stood back, quickly and respectfully. The officer straddled the body and searched it. In a side pocket he found a Madrid hotel bill made out in the name Luis Cabrillo. He read it, and grunted. 'Fetch two soldiers. Also a stretcher. Any two soldiers,' he said as Luis opened his mouth.
Luis shrugged and turned away. 'And that is my reward,' he muttered loudly and rebelliously. He slouched out of the crypt, and sprinted all the way to the car. The correspondents were waiting. 'Who was that?' Barker asked. 'Just a soldier,' Luis said. 'Looking for a friend.' Two hours later they were back in Burgos.
Chapter 9
That evening, they all went to eat in a bar-restaurant just outside the town.
'Hey, Luis,' said Townsend, while they were waiting for their food. 'Did you know that Guernica got bombed on market-day?'
'There was no market that day,' Luis said. 'The country people were afraid of an attack and so they stayed at home.'
Townsend frowned. 'For God's sake,' Barker complained, 'how many damn bodies d'you need?'
'It's not just a question of bodies,' Townsend snapped. 'It's a question of innocence. You know -- market-day, smiling peasants streaming into town with their fresh country produce, when bang! Out of the blue, without warning, the sinister hail of death. It's twice the story with market-day.'
'Print it, Milt,' Dru urged. 'You like it, you use it. The bigger you build up your bombing, the louder my dynamite's going to be. Hullo! What's this?'
A large party of young men was tramping into the restaurant from the bar. They were in civilian clothes which looked as if they had all been bought in the same department store. Many were blond; all looked fit and strong and tanned. One of them said: 'Ich mochte einen grossen Wiener Schnitzel, ja?'
'Asturian coal-miners,' Barker said.
'Now's your big chance, Jean-Pierre,' Townsend told Dru. 'Get over there and grab yourself a few eye-witnesses.'
Dru merely smiled.
The young Germans settled down around a circular table. Their legs were too long and they kept scuffing and kicking each other, which led to laughter and denunciations and insults. Somebody rocked the table, somebody retaliated. Half the cutlery fell on the floor. A couple of drinks got spilled. Much laughter.
'They're like undergraduates on Boat-Race night,' Barker observed. 'Hard to believe they . . .' He shrugged.
'One of us should get up and go over and ask them about it.' Townsend said. 'I can't go. My German is lousy and anyway I'm too hungry to move.'
'They'd never talk to an Englishman,' said Barker.
Dru ate some bread and looked at the flies circling the lighting fixture.
'Would you like me to speak to them?' Luis asked.
It had been a long day, full of travel and questions and typing and then arguments with the military censors, and now that the stories were filed everyone was weary. The German table was boisterous and already slightly drunk.
'Don't waste your time,' Dru said.
'They must be from the airfield. Maybe some are pilots.'
'You won't get anything out of those guys, Luis.'
That was -a challenge; or perhaps Dru was afraid of what those guys might say. Luis stood up and walked over to the German table.
He waited until the nearest man had stopped talking; bowed, smiled, and said: 'Excuse me . . . Does one of you gentlemen speak English?'
'English. . .'The man turned in his chair and looked up. His elbow was on the table, his jaw propped against his hand. He examined Luis closely. Luis was struck by the untroubled self-assurance in his clear grey eyes. The man was only a few years older than himself yet he seemed enormously more competent. He must surely be a pilot.
The German spoke a few words in German, and all his friends laughed.
Luis, still smiling, glanced across the table. Another German made a remark, obviously referring to Luis, and everyone laughed again. After that the comments came from all sides, until the table was rocking with laughter. Luis stood like a dummy, not
Luis shrugged and turned away. 'And that is my reward,' he muttered loudly and rebelliously. He slouched out of the crypt, and sprinted all the way to the car. The correspondents were waiting. 'Who was that?' Barker asked. 'Just a soldier,' Luis said. 'Looking for a friend.' Two hours later they were back in Burgos.
Chapter 9
That evening, they all went to eat in a bar-restaurant just outside the town.
'Hey, Luis,' said Townsend, while they were waiting for their food. 'Did you know that Guernica got bombed on market-day?'
'There was no market that day,' Luis said. 'The country people were afraid of an attack and so they stayed at home.'
Townsend frowned. 'For God's sake,' Barker complained, 'how many damn bodies d'you need?'
'It's not just a question of bodies,' Townsend snapped. 'It's a question of innocence. You know -- market-day, smiling peasants streaming into town with their fresh country produce, when bang! Out of the blue, without warning, the sinister hail of death. It's twice the story with market-day.'
'Print it, Milt,' Dru urged. 'You like it, you use it. The bigger you build up your bombing, the louder my dynamite's going to be. Hullo! What's this?'
A large party of young men was tramping into the restaurant from the bar. They were in civilian clothes which looked as if they had all been bought in the same department store. Many were blond; all looked fit and strong and tanned. One of them said: 'Ich mochte einen grossen Wiener Schnitzel, ja?'
'Asturian coal-miners,' Barker said.
'Now's your big chance, Jean-Pierre,' Townsend told Dru. 'Get over there and grab yourself a few eye-witnesses.'
Dru merely smiled.
The young Germans settled down around a circular table. Their legs were too long and they kept scuffing and kicking each other, which led to laughter and denunciations and insults. Somebody rocked the table, somebody retaliated. Half the cutlery fell on the floor. A couple of drinks got spilled. Much laughter.
'They're like undergraduates on Boat-Race night,' Barker observed. 'Hard to believe they . . .' He shrugged.
'One of us should get up and go over and ask them about it.' Townsend said. 'I can't go. My German is lousy and anyway I'm too hungry to move.'
'They'd never talk to an Englishman,' said Barker.
Dru ate some bread and looked at the flies circling the lighting fixture.
'Would you like me to speak to them?' Luis asked.
It had been a long day, full of travel and questions and typing and then arguments with the military censors, and now that the stories were filed everyone was weary. The German table was boisterous and already slightly drunk.
'Don't waste your time,' Dru said.
'They must be from the airfield. Maybe some are pilots.'
'You won't get anything out of those guys, Luis.'
That was -a challenge; or perhaps Dru was afraid of what those guys might say. Luis stood up and walked over to the German table.
He waited until the nearest man had stopped talking; bowed, smiled, and said: 'Excuse me . . . Does one of you gentlemen speak English?'
'English. . .'The man turned in his chair and looked up. His elbow was on the table, his jaw propped against his hand. He examined Luis closely. Luis was struck by the untroubled self-assurance in his clear grey eyes. The man was only a few years older than himself yet he seemed enormously more competent. He must surely be a pilot.
The German spoke a few words in German, and all his friends laughed.
Luis, still smiling, glanced across the table. Another German made a remark, obviously referring to Luis, and everyone laughed again. After that the comments came from all sides, until the table was rocking with laughter. Luis stood like a dummy, not
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