Free Copperheads - 12 by Joe Nobody Page B

night. Yet, like so many times before, he had no choice.
    Bishop got down to business. “Kevin, push them back and keep them down. Try to scare them for the first few shots … chase them away. Terri, you and Butter hold off the guys on our ass. Keep them back. Grim and I are going to flank the gentlemen to our front. Remember, people, we only want to break through, not be the cause of the second massacre this week. Questions?”
    There were none.
    Terri was rolling to join the big kid while Kevin found good support for his rifle. Grim looked at Bishop and said, “Right or left?”
    “Left … south … they’ll be expecting us to try and go north.”
    With the exchange of a simple nod, the two SAINT men pushed off just as Kevin’s rifle roared its first shot.
    Bishop and Grim moved quickly, both men instinctively using their ears to track the escalating firefight behind while using their eyes to scan for trouble ahead.
    Crawling up rises and sliding down into trenches, the duo worked in perfect unison, one always covering the other’s movements and ready to engage. Never were both exposed, seldom were both moving at the same moment.
    Behind them, Bishop tracked Terri and Butter’s rate of fire. He knew if either side of the pincher were going to overrun his team, it would be the larger group.
    For a split second, the Texan was again filled with pride. He knew that even the best-trained soldiers would find it difficult to control their rate of fire when finding themselves in such a tight spot. His wife and the kid were in the fight, but their shots were regulated, disciplined, and hopefully selected with care. There was no rhythm of panic, no hailstorm of wasted ammunition.
    Poking his head above the next rise, Bishop spotted the first villager. Actually, it was the dust cloud kicked up by the man shooting at his team that gave away the Mexican’s position.
    Waving Grim back to the lower ground, the Texan studied the terrain ahead, looking to ensure that they had indeed managed to find the end of their foe’s line.
    There are about 10 of them , he thought. They’re not disciplined soldiers. They’ll bunch up. Safety in numbers. Trouble likes company.  
    The calculation of how much territory the approaching force would cover took Bishop only a second. There was a reasonably good chance he and Grim had managed to flank their opponents.
    After flashing the older man a quick series of hand signals, the duo backed slowly away and then rushed off at an angle that would bring them into the group of attackers at a right angle.
    Both of the Alliance men knew that in combat, it is difficult enough to maintain an alert, concentrated diligence to one’s front. When the lead is flying, all of a fighter’s senses are primed and focused in the known direction of the enemy. Are they counterattacking? Are they retreating? Where is my next target? Am I already in somebody’s sights?
    This was the reason why flanking maneuvers were one of the most devastating of all military tactics.
    When faced with an enemy on two fronts, the human tendency for flight gains momentum over any desire to fight. Now death is coming from two directions. There are twice as many variables to process.
    For the vast majority, having a foe at your front while being attacked from the side was overwhelming. Generals and great leaders called the results “being rolled,” or “rolling up the enemy’s line.”
    Less than two minutes had passed before Bishop and Grim were sure they’d found the right spot to hit the villagers from the side.
    “Freak their shit,” Bishop whispered. “We want them to run, not die.”
    It was clear that Grim didn’t like firing warning shots, but nodded his understanding.
    In unison, the two Alliance shooters rose from their trench, Bishop’s carbine sending a stream of blistering fire into the dirt around the local.
    The man reacted a little faster than either man from Texas anticipated, pausing only a second before