Regardless of what he had said to Florencia, still watching and listening, he had no intention of letting these kids operate on their own in squads — in time, yes, if they were granted that and it was necessary, but not immediately; yet the purpose of the training was the hope that it might produce leaders who would grow quickly into the role and to minimise losses from any sudden contact. More importantly, and the key to effectiveness, was to accustom the boys they led to obey orders unquestioningly.
‘Right,’ he said finally, looking skywards at the sun, now well risen and approaching its zenith. ‘Time to get in the shade.’
‘And eat,’ Vince added. ‘Can we use some of the rations we brought with us, guv? There’s not much spare left in the town.’
As they made their way back to the main square, the truth of Vince’s words was on the faces of those whom they passed, the folk who had survived the recent terror; true, the approach of the anarchist column had driven the murderers away and saved the town from further torture and death, but now they were finding that their liberators, not having moved on and needing to be fed, watered and accommodated, were as much of a burden as the fascists.
Their attitude did not help either: Laporta’s men had a swagger about them, the confidence of the victors of Barcelona. Added to that they were urban workers, atheists to a man, many of them seriously uncouth, now occupying a rural settlement where their city manners, political beliefs and their disdain for religion were anathema. Also, if the area surrounding was well watered and fertile, following on from the previous depredations and the subsequent loss of livestock and grain, it was not so blessed as to accommodate the needs of five hundred hungry souls.
Cal Jardine was awoken from another snooze by the sound of roaring engines, opening his eyes to observe a new unit arriving in a quartet of trucks and a cloud of road dust. The bright-red flags, above the cabs, with the hammer and sickle, identified them as members of the Partido Comunista de Espana. As they swung to in front of the church, and for all his dislike of Bolsheviks — which was nothing as compared to the way they were viewed by the anarchists — Cal was impressed by their discipline, as well as the fact that each vehicle carried drums of precious fuel, enough for the whole column, without which they would struggle to continue the advance.
Ten men to a truck, clean-shaven and dressed in the same garb of black — jackets, berets, trousers and high boots, each with a bandolier of bullets over their shoulder — they sat upright with their rifles between their knees and did not disembark until ordered to do so. When on the ground they immediately formed up in a proper military fashion, dressing their lines, all eyes turned to the man who had emerged from the lead truck and barked the requisite commands.
Tall, unsmiling and hard-looking, with a tight belt around his waist and a pistol at his hip, a machine pistol in his hand, he was dressed in the same clothing as his men, except, instead of a beret, he wore a short-brimmed cap with a red star at the front over blond hair cut very short. Three others, obviously section leaders, had already emerged from the other cabs carrying rifles, which they slung over the shoulder as they took up station before their squads. There was no noise, no talking and no looking about; with the exception of their leader it was all eyes front.
They paid no attention to the shuffling mass of Laporta’s men made curious by their arrival, who came to look them over, or to the remarks being made, which Cal suspected to be well-worn insults, every one of which the communists had heard before. They had no effect on the commander either, who, satisfied that his men were behaving properly, gave a sharp order that saw them fall out and begin to unload their personal kit, before lighting a excessively long cigarette, which he held in a curious fashion between his second and third fingers.
Juan Luis emerged from the crowd to talk to this new arrival, and feeling he had the right, Cal went to join them, aware as he did so that the communist leader was looking around him with disdain, as if he had descended to this place from a higher political plane, that underscored by the way he held his smoking hand, high, almost as an affectation, so it was level with his chin. Certainly there was no order in the contingent that filled the square; those who had not come to rib the new arrivals were lounging about in the shade.
‘Laporta,’ the communist leader said with a sharp nod; he obviously knew Juan Luis.
‘Drecker.’
The name interested Cal, as had the guttural way he had pronounced the Spaniard’s name, as well as his appearance; was he German? As he began to converse it certainly seemed so, and it was also apparent he was passing on instructions. When he finished, Laporta turned to Cal and spoke in French.
‘Orders from Villabova. Instead of heading straight for Lerida we are to move forward along the southern fork up ahead.’ The flick of the finger, aimed at the communist, was disdainful. ‘Our German friend, Manfred Drecker, is to come with us, while the main road is to be left free for Villabova’s main force. He is sure Lerida is too big a nut for the insurgents to swallow, but we are to act as flank guards and make sure nothing comes at the main body from the south.’
Drecker was examining Cal as Laporta spoke, and in a seriously unfriendly way, not that such a thing bothered him; first impressions of this fellow, his unsmiling face and haughty demeanour, fag included, pointed to that being habitual. What troubled him was the difficulty presented by the addition of a third commander, one who would see to the needs of his own men first, added to the fact that he did not speak Spanish.
He had Florencia, and Laporta spoke French; this Drecker, judging by his look of incomprehension, did not, but he was German, a language in which Cal was fluent. The potential for operational confusion was obvious.
‘I take it you are still in command?’
‘I have the most men,’ Laporta replied, though he looked away from Drecker as he added, ‘but I have never met a communist yet who would take orders from anyone but their own.’
‘When do we move?’
That brought on a long pause, before he spoke. ‘We will stay here today and move out at dawn.’
‘Not immediately?’
‘We are not ready,’ Laporta snapped.
‘I was just thinking the people of this place would be glad to see us go. Another day of feeding so many men will leave them to starve in the months to come.’
‘Let their God send them loaves and fishes.’
The sun was dipping now, throwing the base of the hill to the west into shadow. The route they had been ordered to take, unlike the main road, was seriously narrow, barely wide enough for a single vehicle. It ran right through a deep belt of pine trees which, from what Cal could see, hemmed the road in and formed an overhead canopy that cut out sunlight, a perfect place for an ambush if the Falangists and their Civil Guard allies were inclined to set one.
‘How deep is that forest?’
‘How would I know?’ Laporta replied, as if the question was inappropriate.
‘Surely you have a map that tells you?’
‘Map?’ Laporta laughed. ‘We are going west to Saragossa, who needs a map?’
‘Herr Drecker, haben Sie eine Karte, bitte?’
Drecker spun on his heel and shouted, which, after a few seconds, brought one of his men running, he having fetched the necessary from the cab of the lead truck. Cal’s hopes sank as soon as it was handed over, it being no more than a very basic road map, of the kind you might get in the UK from the Automobile Association, while at the same time he suppressed the desire to curse himself, not that he felt entirely guilty.
He had spent half the day saying to his boys that you must never leave anything to chance, which was precisely what he had done; the Barcelona military, now overthrown and everything in their barracks available to be used, had to have regional maps of the kind they needed, the sort any army used, showing features, elevations related to sea level, significant landmarks, watercourses and all the things a soldier needs to make their way through unfamiliar terrain.