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"Working title: Spanish Labyrinth" by dennisc

Set during and just after the Spanish Civil War (1936-40), the novel is based on actual events and characters. It describes the efforts of intelligence agencies - British, American, German, Russian, Spanish - to influence events, especially German efforts to bring Spain into WWII and to capture the British fortress at Gibraltar. For an intro, see my blog about my visit to Spanish battlefields - http://ebroriver.blogspot.com.

Category: Book: 1st Chapter

Tags: Espionage

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"During one of the battles on the Ebro the position in which [Donovan] was watching was attacked by Republican forces. . .he came very close to death or injury when a Republican soldier. . .threw a hand grenade into the dugout. [He] escaped harm only because the hand grenade did not explode."

The Last Hero: Wild Bill Donovan by Anthony Cave Brown

September 1938

50th Division HQ, Spanish Nationalist Army, Gandesa, Spain

Major Alfonso Burgos y Mazo had his orders. This Colonel Donovan was to be shown every courtesy as a brother officer and as the personal representative of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt of the United States of America. Shown every courtesy, but nothing else. Not the German Condor Legion and the Italian Legionary personnel nor the advanced artillery pieces and tanks they commanded, not the rotting civilian corpses clustered in villages and farms all over the area, and certainly not the Spanish and foreign prisoners who had yet to be shot or sent to prison. The German and Italian officers, who sometimes deigned to attend Colonel Guereta's briefings, had been politely asked to remain with their units for the day and burial details, using prisoners and what few peasants could be rounded up, had been working since the previous day getting the more obvious bodies underground or at least out of sight. Let the Reds bury the Reds. The animal carcasses, mules mostly, had already been picked clean by scavengers of one sort or another. HQ company had just stood a rigorous inspection and been deemed acceptable for review by their distinguished guest. A damned nuisance, thought the Major, but he had his orders and he was ready.

This was not the most opportune moment to greet a foreign dignitary; it was reported that several hundred Red troops had crossed the Ebro again during the night to reinforce the ragged remnants of the artillery and infantry units holding Mora d'Ebre, twenty kilometers to the east. They had been shelling and attacking some of the 50th division's forward positions since just before dawn. The division had returned the artillery, mortar, and small arms fire almost without pause, no doubt cutting deeply into the Red forces. Stukas, Heinkels, and Savoias had made numerous sorties over Mora and both banks of the Ebro but at last report those filthy Reds and their foreign mercenaries were still advancing in their uncoordinated desperate way. The Major had hoped for a welcoming silence but now decided that a bit of combat noise might actually be a useful background for Colonel Donovan's view of what was surely the dying fall of a hated and defeated enemy.

The young captain commanding the immaculately uniformed honor guard came out of the hotel that presently served as the Division HQ, saluted crisply, and reported the arrival of their guest at the west checkpoint. Minutes later, an escort motorcycle with its machine gun-mounted sidecar turned into the narrow street that circled Gandesa's small central plaza and stopped just past the hotel. A dusty Packard limousine bearing fender-mounted American flags maneuvered through the piles of rubble and broken equipment lining both sides of the old cobblestone street and stopped before the faded awning that covered the hotel entrance. The captain called the honor guard to attention.

The driver, an American Army master sergeant, came around the car, slinging a Thompson submachine gun over his shoulder as he walked, opened the rear door, and came to attention.

Major Mazo's first impression of Colonel William "Wild Bill" Donovan was of a stocky middle-aged gentleman in a well tailored double-breasted wool suit that was obviously too heavy for the season. As he stepped from the car, Colonel Donovan scanned the honor guard lining the sidewalk on each side of the hotel awning and returned the Major's salute with a brief nod.

"On behalf of Generalissimo Francisco Franco y Bahamonde, Head of State and Captain-General of the Army and the Fleet, General Juan Yagüe, Commander of the Moroccan Corps, and Colonel Luis Compos Guereta, Commander of the 50th Division, I welcome you, Your Excellency. Major Alfonso Burgos y Mazo, adjutant to Colonel Guereta, at your service, sir."

"A most gracious welcome, Major, and a handsome set of soldiers. I am honored." Colonel Donovan stepped forward and extended his hand. "Your English is most welcome, too. I am afraid I was overly optimistic in declining the services of a translator from our embassy in Madrid. My lawyer’s Spanish, I must admit, is really only good for reading contracts and menus. Everyone has been most helpful and patient, though." He gave the Major a disarming smile.

