Chapter 10

John and 'Oz' crept down the network of communications trenches that linked the various positions on hill 666. The ground shook regularly and the exploding heavy shells reminded John of being in an electrical storm. Now and then they'd come across a group of frightened soldiers, their faces were white and their eyes were darting about.

They'd ask them if they knew of the Brunete Battery and they'd get shrugs of indifference. Finally they came to a dead end where a harrassed signalman was bent over a radio. He put up his hand at the question, then pressed his headset harder against his ear.

"What do you want?" an old sergeant asked, "who the fuck are you?"

"The 5th Brunete Battery?" John asked.

"Gone... out there... 'bout 20 metres away. Now fuck off!"

John looked out of the trench to see piles of churned up brown earth and twisted metal. His heart jolted in his chest. "What happened?" he asked the sergeant.

"What do you think happened? It got plastered this morning."

"The crews?"

"How should I know? Use your fucking brain. What do you think happens when a 155mm shell lands on top of you? They sweep the pieces up!"

"Where would the wounded be taken?" 'Oz' asked.

"Aid station at Mora del Ebro, across the river. Now unless you've come to do something else besides ask fool questions..."

John and 'Oz' left the man in peace and headed back towards the river.

Of the approximately 230 Brigades in the six armies of the Republic, by September 1938 163 were lead by Communist Commanders and 33 by Anarchists. General Modesto, now supreme commander, was a Communist and 27 of the Brigades in the Army of the Ebro had Communist Brigadiers.

That month, of 7000 promotions throughout the Armies, 5,500 went to Communist Officers. Complaints were rife that joining the PCE was a sure road to advancement in the Officer Corps, regardless of ability.

The PCE had achieved a dominance in wartime that they couldn't achieve at the peacetime ballot box. A Communist Commander could ensure his unit had adequate supplies and the latest weapons when they became available. Anarchist units, by comparison, were often forced to live off the land and arm themselves with captured weapons.

Over General Miaja objections, the red flag was generally flown on the Ebro in preference to the Republican tricolour. In any case, Franco's forces had taken to flying a tricolour of similar appearance, sometimes with the old coat of arms of Castile, Seville and Aragon emblazoned in the centre. At least the red flag caused little confusion.

To Franco's men, the Government Forces were 'The Reds, ' in all their literature and communications. Just as the Nationalists, officially, 'The National Front for the Renewal of Spain, ' were called 'Falangists' or 'Fascists' by the Popular Front. The Falange (Phalanx) were but one component in Franco's SET coalition, but their blue shirts and 'bundle of arrows' motif came to symbolise the insurrection.

Pressure was building on Admiral Gorshin on the 'Tchervonya Ukrainiya.' The cruiser's floatplane had a range of barely 150km with two people. It required nearly flat conditions to take off and land or, if fired from the ship's catapault, it required the vessel to be sailing into the wind at a speed of approximately 12 knots. The catapault worked by a complicated system of hydraulic rams and compressed air, rather than steam, and was far from reliable.

But flat conditions was precisely what he didn't have, and the window of operations was narrowing. He could take a chance and launch by catapault, gambling on the sea calming by the time it returned, or delay departure until sea conditions were more favourable. This meant pushing the operation perilously close to dawn, and possible discovery. Fatefully, he decided to wait. To get the ship underway might cause confusion for the pilot when he returned. It was a reasonable decision in the circumstances, bearing in mind the technology of the time, and he had no knowledge of 'Early Emil.' Rhykov hadn't been told by his SIM agents, so he merely broadcast the 'all clear' at the appointed time.

Accordingly, at 3am the sea had calmed sufficiently for operations off the water. It took the crew half an hour to swing the plane over the side. The engine was started on deck and the plane and pilot together were lowered down the side by the crane. It was a dangerous maneuvre, but saved time. Gorshin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the single red tail beacon of the aircraft rise into the sky.

At 2am, the SIM agent known as Gonzales drove the little, black Molotova sedan into a ditch. It was pitch black and, in accordance with blackout instructions, the car's headlights were hooded and dim.

Nevertheless, it took all of Rhykov's persuasive powers to prevent Gregory Retvizan from using his bayonet on the hapless driver. The car had broken its axle, so the two GPU men jogged off towards the Bana leaving Gonzales with the wreck.

Hans Joachim Marseilles was already something of a poster boy for the German Condor Legion. The man was young, barely 21 at the time, and handsome. He was also one of the most remarkable fighter pilots of all time, shooting down no fewer than 158 aircraft before meeting his death on the Eastern front in World War 2. His French surname came from his Huegenot ancestors, who had fled to Berlin during the 17th century.

He styled himself on Baron von Richthofen, 'the Red Baron' of World War 1. The Red Baron had a habit of hunting alone, of taking off at the crack of dawn and returning, often adding a couple of kills to his total. Marseilles, as Adjutant of Werner Moelders' Staffel, was indulged by his chief and given his head. He returned to Germany in early 1939 having shot down 8 Republican aircraft. He was 'Early Emil' of the Ebro.

