Port Said, Egypt

The sun had begun to set when the first reinforcements for the [i]Brigada Internacional[/i] came ashore, moving up through the bodies scattered across the beach and through the burning remains of the Egyptian and Ethiopian defenders of the airport. They were parceled out where possibly, bringing the 109th strength back up to what one might consider fighting fit. Already those who had fired shots in anger looked down on these new arrivals as “new blood”. 

For the newly promoted Sergeant Delgado it meant new orders. He had been summoned to the command post set up in the airports old terminal. The building, as he approached, was a bombed out shell. Miraculously, the control tower still stood despite previous shelling by the Spanish and now sporadic mortaring by the Ethiopian forces. 

The jeep dropped him off at the front of the building and he was waved inside by a burly officer in the uniform of the Spanish regular army. His epaulets told Delgado that the man was a major, though he did not recognize the unit insignia. Though, if he was honest with himself, he knew virtually nothing about the Spanish army. 

His boots crunched on broken glass and scattered bits of roof tiling as he walked into the building. Rows of empty seats vanished into the fading light on either side of him, the once blue plastic buckets now coated in a thick layer of dust. Shops lay empty, long looted, the security gates lying in ruined heaps on either side of gaping entrances. There were no bodies to be seen but pools of dark dried blood gave testament to the battle that had raged here only a few short hours before.

He stepped over a crumpled mass of steel that had collapsed from the ceiling and into what had once been a food court. The vendors were empty and quiet but the reinforced concrete ceiling gave the assembled officers somewhere relatively safe to hold their meeting. They were gathered around a small table, one left from the food court furniture, and many of them were seated in the almost comically small chairs so common in airports.

They nodded at his approach and few offered him tense smiles. A far cry from the disdain he would have earned from them the day before. Mohammad was already there, his face the only non-white in the group and his smile was broad and genuine. The two [i]Brigada Internacional[/i] sergeants were the only ones with any sign of recent battle on their uniforms, the rest of the assembled officers and sergeants were all Spanish regulars who had evidently just landed, or avoided the fighting.

“Welcome Sergeant.” The ranking officer, a Colonel by the looks of it, greeted Delgado as he strode up. “My congratulations on an outstanding offense. I understand your promotion is well merited and certainly deserving of a medal.”

“Thank you sir.” Delgado said with a slight incline of his head.

“It is this bravery that I am going to call upon again. I have to confess that we did not expect you attack to be so successful so our regular troops are still heading ashore so we are going to send you onwards again.” He stabbed a finger onto the map in front of him. “The Navy has reported Ethiopian troops and militia are trying to make the Suez unusable for our ships and we need to put an end to that immediately.”

The finger moved to the airport, then jabbed at Delgado as the Colonel continued to speak. “We need to force the Western edge of the airport and move on the Canal, as quickly and quietly as possible. I need the [i]Brigada Internacional[/i] to move out within the hour and move as quickly, and as quietly as possible, through the city to engage those enemy forces trying to block the Canal.”

Delgado had to suppress a grunt of disbelief as he stared at the Colonel. The other mans eyes were intense, almost pleading, as he stared back. Sweat was trickling down from under his helmet and it took Delgado a moment to realize that this Colonel was afraid. Not perhaps for his own life, but certainly of failing his superiors in what was obviously a vital part of the operation.

“Can we count on support from the regular army and naval elements?” Delgado asked. He knew virtually nothing about large scale operations but he had an uncle in the Argentine army who allowed him to join him at the officers’ mess from time to time and he had picked up a smattering of knowledge from listening to them. 

“As much as we can give.” Responded the Colonel. He was looking at the map and Delgado could see small marks denoting the locations of the ENS ASKUM and the Spanish fleet where they were trapped into the Canal.

“A night attack with inexperienced troops, this hardly seems like a well thought out plan.” Mohammad had spoken up. His accent was tinged slightly, betraying his Moroccan heritage and several of the officers glared at him, clearly resenting the presence of the black man, let alone his questions. To everyone’s surprise the Colonel did not get angry. Instead he sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. 

“You’re right Sergeant, it is not a great plan, but at the moment it is I the only plan we have. The [i]Brigada Internacional[/i] has been decimated, I know, in fact you only have one senior officer left. But for this fight I don’t want fancy thinking or pretty tactics, I just want you to reach the Canal and put an end to the Ethiopian efforts to block it. I need men of action who can get this done no matter what it takes, have I got those men?”

He looked from Mohammad to Delgado who, after a moment, nodded. “Good.” Said the Colonel. “You have four hundred or so able bodied men, each of you will take two hundred. Go fast, go hard, and take no prisoners, we don’t have time to guard them. Regular troops will continue the attack behind you to clear the areas you pass through. I don’t care how you do it, or how you get there, just fucking do it.”

There was a soldier standing to one side with a pair of back packs and he stepped forward at the Colonels wave and handed one to each Sergeant. Delgado opened his to find a flare pistol and a collection of flares, red, green and yellow. 

“The red will light the sky for you, yellow will burn on contact, fire them at enemy positions you want the Navy to bombard. The green will denote a friendly position, be careful with their use, they’re all I have. I scrounged them from the helicopters that are coming in and stole a few from the Navy.”

The two Sergeants, thusly dismissed, turned and hurried from the terminal towards the jeep that still idled out on the tarmac. They climbed into the back seat, the stench of violent death and burning floating to them on the westward breeze. 

“I think this may be a suicide mission.” Mohammad commented as the jeeps tires squealed on the tarmac and rushed towards the distant eastern edge of the airport.

“Fuck them.” Delgado said casually. “They’re desperate and like it or not, we have to prove ourselves to the Spanish so let’s do it. We may not be an elite unit but we can be.”

Nothing else was said as they raced across the tarmac, the wind plucking at their hair, each man trying to pretend he was no exhausted as his eyes drooped and their heads bobbed along with the motion of the jeep.

They came to a halt in front of the exhausted [i]Brigada Internacional[/i], the men were scattered about in some long grass, most of them curled up sleeping or smoking quietly. Some stuck up their heads as the jeep arrived, even more sitting up another three jeeps arrived, loaded to the gills with grenades and ammunition. Those who did not wake were soon roused by a gentle prod in their backs. They quickly made a semi-circle around the two Sergeants and more than a few had the faraway look of men who know they were not done yet.

“Gentlemen, we’ve been asked to move out. It seems that the Navy can’t sort its own shit out and we are going to have to pick up their skirts for them.” Delgado spoke loudly and more than a few chuckled at the mention of the uselessness of the Navy. It wasn’t strictly true but nothing brought men together more effectively than a mutual scorn of something else. “We are moving out in 30 minutes to move fast and hard towards the Canal. We are not taking prisoners. Rearm yourselves, get some food and water in you, and make sure your bayonets are sharp. That is all.”

The men fell out with little comment, reaching out to take the ammunition from the Spanish soldiers who are brought it. For the first time since he had joined the [i]Brigada Internacional[/i] Delgado saw something that made him smile slightly. The irregular soldiers were treating the regular Spanish soldiers with the same disdain they had experienced only 24 hours before. They were the ones who had paid with blood, their uniforms bearing testament to the struggles they had seen. They were becoming more than a scared misfit collection of men, they were becoming soldiers.