An Alternative Spanish Civil War - New Timeline

The events of July 1936 in Spain were so chaotic that in numerous cases things could have turned out differently this timeline begins with some major tweeks, not sure where it will end up but comments welcomed. I have never done a time line before so any civilised comments welcome.

CHAPTER ONE

ASSASINATION AVERTED - 00:30 13th July 1936


Indalacio Prieto sat looking at the Minister and repeated his warning for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

“The army”

“All of them?”

“Elements of the army”

Juan Moles sniffed and looked with displeasure at the fat socialist leader opposite him. They sent Prieto because as a moderate Caballero thought the they would listen to him rather than the man whom the masses were referring to as the Spanish Lenin, but they were all the same and they all wanted the same thing, to arm the workers. They wanted the government to hand out rifles and machine guns to printers and factory workers, as if the government was incapable of defending itself. Montes gazed at Prieto’s cheap collar and the sweat satin visible under his armpits as his suit gave up the unequal fight against the stifling July night.

“Which elements”

“Mola, Goded, Cabanellas, Franco and Queipo de Llano”

“Quiepo, the mans a republican, why do you think we put him down in Seville. We know the danger will come from Africa, he will be our bulwark, not the” Montes paused and mentally deleted the word scum from his reply, “not the workers. If the workers want guns then they should have enlisted in the army.”

Prieto raised his eyes to the ceiling and observed that the big fan had given up the ghost which helped explain the sweat trickling down his back.

“And Franco, well he wrote, just a few weeks ago to Quiroga, Franco wrote warning him of a rising, so he must be”

“Franco wrote to Casares Quiroga” Prieto could barely conceal his astonishment, “and what did he say in reply?”

“Oh he didn’t reply, it’s beneath the dignity of the Prime Minister’s office to communicate with a mere general, he just logged it in his mind.”

Suddenly, and before Prieto could communicate his contempt for yet another piece of ham fisted and dangerous inactivity from the stubborn Galician, so inadequate to the task of leading a nation in crisis, there was a commotion on the stairs and a number of armed men burst into the office. He gazed at them in alarm, most of them were Assaltos and he knew one or two were in UMRA. Then he started, Luis Cuenca was among them. The dark haired man stared at him with clear eyes and raised a hand in ironic greeting.

“I am not on duty tonight” he said, not giving Prieto any title and precious little respect, “I am here with my comrades to avenge a great wrong”

“And what would that be” enquired Moles, switching away from the socialist leader to the excitable crowd of armed men. His fingers steepled as he gazed at them with an almost patrician calm. He’s more comfortable with them because he thinks they are his to command, though Prieto; how little he knows.

The Assaltos parted to allow someone else to come to the fore. His tear stained face and red eyes seemed to Prieto in sharp contrast to the tricorned hat and buttoned tunic of the guardia civil, the traditional oppressors of the Spanish masses. It was, he reflected, a sign of the strange times they lived in that some of them were turning to the left.

Moles clearly knew the officer and spoke directly to him, his voice conveying for the first time that night a concern.

“Captain Condes, what has happned, what has bought you with these men and in this state to my office so late at night.”

“They have shot Jose” was all Fernando Condes was able to say before the others elbowed him away. Prieto watched him slump against the wall, his face white while the others bombarded Moles with angry demands.

“Jose Castillo, the one who put down the falangist riot on the anniversary of the republic”

“He was only married a month ago”

“Four men shot him down in the street”

“Like a dog”

“They are the dogs, they need to be put down”

“We have names, we have a list”

“We need to make arrests now”

“This cannot go unavenged”

“First Faraudo, now Castillo, we will be next”

“They must have names of UMRA”

“We have their names”

“Give us your authority to arrest them”

Moles’ calm evaporated under the hail of words, to Prieto they seemed as penetrating as the bullets that had cut down the young Assault Guard captain just a few hours earlier. The anger of the men was fearsome, and Prieto feared for what would happen next, a fear that
Moles clearly shared.

“Give me your word” Moles said after looking at the names on the grubby list that had been slapped down before him, “ give me your word that you will arrest, and I mean arrest, nothing else, only the names on this list. Arrest them and take them to the prison, not to Pontejos. Do you give me your word.”

It was Prieto’s sometime bodyguard, Cuenca, who replied to the minister.

“But of course minister, we will do as you say, but we must act now, or others may take more” he paused, “ appropriate action”.

“Then you have my authority, to arrest those members of the Falange, go and be quick.”

Nothing more was said, the group left with much noise but little said. Condes was guided by some of the others, to Prieto the man seemed to be in a complete daze. Cuenca on the other hand, although one of the most junior seemed very much in command, of himself and Preito feared the others.

As the door shut, Moles rose and went to a small table on which stood a large terracotta pot. He extracted a large carafe from it’s depths and poured himself a glass of water, remembering his manners he offered one to Prieto too. Much as he wanted it Prieto declined, he wanted to keep the minister off balance.

“Why was the guardia, what was his name”

“Condes”

“Why was he so upset?”

“Him and Castillo were great friends, Castillo bought him into UMRA.”

“I am frightened about what they may do tonight.”

“But they gave me their word”

“That young one, Cuenca, he is one of my bodyguards, but he is a complete thug, a terrorist, one who loves to kill, I don’t like him or trust him”

“You mean you think they will kill those on the list”

“Minister, if another few falangistas are killed no one will really notice or care, we all know they are bandits themselves. No I am afraid they will take it up a level, or even several.”

Suddenly Prieto’s fears crystallised. He recalled snatches of a conversation he had heard when being driven to a meeting earlier in the spring. Cuenca, seated next to the driver, the words spoken with deliberate malice

“I tell you we should stop pissing about with the small fry, if they hit us then we go for the top, cut off the head, the rest of the body will soon rot.”

“Senor Moles, who of the Right is in town, who is around, who is vulnerable”

Moles went white, “your not serious”

“I am” Prieto loosened his collar, “ God know’s I detest them all, but you have given those men your authority, how will it look if the Government starts assassinating the leaders of the opposition, you're the minister of the Interior, you must know, who is in town!”

