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By Dan McAteer
Thomas Clarke was in his new haunt, the Bodleian Library in Oxford. He was predictable to a fault; current events in the Times of London, sports, then onto his legal studies. Thomas’ ultimate goal was to become a barrister. His secret goal was to run for Parliament. He shared that goal with no one. He saw his beloved England refusing to recognise the threat posed by the re-armament of Germany under the leadership of Herr Hitler. So, it was in the spring of 1936.
Journalists such as George Orwell, Nat Cohen and Sam Masters were arguing in their columns for Britain to recognise the civil outrages occurring in Germany under the Nazis. Of course, they were Communists, and saw the threat to Communism in general as the Communists in Germany were either slaughtered, fled, or were imprisoned in camps. Thomas Clarke voted for the Conservative ticket, yet he agreed Germany was in open defiance of the restrictions on military armament imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. Thomas looked at the European landscape with concern. The Treaty was apparently toothless due to the unwillingness of France and Great Britain to face reality. Italy had turned Fascist, and the French relied upon their Maginot Line to deter any advance by Germany. Thomas was especially concerned with the situation unfolding in Spain, where the Spanish Second Republic was being opposed by the Nationalist Forces under General Francisco Franco.
Spring passed to summer, and Thomas was on break until September 1936. Thomas was taking his holiday in London. In June, his days consisted of walks along the Thames; on rainy days, he could be found holed up in the British Museum. Then the astounding month of July arrived, a month Thomas was to make a momentous decision. On July 17, the Spanish Army rebelled against the Second Republic, whose ministers were Communist and Socialist. When the Spanish Civil War began, the ranks of the Republican forces were predominantly Communist. International volunteers arrived from several countries. Prominent journalists such as Orwell, Cohen and Masters joined the effort. Thomas Clarke had a decision to make. He was in no position to convince Parliament to take the rising threat of Nazi Germany seriously—hell, Winston Churchill had been making that clarion call since 1933. If Churchill’s entreaties fell on deaf ears, Thomas’ only means of making a difference lay with joining the International Brigades supporting the Spanish Second Republic. Thomas went to Church, where he consigned his Soul to God and his body to the defense of Spain.
Thomas travelled from London to Dover, and embarked on a ferry bound for Calais. The white cliffs of Dover receded from view as a fog set in. From Calais he journeyed to Paris. His resolve to fight was sorely tempted by the festive atmosphere of summertime Paris. He crossed the Pyrenees into Spain, arriving at the city of Bilbao in the Basque region of northeast Spain. Thomas had selected the Basque region for his pro-Republic contribution due to their fierce independence. If ever there was a population that would meet the Nationalist forces with cohesion and unit loyalty, it was the Basques.
Thomas was introduced to his unit leader at an open-air market. He shook hands with Pablo Garcia. Pablo commanded 100 men. There were no uniforms. Pablo asked Thomas whether he had fired a weapon before.
Thomas said, “I am a crack shot. I have fired many long rifles while at Oxford, competing with other students and also against other colleges.”
Pablo remarked, “It is one thing to fire a weapon at targets, in a non-lethal competition. It is quite another to maim or kill another person. I need soldiers with sharp shooting abilities. I have no use for soldiers who might freeze up.”
Thomas Clarke regarded Pablo thoughtfully before responding, “I’ve given my decision to volunteer careful consideration. My Soul will ever be with God, but my eyes and steady aim are yours until death takes me from your service.”
Pablo nodded, blessing himself before offering, “I’ve made a similar vow. Ours will not be an easy task. There’s an extensive arms industry in this region, but the Nationalists seized those plants very quickly.”
“What arms are we equipped with then?”
“I’ve noticed your strong physique. My unit has acquired some Polish Browning wz .28 light machine guns, firing 7.92 mm Mauser rounds. They’re a Polish modified form of the Browning Automatic Rifle, or B.A.R. as the Americans are fond of abbreviations. They’ve a 20-round magazine. Have you fired an automatic weapon before?” Pablo smiled.
Thomas shook his head. “I know they require a light touch for short bursts of fire.”
Pablo smiled, “Let’s have a beer then, Thomas, ‘light touch’ Clarke!”
