The shooting eventually stopped, and Hawker lay quietly, thankful the two sides were willing to let him die in peace. Then a squad came walking by. One of them kicked him in the ribs. At first, Hawker thought he was so deep in pain he couldn’t make sense out of their gibberish; then he realized belatedly they were speaking Spanish. He’d been picked up by the enemy.
After some small discussion, two of the men lifted him and carried him awkwardly to a waiting vehicle. He was tossed in with other soldiers, some wounded, some dead. More bodies were tossed in around him. Then there was a long, jostling ride that only aggravated his injuries. He felt feverish despite the cold. The edges of reality wavered at the corners of his vision. He was positive death would come at any moment to relieve hi
