Try as they might, what was required could not be done quietly and on a still night the sound had to carry a long way. It was only guesswork that the distance was great enough not to alert the men defending the bridge, just as it had been guesswork that they would not have sentinels out down the western edge to look out for what was a fairly obvious ploy.
The whole operation was predicated on two assumptions: first, that the lack of military appreciation or imagination existed on both sides — the insurgents would focus on a forced bridge crossing, especially with all those headlights illuminating the repairs taking place in plain view to them, now a dim glow in the distance to the assault group. Then there was numbers; from what he knew, even with the extra Civil Guards and others they had picked up on the way, the Barcelona column faced no more than a hundred and twenty to thirty opponents.
If the insurgents feared a separate crossing, that could happen anywhere north or south as far as several miles, meaning they would have to be spread very thin to guard against it and they should not expect it so soon, certainly not before a rush on the bridge failed. Therefore, while no one would take off their boots, he hoped they would try to rotate sleep so as to be fresh to face the battle they anticipated.
Cal set about making a tripod, which Vince would be replicating on the far bank, lashing the tops together. A sharp whistle told him it was time to tighten the rope, which involved both men erecting, then securing, what they had constructed; this lifted the rope clear of the water, which was then anchored to the ground with a stake driven into the hard earth to act as a guy. This gave the crossing party, four-squads strong, a way over the water that would keep their bodies dry; their feet would get wet but that was unavoidable.
They went across hand over hand; each checked to ensure they had secured their weapons in the right way, straps spread over their necks so that the whole lay atop their knapsacks, the weight spread evenly across their shoulders. Also sent over was a thinner line, so that ammo, water and food could be hauled across, as well as the rolled-up kit of the swimmers.
While that was happening Cal was repeating the briefing he had given those chosen as the rearguard. They would use the shallow foxholes they had dug to the right of the crossing point to hold the eastern bank so that if it all went wrong there was a defence sufficient to slow and possibly deter any pursuit.
‘Password, Bernard?’ he asked of the man in command.
‘Barcelona.’
‘If we are being chased we will be coming at a run, but regardless of what you think you see, do not open fire until you hear a shout of “Barcelona” from those seeking to get back across, or you will risk killing your own. We will be engaged in a fighting retreat and at best I think we will have parity because the defenders cannot denude the main crossing. Lanterns?’
These were produced and held up, two oil lamps that would denote in the dark the limits of the line of defence, to be lit if they heard gunfire, those seeking to escape having been briefed to stay south of the one to their right. Also, Bernard, and he alone, would have to make a judgement if anyone came wandering along while Cal and the rest were out of sight: to shoot or stay doggo, the only clear instruction being to maintain the integrity of the rope crossing at all costs.
‘Everybody clear?’ The response was a low murmur. ‘Good. Now remember, try to stay still and silent. No talking.’
The agreement was the same and had as much chance of being held to as pigs flying. They would talk to each other, but it would be no more than reassuring whispers.
Cal Jardine was the last rifleman to cross, it having taken a couple of hours to get everything sorted, that added to the time it had taken to get to the crossing point, but that was no problem; one bonus of this part of the world was you got regular hours of darkness, even in high summer.
After an equipment check was carried out, those who had crossed set off, moving away from the bank at a right angle through ploughed fields and growing crops. Cal led one squad ahead as a screen, counting off the yardage, which he hoped would take him beyond Albatarrec. After an hour he called a halt and checked his figure with Vince to about a mile, then made sure the squad leaders knew the distance already travelled and the location of the North Star, triangulating that with the glow still faintly visible from the east of the bridge.
Soon they were marching due north, footwear claggy from gathered mud, aiming to meet the road that continued west, the distance again counted off. The whole movement, as it had been previously, carried out in silence; even the daft ones were careful not to make a sound, though there was something like a collective sigh as they reached the deep ditch that lined the road.
The same as that on the other side of the canal, it was as dry as a bone, perfect to keep them out of sight, with just enough overhead light to make progress reasonably quick, but the primary act was to call another period of rest and to tell his lads to take on some water. Before they moved again it was necessary to make sure the squad leaders knew the number of paces to get back to the turning point, as well as those needed to get back to the canal. If anything happened to Cal and Vince they might need to get out on their own.
They moved out in single file and, as they got closer to the town, dogs began barking. That forced a halt till they calmed down, but it indicated the proximity of habitation and the fact they were making too much noise in the ditch. Not that there was an alternative, like using the roadway level with their heads; the only security lay in taking time.
Cal was seeking out the first line of buildings, which would be silhouetted against the starlit sky, but before that they passed the plots where the folk who lived on the western edge of the town grew vegetables and raised animals, and that made any movement even more circumspect. The worry then was not the hen coops, or the rabbit hutches, not the tethered goat or the snuffling pig; it was geese, who were noisy buggers at the best of times and, ahead of dogs, the most potent guards in creation. If they were around, they would raise Cain.
Having reached the end of the ditch, Cal clambered up onto the road and, sweating profusely, darted towards the first building to get his back against a wall; the night was hot and the stones themselves still seemed to have in them the warmth of the day, so glaring had been the sun. Vince came to join him and engage in a whispered conversation.
‘No guards, guv?’
‘Doesn’t seem so.’
‘Piss poor, that.’
Cal looked at the luminous dial on his watch; it was still two hours to dawn. ‘Might be some further in, but I reckon we have enough time for a good look to see what’s what.’
‘You and me?’
‘Only if the boys are all right.’
‘The only thing botherin’ them is biting insects and you’ve told them what you want them to do.’
That had been part of his initial briefing, predicated on getting this far: he and Vince would do a recce of the town. If the lads heard shots they were to withdraw to the canal on the same dog-leg that had got them here. If that proved impossible, the squad leaders had been told to take over the first set of houses they could find and be prepared to defend the position till they were relieved, but to stay doggo and hope they were not spotted, which meant locking up the owners to keep them quiet.
‘I gave them another instruction if they do take a building,’ Vince added, ‘to keep an eye out for you an’ me runnin’ like buggery and to open the door and give us a shout.’
The laugh was as soft as it needed to be.
‘Ready?’
Vince eased himself upright and darted across to the other side of the road, before edging along level, Cal doing the same. The place was seemingly asleep, but they had to reckon that behind the walls along which they crept there must be frightened people who knew that some kind of battle was imminent. Perhaps, inside the closed window shutters, there were locals praying to be spared, and there might well be homes already in mourning; there was every reason to assume that the Falangists, who had been here for at least a day, had treated this town as they had every other along their route.