‘They will not attack,’ Cal said to Juan Luis. ‘The choice of what we do rests with us.’
‘We risk losing valuable time,’ he responded.
That was imparted with an unhappy look that had within it an unspoken desire that Cal Jardine, or even Drecker, should come up with a solution. Yet again, he was not prepared to openly ask for help.
‘We must give it more thought.’
Drecker, asking what was said in French be explained, just looked at the Spaniard as if he was something untoward on his shoe when told, then turned on his heel and went back to his own encampment.
‘I will get my men across,’ Cal said softly, as soon as the German was out of earshot.
The question in Laporta’s expression was unspoken but plain: why wait till the communist had left? But that did not last long as Cal explained, with a heavy dose of diplomacy. He could hardly elaborate on his previous thoughts about the inability of Laporta’s men to undertake what was required, but he did point out that his Olympians were young, fit and willing, in unspoken contrast to Juan Luis’s anarchists.
What was required needed experience of things the anarchist leader would know nothing about; night operations were ten times more difficult than movements undertaken during the day. For Laporta it was enough that he offered a solution and took responsibility for implementing it, though he was careful to salvage some pride by asking several pointed questions, until Cal reminded him he was not proposing to act alone; the Spaniards needed to do their bit.
‘Your men need to be ready for a dawn attack across the bridge, to fix the attention of the defenders, but I want two other things. Work should continue on the armoured van even if it is finished, with lots of banging and crashing of metal on metal to convince them that the assault they expect will take place. Secondly, I want you to position a party of riflemen to keep a careful watch on the underside of the bridge and to shoot if they see movement.’
The notion of it being wired with explosives was still a possibility, but not one easy to carry out under observation and, potentially, a hail of bullets.
‘Now I must go and get my lads ready. I need to brief them on what to do.’
Florencia patted her pistol. ‘I will come too.’
The ‘no’ in reply was firm and taken badly.
The Spaniards had laughed at the lads doing their exercises but they missed the point: these youngsters were competition-fit and committed to staying that way. If the insurrection had not broken out they would have been doing their bit on track and field by now, so when it came to a two-mile night march it was a piece of cake.
They set out with mud-blackened faces and lightened knapsacks, one squad with spades, under a star-filled sky and a crescent moon, another squad carrying half a dozen long frame poles, those taken from the barn, and a heavy towing rope, on an eastern detour until they could turn south well out of sight from the enemy.
At the canal side, the first task was to make sure the opposite bank was unoccupied, with patrols being sent in both directions to check, making no attempt, albeit they were cautious, to hide their presence, this to flush out anyone posted to counter such a manoeuvre, perhaps with a flare or just a loosed-off shot. The supposition being the far side was clear, they all gathered at the chosen crossing point.
Vince repeated his joke about pole-vaulting and that had everyone laughing except Jock, but in truth the canal was too wide for that, so two of what the others called ‘water babies’ stripped off, and naked, made sure Vince got over – he being an indifferent swimmer. They then came back for the rope and a trio of sapling poles of the kind farmers use to make growing frames, which they floated to the far bank, this while a series of foxholes were being dug by one squad, another standing guard.
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 Albatàrrec. 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.