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In the Shadow of the Iron Cross

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Part Thirty Two​

September 23rd 1938, Ciudad Valdeluz, 4 miles from Guadalajara, Spain

The heat was unbelievable. Bradley took off his hat and attempted to use it as a fan. When this failed, he opened his tunic’s top buttons, slowly unbuttoning the rest as Levinson talked in Spanish to the man at the head of the welcoming committee.

“El campo es unas dieciséis millas detrás de nuestra línea”.

“¿Cuál es la ciudad más cercana?” Levinson asked.

“Brihuega. Que es donde está la sede se supone que es”.

“Gracias”.

The man handed Levinson a map. He turned to Bradley and waved it a little, like a child who had just gotten a new toy. Bradley smiled in response and grabbed the gun that Connor had just shoved in his face.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Connor asked somewhere to his left.

Bradley kept his gaze fixated on the Spanish soldiers piling into their battered vehicle. He thought it might have been Model T, but dismissed the notion as absurd. That was, until it took off with a splutter and slowly began to putter off the airstrip.

“Seriously. Do you know where we’re going?” Connor asked, giving Bradley a push as he did so.

“I heard something about Brihuega and ciudads”.

Levinson strode back to them with a spring in his step, signaling for Allenby and Moss as he did.

“Who here knows how to drive?”

The question struck Bradley as being rather odd. Who didn’t know how to drive? Heck. He’d lived in the suburbs and his father had taken him to learn on Mr. Harrison’s old tractor. Bradley raised his hand.

“Great. Get the vehicle out of the garage. I hear they’ve given us the best car in the whole Republican Army”, Levinson said, pointing at what looked like more like a tool shed than a garage.

Bradley jogged to the tool shed, giddily imagining himself at the wheel of one of those fancy Rolls Royce trucks he’d seen during training. He opened the door, and was immediately underwhelmed by the sight. It was a former military ambulance that still bore the scars of the World War. He stood there for a moment, wondering if this was really the best Spain could offer, before Levinson’s call woke him up.

“Less gawking! More driving!”

Bradley got into the driver’s seat, and immediately noticed the steering wheel was not there. As if it wasn’t insulting enough that they had been given such a cruddy vehicle, the car was clearly designed to be driven on the wrong side of the road. Bradley muttered curses under his breath as he clambered to the seat on his left.

The key at least was already in the ignition. He twisted it as hard as he could, and heard the car start, just as the end of the key broke off.

“Well, that’s just brilliant”.

Bradley slowly guided the ambulance out of the tool shed. Nevertheless, the remainder of the canvas covering the passenger area was ripped off with an ugly sound of tearing fabric as it made contact with the top of the garage door. The worn and stained Red Cross drifted to the ground, unneeded and unwanted by Bradley.

The car trundled to a halt that was only half caused by Bradley’s pressing of the brakes.

“Hop in. But watch it. I don’t think that it can take much sudden weight gain”.

Levinson looked slightly disappointed, but still more content with the vehicle than the rest of the team, who were grumbling to their soul’s content.

“Best thing in the entire Republican Army? No wonder Franco’s been kicking them left to right”.

Levinson jumped into the seat that the steering wheel should have been at.

“Well Ellis. Time to prove that you can drive”.

Bradley reached for the map that Levinson had placed on the dashboard, but Levinson put his hand like a snake striking at its prey.

“I’ll be reading the map”.
 
Great to have you back!
 
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Part Thirty Three​

September 23rd 1938, 4 miles from Guadalajara, Spain

As they left the airfield, the sound of artillery began somewhere in the distance.

“The Republican forces are making another push to take the northern part of Guadalajara. Franco’s forces have been entrenched there for weeks. The fighting will help us slip through their line”, Levinson explained.

“How? We’re going through 10 miles from here”, Bradley asked, pointing at Guadalajara on the map.

“Neither side has the men to patrol the front here. All the well-trained divisions are at Madrid, so the commanders pull every unit they have in a 20 mile radius if a larger firefight flares up”.

Bradley silenced himself and focused on the road. Every fifteen minutes, they would have to stop to either restart the car, or let a group of Republican soldiers run over the road as they rushed to Guadalajara. The one time he looked in the back, Bradley saw Allenby and Moss playing cards, and Connor trying hopelessly to sleep.