"Thank you, Your Excellency. I trust your visit to General Yagüe's headquarters was informative. Colonel Guereta has prepared a briefing to acquaint Your Excellency with the particulars of the current situation in this sector followed by a luncheon, if Your Excellency would care to step inside."

"That sounds fine, Major. May I leave the car here?"

"Certainly, Your Excellency. Your driver may join the non-commissioned officers' mess."

"Thank you, Major. Sergeant Harris, will you see to our fuel requirements, as well. I’ll be a couple hours."

"Yes, sir."

Major Mazo gave the captain a quick look and nodded at the car and the sergeant. The captain saluted and remained at attention as the Major led the way through the small bare lobby, up the staircase, and into the shabby ballroom that served as the Division's Operations Center. Donovan's attention was immediately drawn to the sounds of massed artillery fire that resonated through the sets of open French doors spaced along the opposite wall. It was much louder here than the rumblings he had heard in the street below. He stepped forward and quickly scanned beyond the low roofs of the town to the sharp gray hills and mottled plain in the distance. Artillery placements, tanks and support vehicles, and numerous troop formations were visible. A ragged line of grayish artillery smoke could be seen dissipating above the horizon in the bright blue sky. The Major made a low coughing sound.

Turning to his left, Donovan saw several senior officers grouped in front of a much-worn field map mounted on a low mantle above a fireplace. In addition to the standard Nationalist army uniforms, he recognized those of the Moroccan divisions and the Spanish Foreign Legion. A few junior officers and clerks worked at old banquet tables along the far wall. Colonel Guereta stepped forward, introduced himself and his staff, and nodded to Major Mazo.

"If you will permit me, Your Excellency." The Major took a wooden pointer from the mantle and located Gandesa on the map.

=============================================

Fragment of a following chapter:

Claire could hear the putt-putt of a dispatch rider's motorcycle approaching from far across the nearly silent plain. She didn't bother to get up and look but did reach around into the back of the beat-up old ambulance and pull her revolver from the rucksack. She'd never had any trouble with the troops or the other volunteers and was in no mood for trouble now. 

Her head throbbed, her eyes itched, and her mouth and throat felt dry and scaly even though she'd managed to drink all of one canteen of water and most of another. She'd never been drunk before and so she'd never had to endure a hangover before. Twice during the night, she'd pulled herself off the stretcher in the back of the ambulance and staggered outside to be sick but after the second time she just sat on its broad rear step and waited for dawn. 

The previous afternoon, after scrubbing the canvas stretchers with disinfectant and strong soap and then leaning them against the side of the ambulance to dry, she'd walked up to the village and traded some cigarettes for a jug of wine and a round loaf of bread while Brian, the volunteer corpsman from Liverpool, mopped out the ambulance and checked their supplies, and Manuel, their militia guard from Madrid, topped off the oil reservoir of the grimy little engine, checked the  fan belt and the tires, and sat in the shade to have a smoke.

The doctor, a recent medical school graduate from Ottawa, came out of the main tent as sunset neared and told Brian that there were no more casualties to be transported to the hospital that day and asked him if they would stay in case casualties came in during the night that could be transported at first light. Bryan agreed and he and the doctor went to find some dinner after leaving a note on the windshield for Claire. When she returned, she saw her chance and told Manuel that she was taking the ambulance and would be back in the morning. 

She knew just where she wanted to go, a grove of olive trees about two kilometers past the village. She knew every rock and rut in the hard-packed dirt road that ran from the aid station behind the front lines to the hospital and beyond but this time she was not racing to the hospital with shattered, bleeding men stacked in the back so she took the time to give herself a comparatively gentle ride. Backing the ambulance into the last row on the west side of the grove, she sat on the running board watching the last little bit of sunset as she ate chunks of the coarse bread and drank.

After a while she strolled the short distance to the empty field next to the grove and slowly let her gaze wander among the stars in this Spanish night, more stars against a deeper blacker background than she'd ever seen at home or anywhere else. She filled her little tin canteen cup five or six times with the sharp red wine and emptied it as quickly as she could each time. Her legs and then her lower back and then her shoulders and neck soon became comfortably soft as she slowly turned in search of the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and the North Star. She drank two more cups and set the jug on the ground as the warmth spread within her and her mind too began to wander among the stars. This was what she wanted from the wine; her body's release from tension, her mind's release from the terrible concentration she needed to do her job. Her thoughts were trivial, random, and mercifully fleeting. 

