As we waited for the men to get a little closer, the words of a song I heard once came to mind.
"Well w held our fire till we see'd their faces well, then we opened up our squirrel guns and really gave 'em hell!" I gave those men credit, they were really being quiet, I let then get about sixty yards away then whispered to Jake,
"Open fire." Accurate, sustained rifle fire, it was what I was trained in, it worked for so many others in battles past it worked for us now. Each flank ran into withering fire from Jake and I, we could see them clearly, they couldn't see us. This fight was too much like a firefight my unit and I were in back in the 'Stan. We were holed up in an Afghan police station in a village whose name no one could pronounce. There was a problem with the helo that was supposed to extract us, the captain told us to hunker down until morning, but artillery would be available if we needed it , but I knew that was out as we were too close to a populated village, and what with those stupid "rules of engagement." It wasn't long before the men started calling the place "the Alamo" but the joke wasn't that funny. We knew the word was going out far and wide to the Taliban that Americans were holed up in a police station. We didn't end up thank God like Travis and Crockett, but only by the skin of our teeth. Four dead, eight wounded, it was the heaviest firefight I've ever been in, and this was shaping up to be just like it. We didn't have time to rest, while the flanks were decimated, the men in the middle were getting too close.