Read Online No Other Gods by John Koetsier - Free Book Online Page B

to continue, and we’d tramped up and down the visible portion to pound a well-worn and presumably often-used path there … but it dead-ended within forty feet.
                  Two were now positioned near the far end of the canyon, seventy or so meters from the opening. Without being obvious about it, they were waiting until the reds came. One of us on the canyon rim was scouting — his signal would start them off their short trip.
                  We heard the reds coming. A few became visible through the scrubby trees. They were advancing quickly, but not too quickly. We had taught them some caution. I wanted the front elements to bunch up, so that most, if not all of the reds were in the same place at the same time. So, from near the mouth of the canyon in good cover just as the hill’s rise started to peak, I gave them a little fire. I waited a couple of minutes while they hit dirt and more of the main body arrived. Then I quick-crawled up over the rise and down the short, gentle slope into the canyon entrance. Still keeping low, I scurried into position behind a boulder near the middle of the canyon floor, my back to the advancing reds, peering around at the two companions still waiting, poised, at the left hook by the east end. And waited.
                  A spotter already in position on the canyon rim kept us informed. Perhaps two hundred reds were now in close formation near the lip of the canyon. They were starting to come, inching over the incline. Any moment now they would pop into sight. It was time.
                  On my signal, the blues at the left hook opened fire. Bullets whined off the boulder in front of me as I cursed their verisimilitude. Creating the appearance of firing on me was necessary. Coming within inches of putting holes in my skin — I wasn’t sure that was needed. I was sure they were enjoying firing on me far too much.
                  I lifted my submachine gun over the rock and didn’t aim, blowing a wild burst off into the sky, then glanced up at the spotter. He was urgently signaling: all the reds were coming.
                  Just as they poured over the rim of the canyon floor I finally broke cover and sprinted deeper, east, toward the left hook and the two blues. They potted a couple of shots in my direction that peppered the ground at my feet and I hit the dirt. Then they turned and disappeared down the left hook, and the mass of reds started opening fire at them from behind me. I got back to my feet when the reds had nothing more to shoot at, waved at the them with a “come one” gesture, and yelled “Let’s go!”
                  Then I took off with all the speed at my disposal, which is considerable. Twenty seconds later I was at the left hook myself. I advanced in at speed, firing into the rock walls and floor, putting on a good show. Once glance behind me told me the reds were streaming into the canyon floor. They had almost reached the rock where I had taken cover from the blue fire. I gestured again, and they continued. Then I tore down the left hook, reached the rope that we had pre-hung, and climbed hand-over-hand up to the canyon rim. Finally, panting, I took cover behind a tree, and, shucking off all my gear, stripped. I put on my old uniform, waiting on the ground for me. Then I squirmed into my battle position — a perfect little shooting spot with cover, spare ammo, and line-of-sight to the blue spotter on the far side of the canyon rim.
                  The blood-red jacket and pants I had been wearing — the ones I had stripped from a still-warm corpse in the valley floor just minutes ago — I left on the ground.
                  After a quick check of the canyon floor, which seemed to hold at least 150 reds already, I signaled to the spotter, and he motioned to our two blues left outside the canyon mouth. On his signal they opened fire from behind the