Moles flinched and sat down heavily. “Well Goicoechea is away and I think that Gil Robles has gone to Biarritz. But Calvo Sotelo is around, I saw him only this morning.”

Prieto sighed. Calvo Sotelo, the scourge of the government and the left; many on the right adored him as the coming man, perhaps it would be better if he removed tonight. Then reason came back to him, Sotelo dead would be more powerful than alive, sometimes in politics you had to do the hard thing.

“Warn him minister, warn him now.”

Nodding a thoroughly subdued Juan Moles picked up the phone and requested an outside line.
 
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Nice Job!

You can tinker with the timeline dramatically by tinkering with the entry of German and Russian forces. What if they decide to save some coin, and send tanks but no planes? What if they send only advisors?
 
Thanks for posting, yes I can but to be honest at this moment in time I am concentrating on the events of the rising itself. It's one of those moments in history where so much depended on individuals, their psychology and their reactions to events, so I feel a little tampering with history is justified here.
 
CHAPTER 2 THE FATE OF THE PRISONER 01:00 13th July 1936

Although it was early morning the light was still on and he could see every detail of the brick wall in front of him, the patterns of the morter, thick in some places thin in others. Splatters of it had touched the face of the brick in places, marring the smooth surface. Elsewhere one brick had crashed against another as it was laid and a corner had come away, only partially filled with the plaster, a cavity opening up beyond. He thought about the men who had put the wall up, their carelessness and slovenly actions those of poorly paid and unmotivated workers. All that would need to change, and in a wonderful way it had the whitewash had covered all, bringing together disparate elements, coating them with its thick creamy finish, making them stand together as one. This is how the fascist state should be, would be, they were coming close.

The word had gone out, “Covadonga” the place of the great King Pelayo, “we can no longer allow this state of affairs to continue”. Pelayo had been referring to the Moors and he had begun the reconquista, now they were about to embark on a new crusade to liberate Spain from all that was seeking to destroy it. He looked again at the wall, at the cross shaped mark that indicated where his crucifix had been until a week ago. Removed by the spite of his new jailer, but still he could look at it’s imprint, it would be weeks before the dust and muck would catch up and obliterate it, and ever the cross was in his mind and in his heart. Spain, one holy and catholic, one people together once more, the stain of the conflict that was bought by alien ideologies would be purged, Arriba Espana.

His reverie was bought to a halt by the sound of marching boots, the clank of keys, the bark of an order. What now! The door opened, two army officers and a jailer stood looking at him. One of the officers, a Captain, spoke.

“Prisoner stand, I am Captain Miguel y Ortiz from the Alicante garrison, you are to accompany me, you have questions to answer.”

“Questions?”

“We need information about the plans, your friends plans, we know something is coming, you will tell us.”

He stood up, the warder came behind him, knotting his hands together with some twine he had bought for the purpose and then with the officers leading and the warder bringing up the rear they began the journey along the corridor. As they walked he saw the other officer draw his pistol. Fear came stealing into his chest, winding round his heart, squeezing. This was not to be an interrogation, an execution instead. In his mind he began reciting the familiar words, his favourite words,

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:

They reached the end of one corridor and turned left into another, empty but for the naked bulbs which lit the way and a dark door at the end. He had been this way before, to answer their questions, at least they had always been civilised with him, not always with his companions though. He thought of Miguel, his brother, but they were not passing his cell. He thought of his father, how would he feel about what was planned? Probably he would be answering his questions soon, he wouldn’t like the army involvement, they even said that scoundrel Quiepo was in on it, if death was to rob him of the sight of victory at least he would not be able to see that turncoat sunning himself in its glory.

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:

He was going to meet his maker, his Lord, he must not soil the moment of his departure with fear or irresolution. He would not try to make a deal, he would not speak of what was to come, he would be resolute, he would not betray his followers, his comrades, he would..

“Senor, Captain, the interrogation chamber is this way, where are you going”

The voice of the warder cut into his thoughts, but the comfort he had gained remained, he was ready for whatever came.

“General Galdave wishes to interrogate the prisoner in person, did I not make that clear, do you think that the general is going to come down to your shitty jail at this time of night, we are taking the prisoner to him, understand.”

“But it is not regular, I need authorisation, you can not do this”

“We are the authorities, we are the authorisation, but if you wish to obstruct I will ask the general to discuss this matter with the warden in the morning.” Ortiz was level and commanding in his tone but he noticed the other officer, the silent one, took a firmer grip on his pistol, his thumb now resting on the safety catch.

Without waiting for a reply they moved to the left, through a door, then another, then across a courtyard, with the stars shining above down on them. He risked a quick glance up at their immense vastness. All the heavens, the throne of the Lord..


If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

There was only one gate left now. Suddenly the prison, which had at first seemed so alien, so squalid, so removed from the joys of life, the prison now felt comfortable, a sort of home, his last home on this earth. He shuddered, Hold On, he thought to himself, Hold On, it won’t be long now.

There were two guards at the gate and they had rifles which they carried on their shoulders, as they approached one began to unsling his but the other motioned to him that it was ok. Words of reassurance floated across the courtyard and the other guard replaced his rifle and wandered into the guardhouse, switching on a light that illuminated the entrance. The prison guard behind was still keeping pace with them, still protesting but Ortiz and his companion strode on with determination. At the gate the first guard was drawing back bolts and then began to push open the huge door.

“He must have an escort from the prison, it is our way, our orders”

“You” said Ortiz to the guard by the half open door, “you come with us, we won’t be long, does that satisfy you senor warder.”

“Yes, yes” the warder kept moving from one foot to another, something about this was not right, but somehow he could not find the words to oppose these men.

Beyond the door he could see a car, an ordinary black sedan, a driver at the wheel, seeing movement he switched on the engine and the headlights blazed out a second later, he walked out into the light. So this would be it, a passeo a ride into the night and then a journey into that greater dawn...

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:

Gathering his dignity he stepped into the car, thanking the man who held the door for him, the silent one with the pistol who got in behind him whilst the guard from the gate already blocked the door on the other side. Ortiz gave a ironic farewell salute to the warder, stepped into the front seat and ordered the driver to begin.

