by a cold more severe than any in recent memory. Yet, the Tercio of the Flanders Army, led at the vanguard by the Infante-Cardinal Ferdinand, was marching through that very path without a single deserter.
"Colonel, is that peak over there the Mont Cenis?"
"That is correct, Your Highness. Once we cross that, we enter the Italian peninsula."
Every one of them was clad in thick, rugged new coats. They wrapped themselves in sturdy garments provided by Genoese merchants in Chambéry, keeping their bodies warm with the lard of pancetta as they pushed forward.
Ferdinand dismounted and pulled the sleds alongside his soldiers. When the Cardinal-Prince, in whose veins flowed the noble blood of the royal house, shouldered the ropes without a care for being soiled by mud and snow, even the oldest veterans—who had been grumbling about the midwinter forced march—fell silent.
-Sizzle.
They lit pieces of charcoal they had brought along to thaw their food. As they gained a bit of warmth, life returned to their faces.
"Wow, this pancetta is delicious."
"They really packed in the pepper and salt. It’s the real deal."
What they were eating was little more than hard biscuits—nearly ship-biscuit quality—and pancetta, but the morale of the Tercio soldiers showed no signs of breaking.
"Men! How is the meal?"
"It tastes great, sir!"
"Boneless, skinless meat! It’s the best!"
In this era, it was the standard rule to use low-quality meat—fur, skin, and bones included—to reduce weight or cheat on quantity during the salting process. Even if the unremoved impurities caused the salted meat to rot, soldiers lived to eat even that putrid flesh. This boneless pancetta, seasoned heavily with salt and pepper to provide a rich flavor, was food meant for officers, not common soldiers.
"Let me have a bite, too. Not bad at all!"
The prince, his brilliant blonde hair fluttering, moved among the spots where soldiers had gathered to light fires, sharing their meal. With the prince doing so, the colonels under his command had no choice but to eat with the men, and a sense of solidarity—that we are all suffering together—filled the 10,000 soldiers of the Tercio and the cavalry.
"Ugh..."
"Medic! Distribute the spirits to that soldier!"
"Feed honey to those who cannot chew the meat! We are all in this together! Whether in life or in death, we go down this mountain together!"
At his words, the medic poured a mouthful of aqua vitae, a distilled spirit, into the soldier's mouth. Soldiers who could not walk due to frostbite were loaded onto sleds pulled by their comrades, staying with the unit until the end. Driven by the prince's will to carry even their corpses if they died, the soldiers gathered their strength to take one last step.
"You have suffered much, men! Rest your bodies here and hold this pass."
Finally arriving at the Novalesa Abbey, which had guarded this path since ancient times after crossing the midwinter Mont Cenis corridor, the prince left the soldiers moaning from frostbite at the monastery. He left one Tercio, including the wounded and half of his supplies, in the border city of 'Susa,' and ensured that those who died crossing the mountain were given a proper funeral at the abbey, with their belongings and rosaries collected.
"The Spanish army has crossed the Alps!"
A messenger dispatched from Susa arrived in Turin and shouted. The nobles who heard it clutched their stomachs and laughed.
"Crossed the Alps, you say? Haha, that’s the best joke of the year!"
"No matter how elite the Tercio may be, half of them would die crossing the Alps in the January cold. Good. We should send a messenger to Cardinal Richelieu of France to tell him we will stand on France's side."
"Hahaha, does he think he's the great Hannibal Barca? Is he going to bring elephants, too?"
"What a heroic feat that would be! Puhahaha!"
"Still, shouldn't we deploy a garrison to Avigliana?"
The final suggestion received no support from anyone.
After a night of reorganization, the Flanders Army marched along the Susa Valley.
"I wish to purchase 'supplies' from you on my 'personal credit' as Infante-Cardinal Ferdinand."
Cavalrymen dispatched to the villages of the Susa Valley brought the village chiefs before the prince, and he procured food not with Spanish royal bonds, but with his own personal credit. The Flanders Army eventually emerged from the valley and encountered Avigliana, the first city they faced, which had closed its gates.
"Your Excellency! We, the Duchy of Savoy, are allies of the Empire."
