Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 114: Muzzle Flashes

With Roque’s men freed up from the assault on the convent, we could provide more men to solidify our cordon, which had proven to be too loose.

I sent Historillo down with orders.

Mario was to personally lead all of his men to further secure our western flank, especially from the southwestern residential area, where shots from hidden Pulajanes fighters continued to ring out.

Roque was to take half his platoon to reinforce the eastern flank, primarily in the roads and alleyways which faced the presidencia. The other half would remain to protect the church.

As for Sargento Guzman and the escolta, they were to act as my personal reserve—a compact force I could throw at any critical point without delay.

The response was quick. Soon the church’s doors creaked open, and the rayadillos spilled out into the yard, Mario’s shouts rising above the chaotic assemblage of noises.

In a repeat of the lessons instilled at Landi, our entrenched men laid down precise cover fire for Mario and his group. Bullets zipped overhead and punched into stone and soil as the squad dashed across the open plaza, sprinting from doorway to doorway, hugging the shadows, and diving for cover behind stone fences and overturned carts.

I trained my rifle ahead of their route, looking out for any hostile that might jump at them from cover. From the elevation of the belltower, I had an excellent view of the alleyways and the town streets. Enemy muzzle flashes were visible in the darkness, but most of them were from those engaging the already entrenched soldiers, participating in a gunfight where all that was hurt were soil and stone.

Minutes later, Historillo returned up the steps, panting heavily, his tunic clinging to his sweat-soaked back. Three soldiers from the escolta followed behind, their rifles shouldered and eyes alert, boots thudding against the creaky stairs.

I had ordered the young kadete to return and to bring with him Guzman’s best shots.

"Each of you will cover a cardinal direction," I barked as they assembled around the great bronze bell that loomed over the tower floor. "You’ll provide supporting fire, yes—but more importantly, you’ll observe."

I stepped closer, voice rising above the crackle of nearby volleys and the occasional cry echoing from the streets below.

"Report to me every development. If you see enemy movement, you report. If you see our units being pinned down or about to be overrun, you report. By the same token, if you see our units capturing enemy positions or neutralizing enemy units... you report. And you report without delay!"

Historillo and the Bulaqueño soldiers responded at the same register and saluted.

"Historillo," I added, slinging my rifle back over my shoulder, "you’re in command of this squad. Teach them what I taught you."

He gave a brisk nod and got to work, assigning each man a window and pointing out key landmarks—the convent to the south, the presidencia to the east, the distant rice fields to the north.

I turned toward the stairwell, testing my leg as I stepped down. The pain had dulled to a tolerable throb, my blood warmed by the steady rhythm of command. The tower offered an excellent vantage point, but I needed to be closer to the action—within shouting distance of the squads, able to issue orders face-to-face if needed. These were greenhorns, after all. I couldn’t afford to leave them without oversight for long.

I watched the four Bulaqueño soldiers take position at each window. Historillo stood by the bell, already briefing them on the things he had observed from the height.

I sighed and approached the staircase opening. As soon as I dipped my foot into the stairs, fresh gunshots sounded.

"He... Heneral..." Historillo called out to me with some hesitation.

I spun around and saw him staring towards the east, where the presidencia was. "Yes?"

"I think Kadete Roque is in trouble..." he continued as he raised his rifle, and he aimed very low, eyes pasted in the same direction.

I had no choice but to confirm what he just said.

Looking down through the eastern window, I saw that Roque had fallen into a predicament. Just fifty meters away from the backdoor of the church where they had exited, he was pinned down behind a well, along with one of the recruits.

He sunk down to the ground, his back against the well, as low as he could, as bullets chipped away at the stone and sprayed dirt from the ground all around him. The other nine of the men he brought with him watched helplessly from the cover of the acacia tree behind the church.

About five shooters, firing behind the windows of the second floor of a bahay na bato house, alternately fired at the position.

The same pickle earlier presented itself to our recruits.

The soldiers taking cover in the acacia tree did not have vision on the house.

They could maneuver around to flank the house, but Pulajanes fighters already had scattered firing positions throughout the area, which could cause such an effort to likely lead to another disaster without Roque leading it.

Not to mention that more enemy reinforcements were pouring out of the presidencia compound.

In the distance, sparks flickered by the treeline, where Vicente was providing distracting fire at the presidencia municipal. But it would seem it was not distracting enough.

I could count about ten Pulajanes fighters running along the eastern town road, towards the sound of the gunshots, like a school of piranhas having smelt blood.

I was about to order them to provide cover fire while I went down and led a maneuver to take the house, when something happened that changed my mind.

The recruit stuck with Roque, perhaps losing his sanity from all the bullets ricocheting all around him, knelt up and tried to fire back. Teofilo tried to keep him down too late. I saw his body jerk three times before crashing down.

Some of the blood splattered on Roque. I watched him wipe his cheek and look at his bloody palms. I could barely make out his eyes in the dimness, but he reared his head upwards to the belltower, and I thought we made eye contact.

There was not enough time.

"I need one more man manning this window!" I said, as I looked around the rest of the Bulaqueño soldiers in the tower. Then I pointed at the man manning the northern window, "You! Join your amigo here."

The northern part of the town, through which we entered, had little activity. Maybe just a couple of shooters, and the rest, Pulajanes fighters armed only with blades, peeking out now and then, perhaps still mustering the bravery to make a suicidal charge. Nothing that the soldiers manning the northern perimeter couldn’t handle.

Soon there were two soldiers kneeling by the eastern window, while I and Historillo aimed by the wall, standing up above them.

"But I don’t think we can hit them from here, Heneral... we can’t see anything..." Historillo said.

What he said was true. It was growing brighter by the minute, but the sun was yet to rise, and the brightness was akin to a night with a full moon.

The windows where the enemy shooters were firing from only showed us pitch-black darkness. Not to mention that the enemy would only be exposing their heads—a small target especially if you’re shooting blind. On top of that, it would likely be out only when they’re firing.

Too tall an order for soldiers only trained in basic marksmanship.

But maybe not for me.

"Just provide cover fire. Try to shoot into the windows. Make them take fewer shots," I said.

I swallowed nervously. I just noticed how dry my tongue was, and how I craved water. But I’ll have to reach for my canteen after the job was done.

The first soldier fired a shot, and it hit the roof. free𝑤ebnovel.com

"Aim lower..." Historillo said just as I was about to say it. "When firing from an elevation, the bullet flies higher than you expect. So, if you want to hit the window, aim at the sill."

"It’s called the Rifleman’s Principle," Historillo glanced at me, perhaps looking for my approval.

It was called the Rifleman’s Rule, but close enough. I gave him an acknowledging nod.

The following shots were much better, but still off. It wasn’t only the rule that messed with the aim. Shooting downwards also forced the soldier into a non-standard stance, having the rifle away from the line of shoulders.

But I never expected them to hit.

I placed my finger gently around the trigger, not firing until I saw the chance.

Then it happened.

A muzzle flash illuminated the rightmost window. For a split second, I saw the head with the red bandana on. I immediately steered my rifle and aimed lower than the window sill.

White smoke curled up from the barrel of my Mauser.

I thought I missed, then I saw a rifle fall from the same window, dropping to the overhanging roof below.

I had no time to revel in the beautiful shot. Sparks lit the center window, and I promptly swung my rifle in that direction. I had no time to aim properly, and I thought I had aimed a little too high.

A shriek erupted to tell me I had aimed low enough.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw Roque make a run for it. I cursed under my breath. Not yet.

I chambered quickly, anticipating a shot from the window.

It did not come.

Perhaps me killing two of their own within a second had scared them enough.