Within minutes his knowledge of what was going to happen was confirmed. He had half hoped it would still be an interrogation, Galdave was on the list, he knew the plans, well some of them, he had had high hopes of leaving the prison within a few days, but not like this. The silence in the car was unsettling, he dug deeper into his mind and began the poem again, it calmed him, confirming him in his actions, his dreams, his destiny, now sadly to be fulfilled by others, others who he feared would be less worthy.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
They were leaving the town, the roads were deserted and the suburbs of the port were flying by. Of course, the would go into the desert to do the deed, and then he would be found later, dumped by the side of the road like rubbish, or perhaps hidden, no they wouldn’t want his followers to think he might still be alive.

Ortiz turned to the driver.

“Are we safe”

“Yes no one has followed”

“Deus gracia” Ortiz turned to him a broad smile on his face. “Senor Jefe, forgive our masquerade back there, there will be no interrogation, we are yours to command, you are free”

“But” he stuttered “what about Galdave”

The silent man spoke at last. “That old woman won’t rise, we have seen the signs for weeks, one minute he’s on the next he’s off, he has no stomach for it, you’d have rotted in that jail, or worse. We had to wait until there were enough of us on duty at the prison to pull this off, it was tonight or never. We are yours, where do you wish to go.”

Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, son of the late dictator and leader of the Falange Española de las Juntas de Ofensiva Nacional Sindicalista settled back against the seat, his sudden change of fortune sinking in.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!​

He thought for a moment then spoke,

“Granada, lets go to Granada.”
 
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CHAPTER 3 AFTER THE GENERAL’S LUNCH

SEVILLE Saturday 18th July 1936 2.30pm

The general studied his wine glass, rolling his hands around the stem. It had been a good lunch, he had wanted that. In case things went badly, he wanted the satisfaction of having had a last good meal, not in the confines of a prison cell, but here in the officers club, one of those havens of civilised life; the life that he was not prepared to see destroyed by the reds, the life he was going to fight to keep.

Was he being wise, no, he really should wait to hear form Morocco, after all so much depended on the legion, and perhaps the moors. Seville was too full of reds, to few dependable men, would they be able to hold on? How long would they need to hold on for. But nothing was happening, Mola as usual was full of nervous shit, Sanjurjo preening himself and his white horse in Lisbon, Franco and the others waiting for someone to make the first move, well today he would, for good or ill he would make a move; he’d helped bring down that cocksucker Primo de Rivera and his King, now he’d do the same to the republic which had promised so much and only bought conflict and betrayal.

“General”, the mess waiter in his white jacket was holding out the chit for him to sign, he did so with a flourish, the big G that everyone knew stood for Gonzalo Queipo de Llano, before standing up, straightening his uniform, patting his pocket to make sure the cigar was there (he’d make sure they let him smoke it in front of the firing squad if it went wrong), and marching off in the direction of the barracks. The Generals and Colonels might be unreliable but he knew there was a major or two he could depend on, and it felt like a good afternoon for a coup.


MADRID Saturday 18th July 1936 6.00pm

Once again Indalecio Prieto sat in the minister’s office, Quiroga the prime minister had told him to stop calling, yelling they will think that you run the country not me. Once again the demands were the same, arm the workers, or at the very least send out warnings, the rising is nearly upon us, arrest Mola, arrest Goded, arrest......

“Stop”, Moles waved a hand at him, but the gesture was weak. The last four days had taken their toll on the Minister for the Interior. Demonstrations by day, gunshots at night. Giral, the minister of the marine had suggested he try to keep a national picture of what was going on but it was all too confusing, and when he rang provincial governors and Generals could he really trust their assurances of loyalty. He was too old for this and it was clear that Quiroga was too ill, everyone was expecting his resignation within days.

“Stop, stop, anyway I do not have the authority, or for that matter the power. Here in the capital even, the military have taken the bolts from the spare rifles, they are stored up in the Montana, they won’t release them.”

“So you have your answer to what is going on”

“It is lost, it is falling apart” Moles put his head in his hands, his shrunken demeanour a living metaphor for the position of the whole Republican Government thought Prieto as he stood up and walked round to the minister’s side of the desk. He sat on the corner, taking care not to disturb the ornate inkstand and blotter, and fixed Moles with a steady stare.

“Minister, you are not made for war, perhaps neither am I, but there are many who are, men who will gather to fight, who will provide the leadership for the masses, so that they are not taken unawares. Will you not warn them, will you not allow them the chance they need to fight for their rights.”

For a moment Prieto thought he had got through, that the relationship that he had cultivated over the last few days, since he had persuaded the minister to warn Calvo Sotelo had allowed him to make that final leap, to accept that the days of his bourgeois government were over and that it was the turn of the workers.

“No, I cannot, the others would not countenance it.”

The door opened and a frightened looking official came in. “Minister, it’s on the radio”

“What is”

“Seville, minister, Queipo de Llano minister, he’s risen minister, he’s shot several of his colleagues and the garrison and the Guardia and the Assaltos are all with him. He’s on the radio now, saying the army of Africa are coming and calls on all to follow his example and rise”

Moles went white again and his breathing seemed to become ragged, he seemed to have no words.

“He says quite a few other things also minister, but they are not,” incredibly given the news the official looked embarrased, “they are not apporpriate to the dignity of this office” he finished.

Prieto turned to the official.

“The minister was just saying to me that we should warn all provincial governors and military commands, to arrest anyone, especially any officer, who looks like they are going to rise, this needs to go out now.”

The official gazed at Moles, who just nodded ever so slightly, then turned to carry out the order.

As he left Moles turned towards him, Prieto mused that he was almost becoming this man’s confessor.

“There is one other thing you should know, we have kept it quiet and they have as well, but the other night, while we were here protecting Sotelo, Jose Antonio was sprung from Alicante jail by the Falange, we have on idea where he is now.”

No words were necessary, Prieto’s expression said it all.

BURGOS Saturday 18th July 1936 6.15pm

“I don’t believe it, the swine, the unbelievable swine”

General Emilio Mola turned the radio off with a click and looked at his aides with astonishment. “Wasn’t he told the new date, doesn’t he know the African army won’t rise till Monday morning, doesn’t he know that Franco’s still sunning himself in the Canaries, we haven’t even sent the plane for Sanjurjo yet, the swine, how dare he.”

