CHAPTER XX. November 19, 1936

Durruti met with Vicente Rojo and General Miaja in the Ministry of War and told them about the state of his Column (or what remained of it). Durruti was neither the only one in the University City whose forces were in dreadful shape nor the only one to press the General Staff for a relief. But what could Miaja and Rojo do? The battle for Madrid didn’t unfold according to the classical patterns that they had studied in military school. In fact, these men had been reduced to little more than coordinators of information, which they retransmitted to those responsible for the various sectors at nightfall of each day. It was the fighters themselves who dictated the defensive strategy, by their own volition and without coercion. “The militias won the battle for Madrid,” Rojo repeated constantly then and also later in writings on the topic.

The only positive thing that Durruti extracted from his meeting with Rojo and Miaja was that they pledged to do everything they could to replace his men the next day. But his fighters would have to carry on until then, while seizing, if possible, the Hospital Clínico and holding the line in the University City. The soldiers in the Ministry of War thought the rebels had thrown everything they had into battle during the previous day and now, having failed to take the city, would focus on retaining the positions they had won and preparing future attacks. But, nevertheless, if the militias could contain the fascists in the University City for the next twenty-four hours, then Madrid would be saved. Events will demonstrate that this prognosis was correct.

Durruti was worried when he left the Ministry of War. There weren’t enough men or arms in the capital. The people were holding the city out of sheer desperation. Even the government, when it ordered General Miaja to defend Madrid, didn’t really believe that he could do so and told him to retreat to Cuenca if things went poorly. But the unexpected had occurred: when those fleeing toward Madrid arrived, they realized that they couldn’t run any more and, if they had to die, it was better to die fighting. This explains the psychological phenomenon that took place on November 7. The military textbooks became superfluous from that moment on: courageous individuals transformed themselves into a collective force that was determined to defeat the fascists or perish in the attempt. Vicente Rojo captures the sentiment perfectly:

There was no shortage of that type of “ambassador’s attaché” during the confusing the first days [of the battle for Madrid]. With a somewhat insolent and somewhat stupid attitude, one could find it in the offices of the command: “But why don’t you surrender now?”

“Because we don’t feel like it!” was the reply.[719]

That spirit made Madrid’s defense possible. And it produced characters like Antonio Coll, who showed his comrades that with a little calm and a bomb you could blow up the tanks razing Carabanchel Bajo, Usera, the Segovia Bridge, and outlaying districts. Coll started a trend and more than a few of those mechanical beasts were detonated with his method, although many fighters were also crushed underneath them. The leader of the España Libre Column was among those who died. He went after a tank while trying to inspire his men. He destroyed the tank, but paid with his life for the achievement.

Durruti’s mind was full of these chaotic details as he descended the stairs in the Ministry of War. He bumped into Koltsov on the landing. They greeted one another and Durruti declined his invitation to go witness a battle in the University City (it was an extremely unusual invitation).

“He shook his head and told me that he was going to attend to his own sector, specifically, to shield some of his fighters from the rain.... These were the last words that I heard from him. Durruti was in a bad mood.” [720]In addition to all this After his departure from the Ministry of War, Durruti occupied himself by checking on the integrity of the Column’s new positions. He went “from the Petróleo Gas factory, crossing the Pimiento Hill, up to the Civil Guard barracks, including all the small houses to the east of the Hospital Clínico, until linking with some of the buildings in the University City.” [721]

