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‘I’m here.’ His soft voice was beside her and Anji looked up as he crouched down next to her chair, bringing his concerned eyes level to hers. ‘What’s wrong?’

* * *

– Evening –

Woke after restless sleep. My head is no better. Must see what medicine is available here.

Going to see McN. tonight to discuss bringing E. over. She wants to come and I think it is safe enough. She can bring stuff that is hard to find here. Will ask McN. about aspirin &tc as well.

Just tried to do drill with Juan & others but things were too disjointed and I was of little use. It feels like something is tugging at my head, trying to pull my brain out. It makes it difficult to concentrate. Tried to scrub up at fountain but water is foul. Will continue later, when head is better.

* * *

As the rising sun started to burn off the mist, the figures at the side of the road became more defined. Sasha had set Fitz to work, handing out greyish bread to the refugees as they passed them. Their cold faces didn’t smile in thanks. Sometimes the faces were resigned, hollow, as if they had cried themselves out further along the road and were now just moving onwards, taking what was given to them. Waiting to see what would happen to them next as they trudged away from the front line. They kept to the edges, shambling aside whenever a fast vehicle came by. Fitz sat in the front of the steadily moving truck, handing out the bread and wishing he could be sure that everyone got some of it, but Sasha kept them moving forward. He reached the bottom of a sack and threw it over into the back of the truck.

‘Was that the last sack?’ Sasha checked, the first words from him for hours.

‘No, but you need to stop so I can get another from the back. The rest are too far back.’

Sasha nodded and drove on for a while. Fitz’s fingers started tapping out a rhythm on the window sill. Nothing he could name, just something to occupy him as they drove on past the clumps of dispossessed. He glanced at Sasha: the Russian was looking straight ahead, occasionally pulling the wheel over to avoid potholes or people in the road. His expression was the same for both.

‘Why...’ Fitz trailed off when Sasha glanced at him. He felt like he ought to gulp, wet his lips before continuing in case his voice cracked from the abuse of the night before and the previous silence. ‘Why are you taking me to Guernica? I mean, not that I’m not grateful that you didn’t hand me over to your men back there but, you know, if you’re taking me to something worse, I’d like to know.’

There. He’d asked it. Sasha smirked, his eyes back on the road again.

‘I am taking you somewhere worse, my suspicious Englishman. I’m taking you to the front line.’

‘But... if I’m a spy...’

‘If you are a spy...’ Sasha emphasised.

‘Not that I am, obviously, why are you doing this?’

Sasha shrugged, then gestured at the tobacco and papers on the dashboard. ‘Roll a cigarette, Fitz.’

Fitz complied, unsure of whether to push his luck or accept the Soviet’s intransigence. He was just licking the edge of the paper to stick it down when Sasha hit the truck horn with his fist and yelled Russian curses out of the window. Fitz’s fingers skittered and dropped the half-rolled cigarette into the well of the car. He scrambled down on to the floor to get it. When he straightened, Sasha was grinning at him.

‘You are too nervous to be a spy, or otherwise you are a spy who is a very good actor. This journey is long and boring, until we reach the front. If you try to run in the meantime, I can always shoot you.’

Fitz wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not.

* * *

Eleana pushed her way into the small crowd of onlookers. Violent death was not, in itself, unusual any more. It could be used though, so it was important that she saw it for herself, that her reportage was based on facts. The other papers would use it to their advantage, if any were to be had. She reached the gate by the burnt-out schoolhouse where the body lay. It had been dragged down the slight slope from