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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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