"God..."

On the aft deck of "Admiral Fredris," Colonel Beresford’s hand holding the binoculars was trembling uncontrollably.

The backdrop of Caracas Harbor had taken on glaring stripes of blood red.

Just a few minutes ago, the soldiers of the Portuguese Army were marching in tidy formation, arrogantly swarming towards the solitary fortress on the west side, but now it was impossible to distinguish whole figures from pieces of bodies.

They were mixed together on the beach, interspersed with caplock guns, military flags, and other things, like rubbish thrown down by God...

His aide carefully reminded him, "Commander, the Spaniards are clearly prepared. I suggest an immediate retreat."

"Damn it!"

Colonel Beresford saw several water columns rising from the sea not far to the south, knowing it must be the 32-pound cannons from the fortress bombarding this side.

He looked again at the purgatory-like beachhead, and shouted loudly, "Bring the transport ships closer to shore, lower all the landing boats, and retrieve the marines!"

This assault involved the Lisbon Royal Guard Infantry Regiment, Portugal’s absolute elite. If they were all lost here, he couldn’t explain it to Rio de Janeiro.

"Commander," the aide chose his words carefully, "The Spaniards’ artillery can cover the entire shallow area. If the transport ships approach..."

"Have the warships approach for fire suppression!" Colonel Beresford gritted his teeth, "The enemy only has a few hundred, most of them are manning the cannons. The marines have enough time to retreat."

The Order Officer immediately turned and ran towards the signal flagbearer.

Minutes later, "Admiral Fredris" and two other battleships desperately moved within range of their artillery and began shelling the fortress.

Meanwhile, two large and two small transport ships risked running aground, heading towards the shore.

Major Parker personally commanded the soldiers on the ship to lower the landing boats to the side, ready to row towards the beach at any moment.

Suddenly, a muffled sound echoed not far away. It wasn’t the sound of a cannonball falling into the sea.

Parker turned to see wood debris floating around "America," clearly having been hit.

He dared not delay and loudly urged the sailors to adjust the sails.

Colonel Beresford was right; after the initial panic, the marines began digging pits on the beach and lying in them to avoid the shellfire.

As long as they moved quickly, they could at least save two-thirds of the soldiers.

Seeing the winding coastline just about a nautical mile from the transport ships, Parker was about to order all landing boats to be lowered, but he vaguely saw a long line of glaring reflections appearing behind the dunes on both sides of the fortress.

His heart tightened, and he quickly took up his binoculars, seeing a row of Spanish soldiers in varied attire climbing over the dunes with flintlock guns in hand.

The reflections were caused by the bayonets at the muzzle of their guns.

Soon, a second line of Spaniards appeared, followed by a third.

In just those moments, at least six or seven hundred people had gathered on the southern beach.

"Damn it..." Parker’s eyes widened, "I must send those guys in the Quartermaster’s Office to the military tribunal!"

Given the density of artillery in the fortress, there must be over two hundred artillerymen alone. Combined with the suddenly appearing infantry, the Spaniards had gathered at least a thousand troops at Caracas Harbor!

It was nothing like the intelligence that said "only over 300 soldiers."

"Commander, should we lower the landing boats?" an officer nearby loudly asked.

In Parker’s binoculars, the Spaniards formed crooked infantry lines, closing in on the Portuguese soldiers huddled in the sand pits.

"Where did they rally so many troops from..." He closed his eyes in despair.

The marines had completely lost their formation; even if the Spaniards sent a group of monkeys, they could wipe them out.

"Commander!"

The officer asked again, but the transport ship suddenly swayed violently, and then someone shouted loudly, "Port side hit!"

"The third and fourth cargo holds are pierced..."

"You guys, come with me to rescue!"

At eleven o’clock in the morning, Beresford’s squadron fled Caracas Harbor in disgrace.

Due to two transport ships and one battleship being damaged, the fleet’s pace was extremely slow, like a whale stabbed by a harpoon.

Outside the port on the beach, over a thousand Spanish soldiers pointed guns at the Portuguese and British captives, driving them towards the city.

Of the 1500 Portuguese and British soldiers landing, over 300 were killed, and the rest became captives.

Of course, the Spanish army in Caracas truly only had over four hundred men, but over seven hundred city Creole "disciplinary militia" and a small number of Mulato militias participated in the battle.

Yes, the Governor’s Mansion of Caracas had armed the militias. Although more than half of these militias hardly knew how to use flintlock guns, it didn’t prevent them from intimidating the already demoralized Portuguese and British forces.

...

Ten days ago.

With Charles IV’s decree brought by colonial officials from Bogota to Caracas, the entire city experienced a seismic shock.

In the villa of the city’s Chief Financial Officer Ignacio de Alenbroo, a middle-aged noble was tapping his fingers on a copy of the decree, frowning, "His Majesty the King intends to win over those colonial rabble by tearing down our roof to pave their way?"

The young man beside him maintained a relatively calm demeanor, "Baron Monsalve, it’s not all bad if everything is opened up. For example, in terms of trade, we can now directly import from the United States or Santo Domingo."

"Trade? Child, do you know what the most important thing is?" Baron Monsalve sighed, "Thirty-four years. I’ve spent thirty-four years building relationships—the customs people, the church folks, the monopoly bureau personnel.

"Soon positions may be taken by people of American descent, and we will lose everything!"

Alenbroo patted him, "Jose, it’s not all that bad. See, the ’New Granada Wealth and Trade Fund’ established by His Majesty the King will allocate an initial quota to each of us. Without spending a penny, we can receive dividends every year from now on."

He was naturally referring to the Peninsula People.

Joseph knew that liberating colonial autonomy would inevitably face the greatest resistance from these Peninsula People.

They monopolized almost all the power here, and forcing them to relinquish it could even trigger social unrest.

So, their situation must be adequately handled.

And setting up a fund was part of this fallback plan.

In fact, most of the Peninsula People in South America were just minor officials or served in the military, and as long as they were provided with sufficient sustenance, they wouldn’t have any major objections.

As for the principal source of the fund, one certainly couldn’t expect the Madrid government to provide it, but for Joseph, who understood modern financial operations, it was not difficult.

Baron Monsalve snorted lightly, "Isn’t this something specially bestowed upon us by His Majesty? See how it’s written, everyone can purchase. Hmph, even Indians can acquire fund shares, as long as they have money."