“So what are you going to do, you can’t keep to the timetable now can you, even this sluggard of a government will start to come down on you, apart from Africa and perhaps here I can’t think of anywhere that is definately safe, you need to move now Gereral, not tonight, not tomorrow and certainly next week”

The speaker paused to extract a cheroot from his inside pocket and light it with an economical gesture that spoke of long practice

“for if you leave it till next week we will all be as surely dead as I thought I was going to be the other night”

Calvo Sotelo had not hesitated when Juan Moles’ phone call had come through, the quiver in the minister’s voice had spoken as much as his words about rogue elements in the police. Even so he’d had to leave on foot and had sought safety in a friends house, a friend so apolitical to not feature on anyone’s radar. The following morning he had begged a lift to Burgos from the same friend, an etymologist, he had spoken excitedly about the variety of species being seen in the Guardarrama at this time of year, leaving Sotelo to gasp at his unawareness of the times around him; how he wondered would Ricardo Saenz fare in the days and weeks to come.

Now, saved from an untimely end; how stupid of the minister to warn him, he would not have reciprocated; Sotelo sat in Mola’s headquarters, harassing the nervous general. Surely he had been spared to play a great part in the events of these days. He was not going to waste the opportunity. Besides it gave him a huge kick ordering the military man around.

“You need to do the following things now. Get Ansaldo off his butt and into the air to Lisbon to collect Sanjurjo, send out the word to Africa to rise tonight and everywhere else tomorrow, seal off Burgos’ Casa de Pueblo, rise tomorrow as early as you can, cancel all leave now,”

“And the Carlists, they still have not signed the letter”

“Get Conde in here now, I’ll explain that the situation has changed and its now or never.”

“Now or never, yes”.

Emilio Mola had spent months thinking, planning and working towards this moment. But the sheer enormity of it was quite overwhelming. If only they could have kept to the timetable he had devised, but as Sotelo said, it was now or never.
 
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CHAPTER FOUR A night in Saragossa

SARAGOSSA Saturday 18th July 1936 8.00 pm

General Miguel Nunez del Prado replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle and frowned at his reflection in the gaudy mirror. The evening was hot and oppressive, the normal noises of the street as absent as the people. Many of them, the men anyway, were down in the main square sitting beneath banners emblazoned with the letters UHP that proclaimed the unity of all working men. But the workers were bored, playing cards and dominoes as if the action of going on strike would be enough to head off the imminent military coup. Because it was going to happen, of that he had no doubt now.

His day had begun with a summons to the minster of marine, Jose Giral, who conversationally asked him if he wouldn’t mind popping up to Saragossa to see how Cabanellas was inclined, as if this were somehow taking the temperature prior to a dip in the pool. Cabanellas, was an old colleague, fellow mason and at onetime even a friend. But he had been met at the airport by a truck with a squad of troops and a car with a single army Captain for company. He hadn’t seen his old friend and comrade yet and was beginning to wonder if he would.

They’d driven through the town centre, close enough for del Prado to see the strikers.

“What are they hoping to achieve?” he’d muttered, part reflectively part conversationally.

“What they hope for is irrelevant, it’s what happens” said the young Captain.

“Which will be?”

The Captain just drew a long finger across his throat and stared moodily out of the window.

“Where are we going, what is happening, am I under arrest” it was half a joke but hid a real fear.

“No, no General, how can we arrest you! You were in control of the Guardia Civil and now the army after all” the Captain laughed, but it sounded forced. “No General Cabanellas asked for you to be put up at the Rio Agra, he will drop by soon I am sure, but there is an issue that has come up that he needs to deal with first. You will be comfortable”

Comfortable, yes he was in this tart’s boudoir they had called a honeymoon suite, as comfortable as a bull being fattened up before the fight. But not free. There was a guard (“for your protection General, there has been trouble on the streets”) and the telephone down to the reception wasn’t working, (“it is not a problem General, if you want something just ask, that is what we are here for”). He’d walked right into it and now he was stuck. Giral, (and he was one of the more competent ones) and the rest of them in the Government had no idea about what was happening out here in the country. Perhaps he had been as ignorant, but now he could feel it, the tension was palpable, like the air under a thundercloud just before the rain burst forth.

The thing was should he do anything about it or just sit here and let events take their course. After all, maybe a few months of military dictatorship would be enough to set the country to rights again. But he had done what he could to prevent it, he’d moved senior officers around, sacking some and demoting others, it would be remembered. Then he thought of the long thin finger of the Captain as it crossed the vitals of his throat. It was unthinkable, but perhaps he was really at risk.

Miguel Nunez del Prado was nothing if not brave, he had fought in the Rif, he was not going to lie down and let people take his freedom or even his life away. He rose and went to the door, opening it to check that the guard was still there. He took a deep breath and with a composure he no longer truly possessed spoke:

“Soldier, I am tired and hungry, please get the hotel to send up some light dinner and then I shall turn in; if General Cabanellas comes within the hour admit him but otherwise I do not wish to be disturbed,”

The soldier glanced down the hall, as he suspected there was another down there, probably the Captain then nodded his understanding. The lack of a salute told del Prado all he really needed to know and retreating behind the door he began to examine the room. One window was firmly shut but a second could be opened, and he did so to get air and examine his surroundings. He was two stories up but at the back of the hotel, there was a ledge a few feet below and a fire escape at the end of the building, no guard was obvious at the bottom.

Ninety minutes after the staff had left with the remains of his dinner, del Prado eased his bulk out of the window and down onto the ledge. It felt firm but all the same he crabbed his way along its length till he reached the cast iron fire escape. Getting over those railings was worse than getting out of the window, and at one point he could feel himself slipping but hastily pulled himself back in. Within minutes he was on the ground. He knew Saragossa from of old and it only took him twenty minutes to get to the main square. The workers had diminished in number but there were still pockets of them gathered around fires that blazed out of improvised braziers.

More importantly there were some police, a detachment of Assalto’s and Civil Guards standing in the lee of a cafe that was unusually quiet. He straightened his uniform and marched straight up to them.

