CHAPTER 27

ElSordowasmakinghisfightonahilltop.Hedidnotlikethishillandwhenhesawithethoughtithadtheshapeofachancre.Buthehadhadnochoiceexceptthishillandhehadpickeditasfarawayashecouldseeitandgallopedforit,theautomaticrifleheavyonhisback,thehorselaboring,barrelheavingbetweenhisthighs,thesackofgrenadesswingingagainstoneside,thesackofautomaticriflepansbangingagainsttheother,andJoaquínandIgnaciohaltingandfiring,haltingandfiringtogivehimtimetogettheguninplace.

Therehadstillbeensnowthen,thesnowthathadruinedthem,andwhenhishorsewashitsothathewheezedinaslow,jerking,climbingstaggerupthelastpartofthecrest,splatteringthesnowwithabright,pulsingjet,Sordohadhauledhimalongbythebridle,thereinsoverhisshoulderasheclimbed.Heclimbedashardashecouldwiththebulletsspattingontherocks,withthetwosacksheavyonhisshoulders,andthen,holdingthehorsebythemane,hadshothimquickly,expertly,andtenderlyjustwherehehadneededhim,sothatthehorsepitched,headforwarddowntoplugagapbetweentworocks.Hehadgottentheguntofiringoverthehorse’sbackandhefiredtwopans,thegunclattering,theemptyshellspitchingintothesnow,thesmellofburnthairfromtheburnthidewherethehotmuzzlerested,himfiringatwhatcameuptothehill,forcingthemtoscatterforcover,whileallthetimetherewasachillinhisbackfromnotknowingwhatwasbehindhim.Oncethelastofthefivemenhadreachedthehilltopthechillwentoutofhisbackandhehadsavedthepanshehadleftuntilhewouldneedthem.

Thereweretwomorehorsesdeadalongtheslopeandthreemoreweredeadhereonthehilltop.Hehadonlysucceededinstealingthreehorseslastnightandonehadboltedwhentheytriedtomounthimbarebackinthecorralatthecampwhenthefirstshootinghadstarted.

Ofthefivemenwhohadreachedthehilltopthreewerewounded.Sordowaswoundedinthecalfofhislegandintwoplacesinhisleftarm.Hewasverythirsty,hiswoundshadstiffened,andoneofthewoundsinhisleftarmwasverypainful.HealsohadabadheadacheandashelaywaitingfortheplanestocomehethoughtofajokeinSpanish.Itwas,“Hayquetomarlamuertecomosifueraaspirina,”whichmeans,“Youwillhavetotakedeathasanaspirin.”Buthedidnotmakethejokealoud.Hegrinnedsomewhereinsidethepaininhisheadandinsidethenauseathatcamewheneverhemovedhisarmandlookedaroundatwhattherewasleftofhisband.

Thefivemenwerespreadoutlikethepointsofafive-pointedstar.Theyhaddugwiththeirkneesandhandsandmademoundsinfrontoftheirheadsandshoulderswiththedirtandpilesofstones.Usingthiscover,theywerelinkingtheindividualmoundsupwithstonesanddirt.Joaquín,whowaseighteenyearsold,hadasteelhelmetthathedugwithandhepasseddirtinit.

Hehadgottenthishelmetattheblowingupofthetrain.Ithadabulletholethroughitandeveryonehadalwaysjokedathimforkeepingit.Buthehadhammeredthejaggededgesofthebulletholesmoothanddrivenawoodenplugintoitandthencuttheplugoffandsmootheditevenwiththemetalinsidethehelmet.

Whentheshootingstartedhehadclappedthishelmetonhisheadsoharditbangedhisheadasthoughhehadbeenhitwithacasseroleand,inthelastlung-aching,legdead,mouth-dry,bulletspatting,bullet-cracking,bullet-singingrunupthefinalslopeofthehillafterhishorsewaskilled,thehelmethadseemedtoweighagreatamountandtoringhisburstingforeheadwithanironband.Buthehadkeptit.Nowhedugwithitinasteady,almostmachinelikedesperation.Hehadnotyetbeenhit.

“Itservesforsomethingfinally,”Sordosaidtohiminhisdeep,throatyvoice.

“Resistiryfortificaresvencer,”Joaquínsaid,hismouthstiffwiththedrynessoffearwhichsurpassedthenormalthirstofbattle.ItwasoneoftheslogansoftheCommunistpartyanditmeant,“Holdoutandfortify,andyouwillwin.”

Sordolookedawayanddowntheslopeatwhereacavalrymanwassnipingfrombehindaboulder.Hewasveryfondofthisboyandhewasinnomoodforslogans.

“Whatdidyousay?”

