Baraka
Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Tenerife, Canary Islands
January 1938
The Generals of the Rebel faction gather in a small mansion outside the city for an important meeting. With their Generalissimo Sanjurjo gone, the Junta now had to decide who was to take his place. Several candidates were on the table, including Franco, though without some opposition from Miguel Cabanellas and Emilio Mola. Cabanellas knew Franco very well, having been his superior years prior which earned him the name ‘Franquito, el Cuquito’.
Nevertheless, a vote was to be proposed and a new leader was to be chosen among their ranks.
“As you all know, I see no pressing need for a single commander or ‘Generalissimo’ as some have suggested. I prefer a Junta, as we have done so far.” Cabanellas stated to the Junta generals. Alfredo Kindelan, a fellow rebel officer explained in kind.
“General, the first strategy wins a war. The second loses it.” He then gives a peculiar look towards Franco, who was clutching his gloves.
“Very well. Then I will not vote”. Now was the moment of truth. The general prepares to listen to the votes as they were about to begin. “Who will vote then?” Cabanellas asked when the first one decided to cast the first vote.
“If I may, before you vote... one question, nothing more.” Millan Astray gets up and walks slowly forward, cigarette clinging between his fingers.
“Do you know what ‘Baraka’ means?”. There is only silence, only a few nodding heads. “When less than two months ago, General Sanjurjo, God rest his soul, was about to get on that plane, the pilot complained that his suitcase weighed too much. And it’s no wonder. All of his medals were inside. Because Sanjurjo was coming to Spain to lead the uprising. He should have been the GE-NE-RA-LI-SI-MO!”
“Then... the plane wouldn’t rise, it wouldn’t take flight... things got off to a bad start. Some might say it was the suitcase, others might say it was the pilot... or just bad luck.” He then makes a light chuckle.
“Providential luck.” He says as he lifts his fingers up. “That is ‘Baraka’.”
The Glorious Cripple suddenly slams his hand down on the table, startling the generals and catching their attention.
“My General and I fought together 16 years ago when I founded the Legion in Africa.” Millan Astray then puts the cigarette down after taking a quick puff from it.
“I never saw him tremble. Because Francisco Franco Bahamonde knows no fear and he never will. But not only that. The bullets they shot at us, the bullets...that took my eye, my arm and left me crippled...didn’t even graze him. They went right by him.” The veteran recounts this as if he was telling a camp-fire story about a legend. “They didn’t even touch him.”
Franco looks on with a sense of nervousness but also a feeling of gratitude that his friend was sticking up for him.
“Baraka, the moors called it. Señores, that’s what my general has. Baraka. I’ll leave it there.”
Having done his little speech, Millan Astray sits back down.
“And now vote” Cabanellas announce after a short while. One by one, the generals vote for Franco until it was his turn to cast the last vote. “It’s your turn, General.” Cabenllas notifies the hesitant man. Taking a big gulp and clutching his white gloves, he simply said what the others had; “Franco”.
A few hours later
The generals head back into their cars that drive them back to their new residences in these few bits of Spain under Nationalist control, far away from the Republic’s grasp.
"Emilio Mola, useless. Quipo de Llano, a drunk. Cabanellas, a Mason, everybody knows that...” “Why wouldn’t they vote for you, Paco? They’re nothing compared to you.” Millan Astray asks as if it was no problem. When he heard no answer, he looks back curiously. “What’s wrong?”.
Sitting in the back seat was Franco and his brother, Nicolas. While the former looked worried, the latter had a crossed look on his face. “Plenty of talk about the new Generalissimo, but no real power, Pepe. What about not making it public? They’re laughing at us.” Nicolas replies as he wasn’t amused by the whole situation.
“I don’t understand. Then why did they name you?”
“It’s exactly what I feared.” Franco finally speaks up about his thoughts.
“What?”
“A false step”.
***
The Nationalists were now in a very peculiar situation. They’ve just been kicked out from the Spanish mainland by the Republicans and are forced to take up shop in Africa for the foreseeable future. The fear of a naval invasion was allayed with the Regia Marina and the Marine Nationale guarding their areas, which stretched from the Balearic Islands all the way down to
With Franco now elected as Generalissimo, he got to work trying to reorganize the African territories. The junta invested in the infrastructure and started developing their colonies
During the civil war, the Nationalists had hoped for German support in winning the fight against the Republic, though that didn’t come to fruition. With a right-wing government now in power, they began courting the Germans for aid. Germany was interested in the Spaniards as they had huge phosphate deposits in the Sahara and needed another anti-communist ally in the coming war. Later on, Hitler met Franco and negotiated access across Morocco for the rebel forces to move in case of an attack.
Knowing that their territories weren’t self-sufficient, Franco met with the French in Algiers and negotiated with Petain for treaty ports and the flow of supplies, weapons, and food to the Spanish territories. To further boost their economy, they even allowed casinos in places such as Tangier, Ifni, and the Canary Islands.
While the Nationalists may be stuck to a few small, desert outposts in Africa, many of them still harbored dreams of reclaiming the mainland in the future. The only question is when would that happen and how it would happen.
Francisco Franco
Leader of Nationalist Spain
The new flag of Nationalist Spain