“Men” he exclaimed “I am General Nunez del Prado, I am on a government inspection of the City. I have been held captive illegally by the army and I now require the services of our loyal police forces. I am very afraid that an illegal rising is close at hand, are you with me.”

The group looked at one another clearly unsure of what to do; the moment stretched dangerously and Nunez del Prado scrutinized the men closely before encountering what he sought.

“Sargent Mora isn’t it” he said fixing one Guardia with his gaze, thank goodness for parades he thought, and for a memory that managed to bring together faces and names “Sargent are you with me,”

“Yes my General, I am with you”. It was the moment, the turning point and within seconds the others were also pledging their allegiance. Within minutes they were inside the cafe, and a phone call to Madrid was confirming del Prado’s fears and the policemen’s decision as they learned of Queipo de Llano’s actions in Seville.

“But what can we do about the army” questioned one of them.

Nunez del Prado looked at them all. They seemed to be with them but this would be another test of their allegiance, a far greater one. “We must go to the civil governor, but first we must go to the Casa del Pueblo. These out here” he gestured to the workers huddled in clusters outside, “they are like sheep ready to be slaughtered, they need leadership and we will ensure that happens. We have no option, together as the government, the police and the people we can defeat this evil which is brewing in our midst.”

There was a moment to consider and then as one they saluted and followed him outside.

SARAGOSSA The morning of the 19th July 1936

The column set out from the barracks before dawn. Cabanellas rode in the second car, behind him were twelve trucks, filled with soldiers who had been roused from their beds to hear that Spain was in danger and they were to do their duty. Into Saragossa they swept, the empty streets allowing them easy passage. The trucks halted in one corner of the square and the soldiers dismounted. As the sky lightened Cabanellas could make out huddled forms all over the plaza, he nodded to Major Romanes and the first group of soldiers fanned out across the square. The rest of the troops were drawn up in lines as Cabanellas drew out the proclamation that had come through form Burgos just a few hours earlier. But before he could begin a shot rang out, clear through the air. At first he thought the soldiers had been too energetic in clearing the sleepers, then as he looked he realised that there were none, all they were picking up were rags of clothing arranged in bundles.

He looked across and realised that the North entrance to the square had armed police positioned behind a hastily constructed barricade. At the same moment a truck was pulled across the street they had entered from blocking their exit. Shutters in buildings were pulled aside to reveal rifles pointed at the group of soldiers in the square, they were trapped. Then a group detatched itself from the police and out walked General Nunez del Prado with the civil governor, a grim smile on his face.

It took less than five minutes to disarm the soldiers, they returned to the barracks under the control of an Assalto captain and accompanied by FAI agitators alternately welcoming them and warning them of fascist conspiracies. Meanwhile the square was suddenly full of cheering workers, waving captured rifles and shouting the words of anarchist and socialist songs.

“So what did you have planned for me old friend, was I to be shot.” asked Nunez del Prado as he shouldered his way across the crowd to where Cabanellas was held by a Guardia and an Assalto.

“Oh no, I was going to send you to Mola”

“So he could do it eh, well I am afraid you are guilty of treason against the republic and because of the actions of others I don’t know where it is safe to send you. You leave me with no option.” He turned to the group who had shadowed him through the night as increasingly they had bound themselves to fighting the rising, “Mora, carry out the justice of our republic and you shall be a Lieutenant today.”

Mora took Cabanellas a short distance away, but the sound of the fatal shot was drowned by the noise of others celebrating the coming revolution.
 
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Fresh update for those interested

CHAPTER FIVE Colonel Aranda's choices

OVIEDO Lunchtime Sunday 19th July 1936

For Carlos Martinez, the journey had been long, hot, tiring and not a little scary. The port city of Gijon was only 27 km from Oviedo, but even at the best of times the winding road took between 1 and 2 hours. Today he had set out at 7, hoping to reach his destination before the heat of the day took hold, but he had not taken account of the barricades and an excitable radicalised populace.

Porceyo just outside of Gijon had been his first check; three men in blue overalls but with black and red scarfs; anarcho-syndicalists, like those who had taken control of the docks behind him. Where was he going, who was he, was he armed, what were his intentions; it took several productions of his party card and a letter (ironically about hotel arrangements in Madrid for when the Cortes was in session) before they believed his identity, even then they were suspiscious of his motives.

“Look I am a member of the Radical Socialist party and as a member of the popular front I am going to a meeting of the popular front parties in Oviedo; we need to meet with Colonal Aranda to assess the threat that we are facing”

“Aranda, that dog, he’s the threat”

“I have met him, talked with him, he is a man of honour, he views the generals who are rising with contempt.”

“So he says, well comrade, you watch that man like a hawk, he’ll be sending off the best militants and then rising behind your back before I can say General Sanjurjo”

But with that and after exhorting him to put on a UHP armband they let him go. Once he was round the corner Martinez took it off again, he didn’t know who he was going to bump into next. Sure enough the Pinzales river was guarded, but by Guardia Civil. They too spent an age checking his identity but in a much more taciturn way. What their thoughts or orders were Martinez didn’t know but after what seemed an age they waved him through.

The tiny village of Pruvia had been quiet, the houses shuttered, the square still, the church silent and the doors shut. Only an old woman in black hanging out washing gave any indication that people lived here. By contrast Castiel was a hive of activity. Miners lived here and an impromptu rally was taking place in the main, indeed only, street and Martinez got out of his car to listen to the speeches.

At first no one paid him any attention, all eyes were on a makeshift platform where speaker after speaker rose to declare the need to defend the proletariat. Up here they were all socialists, with a sprinkling of the new communists who though few in number seemed to be taking leading roles to Martinez’s concern. One of them, better dressed than the workers, a leather jacket barely concealing a pistol in his belt came straight over to Martinez as soon as he had finished speaking to the crowd.

“Senor Martinez”, it was odd thought Ricardo that the communists were still using bourgeois forms of address in the midst of this chaos, “you are headed for Oviedo”

“When I can get through.”

“I need to go too, you will take me.”