Now she had to pee, but how could she out there in the open, in plain view of the universe? She laughed, just an embarrassed chuckle at first, then louder as the cosmic joke took hold of her, and finally a great thigh-slapping release of spirit that made her legs tremble, her chest ache, and her eyes flow with tears.


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Category Name: The Beginning

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Category Name: Dialog

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1. "During one of the battles on the Ebro the position in which [Donovan] was watching was attacked by Republican forces. . .he came very close to death or injury when a Republican soldier. . .threw a hand grenade into the dugout. [He] escaped harm only because the hand grenade did not explode."

2. The Last Hero: Wild Bill Donovan by Anthony Cave Brown

3. September 1938

4. 50th Division HQ, Spanish Nationalist Army, Gandesa, Spain

5. Major Alfonso Burgos y Mazo had his orders. This Colonel Donovan was to be shown every courtesy as a brother officer and as the personal representative of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt of the United States of America. Shown every courtesy, but nothing else. Not the German Condor Legion and the Italian Legionary personnel nor the advanced artillery pieces and tanks they commanded, not the rotting civilian corpses clustered in villages and farms all over the area, and certainly not the Spanish and foreign prisoners who had yet to be shot or sent to prison. The German and Italian officers, who sometimes deigned to attend Colonel Guereta's briefings, had been politely asked to remain with their units for the day and burial details, using prisoners and what few peasants could be rounded up, had been working since the previous day getting the more obvious bodies underground or at least out of sight. Let the Reds bury the Reds. The animal carcasses, mules mostly, had already been picked clean by scavengers of one sort or another. HQ company had just stood a rigorous inspection and been deemed acceptable for review by their distinguished guest. A damned nuisance, thought the Major, but he had his orders and he was ready.

6. This was not the most opportune moment to greet a foreign dignitary; it was reported that several hundred Red troops had crossed the Ebro again during the night to reinforce the ragged remnants of the artillery and infantry units holding Mora d'Ebre, twenty kilometers to the east. They had been shelling and attacking some of the 50th division's forward positions since just before dawn. The division had returned the artillery, mortar, and small arms fire almost without pause, no doubt cutting deeply into the Red forces. Stukas, Heinkels, and Savoias had made numerous sorties over Mora and both banks of the Ebro but at last report those filthy Reds and their foreign mercenaries were still advancing in their uncoordinated desperate way. The Major had hoped for a welcoming silence but now decided that a bit of combat noise might actually be a useful background for Colonel Donovan's view of what was surely the dying fall of a hated and defeated enemy.

7. The young captain commanding the immaculately uniformed honor guard came out of the hotel that presently served as the Division HQ, saluted crisply, and reported the arrival of their guest at the west checkpoint. Minutes later, an escort motorcycle with its machine gun-mounted sidecar turned into the narrow street that circled Gandesa's small central plaza and stopped just past the hotel. A dusty Packard limousine bearing fender-mounted American flags maneuvered through the piles of rubble and broken equipment lining both sides of the old cobblestone street and stopped before the faded awning that covered the hotel entrance. The captain called the honor guard to attention.

8. The driver, an American Army master sergeant, came around the car, slinging a Thompson submachine gun over his shoulder as he walked, opened the rear door, and came to attention.

9. Major Mazo's first impression of Colonel William "Wild Bill" Donovan was of a stocky middle-aged gentleman in a well tailored double-breasted wool suit that was obviously too heavy for the season. As he stepped from the car, Colonel Donovan scanned the honor guard lining the sidewalk on each side of the hotel awning and returned the Major's salute with a brief nod.

10. "On behalf of Generalissimo Francisco Franco y Bahamonde, Head of State and Captain-General of the Army and the Fleet, General Juan Yagüe, Commander of the Moroccan Corps, and Colonel Luis Compos Guereta, Commander of the 50th Division, I welcome you, Your Excellency. Major Alfonso Burgos y Mazo, adjutant to Colonel Guereta, at your service, sir."

11. "A most gracious welcome, Major, and a handsome set of soldiers. I am honored." Colonel Donovan stepped forward and extended his hand. "Your English is most welcome, too. I am afraid I was overly optimistic in declining the services of a translator from our embassy in Madrid. My lawyer’s Spanish, I must admit, is really only good for reading contracts and menus. Everyone has been most helpful and patient, though." He gave the Major a disarming smile.

12. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I trust your visit to General Yagüe's headquarters was informative. Colonel Guereta has prepared a briefing to acquaint Your Excellency with the particulars of the current situation in this sector followed by a luncheon, if Your Excellency would care to step inside."

13. "That sounds fine, Major. May I leave the car here?"