Before returning to his headquarters around 8:00 pm, Durruti passed by the War Committee to get information relevant to the next day’s activities and discuss the militarization of the militias with Eduardo Val. The Confederal militias were the only ones in Madrid still using the old structure. All the Socialist and Communist forces had accepted the militarization and their leaders assumed the corresponding military rank. Naturally, the Communists were the most frenetically militarized and their influence was expanding rapidly. Communist propagandists exaggerated the well-orchestrated intervention of the International Brigades and portrayed them as the soul of the anti-fascist resistance. The Soviet Union coordinated the arrival of its military aid with that propaganda. The “chatos” flew the skies of Madrid and valiantly confronted the squadrons of rebel fighter planes and German bombers that were leveling the capital. The Russian tanks also made an appearance. Madrid’s residents naturally welcomed this support, but the Communist Party exploited the people’s gratitude in a tragically ignoble way. It multiplied Soviet sales by a thousand, presenting them as the utterly disinterested contributions to Spain’s defense, and flooded its papers with tales of the USSR’s generosity (amid exaltations of Stalin). And of course the heroes of the moment were always Party men like Líster or “The Peasant.” [722] In addition to all this, attacks on the anarchists began to slip through with alarming regularity. The fact that the Soviet Union was the only power selling military products to Spain enabled the Spanish Communist Party to implant itself firmly. It had already begun to control the Ministry of War through the intermediary of the “feted General Miaja.” [723]

Durruti and Val discussed the Russian issue. In an effort to confront the Stalinist danger, a meeting was called for the following day, November 19. Cipriano Mera, Val told Durruti, would come see him that night at his headquarters.

“That evening, Feliciano Benito, Villanueva, and I went to his command post,” Mera writes, “to see if we could be useful in any way.”

They spoke about Madrid’s defense. Mera insisted that they had to unify all the Confederal forces into one, strong unit that Durruti would lead. Durruti was concerned about the issue of leadership. He thought that the War Committees should still be subject to rank and file control. He recognized that this created some problems, but at least it stopped an army from forming, which would certainly act like an army even if it wasn’t called one. [724] Mera received a call from his command post and had to leave, but before doing so he and Durruti agreed to meet at the Civil Guard barracks at 6:00 am on November 19. Durruti would lead the attack on the Hospital Clínico from there. The General Staff put some forces that had come from Barcelona at his disposal and it would be with them, plus the Centuria from Mera, that they would have to take the Clínico.

November 19 broke with the same weather as the previous day. There was rain—which fell torrentially at times—and a cold wind that made the day especially bitter. Mud, water, wind, and led, with death spying from every corner and behind every tree. It was still dark when Durruti and Mera met at the entrance of the Queen Victoria Civil Guard barracks. Feliciano Benito and Artemio García (his messenger) were there as well. Yoldi and Manzana had come with Durruti. Together they ascended the barracks tower, which would give them a good vantage point from which to follow the operation.

It was dark, so we couldn’t see the first moments of the attack, but around 7:00 we confirmed that our forces were on some of the floors of the Clínico that opened onto the exterior and the flat roofs. Durruti sent a message to the captain in charge of the assault, telling him to occupy the first floor and the basement, and then clean out the rest of the building. Messengers had informed us that our forces had met some resistance on the lower floors, which is why they went to the upper levels. I then told Durruti that I remembered distinctly, from when I had worked there as a builder, that there was a corridor in the Clínico that led to the main sewer from the Manzanares and that it was large enough to travel through. That was when Durruti sent the urgent message to the captain.[725]

But the order arrived late. Since the rebels were in control of the first floor, the forces above them were incommunicado. So, they had to attack the first floor again. Durruti had a reserve battalion and ordered its leader to send two companies to the Clínico. The battalion Captain expressed some concern about the mission, but Durruti insisted, pointing out that if they didn’t take the floor, the comrades upstairs would remain trapped. “If fighters can’t rely on each other,” he said, “then there’s no trust, and victory is impossible when that’s gone.” Whether or not he was convinced, the Captain sent the designated forces to the Clínico.

When Durruti returned to the observation post, Cipriano Mera wanted to have a discussion about discipline: “I was telling him that sometimes orders have to be carried out immediately when a bullet suddenly interrupted our conversation. It tore into the casing of the stairs. “That bastard almost got us!” Durruti exclaimed.