Pablo and Thomas put aside the talk of arms and death. They talked of soccer and English football, of family and their lives in Spain and England. A chill wind suddenly swept through the Plaza and Pablo blessed himself.
Thomas inquired of Pablo why he’d blessed himself so.
“Did you not feel the chilling of the air?”
Thomas responded, shrugging his shoulders in confusion. “It is certainly odd that the breeze was so chill, but what of it?”
Pablo leaned forward and said earnestly, “You Sir, are in Basque country. You must observe local tradition while with us. That wind represents the passing of people loyal to our cause. It’s no doubt from a skirmish with the Nationalists.”
Thomas quickly blessed himself, anxious to acclimate with local culture.
“I’m sorry for our mutual loss of good companions.”
Pablo shook his head gravely. “You’ll do well with that approach. Tomorrow we’ll practice with the Browning wz .28. Let’s finish our beers and I’ll get you settled for the night.”
Thomas bedded down for the night, and slept deeply. A chill breeze blew into his room through the open window—It did not disturb him. He arose with the dawn, stretched like a cat, dressed and made his way to the centre of the Plaza. Pablo was already there, eating fresh fruit and sipping a coffee. Thomas greeted him with a smile. Pablo pointed out the local paper laying on the table. “We lost some good people yesterday to the east of Guernica. Did you feel the breeze late last night?”
Thomas shook his head. “I slept like the dead. I could only sleep fitfully once I left London. Now I feel this is my home, until God takes me.”
Pablo looked at him thoughtfully. “We’ve need of men such as you. Loyal to the cause of Freedom. I look forward to fighting by your side.”
Thomas acknowledged the compliment.
“Better immediate action against a known enemy than planning for a career in the Law while my country drifts aimlessly towards a disastrous reckoning with Germany.”
Pablo mustered his squad into a nearby field. Targets were set up and his squad practiced with the lever action Winchester M1895 at various distances. Thomas hefted the rifle and sighted in, demonstrating keen aim.
“Impressive.’ Said Pablo. But while you’re acting as if this is a bolt action, making precise shots, you’d best get used to the notion that we’re a paramilitary unit. We’re going to be supplied various weapons and rounds. You need to fight using whatever weapon is supplied you. This is a lever action rifle intended for slinging lead downfield for cover fire, if nothing else.”
Thomas looked thoughtful, clearly considering the merits of Pablo’s remarks. “Well, you’re right. Now give me the fully auto Browning!”
Pablo handed him the B.A.R. Thomas pointed downfield to the middle of the three targets. “Do you have more spare targets? Because that one’s gone!”
He carefully sighted in, took a breath and fully exhaled. A quick pull, and the middle target was cut in half by a twenty-round burst. A series of claps were heard up and down the line. Pablo addressed the squad, “Senor Thomas has just qualified on the B.A.R.!” Cheers erupted. “Now let’s get more of you qualified.”
They slept in the field that night, posting sentries. No campfire was permitted. In the command tent, Pablo, Thomas and other unit leaders surrounded the laid-out map. They would proceed in trucks they’d commandeered from the army, cross the river and proceed northeast to Mungia. Pablo didn’t volunteer any information regarding their objective. When Thomas pressed him for more details, Pablo issued a sharp retort.
“They less we all know, the better, until our final orders. You work for me now Thomas.”
Thomas nodded in an agreeable way, seeing the wisdom of this. Truck assignments were issued, and the first refueling stop was identified. They bundled themselves into the back of the truck. Pablo gestured to Thomas, and he took the shotgun seat, appropriate since he carried a light machine gun in the cab. Pablo engaged gear and the convoy drove off. Their transit was uneventful, except for the smiles they were greeted with. Clearly, pro-Nationalist supporters of General Franco were not to be found. At Mungia, things changed.
For one thing, the local Republican forces informed them that they must continue travelling only at night.
