21 April, 1937
2332 Hours
Somewhere in the Basque Country
As Isabelle and Page approached the camp, the remaining fighters were arrayed around the smouldering remains of the campfire, either listlessly huddled in blankets, or polishing off the remnants of the nights meal. They glanced up cautiously as the pair approached, but quickly relaxed after seeing who it was. Vasquez could be seen as a hulking, shadowy figure in the dark, sitting at the head of the group. Isabelle approached as Page stood off to the side, unsure of what exactly his role was here.
"Good to see you return safely. You were not followed?"
Isabelle nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. We made contact with the enemy camp, and have the layout and all necessary information recorded."
She held out her notebook to Vasquez, who took it and flicked through a few pages. He handed it back to her and grunted with satisfaction.
"That's good work, Lieutenant. However, we've run into a bit of a problem." His gaze swung to Page. "The Nationalists know our British friend here is alive."
"How do you know?" Isabelle countered.
Vasquez hauled himself to his feet, an involved process for such a big man. "According to Carlos, he saw a group of Franco's bastards patrolling the streets when he went to pick up food from our contact in the village down the road. They were yelling about rewards for turning in downed Republican pilots, brandishing posters, the usual routine."
His voice became tenser. "The people were listening to what they were saying."
Something clicked in Page's mind as he heard this. That'll work.
He stepped forward. "Captain, I believe that might not be to our disadvantage. I think I have a plan to eliminate that Fascist base, and them knowing I'm here will only make it easier for us-"
Isabelle quickly cut him off."Really, comrade, you should probably lay down. You're still-"
"ENOUGH!"
Vasquez's bellow silenced both of them. He loped up to Page, and looked him directly in the eye. Page couldn't help but note his breath reeked of meat and beer.
"Speak your mind, Anglo. If you have an idea, we may as well hear it."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Isabelle rolling her eyes as she sat down.
Page took a moment to get his thoughts together and try to suppress the pain in his legs as best he could.
"All right, Captain, it's like this. When we were scouting out the base, we saw them dragging in a few of my squadron members - guys that got shot down with me. I guess they must've gotten found out and turned in for those rewards the Nationalist patrols in the village were talking about."
He unfolded the sheet of notes he'd been marking on during the observation, and frequently looked down at it as he spoke.
"Now, security isn't overly tight at that place -they've got barbed wire, MGs and guard towers, here, here, here, and here, yeah, but when the guards saw that the patrol looked like their guys and were carrying a prisoner, they got waved right through. No ID checks or anything. All the eyes were pretty much on the prisoners. Now, here's where it gets tricky. I think - if we could get our hands on enough Fascist uniforms, it would be possible to walk right in, past the defenses, before anyone's the wiser."
The Spaniard took the notes from Page, and looked them over for what felt like minutes. Finally, he shoved them back into Page's hands, clearly not totally convinced. "And what will you be doing? You can barely walk."
Page grinned widely. "Isn't it obvious? I'm your wounded pilot. I'm your ticket in. You can drag me in, say that you found me next to the carcass of my plane, and wheel me right in through the door. Maybe we can even use a cart or something, and I can really ham it up."
The Captain thoughtfully stroked his stubble. "The more I think about this...it seems more workable. But there's still a problem."
He jerked a thumb at Isabelle.
"What about her? We can't exactly pass her off as a Fascist soldier."
Page thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers.
"Edit my last idea - she's the local farm girl who found me and, being the staunch Falangist she is, loyal to her people, church, and country, she turned me in to your soldiers. And, of course, she's tagging along with the patrol in order to claim her rightful reward."
He could see her eyebrows rising as he spoke. His words got faster and faster as the ideas came to him. "And we could wheel me in on a cart, and conceal her rifle or whatever in there for when the shooting starts. Honestly, Captain, I think this is the best shot we have. If we go up against those machine guns from the outside, we'll get slaughtered."
Vasquez sat back down, massaging his temples. "You presume much, Anglo. We save your life, and you think we'll risk ours on this for the sake of your mission? You seem to forget: we're not in the business of fighting the Fascists head on. We subvert them in the villages. We hunt collaborators. We help the villagers and put a good word out for the Republic."
He stuck his finger in Page's face.
"Attacking the Fascists in their dens is something else entirely, better done with tanks and battalions."
Page stood firm. "They'll never see this coming, sir. I know it's your people and it's your decision, but I really think we have a shot with this."
He lowered his voice. "Of course, I'll abide by what you decide either way. I'm not stupid. I know I can't do this myself."
He stepped back, feeling foolish. Can I actually ask them to do this? is it fair? I mean, they're clearly not afraid of fighting, but this is on another level. Vasquez's eyes were closed in thought. After a moment, he spoke.
"I'll convene a meeting of our officers in the morning. We still have at least three days to make the attack, should we decide to. I'm not deciding this on my own tonight, I'm too tired and my head hurts to much."
Page reluctantly nodded, realizing this was probably as good as he was going to get. "Sounds like a good idea. Who are the officers, by the way?"
Vasquez pointed to Isabella, Carlos (sitting in a shroud of cigarette smoke, next to him), and another man, sitting on the opposite side of the fire.
"Myself, Lieutenant Seigner, Lieutenant Rodriguez, and Captain Benavidez, there. We'll come to a decision by tomorrow."
"Thank you for considering it, sir."
Vasquez blearily stared at Page. "You should probably go to sleep, Anglo. No offense, but you look like shit."
He cackled, and shuffled towards a pile of blankets and a pillow some feet away. Page looked at his arms and legs - all cut up from traipsing through the foliage, one leg wobbling worryingly from muscle pain - and grudgingly nodded internally. "Any chance of a berth for me?"
Vasquez waved his hand vaguely in the direction of anywhere else. "There's a load of old blankets in the cave. Help yourself."
As he staggered into the cave, he half-got in and half-collapsed into the pile of blankets, fitfully drawing them into a sort of cocoon around himself. They were scratchy and not really the apex of comfort, but they were warm enough, and they seemed at least to cushion his aching ribs and shins -they were still feeling the effects of the crash. A moment later, he heard Isabelle's voice from above him.
"Are you all right there, Comrade? I still have a little morphine, if you need it."
Page cracked an eye. "Aw, thank you so much, but I'm fine. Really. You've done way, way too much for me already."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself. Sleep well, comrade."
"You too, Lieutenant."
A thought occurred to him as he rolled over and tried to get comfy:
She's tough. She's smart. She saved your sorry ass, patching you up with next to nothing at her disposal. And she looks prettier than any of those movie actresses I've ever seen. She may be Vasquez's daughter, but I'm not sure that'll be enough to keep me away...
It didn't take long for him to fade out.
"Wake up, Comrade."
Page involuntarily groaned as he opened his eyes. He was having such a nice dream...
The sun was now at the perfect angle to shine into the cave, right into his blurry eyes. Isabelle's voice was identifiable, even if he could only see a dark shape. Hey, deja vu!
"Grmrmrfs...wuzzat? The meeting...starting?"
A slight pause. "We already had it. We're going. Your plan, or at least, something like it, was approved."
She leaned in slightly. "Preparations start in an hour."
Page ruefully began kicking off the sheets at that. "Wuzzat mean?"
"It means, Comrade, we're going to have to find a patrol's worth of undamaged Fascist uniforms before nightfall without making our presence obvious. We have a few ideas..."