They renewed the attack on the Hospital Clínico and Mera and Durruti left the tower and went down to the street. Mera was preoccupied with the issue of discipline. The struggle had taught him, he said, that “for people to carry out their mission and not budge from their assigned position—in a word, so that they obey—there is no choice but to use the tool that we’re afraid to even mention: discipline.” Mera recorded Durruti’s response: “OK, Mera, we’re mostly in agreement about this. I agree with the core of what you’re saying, and also with your idea of joining our forces. Mine have to be relieved because they’ve suffered heavy blows in the last few days.

We’ll see comrade Val at 4:00 and can discuss all this together.” [726]

It was 12:30 pm on November 19, 1936.

When Durruti entered his headquarters and asked Mora for an update, Mora gave him the most recent communication from the fighters:

Comrade Durruti: Our situation is desperate. Do everything you can to get us out of this hell. We’ve had many losses and haven’t slept or eaten in seven days. We’re physically shattered. I await your prompt response. Salutations, Mira.[727]

As soon as he read this, Durruti sent the following note with a messenger: Comrade Mira: I know that you’re exhausted. I am too. But what do you want, my friend? War is cruel. However, the situation has improved. You have to stay at your post until you’re replaced, which will easily happen today. Salutations, Durruti.

And he dictated the following order to Mora, who would get it signed by General Miaja:

Comrade Mira: The Ministry of War has decided to relieve Column personnel occupying the vanguard positions. You will ensure that today these forces retire from the positions they defend and assemble in the barracks at 33 Granada Street. You will communicate with the person responsible for that sector, so that he designates replacement forces for the Department of Philosophy and Letters and the Santa Cristina Asylum. You will report back to me regarding the fulfillment of this order by noon tomorrow. Madrid, November 19, 1936. Signed: B. Durruti. Approval: General Miaja.[728]

Durruti had just finished signing this document and was instructing Mora to have it authorized by General Miaja when Bonilla arrived, accompanied by Lorente and Miguel Doga. They told him about unpleasant developments at the Hospital Clínico. Bonilla’s news changed Durruti’s plans. Julio Graves, his driver, already had the Packard ready to take Durruti to the meeting at the CNT Defense Committee that day. Manzana told Durruti to go to the meeting and that he would take care of the problem at the Clínico. Durruti hesitated for a moment and then said: “If it’s a dispersal of forces, my presence would be more effective.”

We follow Antonio Bonilla’s account:

I decided to speak with Durruti at 1:00 pm to tell him what had happened. Lorente was driving the car and a very admirable Catalan carpenter named Miguel Doga came with me. When we arrived at the barracks, we saw that Durruti’s Packard was running and that he was getting ready to leave with Manzana. I explained to him what had occurred and he decided to go see it personally. I told Julio Graves to follow our car in order to avoid passing through areas where there was fighting. He did this. Manzana, as was customary, wore his submachine-gun on his shoulder and had a scarf hanging around his neck, upon which he rested his right hand at times, because his finger had been injured several weeks earlier. Durruti appeared unarmed, but as usual carried a Colt 45 under his leather jacket. They followed us until we reached the houses occupied by our reduced forces. They stopped their car, and we stopped ours about twenty meters ahead.

Durruti got out to say something to some militiamen sunning themselves behind a wall. There was no fighting in the area. Durruti was fatally wounded right there and the Spanish revolution suffered the hardest and most unimaginable setback...

We were in the other car, some twenty meters ahead, and had been stopped for three or four minutes. When Durruti was getting into the car, we put our car in gear. When we looked back to see if they were following us, we saw the Packard turning and pulling out at a high rate of speed. I got out of the car and asked the boys what had happened. They told me that someone had been injured. I asked them if they knew the name of the man who had spoken with them and they said no. I told Lorente that we should return immediately. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.[729]

Antonio Bonilla makes two things clear: a) that Durruti left the headquarters on Miguel Angel Street with only two companions (Julio Graves and José Manzana); and b) that they hadn’t seen what happened because when “Durruti was getting into the car, we put our car in gear. When we looked back ... we saw that the Packard was turning and pulling out at a high rate of speed.”

