We dashed into the open in a low crouched line; three quarters the way around to their backs, then tightened back in to a hundred yards out. Once we had made it within proper sight of them I dropped down and opened fire. All my men following suit; to our left we could hear L2 & Co. open up on them and in no time we had cut them down to half their number.
“Don’t let up! Pick ‘em off slow and conserve your ammo, Gents!”
“Move in. Half pace.”
We stalked forward in a crouch, five paces at a time. Every second man in line taking turns, odd then even then odd again. Time and again we had practiced this manoeuvre and it was paying dividends. The last few souls on the far ends of our rifles were picked off as they tried to return fire, then the air fell silent. Looking back to L2 and his boys I motioned for them to stay down and keep watch on the target area. If some sorry bastard was in there biding his time I didn’t want one of my men to get picked off.
Jesus, it felt good to take some revenge. With our rifles trained on the bodies, we moved in to the enemy position and picked through their gear. They were young and their rifles were fit for scrap. Whoever was funding the Shining Light wasn’t funnelling government or drug money into them, these boys were just children; teenagers at best. They held out though. And to their last.
Waving L2 over, he and Murphy dragged Shelley’s body while Tyk took up the rear. We all pilfered what ammunition we could, but even their bullets were in shit order.
“Everyone take a knee,” I began. “You’ve all done each other proud. And you’ve done me proud. I thank you. We must bury our Brother, Shelley now. I want you to plot his grave on the map so his remains can be retrieved at a later date. For now, dig, and think on your own mortality. We’re all lucky to be here; and luckier still to be here with each other. Get to it.”
“SIR, YES, SIR!”
To be continued…
© Stephen Fahey