Martinez nodded his acquiescence and with that the communist put his hand on the horn of the car and when that failed to shift the crowd pulled out his pistol and fired two shots into the air. The crowd scattered as if a platoon of Moors had just appeared and the rest of the journey was completed in silence.

The communist gave his name as Noren, but Martinez doubted if it was real, his accent didn’t seem right for a birth in this part of the world. But he didn’t have the chance to listen further as Noren relaxed back in his seat and allowed Martinez to drive while he shut his eyes.

Oviedo, which they reached without further incident was also in uproar. The cafe’s were busy with crowds clustered around the radio, listening to the latest news of the rising. There were Guardia present as well and Martinez noticed that they were wearing steel helmets rather than the customary tricorn, significant, he couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t get to the Campo de San Francisco and had to park a way off. Having got out he discovered that Noren was following him. He turned with to ask what he was doing but the Communist smiled and said:

“Senor Martinez, has the civil governor not invited all members of the popular front to a meeting.”

“Yes”

“Well, we Communists, under the wise and gracious leadership of Comrade Stalin are joining with all workers and enemies of fascism, so I too am invited”, and with that he strode ahead and Martinez found himself tagging along behind.

The room was crowded and the meeting clearly had been underway for some time. The Civil Governor, a recent appointee and in everyone’s eyes a complete nonentity, sat somewhat disheveled at a table covered in a green cloth trying to look knowledgeable but only betraying his limited grasp of the situation. By contrast, Colonel Aranda, standing alongside a map, his uniform crisp and clean, looked in complete control.

“So Gentlemen, ah comrades, Minister Prieto”, that in itself was news to many and a collective gasp ran around the room; so the socialists had either become the government or joined it, “Minister Prieto has sent an urgent request for reliable troops and militant workers to defend the government in Madrid. We are secure here, who would like to volunteer.”

There was an excited uproar as several miners leaders stood pledging themselves to the revolution not the government.

“But” cried one, “we should go without delay to Madrid, by making the revolution there then we defend our revolution here,” and a group were already exiting when Noren stood up, walked to the table and banged his fist on the green cloth.

“General, are you willing to arm these men”

“There is no need they have their own arms.”

Martinez knew this to be true in part, following the abortive revolt of 1934 many militants had managed to store away arms cache’s, but the rifles were mainly old and probably had not been well kepr.

“And how do you propose they get to Madrid?”

“There are lorries downstairs, ready”

“Supplied by you Colonel, how convenient, and which route should they take?”

“Prieto said the need was urgent, things are not decided in the capital like here, they should go the most direct way...”

“Through Vallodolid, through a falangist stronghold, poorly armed, while we still don’t know what is happening in all Castille, we don’t know what is happening with the basques, we don’t know what is happening at the base in El Ferrol and Galicia, you would strip us of our most dedicated men Colonel, whose side are you on.”

The uproar in the room grew greater and several voices, socialist and republican rose to defend Aranda, (the Colonel just stood by his map unwilling to descend to a personal defence of his actions). At that point a young clerk who Martinez recognised from previous visits beckoned to him,

“Senor Martinez, this Colonel, I have heard him on the telephone, he is not as loyal as some here think, I have heard him talking to General Mola, in his heart he wants to rise.”

The clerks words came together with other images, the helmeted Guardia outside, the words of the anarchists just outside Gijon, and the utter assurance with which Neron carried himself. He didn’t want to see Aranda lynched, but surely there were some safeguards that could be taken. Martinez waited till the uproar had died down and then he stood.

“Friends, brothers, comrades”, he spoke “ I have known Colonel Aranda for all the time he has been here, he is a man of honour and I do not think he will betray us. But the times are treacherous, who would have predicted what happened in Seville. Our friend here is a communist, well communists have commissars don’t they, why can’t we. Let Colonel Aranda be accompanied by three commissars so that the Socialists, the Anarchists and us Republicans are all represented. Colonel Aranda, we will accompany you, not to hinder you in your work but rather to create trust and better communication.”

The look in the Colonel’s eye, it was but a momentary flash but to Martinez it revealed deep frustration and the sense of plans thwarted. Neron also looked angry, clearly he had hoped for the role that Martinez had outlined but the Communists didn’t have enough of a voice in the room and he subsided.

“And what of my military advice” the colonel asked truculently, “are we sending out workers to relieve Madrid?”

“Of course they should go” said Martinez, “when they are properly armed and when we know the situation a little better. So many were lost in October 34, we cannot let that happen again here can we.”

The memory of Franco’s repression, the murdering regiments of Moors, was still fresh and a shudder went through the room. The mood shifted and those who were about to embark to save Madrid returned. Downstairs the lorries could be heard returning to the barracks. Martinez sat down and wiped the sweat off his brow. Around him workers representatives were busy making the revolution, while he maybe had saved something of the republic.

OVIEDO 10:00pm

Colonel Aranda put down the telephone that he had used for a routine call to the governor. The listening presence had been unmistakeable, it was no use, he could not get through, his plans had come to nothing. His eyes fell on his service revolver and he allowed self destructive thoughts run through his head, either the lonely quick way out or rushing outside bellowing the legion cry of ‘long live death’ and trying to rally who he could. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

The republic looked like it was going to survive, at least for a while. But the generals had taken enough towns and cities to not give in either, and Franco was poised in Africa to lead the Legion and the Moors up from the South. So there was going to be a war, and war was where generals like him made their reputation, and the Republic was going to need good generals. He would stay loyal, cast his lot with this rag tag of groups, not for them and their revolution, nor for Spain, nor even for his own skin, but for his reputation as a good officer. He had a war to fight and he would do his best to win it.

 
Yes I will do a post shortly which explains what has happened and what is different. My rationale behind this is that although most people tend to look at the Spanish Civil War as part of the European struggle against fascism or communism, it was essentially a Spanish event onto which other wider issues were grafted, first by the participants and later by the historians.

The changes here are essentially Spanish ones, they are aimed at giving the Republic a slightly more level playing field in terms of long term survival, firstly by making some of the very unpredictable events of 1936 go a bit more their way (hence them holding Oviedo in Asturias and Saragossa) and also by ensuring the survival of two prominent and popular right wing politicians in Calvo Sotelo and Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, in giving Franco a bit more internal opposition so that its hard for him to so dominate the political scene in the Nationalist area. The very visible internal divisions in the Republican zone as against the (seeming) monolithic unity of the Nationalist zone is one of the striking features of OTL and helped to give credibility to the Franco regime which after all was the insurgent force but which many people quickly viewed as the legitimate governemnt.

