Rectangular, it sat right by the edge of the road and it should, Cal thought, be a single layer of wall surrounding an interior open area, which triggered a possible solution, if not an easy one to execute. But first it was necessary to think through the portents of what had just happened. As far as he could make out it was a single weapon, probably operated by two men, so where were the rest of the party they had been pursuing and why had it been employed? To keep them away from the bridge perhaps?
With enough ammo that machine gun could keep them here until the light faded, and if it was speculation to assume the hold-up was a deliberate tactic, that perhaps even less charming surprises requiring time to be completed were being prepared on the other side of the canal, then that was what war-fighting was like; you had to use what knowledge you had, add it to experience, then make assumptions on which you could act.
Sporadic fire was being returned from the ditches, but a few single rifles were not having much impact on a well-concealed machine-gunner, firing from an elevated position. Crawling under the truck, closer to the ground than normal on its flat front tyres, Cal managed to get a look at what lay ahead: more red sandstone buildings on the other side of a narrow bridge, then a road that went straight on into the town, though from such a low point he could see nothing more that looked like a threat.
Getting across that bridge, if the rest of the Falange decided to contest it, would be tough and it could be mined. A fair amount of dynamite would be needed to blow the thing when the first vehicle was halfway over, though he doubted they had the means, doubly so because only a fool would start a fight on the far side of the bridge with that killer option up their sleeve.
Yet it would make sense if you were waiting for explosives, or you had them but not the time to set both charges and the means to fire them; hold up the enemy till it gets dark, deploy enough firepower to keep them to the east of the canal and use the night to mine the bridge. Dodging back to Laporta he gave his opinion, glad that the anarchist leader did not seek to challenge what could only be assumptions; there could be another case to make: that their enemies were as militarily naive as the man to whom he was talking.
‘I need an interpreter and that has to be you.’ Laporta nodded: fiery as she was, what was proposed was no task for Florencia. ‘Send someone back to Drecker; I think he has grenades and I need them.’
‘He might not give them up, my friend,’ came the reply. ‘The communists like to keep their own weapons for their own use, and not just that — this morning, after you were gone, I had to threaten to take fuel for our trucks by force if he did not give it up.’
There was no time to be shocked or surprised at that, no time to ask for an explanation either. ‘Then tell him he will have to sacrifice some men if he does not want to give up the weapons I need. His choice!’
The Spanish was rattled off quickly and Cal followed a crouching runner down the ditch to where Vince sat, his back propped up against the side, smoking a fag, eyes closed and his face turned to the sky. One of his lads nudged him to say Cal was approaching.
‘This is no time for forty winks, Vince,’ Cal joked; if anything he was pleased with Vince setting such an example of sangfroid.
‘Just working on a suntan, guv.’
‘Where’s Florencia?’
‘She’s gone back to the trucks to set up a field kitchen, in case we’re stuck here for a while.’
‘And we might be unless we give that machine gun Johnny ahead something to think about.’
Cal looked over the rim of the ditch, first to where the transport had withdrawn, well out of range, then at the field on the right-hand side of the road, seemingly recently ploughed, a fact he pointed out to Vince.
‘The furrows will give some protection at long range, so let’s get a squad across and deployed in extended order and looking as if they are there to advance. It will split his attention and, if he fires, I think he will be lucky at the distance to do much damage.’
‘You?’
‘I’ve got to try to get inside and silence the bugger.’ Vince was then given the same assessment as he had passed to Laporta, the notion he had formed lying under the armoured van. ‘I have a suspicion we have to get across that bridge as quickly as we can.’
‘You need two at least for a job like that, guv.’
He was right, and by the look on his face, Vince was suggesting that he be the second person. ‘But can we leave the lads to work on their own?’
‘They have to start sometime, and provided they don’t get too pushy this is as good as any.’ Responding to the enquiring look, Vince added, ‘I’d put that kid Jock in charge, he comes across like a natural and I think the lads respect him.’
‘I never asked what he did.’
‘Field sports he was, pole vault.’ That occasioned a grin. ‘Come in handy if they do blow the bleedin’ bridge, eh!’
‘So will the swimmers.’
‘Here comes the Happy Hun.’
Drecker arrived at a crouch, machine pistol in hand, one of his squad leaders behind him, and Cal was glad to see his pockets were bulging.
‘Laporta,’ he demanded.
Cal jerked a thumb. ‘I’ll go forward with him, Vince; you come too once you’ve sorted out the lads.’
Getting in front of Drecker, Cal was struck by the fact that the communist commander was only heading forward now, once he had been asked for something, whereas he had done what would have been expected from a subordinate commander, gone forward immediately. There was no point in dwelling on that; it was necessary to deal with what they faced now. Over his shoulder, he explained what they faced and how he intended to go about neutralising it.
‘Before I give you what you have asked for I must see for myself if it is a good use of such scarce and valuable weapons and that you will not just waste them.’
There was a great temptation to tell him he was ‘a cheeky bugger’; he was a military ignoramus as far as Cal could tell, but the need for diplomacy won out. Getting the grenades was more important than telling this sod he knew what he was doing. What Drecker’s response did tell him, though, was that the limited cooperation from the communists, which he had up till now only speculated on, looked as if it might be real.
When they joined Juan Luis, Drecker’s parsimony was not greeted by any Spanish restraint or diplomacy; indeed there was a loud and fractious argument, which only stopped when Cal interrupted in German to find out what was going on.
‘This man does not command me or my cadres,’ Drecker shouted.
Proving to Cal he was not the only one who could work by tone alone, Laporta addressed him in French. ‘This communist pig will wait till there is easy glory to be had, when half my men are dead, then he might do something.’
The use of the word ‘cochon’ was unfortunate — Drecker knew what it meant and the two began spitting at each other in Spanish, this reaching a crescendo as Vince joined his guv’nor, which was just as well, given he could translate most of what was passing between them, imparted with his usual laconic manner.
‘Seems, guv, that while both their mothers were no better than they should be, neither of ’em has a dad. ’Part from that there’s a load of guff about politics.’
‘Have you seen Decker’s oppo?’ Cal whispered. The squad leader had his hand on his pistol, the flap on the holster was open and his gaze was fixed on Laporta. ‘Now, has he been told to do that or is he just nervous?’
‘It’s me that’s nervous, guv, but I think they’ve agreed that we can have a couple of grenades.’
Still furious from his dispute with Laporta, Drecker pulled the grenades from his pocket and handed them over, his expression turning haughty as he indicated he would show Cal how to use them. So intent was he — or was it arrogance? — that he did not see the look aimed at Vince, which was one of frustrated impatience at his pedantic tone.