don’t agree is when you say that that can’t be done here, in San Marcial. We’ve got all the necessary inf-infrastructure.’
‘I may not have clearly explained what Madrid wants in terms of strategic reorganisation on a national scale,’ he conceded. ‘The idea is to concentrate resources, which are now too spread out, in a few highly operative centres.’ He chose abstract words that might contribute to dispelling disagreement.
‘No, you have, you have. But, if I may say so, your explanationdoes not answer my question,’ he replied looking at the colonel, seeking in vain his support, as Castroviejo remained silent, apparently less interested in what was being said than in the reactions it gave rise to in those who were listening to it.
‘I’m afraid that, in that case, only someone in charge of making decisions can answer you. My powers do not go beyond the writing up of the report.’
Olmedo noticed how irritated Bramante was by his answer, and how coldly the colonel leaned over the agenda of the lieutenant to check the list of those wishing to speak.
‘Captain Ucha,’ he said.
‘I think you’ll be able to answer my question.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘I’ve listened attentively to your conclusions and, although you didn’t put it this way, what you’ve come to tell us is that the better the weaponry of an army the less necessary the men who are in charge of it. I don’t agree with that, but this is not the place to argue the point. I only wish to ask you: what are they going to do with us? Not with the rank and file, but with us, the officers. Some will perhaps choose to pass to the reserve. But, the rest, where will they send us? Ceuta, Melilla? The Balkans? An Arab country, under UN or USA supervision? Where will they send us? What will they do with us?’
‘It’s not the first time an army base has been closed down, and the rights of all affected parties have always been respected, and many requests have been granted. It is safe to assume that our superiors will be generous and will respect our choices.’
‘Except the choice of staying here, in San Marcial.’
‘Except staying here, yes.’
‘But that’s the only thing many of us want.’
Ucha was sitting very near him. In spite of the man’s calm tone, Olmedo thought he might be the officer less inclined to accept a transfer, and one who would never forget who had written the report. Among the military caste, there were always types like Ucha – quiet, patient and tenacious, men who knew that goodthings come to those who wait. He was an unsociable man, chose night shifts, and always appeared distant, not because he was afraid of anything, but because he wanted no responsibility.
Other officers spoke against the report, but their opposition was less staunch. They mentioned what the city would lose with the closure of the base, the sources of revenue and jobs that would disappear, such as cleaners and food providers, maintenance and transport technicians, bars and restaurants patronised by the troops. Or they expressed blanket complaints about how politicians marginalised everything to do with the army. But then a commander agreed with Olmedo’s report and the fears dissipated into arguments among the officers. For a few minutes neither Castroviejo nor Olmedo said a word, while the assistants commented or discussed the likely consequences of the closure. One of the younger captains raised his voice in support of Olmedo and attracted everyone’s attention when he described the changing times with a futuristic vision that was in sharp contrast with that image of old wood, bloodstained spoils and photographs of deceased soldiers:
‘I do see the need to substitute these damp, colourless barracks with modern, functional buildings of steel and glass, with a computer on each desk, fast lifts and concealed staircases, with automatic doors that don’t need to be guarded as they would be accessed via a keypad and code.’
An hour later
‘I may not have clearly explained what Madrid wants in terms of strategic reorganisation on a national scale,’ he conceded. ‘The idea is to concentrate resources, which are now too spread out, in a few highly operative centres.’ He chose abstract words that might contribute to dispelling disagreement.
‘No, you have, you have. But, if I may say so, your explanationdoes not answer my question,’ he replied looking at the colonel, seeking in vain his support, as Castroviejo remained silent, apparently less interested in what was being said than in the reactions it gave rise to in those who were listening to it.
‘I’m afraid that, in that case, only someone in charge of making decisions can answer you. My powers do not go beyond the writing up of the report.’
Olmedo noticed how irritated Bramante was by his answer, and how coldly the colonel leaned over the agenda of the lieutenant to check the list of those wishing to speak.
‘Captain Ucha,’ he said.
‘I think you’ll be able to answer my question.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘I’ve listened attentively to your conclusions and, although you didn’t put it this way, what you’ve come to tell us is that the better the weaponry of an army the less necessary the men who are in charge of it. I don’t agree with that, but this is not the place to argue the point. I only wish to ask you: what are they going to do with us? Not with the rank and file, but with us, the officers. Some will perhaps choose to pass to the reserve. But, the rest, where will they send us? Ceuta, Melilla? The Balkans? An Arab country, under UN or USA supervision? Where will they send us? What will they do with us?’
‘It’s not the first time an army base has been closed down, and the rights of all affected parties have always been respected, and many requests have been granted. It is safe to assume that our superiors will be generous and will respect our choices.’
‘Except the choice of staying here, in San Marcial.’
‘Except staying here, yes.’
‘But that’s the only thing many of us want.’
Ucha was sitting very near him. In spite of the man’s calm tone, Olmedo thought he might be the officer less inclined to accept a transfer, and one who would never forget who had written the report. Among the military caste, there were always types like Ucha – quiet, patient and tenacious, men who knew that goodthings come to those who wait. He was an unsociable man, chose night shifts, and always appeared distant, not because he was afraid of anything, but because he wanted no responsibility.
Other officers spoke against the report, but their opposition was less staunch. They mentioned what the city would lose with the closure of the base, the sources of revenue and jobs that would disappear, such as cleaners and food providers, maintenance and transport technicians, bars and restaurants patronised by the troops. Or they expressed blanket complaints about how politicians marginalised everything to do with the army. But then a commander agreed with Olmedo’s report and the fears dissipated into arguments among the officers. For a few minutes neither Castroviejo nor Olmedo said a word, while the assistants commented or discussed the likely consequences of the closure. One of the younger captains raised his voice in support of Olmedo and attracted everyone’s attention when he described the changing times with a futuristic vision that was in sharp contrast with that image of old wood, bloodstained spoils and photographs of deceased soldiers:
‘I do see the need to substitute these damp, colourless barracks with modern, functional buildings of steel and glass, with a computer on each desk, fast lifts and concealed staircases, with automatic doors that don’t need to be guarded as they would be accessed via a keypad and code.’
An hour later
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