Chapter 113: Rifleman’s Rule
We took our second casualty not long after we cleared the church.
Mario had done exactly as I asked. The church had about ten windows along the nave walls—five on each side—and two more by the choir loft. Most of them were now manned by a recruit, each one watching and aiming his rifle outward into the unknown. Their faces were pale and drawn, but they were alert.
Outside, our perimeter was beginning to take shape. Men hugged the stone walls and low fences of the surrounding houses. They were crouched in twos and threes, their eyes locked on the narrow lanes leading in from the presidencia and the southern road.
Two of our men were crossing the churchyard—perhaps sent to retrieve more ammunition or check on a comrade—when a sharp, echoing crack split the air.
One was cut down where he stood, right at the center of the yard.
The other broke into a sprint. He bolted toward the church steps, stumbling in panic. Another shot rang out, and we all flinched. I saw the bullet rip through the air above him, cutting his straw hat clean off his head. He let out a cry, lost his balance, and fell hard against the stone steps.
He crawled the last few feet, collapsed against the wall, and pulled himself into a crouch. His hands were trembling. He wiped his forehead, checked his scalp, and stared at the red-tinged tips of his fingers—just a scratch.
"Where is that coming from?" I shouted, my eyes wide, as I stared out into the yard at our second dead recruit.
"From the southwest, Heneral... I think from one of the houses," Mario said, as he leaned down to peer out through one of the slightly opened Capiz windows. Beneath him, a recruit was kneeling, taking aim in the same direction.
"Do you have a clear shot?" I asked the recruit.
The young man looked at me and shook his head. "No... Heneral... he fired from behind the house. I only saw the barrel of the rifle, and only for a few moments."