I will post later, bit busy now, giving information on the people mentioned so far.
 
Background info on C 1

Dramatis Personae and explanation of POD’s in this timeline

Chapter One Assassination Averted

Juan Moles was Minister for the Interior in the short lived Republican Government of 1936, he played no significant role in events as far as I can tell.

Indalecio Prieto was a significant socialist politician, considered more of a moderate than the leader of the Sociaist party Largo Caballero, a man who was briefly called the Spanish Lenin. Prieto. Prieto had served as a minister in earlier republican governemnts and when Largo Caballero became head of Government he served as Minister of Marine and Air and later as Minister of Defence. In July 1936 he was actively petitioning the prime minster Casares Quiroga to arm the workers, I have no idea if he ever approached Moles.

Goded Cabanellas, Queipo de Llano and Franco are all generals, they all rose against the republic in OTL

Franco did write to Casares Quiroga warning of a rising, though whether this was genuine or Franco just seeking to cover himself or cause confusion is not known. Quiroga never replied. There is a timeline on the board which has this as a POD with Quiroga replying getting Franco on board and Franco helping crush the generals uprising, leading to a left leading Spain playing a significant part on the side of the Allies in WW2.

The Guardia Civil or Civil Guard were the traditional paramilitary police, regarded particularly by the rural poor as oppressors. When the republic came in 1931 the Assault Guards or Assaltos were set up to provide a more politically friendly (for the left) police. In the event in 1936 the Civil Guard and Assaltos went both ways depending on local circumstances. Their attitude was often crucial to the success of a rising, it was rare if non-existant for the army to be able to carry out a successful rising on its own.

UMRA was an association of republican and left leaning army officers which was formed to combat right wing elements in the army and police.

Lt Jose Castillo was assassinated by some falangists and a group including Fernando Condes and Luis Cuenca were among them, the latter was a member of Prieto’s bodyguard and was the man who fired the fatal shot that killed Calvo Sotelo. Moles gave them permission to carry out arrests but crucially they decided to kill a leading right winger and Calvo Sotelo was the one they found at home.

Calvo Sotelo was at that time the leader of Renovación Española a right wing monarchist party and effective leader of the opposition in the Cortes. The day before his murder he had delivered an incendiary speech in the Cortes criticising the left and the government in excoriating terms. His assassins felt he was guilty of inciting political violence.

Some have held that his murder was the spark that lit the flame but in reality the planning for the rising was so far advanced that it did little but bring it forward a few days. However it may well have contributed significantly to popular support among traditionalists and conservatives for the military. The sense that the Government was murdering the opposition was very real.

This really is the key POD in this timeline as without the murder there is slightly less support for the uprising and the timetable is slightly different than in OTL (where the rising began in Spanish Morocco on 17th July), making the changes that I am suggesting possible.

The survival of Calvo Sotelo, along with that of Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera is also going to be significant in terms of supplying alternative leadership to Franco. Franco was incredibly lucky (!) in that alternative credible leaders either died early on in the war, or were already discredited.

Sorry about the length of this, but I guess people will read if they are interested. If anyone has any comments I would be very pleased to hear them.
 
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Background info on Chapter 2

Dramatis Personae and explanation of POD’s in this timeline

Chapter 2 The fate of the Prisoner

Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera was the son of General Miguel Primo de Rivera the late military dictator of Spain through the twenties whose fall had ushered in the Republic, Jose Antonio went into politics in part to redeem his father’s name and reputation. His hostility towards General Queipo de Llano is because of the latter’s attempts to overthrow Primo de Rivera in his last few years. Jose Antonio once physically attached Quiepo when he came across him in a cafe.

Jose Antonio is a complex romantic character, I find him similar to Garbirelle d’Annunzio the Italian proto fascist who led the occupation of Fiume in the aftermath of WWI. He thought of himself as a poet revolutionary, (his favourite poem was “if”, hence quoting it at length) and was profoundly suspiscious of the reactionary nature of much of the military rising, he was if you like a fascist who really believed in the workers part of the ideology. But for all their noise and fury the falange were politically insignificant in Spain and once Jose Antonio was out the way easily dominated by Franco to provide an idealogical vehicle for the regime.

In early 1936 Jose Antonio was imprisoned in Alicante. The regime was lax enough to allow him to communicate with the outside world so I thought it not impossible that someone might try to get him out of jail. Captain Ortiz is wholly fictional, but General Galdave was the military governor; in OTL he did vaccilate and then chose not to rise and Jose Antonio was executed in November 1936.

I have him heading for Granada where another poet Frederico Garcia Lorca met his death in later 1936, perhaps they will meet! As with Calvo Sotelo above, the death of Jose Antonio was v. convenient for Franco providing the right with with a martyr while eliminating a popular and charismatic opponent. I am just trying to make it a bit harder for Franco.

Again any comments welcome.
 
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Background info on Chapter 3

Dramatis Personae and explanation of POD’s in this timeline

Chapter 3 After the General’s lunch

General Queipo de Llano is one of the most colourful (and brutal) characters of the Spanish Civil War. A freemason and former republican conspirator he was regarded as ost unlikely to revolt and caught all of Seville by surprise. A city that was regarded as a left wing bastion fell to the army incredibly easily. He did go straight form lunch to the barracks but in OTL this is after the army had risen in Morocco, but he was a quixotic and individualistic personality and I think it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he would have.

My apologies for his language, he made a name for himself in the early days of the civil war with his obscene and bloodcurdling radio broadcasts and I felt I needed to be true to him. Why Quiepo turned against the republic is not clear, but some feel that he considered he was not properly promoted. He clearly had a huge ego, but for all that he was never given any post of significance under the Franco regime.

In Madrid in OTL the republican government stubbonly refused to arm the workers until under the pressure of news of risings and popular demonstrations the government fell. Here I have allowed them to change this and to begin to warn local government of the danger because of the trust that Moles is now placing in Prieto following his intervention over the assasination and the escape of Jose Antonio, in OTL neither of these happened.

