glance at Bishop, opening his mouth to disagree. But the words never left the major’s throat.
Dozens of rooftop rifles opened up at the same moment, every shooter surrounding the courthouse pouring round after round into the already tortured windows and doorways.
Over the background of pummeling lead slamming into walls, floors and contents, Bishop managed to get Baxter’s attention. “They’ll be coming, Major. I can’t tell you from where, but I’ll bet my left nut they're advancing on us right now.”
Keeping his head down, the major seemed uncertain of what to do. “We’ve got all four sides covered,” he finally announced. “We’ll reinforce once we figure out where their primary attack is coming from.”
“Major, I don’t want to tell you your business, but I’ve got a different idea. Le t me take four of my men and head to the center of the building. We’ll be a quick reaction force. When you figure out which side they’re coming from, I’ll take my squad and hit back hard.”
Baxter thought about the suggestion, eventually nodding his head. “Do it. And good luck.”
Bishop rose up and proceeded down the line of defenders, tapping the random man on the shoulder and yelling, “You’re with me.”
After he’d gathered four of the West Texas contingency, he led his squad to the center of the building where they took cover beneath a wide staircase leading to the second floor. Despite being away from the outward facing walls, the stray bullet occasionally found its way, cracking through the air or smacking a nearby surface.
Bishop joined his crew, the group squeezing into the tight space while waiting on the major’s command to move out.
“Hey, Bishop,” the man furthest back called. “Can we move a couple of the cases out of the way? Jonesy and I are gonna have to get married if he gets any closer back here.”
Laughing, Bishop nodded. “Sure, pass them up.”
A moment later, the man behind the Texan grunted, hefting a thick wooden crate. Bishop glanced down, noting the military stencils on the side of the container, “ US Army M67 HE-FRAG: Count-20.”
“Well looky here, boys,” Bishop said. “These might come in handy. Our friends brought along some fragmentation grenades. Everybody grab a couple.”
“There’s a different kind back here, Bishop,” someone said. “These are smoke grenades from the look of it.”
“Grab a couple of those, too. You never know.”
While the explosives were being passed out, Bishop took a moment to check on the major. Chancing a quick dash out from his cover, he spotted the military man still focused on the front side of the building and keeping low.
“I just know they are going to hit us any moment,” Bishop whispered to himself, angling for a position where he could observe the commanding officer. “I’ll wait here for the major’s order. Every second is going to count.”
Taking a knee and praying a ricochet didn’t come his way, Bishop kept his eye on the officer 40 feet to his front, ready to throw the quick response team into the fray. A cool stream of air touched the back of the Texan’s neck, the almost-breeze a pleasant sensation compared to the rest of the muggy, smoke-filled atmosphere.
“I wonder if someone opened a window… or maybe the wind suddenly shifted,” Bishop announced to no one. “Damn that feels good.”
But it felt too good… too cool. Now where in the hell is that coming from? he thought, instinctively turning to see if he could identify the source.
There was no obvious origin. Glancing quickly to ensure there was no change in the major’s status, Bishop turned and scurried around the corner, head pivoting right and left to find the source of the breeze.
He followed a corridor, passed a few doors, and then encountered a wall of pleasant, sweet, cool air. It was almost chilly! But where was it coming from?
The gloomy, low-light conditions hampered his search. Eventually, he recognized movement in
Dozens of rooftop rifles opened up at the same moment, every shooter surrounding the courthouse pouring round after round into the already tortured windows and doorways.
Over the background of pummeling lead slamming into walls, floors and contents, Bishop managed to get Baxter’s attention. “They’ll be coming, Major. I can’t tell you from where, but I’ll bet my left nut they're advancing on us right now.”
Keeping his head down, the major seemed uncertain of what to do. “We’ve got all four sides covered,” he finally announced. “We’ll reinforce once we figure out where their primary attack is coming from.”
“Major, I don’t want to tell you your business, but I’ve got a different idea. Le t me take four of my men and head to the center of the building. We’ll be a quick reaction force. When you figure out which side they’re coming from, I’ll take my squad and hit back hard.”
Baxter thought about the suggestion, eventually nodding his head. “Do it. And good luck.”
Bishop rose up and proceeded down the line of defenders, tapping the random man on the shoulder and yelling, “You’re with me.”
After he’d gathered four of the West Texas contingency, he led his squad to the center of the building where they took cover beneath a wide staircase leading to the second floor. Despite being away from the outward facing walls, the stray bullet occasionally found its way, cracking through the air or smacking a nearby surface.
Bishop joined his crew, the group squeezing into the tight space while waiting on the major’s command to move out.
“Hey, Bishop,” the man furthest back called. “Can we move a couple of the cases out of the way? Jonesy and I are gonna have to get married if he gets any closer back here.”
Laughing, Bishop nodded. “Sure, pass them up.”
A moment later, the man behind the Texan grunted, hefting a thick wooden crate. Bishop glanced down, noting the military stencils on the side of the container, “ US Army M67 HE-FRAG: Count-20.”
“Well looky here, boys,” Bishop said. “These might come in handy. Our friends brought along some fragmentation grenades. Everybody grab a couple.”
“There’s a different kind back here, Bishop,” someone said. “These are smoke grenades from the look of it.”
“Grab a couple of those, too. You never know.”
While the explosives were being passed out, Bishop took a moment to check on the major. Chancing a quick dash out from his cover, he spotted the military man still focused on the front side of the building and keeping low.
“I just know they are going to hit us any moment,” Bishop whispered to himself, angling for a position where he could observe the commanding officer. “I’ll wait here for the major’s order. Every second is going to count.”
Taking a knee and praying a ricochet didn’t come his way, Bishop kept his eye on the officer 40 feet to his front, ready to throw the quick response team into the fray. A cool stream of air touched the back of the Texan’s neck, the almost-breeze a pleasant sensation compared to the rest of the muggy, smoke-filled atmosphere.
“I wonder if someone opened a window… or maybe the wind suddenly shifted,” Bishop announced to no one. “Damn that feels good.”
But it felt too good… too cool. Now where in the hell is that coming from? he thought, instinctively turning to see if he could identify the source.
There was no obvious origin. Glancing quickly to ensure there was no change in the major’s status, Bishop turned and scurried around the corner, head pivoting right and left to find the source of the breeze.
He followed a corridor, passed a few doors, and then encountered a wall of pleasant, sweet, cool air. It was almost chilly! But where was it coming from?
The gloomy, low-light conditions hampered his search. Eventually, he recognized movement in
Similar Books