Eventually they reached the point where they were supposed to cross over. It was a small pass covered in shrub. Levinson dropped out of the car.

“Come on. We’re on foot from now. A vehicle outside of Guadalajara now would arouse suspicion”.

“Seems like the attack is inconveniencing us more than it’s helping”, Allenby said as he left the ambulance.

“Better walk in peace than drive under fire”, Moss said.

“What do I do with the ambulance?” Bradley asked.

“Leave it. The Republicans will find it when they come back. We’re still on their side of the line”.

Bradley opened the door and stepped out. Connor handed him a rifle when he reached the team.

“Shall we?” Levinson said, heading for the pass.

The team followed him through the shrub. There was a lot of cursing as sharp branches poked through the fabric of their uniforms and scraped skin. By the time they were through, each man was sure that their trouser legs would turn red from small wounds. Ahead of them was a gently sloping valley, and on the far edge a plane was slowly climbing from an airfield.

“Looks like Jerry’s home”.
 
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Part Thirty Four​

September 23rd 1938, 12 miles from Guadalajara, Spain

As they got closer to the airfield, the empty feeling in the pit of Bradley’s stomach began to crop up again. The sound of a car coming up the road made everyone drop to their stomachs. The collection of mid-sized rocks they were behind could only conceal so much, but it made everyone feel just a little more confident.

The car trundled past them at an agonisingly slow pace. The occupants had clearly been drinking, as the language they spoke switched haphazardly from German to Spanish to English, and then to some incomprehensible gibberish that Bradley assumed was French. Suddenly, the car stopped and footsteps could be heard coming toward them. Had they been noticed? No. That wasn’t possible.

They heard a zipper open, and then a trickling sound. The team breathed a collective sigh of relief when the man closed his zipper again, and walked back to the car. The vehicle started up, and the drunks went on their way. The team stood up and kept moving.

“You’d think the German Army would have better discipline”.

“Looks like we overestimated our enemy. I wonder whose birthday it is?” Levinson said, managing to get a nervous chuckle from the team.

When they finally reached the edge of the airfield, it was almost deserted. There were three guards by the barracks, gathered around a lighter with their cigarettes. Bradley observed them for a moment. They were just having a friendly conversation. Heck, one of them seemed to be making jokes about another’s mother.

Connor tapped his shoulder and pointed at them. He was signalling Bradley to keep his rifle aimed at the only men who still had a chance of stopping them. Bradley lifted his rifle and placed the one who had been holding the lighter square in his sights. In the corner of his eye, he could see Levinson and Allenby tiptoeing to the nearest plane. It looked like some sort of bomber.

They waited with bated breath to see if the Germans noticed Levinson planting the explosives. Once the Composition B was firmly strapped to the propeller, Levinson and Allenby sprinted to the next plane. Allenby took out the explosive, Levinson strapped it onto the propeller, and they repeated the process. The guards stayed oblivious, enamoured by some sort of picture one of them had taken out.

Eventually, Levinson strapped explosive onto the final plane and they began to sprint back to the first plane, where they would light the explosives. The explosion would set off the rest of the fuses. It was at this point that one of the guards decided to do his job and looked at the airfield.

“Eindringlinge!“ was all he managed to shout before Moss’ gun went off and the guard fell to the ground with two bullet wounds in his chest.

The other two ran for cover, and Bradley and Connor squeezed off as many shots as they could before the guards were safe. Levinson and Allenby reached the first plane, and hurriedly struck a match. The guards fired blindly in their direction. Bradley, Connor and Moss exchanged shots with the two.

Levinson lit the fuse on the explosives, and he and Allenby sprinted toward them.

“Run! Run! Run! It’s a very short fuse! Run!” Allenby shouted.

Nobody had any problems with doing exactly what he said.
 
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Good stuff :)
 
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Part Thirty Five​
September 23rd 1938, 12 miles from Guadalajara, Spain

They had made it about ten metres when the first explosion ripped apart the plane it had come from, and set off the rest of the explosives. The shock wave threw the entire team to the ground. Bradley tried to desperately shield his eardrums from the deafening chorus of detonations. It didn’t help, as when the explosions finally stopped rocking the ground beneath him; all sounds were blotted out by a horrible ringing.

He lay down for a while, hugging the ground and thinking of other jobs he could have taken, until Moss patted him on the back.