“The German light and medium bombers would destroy your convoy,” Gabriela Sanchez said. Thomas heard her words, but he was entranced by her beauty and the honey-laden delivery of her words. Pablo and Thomas sat in front of the assemblage. Gabriela glanced briefly at Thomas, and the beginnings of a smile were quickly controlled as Gabriela continued, “I’ll show you to your bivouac area. No open flames tonight! Tomorrow we’ll have accommodations prepared, and you shall eat better fare in this Republican town.”
Sleeping out under the stars, Thomas pondered on what God had planned for him; a rebel leader? Was he to fail at the last, and return to England in shame? Or would he be resolute in his convictions, and die supporting a noble cause? Would a wooden cross be placed at his grave, marking his passing? He focused on the stars, and fell deeply asleep. Once again, a chill breeze blew through the field. Pablo felt it as he smoked a cigarette. He blessed himself in honor of the passing of his brethren. He too found sleep in the arms of Morpheus.
Pablo’s squad were housed the next morning in a hotel. That afternoon Gabriela briefed both squads on their different objectives. Pablo’s squad was to attack a Nationalist re-enforcement convoy. Kill when necessary, but capture the weapons intact.
The tableau was an automobile blocking a coastal road. The driver was thoroughly engaged in troubleshooting the obvious villain. The sedan was normally aspirated, and the car hadn’t been adjusted to the higher atmospheric pressures of the low-lying coastline. The trucks naturally stopped. Exiting the trucks were the drivers, mechanics all. They became engaged in their profession, naturally curious. The machine pistols that were carried by very serious people who suddenly appeared from both sides of the woodland persuaded the Nationalist irregulars to surrender peacefully. They were dutifully tied up and left on the side of the road. Their trucks joined the Republican convoy, and made their way back to Mungia.
Gabriela complimented them on their success, and said, “We must leave Mungia. Several airplanes from the Condor Legion have since overflown the city today. We are now a liability to these good people. Both squads will travel east. There are Franco-friendly paramilitary units operating south of the Pyrenees. They are cutting off our arms supplies via France. They don’t know it, but they are already dead. We will operate with two other squads. We will be outnumbered, yet I have no doubt of the outcome.”
Thomas observed her upright spine as she talked of death. He casually offered, “I’ve been remorseless in death-dealing myself.”
Intrigued, Gabriela inquired, “who did you return to God?
Thomas replied with a deadpan expression, “Why, my chickens, of course! I didn’t even ask them if they wished to be baked or boiled! I’m a pretty ruthless character!”
Gabriela appreciated the calculated planning that went into the joke. He’d earned a winsome smile. “Basking in the glory for what purpose, Thomas?”
Thomas regarded her thoughtfully. “I had a plan. I’d be a barrister, and adjudicate the law. But I watched as the law was routinely violated by Germany, and now Fascist Italy, and now destroying Spain in the process. My England chooses to ignore threats. In Paris, people drink and watch the shows. Meanwhile Herr Hitler girds for war. This civil war is but a harbinger of the future. I cannot abide inaction.”
Gabriela felt comforted. This young man had a fire in the belly. She tried to throw him off balance. “Have you felt the chill winds?”
Thomas replied, “I have only observed Pablo blessing himself when a breeze blew through.”
Gabriela considered this. “So, what do you make of risking your life in a foreign country?”
Thomas smiled. “I’ve already consigned my Soul to God before I ever embarked on this mission. If I remained a student, no doubt I would be called to service in several years. I choose to meet my fate, whatever it is to be, at a time and a place of my choosing. I relish the Freedom to choose. Too many people of my generation fail to do so.”
Gabriela considered this for a long time, then replied, “I would like you to become the leader of my squad. I am the liaison with the brigade, but that takes me away from the day-to-day operation.”
Thomas yawned, and said, “Let’s sleep now. Big issues with the morn.” They curled up next to each other. The sentry averted his eyes. Best love while fortune allows.
The morning brought some feedback from their actions. Nationalists had shot one hundred residents of Mungia on the road travelling east.
Gabriela said, “this will not be dismissed, there is a plan.” Pablo and Thomas looked at each other. Unspoken was the agreement, ‘let’s engage!’
