Saturday, April 24, 1937.

1800 Hours.

Zurito Bar.

We spent the next few hours preparing for battle. Preparing for our possible deaths. 

Camarada had found an old bolt-action rifle in the basement, one that barely worked half the time. Still, we needed all the firepower we could use. He swiftly shortened the barrel, but we couldn't properly test it in fears it would alert a passing scout. 

As for me, I could only stare at the sunset as it painted the sky of Guernica in shades of crimson and azure. A mismatch of different shades, all spilled on the canvas of the forest. I took every single ray of sun I could absorb, even committing to memorize how my skin smelled as the warmth of twilight vanished into a moonless night. 

It surprised me how calm I was. That was possibly the last sunset I was going to experience, and yet, I felt at peace. It was a moment of resignation to my fate, and resolve to change it. If I were to die, I was going to regardless. I learned that day that, once you stop worrying about dying, you could start appreciating life at its fullest. 

My life had been all about survival; at that moment, it became about fighting back. I was going to die, and damn if I wasn't going to make the most of it. I cursed my life and everyone's around me. This was going to be my fight. 

Curiously enough, it is those who curse their life that is cursed with living the longest. 

"Sebas," said Camarada as he approached me. "It's all done. What now?" 

I placed my hand on my belly. My body betrayed me. "Now, we eat." 

I'm not much of a cook, but I did my best with the ingredients at hand. We had some boiled potatoes with butter, venison meat of unidentified variety, and sweet carrots. All washed down with a cup of wine each. 

We didn't say anything during the meal. Camarada only muttered a thank you before scarfing down his meal. It was our last supper, sans Judas. It was a sepulchral silence, but not unpleasant. We had reached a level of comfort between us that was truly eerie. Not like he was a good conversation partner to begin with. 

If he was feeling something--other than hunger--his face didn't betray it. He only concentrated on the meal in front of him. One of the things that the military teaches you is to eat your food as fast as possible. Your time is limited, so wasting such a precious resource is frowned upon. I, on the other hand, took my time. 

You don't get such a nice meal often during wartime. While Camarada finished in less than five minutes, I took nearly twice as long. He did remain seated and waiting for me so I didn't have to eat alone. I appreciated that. 

"It's time," I said after swallowing the last morsel. Camarada nodded at me as we both stood up. 

I find it a bit funny that we didn't wash the dishes as we left, as if resigned to the fact that we weren't going back. It was somebody else's problem now. Those dirty dishes were the only evidence we would leave behind of our existence. We had nothing to lose and no-one to mourn us. 

Well, that's not quite true. The metal cross felt cold against my neck as the bitter winds dug into us. With our concealed rifles beneath our clothes, we took a few steps outside the Zurito. I closed my eyes to focus on the sounds around me. 

"Any monster nearby?" asked Camarada.

"We're clear," I said. I heard nothing but the wind. "But not from the roaming patrols. Stay close and don't act suspicious."

He nodded, taking point on our march through town. They had stopped the house search as the town was as empty as it had been a few days ago, and yet not quite. You could almost feel the thick fog of fear and paranoia in the air as eyes like daggers stuck to us from unseen places. There were many more patrols downtown, likely a means of deterrence. They did believe the townsfolk were fleeing after all. 

"There's a curfew," muttered Camarada. "More patrols. More checkpoints." 

"Nothing we can't circle around," I said. "No moonlight, lamps off."

In an effort to stop enemy visibility at night, the Lieutenant had ordered all the artificial lights to be turned off, which I honestly believe was just like cutting your nose to spite the face, but I digress. It worked in our favor by shrouding us in darkness as we navigated the back alleys of Guernica. 

But we weren't alone. 

"They're here," I whispered near the Casa de Juntas. The sound was faint, but distant. Beckoning me. Seducing me.

"Where?" asked Camarada as he took out his pistol. 

"A few hundred meters north, nothing close," I said. "Let's continue moving." 

The sound never approached us more than a few dozen meters before retreating back as we snaked our way through checkpoints and patrols. I could've swore I saw a bruised Abarran standing watch near one of the buildings. In any case, it took us a long time, but we had reached our destination: the San Jose church.  

It was an impressive building, but one that loses its edge if you got to see the Santa Maria church before. It was rather square, with only a long spire with a silver cross overlooking the urban area around it. From my understanding, it was a fairly popular church, especially amongst widows who often prayed from dawn to dusk. 

I slammed my fist against the humongous wooden doors. They were so massive and sturdy that I could hardly get a sound out of them. But still, it wasn't long until I heard the shuffling sound of feet approaching us from the other side of the doors. 