Nevertheless, Bonilla’s comments immediately raise questions. He says: “I got out of the car and asked the boys what had happened. They told me that someone had been injured.” Bonilla stated that there was “no fighting in the area” and they were “twenty meters” away from where Durruti was. Twenty meters is a short distance and a shot, even from a submachine-gun, should have been clearly audible to them. Bonilla doesn’t mention hearing a shot. How did the boys know that “someone had been injured”? Bonilla doesn’t clarify this. It’s strange that Bonilla didn’t investigate further after those militiamen told him that “someone had been injured” (since there was “no fighting in the area” and he hadn’t heard gunfire). Ariel, the Solidaridad Obrera correspondent, recorded Julio Graves’s account of the events:

That day—the day of Durruti’s death—a meeting was going to be held in the National Sub-Committee on Reforma Agraria Street across from the Retiro. Comrade Prats from Tarrasa had come to Madrid as a representative of the National Committee. Since the Soli building had been abandoned due to the recent nights’ bombings, we used a room on an upper floor of that building to prepare the newspaper. The National Sub-Committee comrades knew that I went to Durruti’s headquarters everyday to gather information for the paper and at noon asked me to tell Durruti that there would be a meeting at 3:00 that afternoon to discuss the militarization of the Confederal militias. After eating, I made my customary trip to Durruti’s headquarters. When I arrived, they told me that he had left for the front a few minutes earlier. I had just missed him once again! Had I caught him before he left, perhaps he would have gone to the meeting and thus escaped death. But fate, destiny, had something else in store for him. Durruti had to die like a hero that day.... In the middle of the afternoon ... I saw Durruti’s driver enter. He was a young man of medium height and with a refined bearing. Julio Graves was his name. He asked for my brother Eduardo (they had been good friends since the battles in Barcelona) and I told him that he was sleeping in the next room. The young man’s face was full of sadness, but I didn’t give it much thought, given the emotional times in which we were living.

“I heard my brother wake up and say a few words to Durruti’s driver. Both began to cry. I got up quickly and rushed into the room where they were sobbing.

“What’s happening?” I asked, full of concern.

“Durruti’s been seriously wounded,” one of them told me, “and might be dead already.”

“But it isn’t a good idea to disclose the news,” comrade Julio Graves said.

It was 5:00 in the afternoon....

“Tell me the whole truth,” I said to Graves.

“The truth is very simple. After eating, we headed for the University City, along with comrade Manzana. We went up to Cuatro Caminos and from there down along Pablo Iglesias Avenue at a high speed. We passed through the colony of small houses at the end of this avenue and turned rightward. Durruti’s forces had changed locations, after the losses they’d suffered in the Moncloa and at the walls of the Modelo prison. An autumn sunlight filled the afternoon. When we reached the wide road, we saw a group of militiamen coming in our direction. Durruti thought that they were some boys deserting the front. There was heavy fighting there. The Hospital Clínico, taken by the Moors at the time, towered above the surroundings. Durruti made me stop the car, which I did, at the corner of one of those small houses for protection. Durruti got out and approached the fleeing militiamen. He asked them where they were going and, since they didn’t know what to say, he forcefully convinced them to return to their posts.

“Once the boys obeyed him,” Comrade Graves continues, “Durruti came back toward the car. Bullets were raining down with increasing intensity. The Moors and Civil Guard were shooting with greater determination from the gigantic colored Hospital Clínico building. Durruti collapsed when he reached the car door. A bullet had pierced his chest. Manzana and I jumped out of the vehicle and hurried to put him inside. I turned the auto and, driving as fast as I could, headed for the Catalan militia hospital in Madrid, where we had been a little bit ago. The rest you already know. That’s all.”

Graves concluded his statement with an important detail: “Some tears slipped down the young Confederal’s cheek. He and Manzana had been the only eyewitnesses to that tragic and fatal hour for the hero of Madrid’s defense.” [730]