In Teruel, Moreau stepped down from his armored car.
Teruel's outskirts were now a ghost town, held weakly by remnants of Republican militia, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and despair.
"Sir," said Captain Rousseau, saluting stiff.
"We've found nothing but corpses the Republicans are barely holding on."
Moreau surveyed the scene.
"Keep pushing. We need Teruel secure. Reinforce the perimeter. Establish fallback positions along the south ridge. And keep the medics moving we're drowning in our own dead."
Meanwhile, the rail yards east of Zaragoza were equally chaotic.
Guderian sat rigidly atop his command tank, his eyes sharp.
"Damned Spaniards," muttered Major Braun beside him.
"They fight like rats, nibbling at us from every corner."
"Let them," Guderian replied sharply. "They bleed more than we do. Hold your nerve, Major. By dawn, Zaragoza will be silent."
