Barcelona, Catalonia, Early-Mid Febuary 1940

Rafael sits in the crowd, inbetween Gennaro, and a Chilean guy by the name of Matias. Up on the stage, Dolores Ibarurri, La Pasionaria, is preparing to give a speech. In a minute, he will listen to it, and all his anxieties and fears will, in the moment, melt away.

But right now he's a little pissed that he got shanghaied into this.

"Gennaro, remind me how you got me to agree to this, again?"

"We're good friends, aren't we?"

"Yes...."

"And you want to fight the reactionaries, yes?"

"Yes..."

"So! We go to fight the Germans in France in order to help repay our debts to France for their help in the war!"

"You skipped the part where you and your anarchist girlfriend hounded me into joining."

"W-we're not dating! Shut your wannabe-peasant mouth, Raf!"

"Ah," muses Matias, "Young love...."

The three in the chairs behind them, former Partisans in some kind of polyamorous relationship thing, Rafael thought, were currently taking bets on if Rafael and Gennaro were gay. Rafael had never chosen to explore that side of himself, but if he was, it would not be for Gennaro. In fact, since he knew him so well as a friend and comrade, especially not for Gennaro. Anyways, he was already married.

While Matias, Jose, Remi, and Gennaro engaged in an argument over who said a specific quote about what love is in relation to communism, Rafael silently asked himself, "Why the fuck am I thinking about this right now?"

Then, there was a light tapping on a microphone: La Pasionaria was ready.

"Salud, Camaradas! Paramilitants, Partisans, Volunteers, and Soldiers!"

"The Worker's Front of Spain has written many a word, praising you, but can words alone describe what we fight for? What we believe in?"

"Comrades from Chile, professional soldiers, have volunteered to join us in our battle against Reaction! And here, it is where us Castilians must apologize: the conquerors and colonizers of Spain were exploiters, were killers, murderers, from Columbus to Cortes, and beyond. Spain once inflicted untold suffering upon the indigenous peoples of South America. It is a stain on the banner which we carry, which we must disavow and amend for. And yet, despite this, still Chileans are willing to fight for us! Still they are willing to carry their standard into battle beside us, as equals! What have we yet done to deserve this respect?"

"Chile has done many things right in their time, but they, and we, still have much to learn. But only by working together can we learn these things, achieve these things, and grow stronger and more loving as a result."

"Marx once said that we have no compassion! Not for our enemies, no, but for each other, there is always love. Love between brothers and sisters in the battle, or love between lovers, fighting together for the cause that unites them only deeper into passion. What better mark is there of humanity, than love?"

"It is not just duty which brings us all here, today; it is not just obligation to others. We would not fight and die for duty and obligation; we are not robots! We are not such horrid machines as what a capitalist wants us to be in the factory! We are humans who love, and it is love which drives us to fight, to die, to create, to destroy, to rise up against the status quo and bring for a new era of the proletariat!"

"Viva la Division Azul! Viva los Voluntarios Incas! Go and bring socialism forth as a hammer to smash the enemy!"

"Viva los Trabajadores de Chile y España!"

At this final call, the crowd stood up, and echoed the call, breaking into a chorus of the Internationale once prompted by Ibarurri, and finally, piling into their trucks and cars to make their way, north, from the former City of Counts, to help fight for Paris, the City of Love.