Oneofthementurnedfromthebuildingthathewasdoing.Thismanwaslyingflatonhisface,reachingcarefullyupwithhishandstoputarockinplacewhilekeepinghischinflatagainsttheground.

Joaquínrepeatedthesloganinhisdried-upboy’svoicewithoutcheckinghisdiggingforamoment.

“Whatwasthelastword?”themanwithhischinonthegroundasked.

“Vencer,”theboysaid.“Win.”

“Mierda,”themanwithhischinonthegroundsaid.

“Thereisanotherthatappliestohere,”Joaquínsaid,bringingthemoutasthoughtheyweretalismans,“Pasionariasaysitisbettertodieonyourfeetthantoliveonyourknees.”

“Mierdaagain,”themansaidandanothermansaid,overhisshoulder,“We’reonourbellies,notourknees.”

“Thou.Communist.DoyouknowyourPasionariahasasonthyageinRussiasincethestartofthemovement?”

“It’salie,”Joaquínsaid.

“Quéva,it’salie,”theothersaid.“Thedynamiterwiththerarenametoldme.Hewasofthyparty,too.Whyshouldhelie?”

“It’salie,”Joaquínsaid.“ShewouldnotdosuchathingaskeepasonhiddeninRussiaoutofthewar.”

“IwishIwereinRussia,”anotherofSordo’smensaid.“WillnotthyPasionariasendmenowfromheretoRussia,Communist?”

“IfthoubelievestsomuchinthyPasionaria,gethertogetusoffthishill,”oneofthemenwhohadabandagedthighsaid.

“Thefascistswilldothat,”themanwithhischininthedirtsaid.

“Donotspeakthus,”Joaquínsaidtohim.

“Wipethepapofyourmother’sbreastsoffthylipsandgivemeahatfulofthatdirt,”themanwithhischinonthegroundsaid.“Nooneofuswillseethesungodownthisnight.”

ElSordowasthinking:Itisshapedlikeachancre.Orthebreastofayounggirlwithnonipple.Orthetopconeofavolcano.Youhaveneverseenavolcano,hethought.Norwillyoueverseeone.Andthishillislikeachancre.Letthevolcanosalone.It’slatenowforthevolcanos.

Helookedverycarefullyaroundthewithersofthedeadhorseandtherewasaquickhammeringoffiringfrombehindaboulderwelldowntheslopeandheheardthebulletsfromthesubmachinegunthudintothehorse.Hecrawledalongbehindthehorseandlookedoutoftheanglebetweenthehorse’shindquartersandtherock.Therewerethreebodiesontheslopejustbelowhimwheretheyhadfallenwhenthefascistshadrushedthecrestundercoveroftheautomaticrifleandsubmachinegunfireandheandtheothershadbrokendowntheattackbythrowingandrollingdownhandgrenades.Therewereotherbodiesthathecouldnotseeontheothersidesofthehillcrest.TherewasnodeadgroundbywhichattackerscouldapproachthesummitandSordoknewthataslongashisammunitionandgrenadesheldoutandhehadasmanyasfourmentheycouldnotgethimoutofthereunlesstheybroughtupatrenchmortar.HedidnotknowwhethertheyhadsenttoLaGranjaforatrenchmortar.Perhapstheyhadnot,becausesurely,soon,theplaneswouldcome.Ithadbeenfourhourssincetheobservationplanehadflownoverthem.

Thishillistrulylikeachancre,Sordothought,andwearetheverypusofit.Butwekilledmanywhentheymadethatstupidness.Howcouldtheythinkthattheywouldtakeusthus?Theyhavesuchmodernarmamentthattheylosealltheirsensewithoverconfidence.Hehadkilledtheyoungofficerwhohadledtheassaultwithagrenadethathadgonebouncingandrollingdowntheslopeastheycameupit,running,benthalfover.Intheyellowflashandgrayroarofsmokehehadseentheofficerdiveforwardtowherehelaynowlikeaheavy,brokenbundleofoldclothingmarkingthefarthestpointthattheassaulthadreached.Sordolookedatthisbodyandthen,downthehill,attheothers.

Theyarebravebutstupidpeople,hethought.Buttheyhavesenseenoughnownottoattackusagainuntiltheplanescome.Unless,ofcourse,theyhaveamortarcoming.Itwouldbeeasywithamortar.Themortarwasthenormalthingandheknewthattheywoulddieassoonasamortarcameup,butwhenhethoughtoftheplanescominguphefeltasnakedonthathilltopasthoughallofhisclothingandevenhisskinhadbeenremoved.ThereisnonakederthingthanIfeel,hethought.Aflayedrabbitisaswellcoveredasabearincomparison.Butwhyshouldtheybringplanes?Theycouldgetusoutofherewithatrenchmortareasily.Theyareproudoftheirplanes,though,andtheywillprobablybringthem.Justastheyweresoproudoftheirautomaticweaponsthattheymadethatstupidness.Butundoubtedlytheymusthavesentforamortartoo.

