The gunfire was deafening, each man shooting to kill. Bruce waited for the enemy to run out of ammunition. They ducked behind their own headstones to reload. Bruce thought quickly. He shook Trent, who had closed his eye and was white as a sheet. When the man’s terrified gaze met his, he said, “Don’t move.”
Trent merely stared at him. Bruce would have to trust him not to disobey as he moved away. He dove behind the neighboring headstone and carefully reached into his boot, pulling free his hunting knife.
The gunfire started up again. Bruce used the noise to cover his movements. He made slow, steady progress across the dark yard, the long grass brushing his face. He closed in on the nearest man, sneaking behind him. Keeping low, he waited for the man to return fire. He slithered toward him