14. "Certainly, Your Excellency. Your driver may join the non-commissioned officers' mess."

15. "Thank you, Major. Sergeant Harris, will you see to our fuel requirements, as well. I’ll be a couple hours."

16. "Yes, sir."

17. Major Mazo gave the captain a quick look and nodded at the car and the sergeant. The captain saluted and remained at attention as the Major led the way through the small bare lobby, up the staircase, and into the shabby ballroom that served as the Division's Operations Center. Donovan's attention was immediately drawn to the sounds of massed artillery fire that resonated through the sets of open French doors spaced along the opposite wall. It was much louder here than the rumblings he had heard in the street below. He stepped forward and quickly scanned beyond the low roofs of the town to the sharp gray hills and mottled plain in the distance. Artillery placements, tanks and support vehicles, and numerous troop formations were visible. A ragged line of grayish artillery smoke could be seen dissipating above the horizon in the bright blue sky. The Major made a low coughing sound.

18. Turning to his left, Donovan saw several senior officers grouped in front of a much-worn field map mounted on a low mantle above a fireplace. In addition to the standard Nationalist army uniforms, he recognized those of the Moroccan divisions and the Spanish Foreign Legion. A few junior officers and clerks worked at old banquet tables along the far wall. Colonel Guereta stepped forward, introduced himself and his staff, and nodded to Major Mazo.

19. "If you will permit me, Your Excellency." The Major took a wooden pointer from the mantle and located Gandesa on the map.

20. =============================================

21. Fragment of a following chapter:

22. Claire could hear the putt-putt of a dispatch rider's motorcycle approaching from far across the nearly silent plain. She didn't bother to get up and look but did reach around into the back of the beat-up old ambulance and pull her revolver from the rucksack. She'd never had any trouble with the troops or the other volunteers and was in no mood for trouble now. 

23. Her head throbbed, her eyes itched, and her mouth and throat felt dry and scaly even though she'd managed to drink all of one canteen of water and most of another. She'd never been drunk before and so she'd never had to endure a hangover before. Twice during the night, she'd pulled herself off the stretcher in the back of the ambulance and staggered outside to be sick but after the second time she just sat on its broad rear step and waited for dawn. 

24. The previous afternoon, after scrubbing the canvas stretchers with disinfectant and strong soap and then leaning them against the side of the ambulance to dry, she'd walked up to the village and traded some cigarettes for a jug of wine and a round loaf of bread while Brian, the volunteer corpsman from Liverpool, mopped out the ambulance and checked their supplies, and Manuel, their militia guard from Madrid, topped off the oil reservoir of the grimy little engine, checked the  fan belt and the tires, and sat in the shade to have a smoke.

25. The doctor, a recent medical school graduate from Ottawa, came out of the main tent as sunset neared and told Brian that there were no more casualties to be transported to the hospital that day and asked him if they would stay in case casualties came in during the night that could be transported at first light. Bryan agreed and he and the doctor went to find some dinner after leaving a note on the windshield for Claire. When she returned, she saw her chance and told Manuel that she was taking the ambulance and would be back in the morning. 

26. She knew just where she wanted to go, a grove of olive trees about two kilometers past the village. She knew every rock and rut in the hard-packed dirt road that ran from the aid station behind the front lines to the hospital and beyond but this time she was not racing to the hospital with shattered, bleeding men stacked in the back so she took the time to give herself a comparatively gentle ride. Backing the ambulance into the last row on the west side of the grove, she sat on the running board watching the last little bit of sunset as she ate chunks of the coarse bread and drank.

27. After a while she strolled the short distance to the empty field next to the grove and slowly let her gaze wander among the stars in this Spanish night, more stars against a deeper blacker background than she'd ever seen at home or anywhere else. She filled her little tin canteen cup five or six times with the sharp red wine and emptied it as quickly as she could each time. Her legs and then her lower back and then her shoulders and neck soon became comfortably soft as she slowly turned in search of the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and the North Star. She drank two more cups and set the jug on the ground as the warmth spread within her and her mind too began to wander among the stars. This was what she wanted from the wine; her body's release from tension, her mind's release from the terrible concentration she needed to do her job. Her thoughts were trivial, random, and mercifully fleeting. 

28. Now she had to pee, but how could she out there in the open, in plain view of the universe? She laughed, just an embarrassed chuckle at first, then louder as the cosmic joke took hold of her, and finally a great thigh-slapping release of spirit that made her legs tremble, her chest ache, and her eyes flow with tears.

29.

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