Late February, 1939

The troops who have been mobilized will be more formally organized like a military organization, albeit, with the abolition of formal officer ranks [functional terms like "commander" and "company leader" will be used instead], as well as the troops themselves deciding who should be their leader; they can obviously decide for themselves. Troops who have previously fought together will be kept together and reinforced with fresh troops, who will be trained in how to use their weapons and how to operate tactically and overall strategically, but whom the responsibility of passing experience and additional advice onto will fall upon the previously experienced troops.

In addition, efforts will be made with our armored units in order to increase their usefulness in an offensive role, via training, education, and running some exercises behind lines. They are highly useful as defensive bunkers, but they could also be a massive assistance to our offensive movements.

AA emplacements will be put up on our defensive lines and in our cities and towns, and improvised SPAA's [AA guns put onto armored cars or trucks] will be issued to frontline troops and motorized troops.

In all of these endeavors, Republican Assistance will be asked for, but is not required of them. It would, however, be very nice. In addition, we will be devoting more effort to working and coordinating with the Republicans in the future, without falling to a reliance on them. Particularly, we would enjoy their assistance in the use of the United Fleet in protecting our coasts from Monarchist incursion or bombardment.

Spain, Early March, 1939

It was a warm day, for February, albeit, the snow wasn't melting just yet. All along SWF lines, trenches and fortifications had been dug and built up to house machine guns, AT cannons, tanks, mortars, and farther back, AA guns and artillery guns. Defences had been dug in depth, so that upon clearing one line, any monarchist force would have to make it through a second line.

Rafael sat in a trench dugout, a very comfortable one, where he'd set up a little makeshift workbench, and cleaned his rifle-- A Spanish Mauser, marked not with proof marks for a company, but for a factory, a Union, and the Worker's Front. It was almost factory-fresh. Rafael remembered working in the gun factory, and to be honest, he really miss it. He was never really able to be proud of his work, and honestly, he was never really happy to work in a factory, either. Soldiering wasn't really his thing, either-- his gaze, when riding in a truck or taxi to the battle, or while marching, always fell to a farm, farmland, or some pasture which animals were grazing in. His favorites were always the smallest ones, the ones which were probably just a single family's. He liked to imagine that; him, his wife, maybe some children, it would be hard starting off, but he imagined he could get help from his friends and neighbors. He would never have to see a tall building for the rest of his life, maybe-- even better, never see a factory!

Anyways, Rafael was cleaning his rifle, his mind wandering as he occasionally stole a look at the 1939 Iberian Farmer's Almanac, a gift from his wife which came in the mail last week, when there is an "Ahem" and some awkward shuffling. Rafael looks up.

"Uh, Squad Leader, I was talking to Gennaro and he told me to talk to you, since you, uh, know how to do this stuff..." Says Isaac, one of the new replacements in the division.

"What did you do to your rifle."

"The uh, the... Well, see, I uh..."

"Lemme see."

Isaac hands Rafael his rifle, which has the bayonet half-jammed down the barrel, the bolt somehow shoved forwards into the barrel, and a stripper clip half-inserted, somehow, behind the bolt.

"..."

"Isaac, what the fuck did you do?"

"Well, I was trying to load it, but it wouldn't go in, so I tried to use the bolt to push one in, but then it did that, so I tried to use my bayonet to push it out the other end, but it got stuck."

Rafael stares at the abomination before him, as it's sight falls off and hits the toe of his shoe. He glances at the tool chest his book is sitting on top of.

"Uh... give me a week and I think I can fix this, I guess. In the meantime, ask the quartermaster for a pistol or something. A revolver, so that you have less of a chance to fuck it up."

"Thank you!"

Isaac runs off to return to what he was doing before he fucked everything up, and Rafael sighs and leans the rifle against the wall of the trench, with the rest of the guns he has to fix today. Some of them are broken normally.

Some.

Rafael sighs, and lets his gaze wander off to a nearby hill. He imagines a little farmhouse, surrounded by fields, maybe carrots, or, not carrots, he was honestly sick of carrots, given how often Arlo went on about them. Wheat, then.

Rafael smiles. There's dirty work to do now, but the future now clearly holds better things for him-- For all of the workers and peasants of Spain.