Pablo’s squad went east along the foothills, staying out of sight but close to the road. Thomas’ squad went north, cutting off a secondary road that the Nationalists might use. There was no southern exit. The sharp escarpments were not passable. The Nationalists transported cannons, machine guns, and troop transports in the hundreds. The Republicans were hopelessly outnumbered, even given the element of surprise.
It was just then when a slow-moving albatross of the air appeared. It maintained a high altitude, well beyond the Nationalists gunnery range. It dropped three bombs, effectively closing the mountain-bound route. The Nationalist forces, trapped, were shot to pieces.
Thomas asked, “who planned this?”
Gabriela replied, “I did.”
Thomas acknowledged her with a thoughtful nod. “There are to be no set piece battles then. All will be guerrilla operations.”
“Of course, where did General Franco come from? An organized army. He committed high treason by using forces under his command to assail a constitutionally-formed government. I hope to see him hang, but that’s a remote possibility. We are receiving some arms support from several nations, but no one has agreed to fight for us. Except for you.”
The dusk had fallen, and they looked to find food to eat. Thomas regarded her, as they mutually tore into a stew.
“You must consider, I am worldlier than you. That is not an insult. What I suspect will happen, is that the Soviet Union will get involved. As far as English support, that’s never going to happen. All European powers are skittish at the thought of another continent-wide war. Of course, there’s no predicting the Americans. Not the government. But if there’s an opportunity to legally uphold the law while shooting people, the Americans will be in on it!”
Gabriela’s features darkened. “I just want the Fascists gone from Spain. I have no thought for the world.”
Thomas gently said, “I have no family in England. My parents orphaned me when a drunk driver killed them on their way home to me. I was present at his trial. He had been a war hero, who could not deal with peace. I forgave him.”
Gabriela’s forlorn smile touched him. “Wait until you conduct more ops. You will learn never to forgive yourself.”
The raids continued, always advancing towards the east, and the Pyrenees. For the Basques, it was their weapons supply line. For General Franco’s Nationalists, it was a sideshow. His main objectives were in play, and the Basque resistance was a known quantity. He had plans to deal with them. Hitler’s Condor Legion would play a critical part.
Pablo said to Thomas, “the Russian weapons supplied come with their own complications. Different states of maintenance, but most importantly, different calibers!”
Thomas replied, “we must gain an arms casting firm!” Pablo’s team captured one such. Soon, their bullets could supply all weapons.
So, the Civil War dragged on. The Americans did arrive, in the form of the American Abraham Lincoln Brigade. The German and Italian support for General Franco’s Nationalists overwhelmed the Russian support for the Republic, while Great Britain and France watched, as their ineffective governments let all die equably.
Pablo and Thomas’s squads had been joined now by other field units. They were a very effective force, considering the fact that they were outgunned and outmanned. It was during this campaign that Thomas started feeling the chill winds of the fallen. He characteristically told no one. Once, during a beer drinking session after a successful op, he smiled at Pablo, Gabriela, and Miquel Fernandez, leader of another squad. He asked, in all innocence, “I have often wondered why we never feel chill winds from those who have fallen opposing us.”
Pablo looked to Gabriela, and Miquel watched, knowing to stay out of this discussion. Pablo said, “You are in the land of the Basques. The Souls of those who wish us ill have no place here. They will roam somewhere, but here their loss of life is nothing at all for us!”
The Basque advance to the east continued unabated. Gabriela was concerned.
“Our thin sources of intelligence tell us that the opposition is weak. Taking the east and consolidating our power here will not win us the war, but it will eliminate a threat behind us. Once done we’ll begin our advance southwest.”
Pablo picked up on this narrative. “We’ve received a shipment of serviceable weapons from Mexico. To evade the arms embargo, they were shipped from Poland to Mexico to Bilbao. A significant number of B.A.R.’s were included!”
Thomas raised his voice and said, “I can shoot two at a time!” This drew general cheers from the assemblage.
Gabriela was with him that night. She said, “I feel fey, as if I’m talking to people I will never see again!”
Thomas comforted her, saying, “If we are to die, we’ll die in the cause of Freedom. None need write our epitaphs. God will know.” Thomas continued. “My Soul remains with God, and nothing of the death-dealing we’ve done will change that. There may come a time when my Spirit breaks, but looking at what vile acts the Nationalists have done in the name of God only strengthens my resolve.”
