Harry Turtledove - Hitlers War

The Guns of the South

THE WORLDWAR SAGA
Worldwar: In the Balance
Worldwar: Tilting the Balance
Worldwar: Upsetting the Balance
Worldwar: Striking the Balance

Homeward Bound

THE VIDESSOS CYCLE
The Misplaced Legion
An Emperor for the Legion
The Legion of Videssos
Swords of the Legion

THE TALE OF KRISPOS
Krispos Rising
Krispos of Videssos
Krispos the Emperor

THE TIME OF TROUBLES SERIES
The Stolen Throne
Hammer and Anvil
The Thousand Cities
Videssos Besieged
A World of Difference
Departures
How Few Remain

THE GREAT WAR
The Great War: American Front
The Great War: Walk in Hell
The Great War: Breakthroughs

AMERICAN EMPIRE
American Empire: Blood and Iron
American Empire: The Center
Cannot Hold
American Empire: The Victorious
Opposition

SETTLING ACCOUNTS
Settling Accounts: Return
Engagement
Settling Accounts: Drive to the East
Settling Accounts: The Grapple
Settling Accounts: In at the Death

Every Inch a King

The Man with the Iron Heart

G eneral Jos Sanjurjo was a short, heavyset man in his early sixties. He looked from the light plane to the pilot and back again. Is everything in readiness? he asked, his tone saying heads would roll if the pilot told him no.

Major Juan Antonio Ansaldo didnt tell him anything, not right away. Ansaldo was pacing back and forth, his agitation growing with every stride. He watched as Sanjurjos aides shoved two large, heavy trunks into the airplane. Those look heavy, Ansaldo said at last.

They hold the generals uniforms! an aide said, as if to a simpleton. On the eve of his victorious march into Madrid, he cant arrive in Burgos without uniforms!

Nervously, Ansaldo lit a cigarette. Who was he, a major, to tell Spains most seniorand most prestigiousgeneral what to do? Hed placed himself at the disposal of the Spanish statewhich Sanjurjo would embody, once he flew from Portugal to Burgos to take charge of the rising against the Spanish Republic.

When he flew to Burgos? If he flew to Burgos! The city, in north-central Spain, was a long way from Lisbon. The plane, a two-seater, had only so much fuel and only so strong a motor.

General Ansaldo said.

What is it? growled the man people called the Lion of the Rif because of his victories in Spanish Morocco.

Viva Sanjurjo! the generals men shouted. Viva Espaa!

Sanjurjo preenedas well as a short, heavyset man in his sixties could preen. Now I know my flag is waving over Spain, he boomed like a courting grouse. When I hear the Royal March again, I will be ready to die!

That gave Major Ansaldo the opening he needed. General, I dont want you to die before you get to Spain, before you hear the Royal March again.

What are you talking about? Sanjurjo demanded.

Sir, those trunks your men put aboard

What about them? Theyre my uniforms, as my aides told you. A man is hardly a man without his uniforms. At the moment, Sanjurjo was wearing a light gray summer-weight civilian suit. He looked and acted quite manly enough for Ansaldo.

They weigh a lot. The pilot gestured. Look at the pine trees all around the airstrip. I need the planes full power to take off. I have to make sure I have enough fuel to fly you to Burgos. I dont want anything to happen to you, Seor. Spain needs you too much to take chances.

General Sanjurjo frownednot fearsomely, but thoughtfully. I cant fly into Burgos like this. He brushed at the gray linen of his sleeve.

Why not, your Excellency? Why not? Ansaldo asked. Dont you think the people of Burgos would be delightedwould be honoredto give you anything you need? Arent there any uniforms in Burgos? God help the rising if thats true!

God help the rising. Sanjurjo crossed himself. Major Ansaldo followed suit. The general took a gold case from an inside jacket pocket and lit a cigarette of his own. He smoked in abrupt, savage drags. So you think well crash with my uniforms on board, do you?

When youre flying, you never know, the pilot answered. Thats why you dont want to take any chances you dont have to.

Sanjurjo grunted. He took a couple of more puffs on the aromatic Turkish cigarette, then ground it out under his heel. Luis! Orlando! he called. Get the trunks off the plane!

His aides stared as if they couldnt believe their ears. Are you sure, your Excellency? one of them asked.

Of course Im sure, dammit. By the way Jos Sanjurjo spoke, he was always sure. And so he probably was. Spain comes first, and Spain needs me more than I need my uniforms. As the pilot here says, there are many uniforms. Por Dios, amigos, there is only one Sanjurjo! The general struck a pose.

The aides didnt argue any more. They did what Sanjurjo told them to do. Wrestling the trunks out of the planes narrow fuselage proved harder than stuffing them in had been. It took a lot of bad language and help from three other men before they managed it.

Major Ansaldo wondered how many kilos hed saved. Fifty? A hundred? He didnt know, and he never wouldno scale was close by. But now he would fly with the kind of load the light plane was made to carry. He liked that.

If your Excellency will take the right-hand seat he said.

Certainly. Sanjurjo was as spry as a man of half his age and half his bulk.

After Ansaldo started the motor, he ran through the usual flight checks. Everything looked good. He gave the plane all the throttle he could. He needed to get up quickly, to clear the trees beyond the far edge of the bumpy field.

When he pulled back on the stick, the nose lifted. The fixed undercarriage left the ground. The bumping stopped. The air, for the moment, was smooth as fine brandy. A slow smile spread across General Sanjurjos face. Do you know what this is, Major? he said. A miracle, thats what! To fly like a bird, like an angel

Its only an airplane, sir, said Ansaldo, as matter-of-fact as any pilot worth his pay.

Only an airplane! Sanjurjos eyebrows leaped. And a woman is only a woman! It is an airplane that takes me out of exile, an airplane that takes me out of Portugal, an airplane that takes me away from the hisses and sneezes and coughs of Portuguese.

S, Seor. Major Ansaldo knew how the general felt there. If a Spaniard and a Portuguese spoke slowly and clearly, or if they wrote things out, they could generally manage to understand each other. But Portuguese always sounded funnysounded wrongin a Spaniards ears. The reverse was also bound to be true, but the pilot never once thought of that.

And his important passenger hadnt finished: It is an airplane that takes me back to Spain, back to my countryand Spain will be