The narrow roads of the Valle de Tena were not meant for war convoys.
But today there was noise.
German trucks had been modified canvas-covered frames, matte-black lanterns shielded on all sides, each one manned by crews dressed as Spanish railway workers.
In the lead vehicle, Lieutenant Otto Kessler sat beside a local guide, a Carlist sympathizer named Rafael.
The man knew the passes, spoke enough German to get by, and had two brothers already buried under French shelling near Barbastro.
"You take this bend wide," Rafael said. "Or the rear axle snaps."
Kessler didn't reply.
His hands gripped the edge of the cabin as the truck leaned dangerously close to a ravine.
Below, a hundred meters down, the Aragón River reflected a silver line of moonlight.
Behind them, eight more trucks followed.
No panzer divisions.
No Luftwaffe.
