Madrid.
The Republican capital had become a city under siege not by Franco's artillery, but by itself.
Graffiti in red and black sprawled across government buildings.
¡Viva la Revolución! stood beside crossed-out Communist hammers and sickles.
At Plaza del Callao, a makeshift barricade of sandbags and burned-out trams cut the city center in two.
Captain Alejandro Martínez of the Socialist Guard stormed into the Ministry of Interior, his boots making noise across the marble floor.
"We've got gunfire in Lavapiés," he barked, slamming a bloodied helmet onto the desk.
"CNT anarchists stormed the People's Tribunal. They dragged Commissar Alonzo out and shot him in front of the courthouse."
Interior Minister Dolores Ibárruri, La Pasionaria, did not look up.
She took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaled slowly, then said, "Do they want Franco to walk through the door himself?"
"Madam Minister, at this rate, he won't need to. We're tearing ourselves apart."
