“Miss Bailon, I need to meet with my leaders.I promise I’ll only be gone a short while.”
Vacant eyes met his.Had she heard him?
“Poco tiempo.Yo voy.Sí?” he said, the words bumbling and awkward in his mouth as he tried to explain he would only be gone a short while.
She blinked, and a hint of fear rippled across her face.Her lips pressed together, her jaw clenched.
“You are safe here, I promise.Just stay covered and quiet.I will be quick.Muy rápido.”
Ana María nodded but didn’t duck into the tent.He moved, slow and cautious, until he grasped one of her hands.He squeezed twice, questioning how she fared, as was their tradition now.She squeezed twice back.“Estoy bien.”She was as fine as she could be, given the circumstances.Wrapping his jacket, a makeshift blanket, around her shoulders, Ana moved into the tent.
Peter flattened his hair with one hand while wrapping a bandage around his head with the other.The coastal air, thick with humidity, made it difficult for him to rein in his curls.He needed something to imply a head injury, to account for his absence over the past day.He had plenty of bruises and soreness but needed something more visible than that.He shrugged on his red coat and straightened his uniform.Most importantly, he could not draw attention to Ana’s absence—that is, if any of them remembered her.
While hiking back to the field officers’ headquarters, Peter’s mind was overrun with questions.He had never witnessed such devastation, such violent carelessness on the battlefield.How would the officers be disciplining the errant foot soldiers?How many of the hundred foot soldiers in his company had been involved?Would the investigation and military code involve a military court?And most importantly, how could he protect Ana?He needed to return to camp today to account for his absence over the last twenty-four hours and to divert any attention away from her absence.He would also gather more supplies.
As an officer, he assumed he would have some role in the disciplinary action that would take place among the offending soldiers, and he wanted to be fully involved.He had to ensure that the people of San Sebastián were treated with care and mercy after all they had been put through.
Finally, he broke through the forest’s edge, and the charred remains of San Sebastián were revealed.Only a handful of houses remained, standing solitarily in the ash and wreckage.Pain sliced through him at the too-recent memory of the suffering he witnessed.But now all was silent.Peter jogged to the former center of the infantry camp and encountered the first snag in the carefully woven fabric of his plan.The camp had been laid waste as well.Most tents were blown over and singed.Trampled food crates and souring wine mixed with the dirt, creating a repugnant smell.Even the few adobe brick buildings that the officers had commandeered for their sleeping headquarters were in disarray, with broken window glass scattered on the ground like a mosaic.It was little wonder that Major Bailon had not been safe, even at headquarters, from his drunken allies.Disgust squeezed Peter’s stomach again, and he pressed his eyes shut against the wave of nausea.
Finally, Peter located the tent where the field officers’ meetings were held.The low murmuring of voices greeted him, cutting through the eerie silence.Two sergeants stood outside and stepped aside at the sight of Peter’s uniform, identifying his rank.He grabbed the fabric door of the tent, ducked inside, and fell into rank among the captains gathered at the back.
“Ah, Captain Ashmore.We worried when you didn’t report back to camp last night.Any injuries to report?”Captain Davies inquired.
“Some pain in the head and blurred vision after a run-in with the French.I needed to take some distance from the smoke.”
The others nodded, seeming to believe him.He wasn’t lying—but the head pain wasn’t from any physical injury.His head hadn’t stopped pulsing since the carnage he’d witnessed.It was one thing to defend innocent people against the French, but it was another thing entirely to see his own turn on those innocents and ravage them.
Peter turned to Captain Davies.“Has a camp physician been to see the women and children in the city?”
Davies stared at Peter for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion.“They are fully occupied with our injured.”
“We can’t leave those innocents to suffer, not when we are partly at fault for their pain.If we merely make our way up there, we can rest assured they’ll be taken care of.I can organize a group—”
“You’ll do no such thing, Ashmore.”
“But the women...”
“We’ve received our orders.We march at daybreak.There are ships awaiting us on the coast to carry us to England.”
“So you would abandon them?”Peter thought of Ana, bruised and bleeding somewhere in the forest, and his stomach heaved in anger.
“This business is bad enough as it is, Ashmore.Leave it where it lies.It is not your decision to make, nor mine, no matter how we may wish things had turned out differently.”
The soldiers eyed each other nervously, and it was as if Peter’s vision finally cleared.The sacking of the city had not been the fault of overly drunk foot soldiers alone; it had also been the fault of great incompetence in command.Where had all these leaders been?Clearly not in the throes of it all, fighting against their own, like Peter.And if they wouldn’t acknowledge the serious indiscipline that occurred, then who would?
“Have you no shame?No sense of decency?”Peter’s voice had risen enough now to alert others.A man stood from where he had been seated at the mapping table.General Sir Thomas Graham.
“I understand that many of you may be concerned for what has occurred here,” he said, speaking to the group.“It is not surprising that such destruction would occur after so many months of French occupation.We’ll let Spain care for their own.I assure you all will be well.”
But how could he say that with such confidence, especially when they were leaving the city in ashes?
“Wellington has been alerted to the...repercussions of France’s surrender.Our trusted allies of Basque Country and Spain remain here.Major Bailon will make reparations on the part of the Spanish government.”
“He was killed,” Peter barked, his hands balled against his sides.
General Graham paused, genuine surprise freezing his features.“I am sorry to hear it.He was a great resource for us.”
No mention of Miss Bailon, a fact that only heightened his anger.He clenched his hands to keep from grabbing—or hitting—his superior.