Oneofthemenfired.Thenjerkedtheboltandfiredagain,quickly.

“Savethycartridges,”Sordosaid.

“Oneofthesonsofthegreatwhoretriedtoreachthatboulder,”themanpointed.

“Didyouhithim?”Sordoasked,turninghisheadwithdifficulty.

“Nay,”themansaid.“Thefornicatorduckedback.”

“WhoisawhoreofwhoresisPilar,”themanwithhischininthedirtsaid.“Thatwhoreknowswearedyinghere.”

“Shecoulddonogood,”Sordosaid.Themanhadspokenonthesideofhisgoodearandhehadheardhimwithoutturninghishead.“Whatcouldshedo?”

“Taketheseslutsfromtherear.”

“Quéva,”Sordosaid.“Theyarespreadaroundahillside.Howwouldshecomeonthem?Thereareahundredandfiftyofthem.Maybemorenow.”

“Butifweholdoutuntildark,”Joaquínsaid.

“AndifChristmascomesonEaster,”themanwithhischinonthegroundsaid.

“Andifthyaunthad_cojones_shewouldbethyuncle,”anothersaidtohim.“SendforthyPasionaria.Shealonecanhelpus.”

“Idonotbelievethatabouttheson,”Joaquínsaid.“Orifheisthereheistrainingtobeanaviatororsomethingofthatsort.”

“Heishiddenthereforsafety,”themantoldhim.

“Heisstudyingdialectics.ThyPasionariahasbeenthere.SohaveListerandModestoandothers.Theonewiththerarenametoldme.”

“Thattheyshouldgotostudyandreturntoaidus,”Joaquínsaid.

“Thattheyshouldaidusnow,”anothermansaid.“ThatallthecrutsofRussiansuckingswindlersshouldaidusnow.”Hefiredandsaid,“Mecagoental;Imissedhimagain.”

“Savethycartridgesanddonottalksomuchorthouwiltbeverythirsty,”Sordosaid.“Thereisnowateronthishill.”

“Takethis,”themansaidandrollingonhissidehepulledawineskinthatheworeslungfromhisshoulderoverhisheadandhandedittoSordo.“Washthymouthout,oldone.Thoumusthavemuchthirstwiththywounds.”

“Letalltakeit,”Sordosaid.

“ThenIwillhavesomefirst,”theownersaidandsquirtedalongstreamintohismouthbeforehehandedtheleatherbottlearound.

“Sordo,whenthinkestthoutheplaneswillcome?”themanwithhischininthedirtasked.

“Anytime,”saidSordo.“Theyshouldhavecomebefore.”

“Doyouthinkthesesonsofthegreatwhorewillattackagain?”

“Onlyiftheplanesdonotcome.”

Hedidnotthinktherewasanyneedtospeakaboutthemortar.Theywouldknowitsoonenoughwhenthemortarcame.

“Godknowsthey’veenoughplaneswithwhatwesawyesterday.”

“Toomany,”Sordosaid.

Hisheadhurtverymuchandhisarmwasstiffeningsothatthepainofmovingitwasalmostunbearable.Helookedupatthebright,high,blueearlysummerskyasheraisedtheleatherwinebottlewithhisgoodarm.Hewasfifty-twoyearsoldandhewassurethiswasthelasttimehewouldseethatsky.

Hewasnotatallafraidofdyingbuthewasangryatbeingtrappedonthishillwhichwasonlyutilizableasaplacetodie.Ifwecouldhavegottenclear,hethought.Ifwecouldhavemadethemcomeupthelongvalleyorifwecouldhavebrokenlooseacrosstheroaditwouldhavebeenallright.Butthischancreofahill.Wemustuseitaswellaswecanandwehaveuseditverywellsofar.

Ifhehadknownhowmanymeninhistoryhavehadtouseahilltodieonitwouldnothavecheeredhimanyfor,inthemomenthewaspassingthrough,menarenotimpressedbywhathashappenedtoothermeninsimilarcircumstancesanymorethanawidowofonedayishelpedbytheknowledgethatotherlovedhusbandshavedied.Whetheronehasfearofitornot,one’sdeathisdifficulttoaccept.Sordohadaccepteditbuttherewasnosweetnessinitsacceptanceevenatfifty-two,withthreewoundsandhimsurroundedonahill.

Hejokedaboutittohimselfbuthelookedattheskyandatthefarmountainsandheswallowedthewineandhedidnotwantit.Ifonemustdie,hethought,andclearlyonemust,Icandie.ButIhateit.

