.
With instincts and reactions based on years of conflict, Bishop was moving before the detonations had finished echoing down the mountain. Screaming above the din, he rallied three of his closest comrades – issuing orders for the bewildered men to follow.
Up the side of the mountain he scrambled, loose gravel and a lack of handholds slowing his pace. Wide eyed with shock, his three trainees followed. Higher Bishop climbed, using piles of rocks, displaced boulders and natural undulations for cover. After they had managed to ascend 30 feet above the trail, he turned to his panting followers and instructed, “Form a line, and hit the enemy from the side. We are going to flank that ambush. Hit those sons of bitches hard and fast. Let’s move!”
Without waiting to see if his small squad understood, Bishop starting moving toward the narrow gap, watching intently as the ambushing enemy maintained a steady rate of fire on the hapless trainees below.
It didn’t take long to close the distance, silhouettes of the attackers popping up and firing from the hidden positions in front of Bishop’s advancing line. He watched as one guy ignited a string of firecrackers, throwing noisemakers into the fray. Another man rose, spraying several shots into the stunned column and then disappearing behind a tree. There wasn’t much return fire coming from his classmates.
Pausing to check the spacing of his men, he turned and hissed, “Let’s go now ! Your brothers are dying down there – roll into these bastards, and don’t stop until they’re all down!” And then he was moving.
The paintball guns didn’t kick or simulate the noise of a real rifle, but it didn’t matter. No one cared that blood wasn’t really being spilled. Adrenaline and pride were providing plenty of motivation. Yelling at the top of his lungs, Bishop charged into the attackers, catching them completely by surprise. His men mimicked his actions and joined the counterattack, screaming bloody murder and firing their weapons at any target presented. It was all over in a matter of seconds.
Deke rolled over, grinning up at Bishop after an Academy Award-winning death fall. Glancing down at the two red splotches of paint staining his body armor, the operator flashed a thumbs up.
Offering his hand, Bishop helped the contractor to his feet and smiled. “That was one hell of an ambush, Deke. Nice spread on the kill zone. You would’ve had… what… half of us in the first barrage?”
Nodding while brushing the dirt off his pants, Deke replied, “Yeah. I saw you break off. I figured you’d try and flank us , but you got here quicker than I expected. Nice counter.”
Their conversation was interrupted with shouting from below, Nick’s voice booming up the mountainside. “Do you see now? Did this little skirmish make the picture crystal fucking clear? If I told you guys once, I told you a dozen times. Don’t bunch up! Over half of you are dead or rolling around on the ground in agony and bleeding out right now. There wouldn’t be enough of us left to carry off the wounded. You have to pay attention, damn it. The next time it won’t be paintballs and firecrackers. It will be hot shrapnel and high velocity lead shredding your bunched up fucking bodies!”
On and on, the tyrant from below continued, the savvy teacher using a combination of embarrassment, military logic, and genuine concern with the shocked students to implant the message in their minds.
While Nick drilled home the lesson, Bishop and the ambushers meandered to the main gathering. Staying to the side, Deke’s seven Darkwater contractors watched Nick’s classroom antics, keeping their expressions stoic so as not to rub salt in any trainee wounds. Veterans of many campaigns, each of the professional warriors understood the purpose of the exercise. It wasn’t ego, pride, or one-upmanship – it was survival. The ambush hadn’t been a contest or game, but a tool used to teach a skill… an