They emitted a deep creak as they opened up to reveal an elderly priest with beady eyes and veined hands behind them. How could such a weak man move such doors with ease is still a mystery to me. 

"May the blessings of the Lord shine down on you, my sons," said the father. I could almost feel Camarada's eyes rolling back into his skull. 

"Amen, father," I said. "Are you perhaps Father Iñaqui?"

"It is I," said the old priest. "And who might you be, my son?"

"I'm...Guillermo," I said. I was a wanted man, and you can't trust the church to do the right thing. I know that now. 

"I see, Guillermo," said Father Iñaqui, as if savoring the name. "Guillermo, Guillermo. And you?" he asked Camarada. 

"Mikolas," he said without skipping a beat. Subtlety was not his forte. 

"Mikolas. Okay, Guillermo, Mikolas," said the father with a cheeky smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Father Alejandro sent us your way," I said. "He said you could help us with something."

The priest rubbed his hands together for warmth. It was a chilly night even for us youngsters. "Father Alejandro. Good man. What can I do for you?"

Before I could say anything, I heard a sound. Not a drumming, but something even worse: army-issued boots on cobblestone. Approaching us. 

"Can we come in?" I said. "It would be best if we could talk inside."

The priest shook his head from left to right while maintaining a pleasant smile. "I'm afraid I have been ordered by an angry soldier not to let anyone in. There seems to be a curfew in order. One must always obey those who God has put over you for protection."

"So they were chosen by God, then," said Camarada. "Not Franco?

"For now," commented the father. He gave us a toothy grin, only to show us two missing teeth. 

"Please," I tried to plea, but he remained stubborn. 

 "If you have any business with me, please come back tomorrow. I will open the doors at the crack of dawn."

He ignored our pleas as he closed the door behind him. The footsteps were getting closed. 

"Let me try," said Camarada. His fists made a proper impact on the doors, making the sound echo inside. The doors opened almost immediately. 

"I told you to wait until tomorrow!" said Father Iñaqui before being punched at full force by Camarada. The scrawny priest didn't stand a chance. I saw two of his teeth fly out when he dove head first onto the floor. 

"Jesus Christ," I said to Camarada. "What the fuck's wrong with you?" 

"I did it for the common good," he said with a sadistic smile that told me he did it for everything but. "Help me close this door."

It took both of our combined strength to close the doors and lock them behind us. And just in time as I heard people passing in front of the church a few seconds later. 

"Is he alive?" I asked Camarada as he knelt beside him. 

"Yes, he's breathing. Calm down," said Camarada. "I knocked him ri-"

The priest woke up with a jolt, managing to scream a second before being punched again. 

"Old bat," said Camarada. "We better move fast before he wakes up again." 

"He won't have any teeth left to articulate if we keep this up. Let's move."

The church was at least a quarter the size of the Santa Maria church, and shorter by a few meters, but it still held an incredibly cohesive aura. Maybe it was the several angelic eyes from statues perched on the ceiling, watching is with their pupillesss eyes. Maybe it was the rows upon rows of lit candles that made a shivering figure of Jesus on the cross have a face of utter horror, likely at our fate.

Or maybe was the fact that the sound of drums was louder than everywhere else in town. 

"Find the map," I commanded. "I'll look for Father Maximino."

"Why do I have to look for the map?" asked Camarada.

"Because we need the priest alive and with all his teeth."

"I haven't killed a priest," said Camarada. He tried to keep a straight face, but his smile told me there was a bit more to what he tried to say. He hadn't killed a priest...yet.

"Go look for the map," I repeated. He waved me off, but went into an adjacent room to look for the map. I went into another adjacent room, guarded by a weeping Virgin Mary that followed me with her sight wherever I walked. 

It was a rather small room with concrete walls. There was an immediate cloud of heat that hit me as soon as I stepped in. It seemed like a dry cellar for the sacramental wine, at least as I could deduce from the barrels that littered the room. 

Propped against the wall, as if discarded in an afterthought, was a rather familiar black coffin. 

The silver cross almost shimmered in the dark, beckoning me closer. But unlike last time, there was no sound coming from it. It was still like a pond. Curiosity got the better of me. 

I knew there was nothing inside. I needed to open the coffin. What I found inside I couldn't quite comprehend. 

I found an army radio inside the coffin. 

"What in heaven's name are you doing?" I heard someone said behind me. 

There, against the flickering flames, stood Father Maximino, pointing a Mauser at me.