Dyingwasnothingandhehadnopictureofitnorfearofitinhismind.Butlivingwasafieldofgrainblowinginthewindonthesideofahill.Livingwasahawkinthesky.Livingwasanearthenjarofwaterinthedustofthethreshingwiththegrainflailedoutandthechaffblowing.Livingwasahorsebetweenyourlegsandacarbineunderonelegandahillandavalleyandastreamwithtreesalongitandthefarsideofthevalleyandthehillsbeyond.

Sordopassedthewinebottlebackandnoddedhisheadinthanks.Heleanedforwardandpattedthedeadhorseontheshoulderwherethemuzzleoftheautomaticriflehadburnedthehide.Hecouldstillsmelltheburnthair.Hethoughthowhehadheldthehorsethere,trembling,withthefirearoundthem,whisperingandcracking,overandaroundthemlikeacurtain,andhadcarefullyshothimjustattheintersectionofthecross-linesbetweenthetwoeyesandtheears.Thenasthehorsepitcheddownhehaddroppeddownbehindhiswarm,wetbacktogettheguntogoingastheycameupthehill.

“Erasmuchocaballo,”hesaid,meaning,“Thouwertplentyofhorse.”

ElSordolaynowonhisgoodsideandlookedupatthesky.Hewaslyingonaheapofemptycartridgehullsbuthisheadwasprotectedbytherockandhisbodylayintheleeofthehorse.Hiswoundshadstiffenedbadlyandhehadmuchpainandhefelttootiredtomove.

“Whatpasseswiththee,oldone?”themannexttohimasked.

“Nothing.Iamtakingalittlerest.”

“Sleep,”theothersaid.“Theywillwakeuswhentheycome.”

Justthensomeoneshoutedfromdowntheslope.

“Listen,bandits!”thevoicecamefrombehindtherockswheretheclosestautomaticriflewasplaced.“Surrendernowbeforetheplanesblowyoutopieces.”

“Whatisithesays?”Sordoasked.

Joaquíntoldhim.Sordorolledtoonesideandpulledhimselfupsothathewascrouchedbehindthegunagain.

“Maybetheplanesaren’tcoming,”hesaid.“Don’tanswerthemanddonotfire.Maybewecangetthemtoattackagain.”

“Ifweshouldinsultthemalittle?”themanwhohadspokentoJoaquínaboutLaPasionaria’ssoninRussiaasked.

“No,”Sordosaid.“Givemethybigpistol.Whohasabigpistol?”

“Here.”

“Giveittome.”Crouchedonhiskneeshetookthebig9mm.Starandfiredoneshotintothegroundbesidethedeadhorse,waited,thenfiredagainfourtimesatirregularintervals.Thenhewaitedwhilehecountedsixtyandthenfiredafinalshotdirectlyintothebodyofthedeadhorse.Hegrinnedandhandedbackthepistol.

“Reloadit,”hewhispered,“andthateveryoneshouldkeephismouthshutandnooneshoot.”

“Bandidos!”thevoiceshoutedfrombehindtherocks.

Noonespokeonthehill.

“Bandidos!Surrendernowbeforeweblowtheetolittlepieces.”

“They’rebiting,”Sordowhisperedhappily.

Ashewatched,amanshowedhisheadoverthetopoftherocks.Therewasnoshotfromthehilltopandtheheadwentdownagain.ElSordowaited,watching,butnothingmorehappened.Heturnedhisheadandlookedattheotherswhowereallwatchingdowntheirsectorsoftheslope.Ashelookedatthemtheothersshooktheirheads.

“Letnoonemove,”hewhispered.

“Sonsofthegreatwhore,”thevoicecamenowfrombehindtherocksagain.

“Redswine.Motherrapers.Eatersofthemilkofthyfathers.”

Sordogrinned.Hecouldjusthearthebellowedinsultsbyturninghisgoodear.Thisisbetterthantheaspirin,hethought.Howmanywillweget?Cantheybethatfoolish?

Thevoicehadstoppedagainandforthreeminutestheyheardnothingandsawnomovement.Thenthesniperbehindtheboulderahundredyardsdowntheslopeexposedhimselfandfired.Thebullethitarockandricochetedwithasharpwhine.ThenSordosawaman,bentdouble,runfromtheshelteroftherockswheretheautomaticriflewasacrosstheopengroundtothebigboulderbehindwhichthesniperwashidden.Healmostdovebehindtheboulder.

Sordolookedaround.Theysignalledtohimthattherewasnomovementontheotherslopes.ElSordogrinnedhappilyandshookhishead.Thisistentimesbetterthantheaspirin,hethought,andhewaited,ashappyasonlyahuntercanbehappy.

