Adriane... continued

They made their way along a path known only to a few; skirting the limestone cliffs that dropped several hundred feet from the barren landscape to wind, below the tree-line, sidelong the steep slopes down and over a crest, forested with firs and some beech trees to a hidden limestone cave where they met the others and stashed the radio. All except the three then dispersed, some down into the town, Jaca: others scattered elsewhere. It is said that the garrison of Jaca’s mutiny against the monarchy and its suppression in 1930 gave birth to the beginnings of the Spanish Civil War. At the cave the three; Iniga, Baker and Gotson, would bind their fates far beyond the immediate circumstances of that day in 1943.

“Unbind him,” Gotson nodded to Iniga.

“What, you want to give him a chance to escape?” she sneered indignantly.

“He could have had that chance a half dozen times by now…” Gotson answered. An uncustomary grin showed the worried features, so weary of warfare, on what ought to have been a youthful face,
“You should be a little less eager for blood, my dear one.” But he knew full well how bitterly the savagery of Franco’s oppression etched itself into the lives of what should have been the carefree youth of the times. He was only twenty years of age and had been a hardened veteran since his first taste of combat as a messenger when he was fourteen.

Gotson returned Baker’s weapons, “Sorry, we can’t be too careful... Iniga, give him back his smatchet.”
“But he said I could have it…” she pouted, intriguingly girlish.

“We have to set up a drop site…” Baker interrupted.

“Please can I keep the smatchet?”  Iniga looked at Baker and patted her side where under her coat the smatchet was holstered.

“Sure,” Baker smiled flashing his straight white teeth. He couldn’t figure if she was patting her breast teasingly or the smatchet sheath. He then turned his head up the hill and held his hand out, palm down to signal silence… he heard voices.

The three fanned out and took cover. Gotson’s took a position above and to the side between a couple of boulders where he could watch the entrance of the cave. That radio in there was crucial for their survival. Ambush strategies and tactics had been worked out long before by the maquisards but Baker had only his well honed instincts to land in a perfect place to observe the approaching column. Iniga found cover a hundred meters up the hill camouflaged behind some scrub beneath some beech trees.

This was an operation with too many problems for Gotson. He preferred quiet operations, where a couple of spikes on a mountain railway track could be dislodged, resulting in a supply train headed for Southern France to derail and tumble into a gulch long after his men would be enjoying a few carafes of wine in Jaca; but this one was suspiciously compromised from the start. He would get a chance to gain respect for Baker’s abilities this morning as an ominous mist cast an aura of mystery around the arrival of two Civil Guards and a half-dozen Regulars.

As the squad approached Baker let the point pass within feet of his position. Gotson had been in so many ambushes by now that he felt calm and focused. The men looked tired and finally the squad leader ordered a rest. They had to scramble up and down these trails, far from the warmth and security of their post. Dumping their packs, rolling and lighting up cigarettes, each made a tremendous amount of noise. From his position he could see Baker gesture, pointing out the sergeant… claiming him for his own… as he was separate from his squad…. taking a dump. Garrote ready, Baker waited, making sure that the sergeant finished his dump before taking him out. He didn’t want to mess himself up in close quarters like that. He gave Gotson a hand signal to wait.