Gabriela replied, “I speak not of death-dealing, of that I’ve had my fill. I think it best to consider that we had best die during this fight, as we will never fit back into polite society!”
Pablo was flummoxed. The three of them were in a church, and he raised no objections as Thomas Clarke and Gabriela Sanchez were ‘married’ in an abandoned Church.
Their faux ceremony did not slow their advance. They had managed to isolate a significant Nationalist force. The Nationalists had given way to their initial assault. The heavily-reinforced Republican force took advantage and decimated the Nationalists. The leaders of the assault did not drink in celebration, but they relaxed for a time, unaware of any impending threats.
Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, along with Pablo, decided to leave the sideshow. Pablo had his doubts. “They were rolled up too easily! These were poor folks who never were political!”
Thomas shared his view, as did Gabriela. “We are being led, she snarled!” Pablo and Thomas considered this.
“If we are,” Pablo intoned, “it is unlike anything they have done yet. We are wise to withdraw. It may yet be a trap. But retreating to Guernica, where we’ll receive first aid, food, and much needed rest, doesn’t sound like a trap. It sounds like some well-earned rest.”
Thomas said. “From Guernica, we shall be reinvigorated! The fight in the northeast shall be rejoined!”
So, the Republican squads withdrew to Guernica. They were still front-line units. There was no such thing as replacement squads. No such luxury.
The spring of 1937 was dawning, despite the blood. Thomas took the time to pick some flowers, and proceeded to decorate Gabriela’s’ hair. Pablo complimented her, “perhaps we’ve another weapon at our disposal now!” Thomas defended her, replying, “My Love is a weapon that only wounds my heart!”
They looked forward to Guernica. It was a pro-Republican city, and as such had the first-aid they needed, the food their forces required, and, more important than that, the intelligence they sought. It was late April, and the 1937 campaign was about to commence. Republican and Nationalist forces had fought hard. The Republican campaign the most hard-fought of all
April 26, 1937 featured a clear blue sky, having been washed by a gentle spring rain the day before. Gabriela and Thomas lingered in the garden of a Monastery. Thomas took a knee once again. “Will you be my bride? I accept you, and I can only hope you accept me, with all of my imperfections! I come highly-recommended, by Father Davis of Oxford!”
Gabriela smiled, then scolded him gently. “I was wondering when you might get around to it! I suppose you haven’t planned a ceremony!”
Thomas said gently, “Oh I have, but all details are a secret! After all, my Love is a rebel leader!”
The bombs started dropping then. Gabriela, Pablo and Thomas knew what to do. For many civilians, they died in panic. In a sub-basement, the trio decided on the limited options they must have. The Condor Legion were using German Heinkel 111E medium bombers, for which the Basques had no answers.
The three of them were plotting when a magnesium bomb hit them. They were blinded, not killed, or so they thought. They were rendered unconscious. Slowly arising from the aftermath, they ignored the entreaties of their medics. As vision returned, they saw the battlefield. It was not good. The city had been reduced, in their absence, to complete ruins. No one could have prevented this. It was a war crime of the first order. Hitler’s Nazi ‘Condor Legion’ had bombed a city to complete destruction.
Pablo replied, “there is nothing within our ability to retaliate.” Thus, began a prolonged period of hesitation and mysticism on the part of Herr Hitler. When he thought about the east, windows opened, to the east. When he thought about Calais, his adjutants smiled. When Normandy was discussed, his aides shook their heads. “Defenses too strong” they intoned.
The garrisons of Franco’s supporters did not feel comfortable at night. Frequent chills and breathing difficulties set in. The veterans consigned the night watch to the young Spanish ‘fascists’. They were frequently found dead at their posts, bound at attention in their rigor.
There were many such stories, for I’ll not call them tales. I am Pablo’s son; he still roams the world, I believe. If he does then Gabriela and Thomas do as well. Given their quest for freedom, I am sure they must be busy, haunting many.
In War, people die. In Love, people survive, in the hope they engender for their sons and daughters. But that is another story! Another story of Love from beyond the grave.
