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‘They’re coming back,’ Sasha remarked.

This time, the engines were heavier, ominous. A full squadron.

‘Where are the air defences?’ he asked Sasha. The Russian shrugged.

‘I’m not sure they have any.’

The planes were starting a bombing approach now, dropping lower. Fitz looked again at the town, willing the people to get back into shelter, any shelter. Then his view was obscured by smoke and flame; seconds later the sounds started. The steady whump-whump‐whump as bomb after bomb exploded. The crackle of incendiaries, so distant it could have been a firecracker.

The outer roads were starting to fill with people, running and stumbling to get out of the centre. Refugees abandoning their belongings in the road, farmers dragging terrified livestock. The surrounding fields were being trampled as the people fled the conflagration to the safety of empty ground or the woods. Fitz looked at the planes again, mentally filing the different types in use. They were dark shapes in the clouds of smoke now, the engine roar becoming a background drone. He spotted a phalanx of Heinkel fighters, turning to a new approach over the hillside closest to them. Fighters? What point was there in using fighters if there were no air defences? There was nothing to fight against here.

Even as the edge of the wing started to fly over them, he realised their intention. He flung himself at Sasha, knocking them both to the ground. The Russian began to protest until the ground close to the truck spat up dirt and the clatter of the guns could be heard over the Heinkel’s engines.

‘Christ,’ Fitz heard himself saying, ‘they don’t have a hope.’

The fighters dived over the fields, their machine guns flashing and spitting. Smaller explosions were almost lost in the barrage of noise, the flare of them indicating where grenades were landing. Fitz covered his ears so he didn’t have to hear any more, closed his eyes and buried his face in the dirt. He could hear Sasha’s rough breathing next to him, the Russian letting out a steady stream of abuse against the planes.

No, he had to see this. He had a job here, a mission. He had to observe this. Fitz reluctantly looked up, pushing himself on to his elbows so he could see over the grass, raising his gaze above the fields to the town itself. It was almost obscured by smoke, flames bursting amongst the dark clouds. A faint breeze brought the stench of cordite and burning. He glanced at his watch again. The raid had been going for forty-five minutes, the town was ablaze, surely it would be over? The sound of the Heinkels was fading as they disappeared on the other side of the town. That had to be it. Then he heard a still deeper aero-engine approaching.

‘Junker 52s,’ Sasha said, with horror in his voice. ‘Heavy-duty bombers. Just been used to bomb the front line near Oviedo.’

‘How close are we to the front?’

‘Twenty kilometres, maybe.’

People were starting to pass them now. Civilians in dust-covered clothes. Some hobbling, some supporting others. Wild-eyed but too exhausted to run any more. Weary soldiers in small groups. A motorcycle wove through them and away towards Bilbao, taking news of the attack. Sasha moved over to the abandoned truck, swearing at the bullet holes that now riddled it. He commandeered two soldiers, got out the crate of medical supplies and started dressing the wounds of the civilians who were willing to stop this close to the town. Fitz wanted to laugh hysterically when he spotted a nun joining the impromptu field hospital until he saw her blood-stained hands and ash-covered face.

The city roared again, as the Junkers began dropping their loads. Fitz watched, numbed and unable to react to it any more. Dusk was falling but the city glowed, turning the sky blood red. The din became a steady background roar, the planes turning and approaching again and again. Eventually, Fitz joined Sasha, helping the fleeing wounded. He felt sick when the first burn victim arrived, skin blacked along one side where an incendiary had showered her in thermite. She was half-naked, having ripped