“Bradley? Are you alive? Can you breathe?”

“I’m fine. Just had the wind knocked out of me”, he answered, stumbling as he tried to stand up.

“That really was a short fuse”, Moss said, more to himself than Bradley.

“How’s everybody else?”

“I’m okay!” Connor shouted from the ground.

He stood up, covered in dust. For a moment it looked like Connor’s eyebrows had been burned off, until Bradley realized they were just absolutely covered in dust. He lifted his hands to his own forehead, and a little shower of what looked like sand fell past his eyes. Then he remembered Levinson and Allenby. Bradley wheeled around and tried to see them in the swirl of smoke and burning plane parts that coated the airfield.

“Sir!?” He shouted, hoping that Levinson would respond.

“What the hell are you doing?” Levinson asked, slapping him in the back of the head.

“David! George! Are you dead!?”

Bradley assumed Moss’ use of first names was based on the old adage that one hears their own name best. He joined in. They shouted for what seemed like forever, praying silently that Levinson and Allenby were alive, until a voice answered them from the smoke.

“I am your commanding officer! You call me captain, dammit!”

There was a moment of awkward silence, until Allenby’s voice made itself heard too.

“Quite right! Respect the chain of command boys!”

Connor began to laugh first. It turned out to be contagious, as Moss began chuckling, and by the time Levinson and Allenby emerged from the smoke, hacking and coughing dust out of their lungs as they laughed, Bradley too couldn’t help but laugh. They stood there, laughing not about the joke anymore, but enjoying the knowledge that they had all survived the detonation. At least until they heard voices on the other side of the airfield.

The voices spoke German, and they were shouting. Orders? Calls for comrades hidden in the smoke? Bradley had no idea. All he knew was that they meant it was time to get back to the Republican lines.

“I think I saw a truck by the nearest barrack. Find your rifles lads, we’re going to steal some military equipment”, Levinson said, with a twinkle in his eye.
 
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No replies?

I am disappoint boys.

Anyway, I hope you'll throw some wild guesses about the identity of the German in the next chapter.
 
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Part Thirty Six​


September 23rd 1938, 12 miles from Guadalajara, Spain

The smoke from the burning wrecks covered their sprint to the barracks. Bradley caught a glimpse of a German soldier running toward them, and aimed his rifle. He lowered it again when the soldier stooped down next to a ragged mound, shook it and began to scream the dead man’s name.

When they got to the barrack wall, the smoke had begun to clear, replaced by a dusty haze. The team was covered in it. Dirty and squinting their eyes, they peered over the side. The dust was drifting into the little road that separated the barracks by the airfield from the barracks by the sheds. From one thing it stayed away though, even seemed to deliberately avoid.

Three men were walking down the middle of the street. It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. The dust drifted toward them, bounced back and settled to swirling at their feet, Bradley was transfixed. A hand tried to pull him back, but it was too late, the eyes of the one in the middle caught his.

He was a tall man, with a face that made him look 50, but his walk said something different. It began as the confident stride of a young man, then suddenly changed, becoming slower and less sure the closer it came to the ground. Bradley could recognise that stride. It was the same that his father had. The bright blue eyes betrayed the same sense of something horrible.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, the German waling forward and Bradley with his head sticking out from behind the barrack. Finally, the three men turned right, into the little alley that led to the airfield.

“What the hell just happened Ellis?” Levinson spat from behind him.

“I haven’t the slightest...” Bradley began, but was stopped by the team starting to run across the road.

He followed once Levinson pushed him forward. There was no one else on the road, and on the other side of the next barracks were three cars, each with space for four people. No one was guarding them.

“Such lax security in this part of the world”, Allenby said.

“Yes. Gigantic explosions, fire and brimstone tend to do that. You just can’t find good help these days”, Moss answered.

They went to the nearest car, and bunched in. The key was in the lock. Bradley wondered why things were going so easily. The engine revved up, and they were off. Bradley stared at the road now underneath them, getting longer and longer, as it was hidden by the plume of dust being kicked up in their wake.

Another car showed up ahead of them. The drunkards were coming back. Levinson gunned it, and they sped toward the car, Bradley could see one or two hands with bottles still in them, waving wildly in the air. Eventually they reached each other, and as the two cars passed, Bradley saw the dumbfounded faces of the soldiers, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
 
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