Belowontheslopethemanwhohadrunfromthepileofstonestotheshelteroftheboulderwasspeakingtothesniper.

“Doyoubelieveit?”

“Idon’tknow,”thesnipersaid.

“Itwouldbelogical,”theman,whowastheofficerincommand,said.“Theyaresurrounded.Theyhavenothingtoexpectbuttodie.”

Thesnipersaidnothing.

“Whatdoyouthink?”theofficerasked.

“Nothing,”thesnipersaid.

“Haveyouseenanymovementsincetheshots?”

“Noneatall.”

Theofficerlookedathiswristwatch.Itwastenminutestothreeo’clock.

“Theplanesshouldhavecomeanhourago,”hesaid.Justthenanotherofficerfloppedinbehindtheboulder.Thesnipermovedovertomakeroomforhim.

“Thou,Paco,”thefirstofficersaid.“Howdoesitseemtothee?”

Thesecondofficerwasbreathingheavilyfromhissprintupandacrossthehillsidefromtheautomaticrifleposition.

“Formeitisatrick,”hesaid.

“Butifitisnot?Whataridiculewemakewaitinghereandlayingsiegetodeadmen.”

“Wehavedonesomethingworsethanridiculousalready,”thesecondofficersaid.“Lookatthatslope.”

Helookeduptheslopetowherethedeadwerescatteredclosetothetop.Fromwherehelookedthelineofthehilltopshowedthescatteredrocks,thebelly,projectinglegs,shodhoovesjuttingout,ofSordo’shorse,andthefreshdirtthrownupbythedigging.

“Whataboutthemortars?”askedthesecondofficer.

“Theyshouldbehereinanhour.Ifnotbefore.”

“Thenwaitforthem.Therehasbeenenoughstupidityalready.”

“Bandidos!”thefirstofficershoutedsuddenly,gettingtohisfeetandputtinghisheadwellupabovethebouldersothatthecrestofthehilllookedmuchcloserashestoodupright.“Redswine!Cowards!”

Thesecondofficerlookedatthesniperandshookhishead.Thesniperlookedawaybuthislipstightened.

Thefirstofficerstoodthere,hisheadallclearoftherockandwithhishandonhispistolbutt.Hecursedandvilifiedthehilltop.Nothinghappened.Thenhesteppedclearoftheboulderandstoodtherelookingupthehill.

“Fire,cowards,ifyouarealive,”heshouted.“FireononewhohasnofearofanyRedthatevercameoutofthebellyofthegreatwhore.”

Thislastwasquitealongsentencetoshoutandtheofficer’sfacewasredandcongestedashefinished.

Thesecondofficer,whowasathinsunburnedmanwithquieteyes,athin,longlippedmouthandastubbleofbeardoverhishollowcheeks,shookhisheadagain.Itwasthisofficerwhowasshoutingwhohadorderedthefirstassault.TheyounglieutenantwhowasdeaduptheslopehadbeenthebestfriendofthisotherlieutenantwhowasnamedPacoBerrendoandwhowaslisteningtotheshoutingofthecaptain,whowasobviouslyinastateofexaltation.

“Thosearetheswinewhoshotmysisterandmymother,”thecaptainsaid.Hehadaredfaceandablond,British-lookingmoustacheandtherewassomethingwrongabouthiseyes.Theywerealightblueandthelasheswerelight,too.Asyoulookedatthemtheyseemedtofocusslowly.Then“Reds,”heshouted.“Cowards!”andcommencedcursingagain.

Hestoodabsolutelyclearnowand,sightingcarefully,firedhispistolattheonlytargetthatthehilltoppresented:thedeadhorsethathadbelongedtoSordo.Thebulletthrewupapuffofdirtfifteenyardsbelowthehorse.Thecaptainfiredagain.Thebullethitarockandsungoff.

Thecaptainstoodtherelookingatthehilltop.TheLieutenantBerrendowaslookingatthebodyoftheotherlieutenantjustbelowthesummit.Thesniperwaslookingatthegroundunderhiseyes.Thenhelookedupatthecaptain.

“Thereisnoonealiveupthere,”thecaptainsaid.“Thou,”hesaidtothesniper,“goupthereandsee.”

Thesniperlookeddown.Hesaidnothing.

“Don’tyouhearme?”thecaptainshoutedathim.

“Yes,mycaptain,”thesnipersaid,notlookingathim.

“Thengetupandgo.”Thecaptainstillhadhispistolout.“Doyouhearme?”

“Yes,mycaptain.”

“Whydon’tyougo,then?”

“Idon’twantto,mycaptain.”

“Youdon’twantto?”Thecaptainpushedthepistolagainstthesmalloftheman’sback.“Youdon’twantto?”