"I am aware. As the commander-in-chief of the Flanders Army, I have come to this land upon a formal request for support from my family."
The phrase "request for support from the family"—referring to the Spanish Habsburgs and the Holy Roman Empire's Habsburgs—was an ambiguous term, but there was no one who could challenge the prince on it.
"The Duchy of Savoy is indeed an ally of the Empire, but we did not request such support, Excellency!"
At the mayor's words, the prince shouted boldly.
"If Savoy is truly an ally of the Empire, is it not the duty of an ally to open the path for the legion to walk and treat them with hospitality, rather than blocking the gates?"
-Clack!
As the prince raised his hand, the Flanders Army, aligned with razor-sharp precision, let out a roar.
-Santiago!
The traditional battle cry of the Spanish army, dating back to the Reconquista—the era of fanatical reconquest—echoed as one. This shout, calling upon Saint James (Santiago), combined with the status of their commander, the 'Prince-Cardinal' Ferdinand, overwhelmed the citizen militia with religious frenzy, military ambition, and the indomitable solidarity forged through the extreme cold.
"Do not dare block the path of the Imperial Army. You need only open the gates immediately and prepare space for the Flanders Army to rest and grass for the horses."
The prince spoke as if he were in his own home, telling a servant to open the door.
"I repeat, this is not 'plunder,' but 'requisition' and 'purchase' based on my personal credit. If you refuse, I shall consider you to be in league with the French and will have no choice but to make a path in the manner of the Tercio."
In 1625, Savoy had joined hands with France to launch a full-scale invasion of Genoa. Genoa, the Empire's largest creditor, had burned its bonds and summoned the strongest army of the age to this land. Even four years later, the martial exploits of that Tercio army were a living legend. And that was the reason the legion could demand the gates be opened with such confidence.
"Welcome to Avigliana, Your Highness."
At the prince's words of 'I'll pay, so open the path,' Avigliana, suffering from the winter economic downturn, welcomed the legion as big spenders and opened its gates. In Turin, located only a day's distance away, a heated debate finally broke out.
"This is all because France didn't help us!"
"We should have stuck to Spain's backside from the start, like those damn Genoese!"
"What are we to do! Fight those war machines? Do you remember? 30,000 of us rushed them and were broken by 5,000!"
"That’s the Flanders Army! It’s been four years in years, but not even three years in battles! Are you confident you can beat those cruel murderers?"
"When we were abandoned by those French frogs in Monaco in 1627! We should have realized it then!"
The meeting hall was in chaos. But no one defended France, as they were all blaming the Duke for bringing France into the fray.
Duke Carlo Emanuele I of Savoy stared at the snowy landscape outside the window, lost in deep contemplation.
The Duchy of Savoy had long claimed the role of the gatekeeper of the Alps, playing the power of France against that of Spain to fight the surrounding duchies.
It hadn't even been five years since they had joined forces with France to attack Genoa, hoping to gain a single port—the long-held dream of landlocked Savoy—only to be beaten until their backsides were bruised.
And yet, failing to learn their lesson and walking the tightrope between France and Spain was a clear mistake.
"The cudgel is near, and the spearhead is even closer..."
However, they did not even have the luxury of sending a formal delegation of surrender.
The next morning. Around the time the sun reached its zenith, the legion, proudly waving its military banners, arrived in Turin. Turin closed its gates upon seeing the army that had arrived on its doorstep, but the legion intimidated the city by lining up solemnly and waving their banners.
"Men! Are you tired!"
-No, sir!
"Do you see the gates of Turin ahead?"
-We see them!
"Let us wake this sleeping city with our shout! España!"
-Santiago!
-Thud-thud-thud-thud
A messenger rushed before the prince to deliver news.
"Good. Men! Look to the south!"
As the prince pointed his finger to the south, there was a group of troops marching proudly.
-Pa-am-
With the sound of trumpets, soldiers walked forward with their banners in the lead. Behind the veterans of long wars marching with pride, Genoese merchants followed, pulling supply wagons. Horse-drawn cannons continued to snake along.
