In the dimly lit makeshift military tent, Marshall General Lafões stood alongside Godoy and Saint-Cyr, surrounded by maps and hushed conversations.

Suddenly, the tent flap rustled and an officer entered, his demeanor tense and urgent.

Lafões turned to the officer, his voice low but commanding, "What is it?"

"General, we've received Her Majesty's response regarding the terms of surrender," the officer whispered, edging closer to Lafões as he discreetly handed over the letter.

Taking the letter, Lafões's brow furrowed with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. He unfolded the parchment, the soft crinkling sound filling the space as he read the words that bore the weight of his Queen's resolve.

[To General Lafões:

I acknowledge receipt of your communication detailing the terms presented by the Spanish and French forces. However, as the Queen of Portugal, I bear the responsibility of safeguarding our nation's sovereignty and the welfare of our people. In light of these paramount considerations, I hereby affirm my decision: we shall not surrender.

May Providence guide our path in these trying times.

Yours steadfastly,

Dona Maria I]

Upon reading the contents of the letter, a visible furrow formed between Lafões's brows, his countenance paling as he absorbed the weight of its message.

Saint-Cyr's gaze bore into Lafões, Well, what is your Queen's response?"

The question hung in the air, but Lafões found himself momentarily unable to voice the Queen's determined stance. Instead, a surge of memories swept through his mind—the thunderous echoes of cannons, the acrid scent of gunpowder, and the chaos of the battlefield as they weathered the onslaught of French artillery.

"Oi, the General of the French Army is inquiring, you know," Godoy interjected with a touch of derision. "What exactly did your Queen say about our terms?""I–It's…the Queen…she," Lafões began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words to convey the Queen's resolute decision.

Saint-Cyr's patience seemed to wear thin, his posture growing more rigid as he awaited an answer.

Godoy's voice sliced through the pregnant pause. "Are we to assume that the Queen has decided to play games of diplomacy through silence?"

Summoning his resolve, Lafões's gaze met Saint-Cyr's and he managed to find his voice, albeit with a perceptible quiver. "The Queen has resolved not to surrender. She underscores her duty to preserve our nation's sovereignty and the well-being of our people."

Saint-Cyr's stern countenance barely wavered, yet a flicker of something—perhaps begrudging respect—danced briefly in his eyes. "So be it then."

Godoy's cynical smirk deepened as if finding some amusement in the revelation. "Ah, the Queen's defiance. How noble."

"You know what will happen to your capital now right?" Saint-Cyr reminded and Lafões could only nod.

"I know…but as a General of the Portuguese Army, who has surrendered to the French and Spanish Army, I respect her decision."

Saint-Cyr's respect towards Lafões deepened after hearing that. It's a shame that they were enemies, they could have been great friends. However, he has his orders, to subjugate the Kingdom of Portugal and make her break off its ties with the United Kingdom.

"General Lafões, you and your men shall remain as prisoners of war," Saint-Cyr declared, his tone devoid of malice, driven purely by circumstance. "Godoy, prepare our troops to march."

"Very well, General Saint-Cyr," Godoy nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"I will write a letter to inform the First Consul about the situation," Saint-Cyr said. I think you should take a look at

***

A day later, in the Palace of Versailles, at Napoleon's office. Beaumont entered, carrying a silver tray.

Beaumont approached Napoleon's desk and extended the tray with a letter. Napoleon took it, broke the seal, and read its contents. The room was silent. After a moment, Napoleon folded the letter and placed it on the desk.

"So the Kingdom of Portugal didn't accept the terms of surrender huh?" Napoleon said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What a shame, now she has to suffer the same fate her soldiers experienced in Elvas. This is what I hate about leaders who just don't see the reality of their situation."

***

May 5th, 1801. The French and the Spanish Army arrived at the city of Barreiro. General Saint-Cyr and Godoy peered through their spyglass and saw that the capital was on high alert. Cannons and soldiers lined the city walls, a clear sign that the defenders were prepared for a fight.

"Looks like they're not taking our presence lightly," Godoy commented.

Saint-Cyr nodded, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. "They're putting up a strong front on every major road. But unfortunately for them, we are not going for an all-out confrontation.

Lowering his spyglass, he turned around and faced the artillerymen manning the 155mm howitzer. They will be the key to unlocking Lisbon.

Between Lisbon and Barreiro is a river called Tagus. It's six kilometers wide so conventional cannons wouldn't be able to cross such a distance. But with a 155mm howitzer that can fire as far as fourteen kilometers, the French have secured themselves a great position.

Now, the Portuguese Generals in Lisbon must be wondering what they are doing in Barreiro. Well, General Saint-Cyr is going to show them why.

"Soldiers!" General Saint-Cyr began. "The capital of Lisbon is now within our reach. But before we can take the city, we must destroy her defenses."

Saint-Cyr's gaze swept over the rows of howitzer.

"Those artillery pieces you see before you are our key to victory. With their firepower, we will rain destruction upon the enemy's defenses and pave the way for our advance. So prepare yourselves now! Let's show the people of Lisbon and the Queen what the consequences of defying us are!"

The artillerymen cheered as they loaded the massive shells into the howitzers.

"Fire!" came the command, and with a deafening roar, the howitzers erupted simultaneously. The ground trembled beneath the force of the recoil as the shells soared through the sky, leaving trails of smoke and fire in their wake.

ραndαsnοvεl.cοm Seconds later, explosions rippled through the air, sending shockwaves through the city of Lisbon. Buildings crumbled, barricades were shattered, and the defenders' positions were torn apart by the devastating impact of the shells.

General Saint-Cyr peered through his spyglass to check the aftermath of the initial volley. People were running amok, the defenders were in rout, and chaos reigned supreme within the city walls. Smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring the view of the carnage that had been wrought upon the defenses.

"Again, continue doing it for one hour!" Saint-Cyr shouted.

The artillerymen swiftly went to work, reloading and firing the howitzers. For an hour, the thunderous blasts and plumes of smoke continued to fill the air as the city of Lisbon endured a relentless bombardment. Five hundred high explosive shells were fired and the French and the Spanish Army who stood behind the artillery watched in horror.

"This is not a battle…this is a massacre," one of the French soldiers mumbled.

"They have brought it upon themselves," the soldier next to him said. "They were given a chance and they threw it away."

As the hour of bombardment came to an end, a hushed silence settled over the battlefield. The smoke began to clear, revealing the true extent of the destruction. Buildings had crumbled into piles of debris and streets were littered with rubble and craters.

"No white flag huh?" Saint-Cyr smacked his lips. He turned around and faced his soldiers. "Their defenses are now obliterated, we will begin our march towards Lisbon!"