Flying from an airfield at Valderrobres in the Ciurana river area, the Staffel called themselves the 'Hummels' or 'Bumble Bees.' As usual, Marseilles rose at about 4.30am. His groundcrew had already run up the Daimler-Benz DB601 engine of the Messerschmitt and the fighter sat clattering on the flight line waiting for its pilot.

With two 7.92mm MG17 machine guns and two 20mm MGFF cannons, the Messerschmitt Bf109E model was a powerful machine indeed. Marseilles had found some rich pickings down at the Puenta de Bana. He decided to pay another call, particularly to what he guessed was a landing area for flying boats. He hoped to catch one on the water.

Mora del Ebro was a depressing place. It had once been a sleepy village laid out around a typical Spanish town square. The Ebro ran right up to the houses; there was a watermill, a tannery and a shoe factory, upon which the habitants were proud.

But like so many of the villages along the Ebro, it had been devastated. The stone church had been destroyed by the CNT, the tannery by stukas and the watermill had been demolished by tank shells from a Nationalist foray.

An aid station had been constructed out of the empty buildings and the red cross prominently painted on the roofs. This didn't stop it being strafed occasionally by Condor Legion aircraft, of course.

The station performed basic triage. The more seriously wounded were transported down the coast to hospitals at Amposta and Tortosa. A French passenger vessel, the former Messengeries Maritimes Line's 'Indochine' had been converted into a hospital ship and was anchored near Tarragona. Already beds on the ship were at a premium.

John and 'Oz' searched fruitlessly for Benin among the overcrowded buildings and the harrassed staff. A Spanish doctor suggested Amposta, but only, John suspected, to get rid of them.

The quickest way from Mora to Amposta was by the river. 'Oz' hired a boat and John paddled, having some experience with fast-flowing rivers from his native New Zealand. Within an hour, they were at Amposta.

By her second day at the Hospital Benin was able to move around, albeit with the aid of a stout stick. She suffered from a couple of broken ribs, caused by the compression wave of the explosion, shrapnel wounds to her legs and concussion. She was nauseous, sore and miserable. Very few of her gun crew had survived the direct hit. One, a shell handler called Hernandez, was in the same Hospital grievously wounded and wasn't expected to survive.

It was getting on towards nightfall when they all heard the rumble of artillery. Unlike previous bombardments, this went on and on and there was no-doubt something was happening on the Ebro.

The patients at the crowded hospitals at Amposta reflected their fear in glazed looks. Otherwise both they and the staff tried to ignore it. At about that time, Benin heard that two men had come looking for her.

General Prieto was perhaps not the wisest choice to command the wounded de Llano's army. Perhaps General Franco was under some political pressure from the Falange? From this distance, it's hard to say for sure. What is known, however, is that Prieto was an enthusiastic Falangist and fervant admirer of Adolf Hitler.

The man was a bully, a torturer and a sadist. Like Herman Goering, he liked fancy uniforms and glittering occasions where he was the centre of attention. What he was not, though, was a particularly competent General.

He'd risen quickly through the ranks of the Falangist Militia by dint of his very real personal courage under fire. He'd lead his batalion against a Republican stronghold at the Battle of Brunete and captured it, some say single-handed although that was probably an exaggeration.

In any case, Franco appointed him commander of de Llano's army and offered him the elite Foreign Legion as well.

His task was a limited attack on Hill 666. Specifically, he was to capture the outposts, reinforce them, then use them as a stepping stone. His men were to creep forward during an artillery bombardment, then make a sudden charge over 100 metres or so.

This wasn't good enough for Prieto, however. The Foreign Legion was to take Hill 666 by storm. 'Artillery would only wake up the Reds.' Accordingly, he cancelled his part of the general artillery preparation and ordered his infantry into a massed charge.

Within an hour nearly 50% of his infantry were casualties and he had nearly wrecked de Llano's army. The Foreign Legioneers, the finest infantry in the Nationalist army, fighting hand to hand, had gradually overwhelmed the Republican defenders and driven a wedge into the lines to the West, however.

But it was Moscardo's armour that posed the biggest threat and it was the tanks, rather than Prieto's attack, that caused Miaja to withdraw back across the river. Fortunately, Modesto had prevented the Nationalist Cavalry from threatening the road to Tarragona, thanks to the Anarchist Brigade 'Land and Liberty.' Their part in the attack was blurred later. Modesto, of course, was a Communist.

"G'day!" John said.

"G'day!" 'Oz' echoed.

"Idiots"" Benin said, aghast, "what the Hell do you think you're doing? You should be half way to the South Pacific not running around in the middle of a battle. How the fuck are you going to get out? The trains have stopped, you going to swim?"

"Hey, slow..."

"You're a fool John Greenhaugh of New Zealand..."

"... down!"

"I won't slow down if I don't want to," she continued, "why didn't you catch the boat?" Her voice was driven by fatigue and pain. It rose to a squeek. She stumbled and two strong arms caught her. She subsided as she sank into the warm reassurance of John's chest.