General Emilio Mola was a monarchist based in Burgos which along with Pamplona was a centre for conservative monarchists and the Carlist movement, a popular peasant movement based on loyalty to Don Carlos who was an alternative candidate to the throne than the now exiled Alfonso XIII. Mola was nervous and highly strung, a good planner who nevertheless had limitations especially when it came to military ability. He never was a realistic leader but also conveniently died in a plane crash in early 1937.

General Sanjurjo, the imprisoned hero of past coups was now living in exile in Lisbon and was cast as the symbolic leader of the coup. In OTL Ansaldo his pilot begged him to not put all his dress uniforms in the plane but Sanjurjo insisted and the plane crashed on take off. I don’t plan to meddle with this, though Harry Turtledove does at the very beginning of his “The war that came early” series.

The Carlists are a strange and peculiarly Spanish phenomenon, monarchist but popular and supporting the line of a long dead pretender to the throne, if you want to know a bit more just look them up on wikipedia. Along with the falange they provided Franco with a mass movement and in 1937 he merged the two. Fal Conde was the Carlist leader and he constantly bickered with Mola in OTL about carlist preconditions for joining in with the rising.

The Casa de Pueblo or workers house was an institution in most Spanish towns, a place where the workers could gather for education, discussion or just to socialise. In places where the military rising was successful they were obvious targets.

The essential POD here is that Mola had to react to events rather than have them more in his control as he did in OTL, this has a knock on for the next two chapters. Again any comments welcome
 
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Background info on Chapter 4

Dramatis Personae and explanation of POD’s in this timeline

Chapter 4 A night in Saragossa

General Miguel Nunez del Prado was a thoroughly republican senior officer who caused a lot or resentment in the officer corps with his promotion of like minded officers in order to secure important areas. It was a policy that was not hugely successful. Franco was effectively exiled to the Canary Islands but he returned to lead the rising and was far safer than had he been in Barcelona or Madrid, while the loyalist Generals Romolares and Gomez Morato that he sent to Morocco were shot right at the beginning of the rising.

In OTL Nunez del Prado travelled to Saragossa to sound out his old friend and fellow mason Cabanellas, but the latter had already decided to rise and arrested Nunez del Prado as he got off the plane, Nunez del Prado was sent to Burgos and Mola had him executed. Because of the confused and delayed start to the rising in this TL he is instead confined in a hotel, but being a personally brave man he thinks nothing of climbing out of the window and organising resistance.

If the above event sounds rediculous there were plenty of similarly bizarre escapes and captures. In reading of the civil war I am always amazed that republican officers were not more aware of the danger that they were in and did not do more to protect themselves, I have given Nunez del Prado that opportunity.

Cabanellas in OTL did rise and his surprise occupation at dawn on the 19th July took the workers unawares. Cabanellas, who in photographs looks a benign bewhiskered old man was vicious in his repression, probably a combination of the city’s strong tradition of anarchism and the nearness of the front line during the early part of the war. I am afraid I had little compunction in having him executed there and then, this was more in line with the way the left acted. Both sides in the war acted brutally to the other, the right killed more because in winning they had more to kill.

The fall of Saragossa was viewed as a disaster by the anarchists in Barcelona and the surrounding area, and early military actions by the anarchists were obsessed about retaking the city. The republic keeping Saragossa is therefore a very significant butterfly which may have an effect on the course of the war as it threatens Mola’s flank.

The FAI were a secret society of highly militarized and politicised anarchists who saw themselves, (if this is not too obtuse) as almost a bolshevik vanguard of the working class, existing to fight the class war. Significant anarchist in the civil war such as Durruti were all members of the FAI.
 
Nice story, however I've seen that you keep writing Queipo de Llano's name as Quiepo de Llano, which is wrong, but it is a very good.
 
My apologies, I have always struggled with that one, I will edit and correct, I have no idea how you pronounce it! I'm English and can't speak Spanish.
 
Background info on Chapter 4

Dramatis Personae and explanation of POD’s in this timeline

Chapter 5 Colonel Aranda’s choices

Carlos Martinez was a minor republican politician in Gijon before and during the civil war, he did not play a major role though his place as a comissar is possible in that he acted as a liaison for another republican officer who struggled with commanding a militia. His account of the chaos in Oviedo when Colonel Aranda took over has informed my TL and is in Ronald Fraser’s “Blood of Spain” an oral history of the Spanish Civil War and one of my source books. There was an unnamed and junior official who kept warning that Aranda was going to rise but OTL everyone ignored him. Martinez’s did drive from Gijon to Oviedo but my account of his journey is wholly fictional but hopefully within the spirit of the time.

In OTL Colonel Aranda pulled off one of the major Nationalist coups of the war when he deceived the republicans and socialists of his intentions and pursuaded hundreds of poorly armed militant miners to head off to Madrid, (they were ambushed and killed in Valladolid) before declaring for the rising. In OTL they were beseiged in Oviedo and almost overcome until relieved by Nationalist forces from Galicia, they tied up large numbers of republican troops in the North. Like Seville and Saragossa the fall of Oviedo was a huge shock to the forces of the left.

My TL decision to firstly thwart Aranda's strategem and then get Aranda to decide to fight for the republic is one that not everyone will agree with, but I think not beyond the bounds of possibility. A number of the Generals who ended up fighting for the republic may well have done so because of where they were geographically located. General Miaja, for example, who was built up as the hero of the defence of Madrid was a member of the UME (Union Militar Espanola, the right wing officers group which led to the foundation of UMRA), and not a notable defender of the republic. The army’s officer corps was overcrowded and the need to have an opportunity to make a reputation was a real one.

Noren the communist is my invention, Norena is a small town near Oviedo.

This butterfly again is a result of the slightly less co-ordinated launch of the rising along with a greater index of suspicion on the part of republicans of whatever political hue. I think that the addition of Aranda as an officer will be of significance in the Northern front; in OTL he managed a very capable defence of Oviedo and may well make a significant contribution to the republic in this TL.

Any comments welcome.
 
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