“Iamafraid,mycaptain,”thesoldiersaidwithdignity.

LieutenantBerrendo,watchingthecaptain’sfaceandhisoddeyes,thoughthewasgoingtoshootthemanthen.

“CaptainMora,”hesaid.

“LieutenantBerrendo?”

“Itispossiblethesoldierisright.”

“Thatheisrighttosayheisafraid?Thatheisrighttosayhedoesnotwanttoobeyanorder?”

“No.Thatheisrightthatitisatrick.”

“Theyarealldead,”thecaptainsaid.“Don’tyouhearmesaytheyarealldead?’

“Youmeanourcomradesontheslope?”Berrendoaskedhim.“Iagreewithyou.”

“Paco,”thecaptainsaid,“don’tbeafool.DoyouthinkyouaretheonlyonewhocaredforJulián?ItellyoutheRedsaredead.Look!”

Hestoodup,thenputbothhandsontopoftheboulderandpulledhimselfup,kneeing-upawkwardly,thengettingonhisfeet.

“Shoot,”heshouted,standingonthegraygraniteboulderandwavedbothhisarms.“Shootme!Killme!”

OnthehilltopElSordolaybehindthedeadhorseandgrinned.

Whatapeople,hethought.Helaughed,tryingtoholditinbecausetheshakinghurthisarm.

“Reds,”cametheshoutfrombelow.“Redcanaille.Shootme!Killme!”

Sordo,hischestshaking,barelypeepedpastthehorse’scrupperandsawthecaptainontopoftheboulderwavinghisarms.Anotherofficerstoodbytheboulder.Thesniperwasstandingattheotherside.Sordokepthiseyewhereitwasandshookhisheadhappily.

“Shootme,”hesaidsoftlytohimself.“Killme!”Thenhisshouldersshookagain.Thelaughinghurthisarmandeachtimehelaughedhisheadfeltasthoughitwouldburst.Butthelaughtershookhimagainlikeaspasm.

CaptainMoragotdownfromtheboulder.

“Nowdoyoubelieveme,Paco?”hequestionedLieutenantBerrendo.

“No,”saidLieutenantBerrendo.

“Cojones!”thecaptainsaid.“Herethereisnothingbutidiotsandcowards.”

ThesniperhadgottencarefullybehindtheboulderagainandLieutenantBerrendowassquattingbesidehim.

Thecaptain,standingintheopenbesidetheboulder,commencedtoshoutfilthatthehilltop.ThereisnolanguagesofilthyasSpanish.TherearewordsforallthevilewordsinEnglishandthereareotherwordsandexpressionsthatareusedonlyincountrieswhereblasphemykeepspacewiththeausterityofreligion.LieutenantBerrendowasaverydevoutCatholic.Sowasthesniper.TheywereCarlistsfromNavarraandwhilebothofthemcursedandblasphemedwhentheywereangrytheyregardeditasasinwhichtheyregularlyconfessed.

Astheycrouchednowbehindtheboulderwatchingthecaptainandlisteningtowhathewasshouting,theybothdisassociatedthemselvesfromhimandwhathewassaying.Theydidnotwanttohavethatsortoftalkontheirconsciencesonadayinwhichtheymightdie.Talkingthuswillnotbringluck,thesniperthought.SpeakingthusoftheVirgenisbadluck.ThisonespeaksworsethantheReds.

Juliánisdead,LieutenantBerrendowasthinking.Deadthereontheslopeonsuchadayasthisis.Andthisfoulmouthstandstherebringingmoreillfortunewithhisblasphemies.

NowthecaptainstoppedshoutingandturnedtoLieutenantBerrendo.Hiseyeslookedstrangerthanever.

“Paco,”hesaid,happily,“youandIwillgoupthere.”

“Notme.”

“What?”Thecaptainhadhispistoloutagain.

Ihatethesepistolbrandishers,Berrendowasthinking.Theycannotgiveanorderwithoutjerkingagunout.Theyprobablypullouttheirpistolswhentheygotothetoiletandorderthemovetheywillmake.

“Iwillgoifyouordermeto.Butunderprotest,”LieutenantBerrendotoldthecaptain.

“ThenIwillgoalone,”thecaptainsaid.“Thesmellofcowardiceistoostronghere.”

Holdinghispistolinhisrighthand,hestrodesteadilyuptheslope.Berrendoandthesniperwatchedhim.Hewasmakingnoattempttotakeanycoverandhewaslookingstraightaheadofhimattherocks,thedeadhorse,andthefresh-dugdirtofthehilltop.

ElSordolaybehindthehorseatthecorneroftherock,watchingthecaptaincomestridingupthehill.

