The Smell of War

Gotson was in position to catch most of the rest with his Sten when Baker made his move. These men were green... Franco had to send his more experienced, so-called volunteer, Blue Divisions to the Russian Front to appease Hitler. The army never recovered from the loss of experienced fighters. Now Spain, with the exception of a few Moroccan veterans, had nothing but barracks mavens to send out on patrol: they looked good for the parade grounds but were of little use in the field.

It was over before anyone was able to lift a weapon. They had all moved in such precision that only a short burst from Gotson’s Sten made any sound. Baker worried that the sound of that burst might have carried. He had taken out three with a knife as Iniga made short work of two more with one of the Welrods. The three had moved in unison as though choreographed in a deadly dance.

In the end Iniga had one pinned against a tree by the Mauser she held casually to her side with the business end of the barrel only inches from the boy’s crotch. He was no older than Iniga.

“What are we going to do with him?” she almost plead.

Baker walked straight up to the quivering kid with tears of fear on his adolescent face saying calmly, “Its going to be alright…” he assured the boy as he put a silenced round into the side of the youth’s head. The boy dropped to the ground in front of Iniga’s Mauser muzzle.

She turned to catch Baker walking away as though he’d only delivered a paper. She understood… no prisoners… but a deep ache welled up in her with tears of her own.

 Jerking away she called out to Baker, “Hey, it went through his helmet like a butter knife!” displaying the bloody smatchet.

Baker kicked the Regular's body over to see the wound in the back of the head. The helmet had a hole in the middle of the top, “You did the helmet afterwards.”

“I had to try it,” she answered coyly and smiled broadly. 

He gave her a pat on the back and the three of them got busy hiding the bodies.

War… the crisp clean autumn mountain air now smelled of blood, shit from exploded intestines and urine soaked trousers. All three were young and should have been cramming for studies in dorms or going on chaperoned dates… but here they were. It had to be accepted… it is unfair… every dead soldier has a grieving family… a mother… a father… a lover… war!

Iniga felt a strong urge to have sex with one or the other… it didn’t matter… Gotson or Baker… who cared… she was young and so were they.... far away from a life that was thought to be civil… there were no rules. The cave was where they bedded down and bonded… the three of them. Sex took her away from the anguish… the horror she saw in that boy’s eyes… if only she hadn't seen his eyes... she understood her own fate was there and did not expect to live beyond the boundaries of time set by this war. There was no turning back as she surrendered to the primal instinct to be held and caressed, entered… she was guidari and had tasted blood.