Albeit his stunt had opened a way for his comrades to lead the offensive, Renero was quite aware of how isolated he was from his squad and hopelessly outnumbered. As the vague shadows around him took clearer form into four distinct shapes, he knew that they could see his form too; his size wasn’t going to offer any stealth, even in the dirt cloud, the fallout of the felled tree. He kicked up a wad of mud towards the creeping foe in front of him, prompting an array of blind shots as the figure in front of him lost form with a thump. Without missing a beat, Renero sparing into all fours, overrunning over the downed figure and into the rest of his foes, now clear as day.
Four disheveled dirty men, dressed in rags, all huddled together. Armed with Ramshackle rifles with a roped-on knife serving as a bayonet.
Their rifles still chambering the next round, Renero had just enough time to slam his forearm into the thigh of the next rifleman. Grasping him as he fell, Renero rose from his crouched state, using him as a body shield. Yet it seemed this scum’s compatriots had little liking for him, as lead flew into him despite the man’s sequels. Pushing the now dead man, he flung him forward, as Renero leapt to the side, impaling him on the bayonet of his previous ally. Before the bewildered rifleman had fully turned towards the Minkman, he found himself shot, the clawed index of Renero sticking into his chest.
[1566 + 254] =