Onlyone,hethought.Wegetonlyone.Butfromhismannerofspeakingheiscazamayor.Lookathimwalking.Lookwhatananimal.Lookathimstrideforward.Thisoneisforme.ThisoneItakewithmeonthetrip.ThisonecomingnowmakesthesamevoyageIdo.Comeon,ComradeVoyager.Comestriding.Comerightalong.Comealongtomeetit.Comeon.Keeponwalking.Don’tslowup.Comerightalong.Comeasthouartcoming.Don’tstopandlookatthose.That’sright.Don’tevenlookdown.Keeponcomingwithyoureyesforward.Look,hehasamoustache.Whatdoyouthinkofthat?Herunstoamoustache,theComradeVoyager.Heisacaptain.Lookathissleeves.Isaidhewascazamayor.HehasthefaceofanInglé.Look.Witharedfaceandblondhairandblueeyes.Withnocaponandhismoustacheisyellow.Withblueeyes.Withpaleblueeyes.Withpaleblueeyeswithsomethingwrongwiththem.Withpaleblueeyesthatdon’tfocus.Closeenough.Tooclose.Yes,ComradeVoyager.Takeit,ComradeVoyager.

Hesqueezedthetriggeroftheautomaticriflegentlyanditpoundedbackthreetimesagainsthisshoulderwiththeslipperyjolttherecoilofatripodedautomaticweapongives.

Thecaptainlayonhisfaceonthehillside.Hisleftarmwasunderhim.Hisrightarmthathadheldthepistolwasstretchedforwardofhishead.Fromalldowntheslopetheywerefiringonthehillcrestagain.

Crouchedbehindtheboulder,thinkingthatnowhewouldhavetosprintacrossthatopenspaceunderfire,LieutenantBerrendoheardthedeephoarsevoiceofSordofromthehilltop.

“Bandidos!”thevoicecame.“Bandidos!Shootme!Killme!”

OnthetopofthehillElSordolaybehindtheautomaticriflelaughingsothathischestached,sothathethoughtthetopofhisheadwouldburst.

“Bandidos,”heshoutedagainhappily.“Killme,bandidos!”Thenheshookhisheadhappily.WehavelotsofcompanyfortheVoyage,hethought.

Hewasgoingtotryfortheotherofficerwiththeautomaticriflewhenhewouldleavetheshelteroftheboulder.Soonerorlaterhewouldhavetoleaveit.Sordoknewthathecouldnevercommandfromthereandhethoughthehadaverygoodchancetogethim.

Justthentheothersonthehillheardthefirstsoundofthecomingoftheplanes.

ElSordodidnothearthem.Hewascoveringthedown-slopeedgeoftheboulderwithhisautomaticrifleandhewasthinking:whenIseehimhewillberunningalreadyandIwillmisshimifIamnotcareful.Icouldshootbehindhimallacrossthatstretch.Ishouldswingthegunwithhimandaheadofhim.Orlethimstartandthengetonhimandaheadofhim.Iwilltrytopickhimupthereattheedgeoftherockandswingjustaheadofhim.Thenhefeltatouchonhisshoulderandheturnedandsawthegray,fear-drainedfaceofJoaquínandhelookedwheretheboywaspointingandsawthethreeplanescoming.

AtthismomentLieutenantBerrendobrokefrombehindtheboulderand,withhisheadbentandhislegsplunging,randownandacrosstheslopetotheshelteroftherockswheretheautomaticriflewasplaced.

Watchingtheplanes,Sordoneversawhimgo.

“Helpmetopullthisout,”hesaidtoJoaquínandtheboydraggedtheautomaticrifleclearfrombetweenthehorseandtherock.

Theplaneswerecomingonsteadily.Theywereinechelonandeachsecondtheygrewlargerandtheirnoisewasgreater.

“Lieonyourbackstofireatthem,”Sordosaid.“Fireaheadofthemastheycome.”

Hewaswatchingthemallthetime.“Cabrones!Hijosdeputa!”hesaidrapidly.

“Ignacio!”hesaid.“Putthegunontheshoulderoftheboy.Thou!”toJoaquín,“Sitthereanddonotmove.Crouchover.More.No.More.”

Helaybackandsightedwiththeautomaticrifleastheplanescameonsteadily.

“Thou,Ignacio,holdmethethreelegsofthattripod.”Theyweredanglingdowntheboy’sbackandthemuzzleofthegunwasshakingfromthejerkingofhisbodythatJoaquíncouldnotcontrolashecrouchedwithbentheadhearingthedroningroaroftheircoming.

Lyingflatonhisbellyandlookingupintotheskywatchingthemcome,Ignaciogatheredthelegsofthetripodintohistwohandsandsteadiedthegun.

