‘We’ll rest in the rear,’ Lloyd said. ‘It’s safer.’
They made their way back along the row of houses, using the holes they had made in the walls. The repeated bending made Lloyd dizzy. He wondered if he was weak from loss of blood.
They emerged out of sight of the church of San Agustin, and hurried along a side street. Lloyd’s relief at still being alive was rapidly giving way to a feeling of rage at the waste of the lives of his men.
They came to the barn on the outskirts where the government forces had made their headquarters. Lloyd saw Major Marquez behind a stack of crates, giving out ammunition. ‘Why couldn’t we have had some of that?’ he said furiously.
Marquez just shrugged.
‘I’m reporting this to Bobrov,’ Lloyd said.
Colonel Bobrov was outside the barn, sitting on a chair at a table, both of which items of furniture looked as if they had been taken from a village house. His face was reddened with sunburn. He was talking to Volodya Peshkov. Lloyd went straight up to them. ‘We rushed the church, but we had no support,’ he said. ‘And we ran out of ammunition because Marquez refused to supply us!’
Bobrov looked coldly at Lloyd. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.
Lloyd was puzzled. He expected Bobrov to congratulate him for a brave effort and at least commiserate with him over the lack of support. ‘I just told you,’ he said. ‘There was no support. You can’t rush a fortified building with one platoon. We did our best, but we were slaughtered. I’ve lost thirty-one of my thirty-six men.’ He pointed at his four companions. ‘This is all that’s left of my platoon!’
‘Who ordered you to retreat?’
Lloyd was fighting off dizziness. He felt close to collapse, but he had to explain to Bobrov how bravely his men had fought. ‘We came back for fresh orders. What else could we do?’
‘You should have fought to the last man.’
‘What should we have fought with? We had no bullets!’
‘Silence!’ Bobrov barked. ‘Stand to attention!’
Automatically, they all stood to attention: Lloyd, Lenny, Dave, Muggsy and Joe in a line. Lloyd feared he was about to faint.
‘About face!’
They turned their backs. Lloyd thought: What now?
‘Those who are wounded, fall out.’
Lloyd and Lenny stepped back.
Bobrov said: ‘The walking wounded are transferred to prisoner escort duty.’
Dimly, Lloyd perceived that this meant he would probably be guarding prisoners of war on a train to Barcelona. He swayed on his feet. Right now I couldn’t guard a flock of sheep, he thought.
Bobrov said: ‘Retreating under fire without orders is desertion.’
Lloyd turned and looked at Bobrov. To his astonishment and horror he saw that Bobrov had drawn his revolver from its buttoned holster.
Bobrov stepped forward so that he was immediately behind the three men standing to attention. ‘You three are found guilty and sentenced to death.’ He raised the gun until the barrel was three inches from the back of Dave’s head.
Then he fired.
There was a bang. A bullet hole appeared in Dave’s head, and blood and brains exploded from his brow.
Lloyd could not believe what he was seeing.
Next to Dave, Muggsy began to turn, his mouth open to shout; but Bobrov was quicker. He swung the gun to Muggsy’s neck and fired again. The bullet entered behind Muggsy’s right ear and came out through his left eye, and he crumpled.
At last Lloyd’s voice came, and he shouted: ‘No!’
Joe Eli turned, roaring with shock and rage, and raised his hands to grab Bobrov. The gun banged again and Joe got a bullet in the throat. Blood spurted like a fountain from his neck and splashed Bobrov’s Red Army uniform, causing the colonel to curse and jump back a pace. Joe fell to the ground but did not die immediately. Lloyd watched, helpless, as the blood pumped out of Joe’s carotid artery into the parched Spanish earth. Joe seemed to try to speak, but no words came; and then his eyes closed and he went limp.
‘There’s no mercy for cowards,’ Bobrov said, and he walked away.
Lloyd looked at Dave on the ground: thin, grimy, brave as a lion, sixteen years old and dead. Killed not by the Fascists but by a stupid and brutal Soviet officer. What a waste, Lloyd thought, and tears came to his eyes.
A sergeant came running out of the barn. ‘They’ve given up!’ he shouted joyfully. ‘The town hall has surrendered – they’ve raised the white flag. We’ve taken Belchite!’
The dizziness overwhelmed Lloyd at last, and he fainted.