The man leading them was the hero of the 1625 Genoese War, the 'Savior of Genoa,' the 2nd Marquis of Santa Cruz, Álvaro de Bazán y Benavides.
The cross of the Order of Santiago on his chest symbolized that he was a typical Spanish military aristocrat, born for war and having lived for war.
"Excellency. Why did you only send a messenger saying you would cross the Alps in midwinter? We had to eventually lift the siege of Casale, which we had maintained for months."
Even as he said that, he was certain that they had achieved a 'perfect victory.' There was no honor in exhausting oneself by besieging a state-of-the-art star fort, whether one lived or died.
"Marquis. France cannot come as long as we block the Toreno anyway. In the end, a fortress with broken supplies cannot resist."
"It was a decision only Your Excellency could make. We were only thinking about it, but Your Excellency achieved it."
Raiding Turin to oust French influence was a political decision possible only because he was a royal who had become a cardinal.
"This is all thanks to the feat the Marquis achieved four years ago. Haha."
"You are gilding my face. Hahaha."
The Duke of Savoy, watching the two commanders of the Spanish Empire laughing as they shook hands from atop the city walls, immediately sent a delegation of surrender.
The Duke opened the gates and sought out the prince, who was standing in front of the legion's banners. Unable to even ride a horse, he stood before the young prince on foot and bowed his head.
"Savoy, the Empire's most faithful ally, is always ready to serve the Empire. Your Eminence, the Cardinal. I will open the gates of Turin to guarantee the rest and safety of the Imperial Army."
Mentioning only the Cardinal, a cleric, and not the prince, was a metaphor asking for 'divine discipline' to be applied. But the prince ignored that metaphor.
"Very well. The Imperial Army will 'personally' guarantee the 'safety' of your family and the city."
When the legion inspected the key points and disarmed the Turin city garrison, the Duke and his subordinates were flustered.
"No! What is this!"
"Begin!"
A military government headquarters was established in Turin the very day the Tercio entered, and Turin had to start by paying back the debt the prince had incurred in the Susa Valley.
When the receipts issued by the prince on his personal credit were immediately settled through Turin's city treasury and the Duke of Savoy's assets, the local residents came to view the Imperial Army as 'legitimate rulers, not plunderers.'
The House of Savoy, having already lost the hearts of the people due to epidemics and harsh exploitation, could offer no resistance.
Thus, Infante-Cardinal Ferdinand, who crossed the Alps in midwinter, began his military career, being called the 'Hannibal of the Spanish Empire.'
"Good. The first condition of a master strategist who will remain in history: 'Cross the Alps in winter.' Done. Now it is time to do the 'defeat an overwhelmingly larger enemy' part."
The prince remembered his conversation with Juan in the past.
"Your Highness. Do you know why you have to cross those high mountains, and in midwinter at that, to be called a master strategist?"
"Oh! Why is that?"
"Because you must be a hero who has achieved a feat that even a man would call fucking intense. It’s because the soldiers below believe, 'My death is not a meaningless death, but an honorable death fought alongside a hero, and it will remain in history forever.' So, never abandon the dead or the injured, and take them with you as far as you can. Once a commander starts abandoning his soldiers, the soldiers abandon the commander, too."
"Heh."
"Your Highness won't have any reason to go to the battlefield, but if you ever have to, give your soldiers a 'reason to fight.' Money is good, faith is good, and honor is good. The best thing is to fight a battle where they can achieve that while staying alive, and the soldiers will voluntarily follow Your Highness into death."
Stopping his thoughts, the prince looked at his little toe, which had rotted from frostbite and eventually had to be cut off.
"How on earth did that coachman know such things?"
Author's Note
Thank you for the donations, SilverWalker and Gong-sang-ga!
Supplies at the time... pancetta with only lean meat was something only officers could eat. The pancetta Juan made after trying it himself is suspiciously high-quality for military supplies. At the time, it was daily life for soldiers to eat meat that was half-rotting, with bones and fur still attached. In the 21st century, we remove the hard parts when we eat pancetta, but back then, it was a delicacy they fought over to eat.
.... If you recognize 'Over the Alps' immediately... my imagination is truly in the hands of the readers. Hahaha.