“Keepthyheaddown,”hesaidtoJoaquín.“Keepthyheadforward.”

“Pasionariasays‘Bettertodieonthy—’“Joaquínwassayingtohimselfasthedronecamenearerthem.Thenheshiftedsuddenlyinto“HailMary,fullofgrace,theLordiswiththee;BlessedartthouamongwomenandBlessedisthefruitofthywomb,Jesus.HolyMary,MotherofGod,prayforussinnersnowandatthehourofourdeath.Amen.HolyMary,MotherofGod,”hestarted,thenherememberedquicklyastheroarcamenowunbearablyandstartedanactofcontritionracinginit,“OhmyGod,Iamheartilysorryforhavingoffendedtheewhoartworthyofallmylove—”

Thentherewerethehammeringexplosionspasthisearsandthegunbarrelhotagainsthisshoulder.Itwashammeringnowagainandhisearsweredeafenedbythemuzzleblast.Ignaciowaspullingdownhardonthetripodandthebarrelwasburninghisback.Itwashammeringnowintheroarandhecouldnotremembertheactofcontrition.

Allhecouldrememberwasatthehourofourdeath.Amen.Atthehourofourdeath.Amen.Atthehour.Atthehour.Amen.Theothersallwerefiring.Nowandatthehourofourdeath.Amen.

Then,throughthehammeringofthegun,therewasthewhistleoftheairsplittingapartandthenintheredblackroartheearthrolledunderhiskneesandthenwaveduptohithiminthefaceandthendirtandbitsofrockwerefallingalloverandIgnaciowaslyingonhimandthegunwaslyingonhim.Buthewasnotdeadbecausethewhistlecameagainandtheearthrolledunderhimwiththeroar.Thenitcameagainandtheearthlurchedunderhisbellyandonesideofthehilltoproseintotheairandthenfellslowlyoverthemwheretheylay.

Theplanescamebackthreetimesandbombedthehilltopbutnooneonthehilltopknewit.Thentheplanesmachine-gunnedthehilltopandwentaway.Astheydoveonthehillforthelasttimewiththeirmachinegunshammering,thefirstplanepulledupandwingedoverandtheneachplanedidthesameandtheymovedfromechelontoV-formationandwentawayintotheskyinthedirectionofSegovia.

Keepingaheavyfireonthehilltop,LieutenantBerrendopushedapatroluptooneofthebombcratersfromwheretheycouldthrowgrenadesontothecrest.Hewastakingnochancesofanyonebeingaliveandwaitingfortheminthemessthatwasupthereandhethrewfourgrenadesintotheconfusionofdeadhorses,brokenandsplitrocks,andtornyellow-stainedexplosive-stinkingearthbeforeheclimbedoutofthebombcraterandwalkedovertohavealook.

NoonewasaliveonthehilltopexcepttheboyJoaquín,whowasunconsciousunderthedeadbodyofIgnacio.Joaquínwasbleedingfromthenoseandfromtheears.HehadknownnothingandhadnofeelingsincehehadsuddenlybeenintheveryheartofthethunderandthebreathhadbeenwrenchedfromhisbodywhentheonebombstrucksocloseandLieutenantBerrendomadethesignofthecrossandthenshothiminthebackofthehead,asquicklyandasgently,ifsuchanabruptmovementcanbegentle,asSordohadshotthewoundedhorse.

LieutenantBerrendostoodonthehilltopandlookeddowntheslopeathisowndeadandthenacrossthecountryseeingwheretheyhadgallopedbeforeSordohadturnedatbayhere.Henoticedallthedispositionsthathadbeenmadeofthetroopsandthenheorderedthedeadmen’shorsestobebroughtupandthebodiestiedacrossthesaddlessothattheymightbepackedintoLaGranja.

“Takethatone,too,”hesaid.“Theonewithhishandsontheautomaticrifle.ThatshouldbeSordo.Heistheoldestanditwashewiththegun.No.Cuttheheadoffandwrapitinaponcho.”Heconsideredaminute.“Youmightaswelltakealltheheads.Andoftheothersbelowontheslopeandwherewefirstfoundthem.Collecttheriflesandpistolsandpackthatgunonahorse.”

Thenhewalkeddowntowherethelieutenantlaywhohadbeenkilledinthefirstassault.Helookeddownathimbutdidnottouchhim.

“Quécosamásmalaeslaguerra,”hesaidtohimself,whichmeant,“Whatabadthingwaris.”

ThenhemadethesignofthecrossagainandashewalkeddownthehillhesaidfiveOurFathersandfiveHailMarysforthereposeofthesoulofhisdeadcomrade.Hedidnotwishtostaytoseehisordersbeingcarriedout.