[center][b] Matando Bichos [/b][/center]

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El Capitan Evarado Anselmo watched the rebels scuttling across the roadway from the safe position of the ridge. He smirked, and handed his field telescope back to Sergeant Manuel. 

“They’re growing bolder,” he said. “I think it’s time to remind these vermin that any romantic notion they may have of war, is but a false one."

“Agreed, el Capitan. Should I give the order?” Replied Manuel, dusting sand from his shoulders. 

Evarado looked across the ridge at the twenty or so snipers he had arrayed there. Each of them looked down on the roadway through rifle scopes, tracking the progress of the rebels with stern faces. He had little faith in their ability to hit all the targets, but they would kill enough to send the intended message: travelling so close to the army’s strongholds will not be tolerated. 

“Yes,” he said, reaching into his heavy tunic for a cigar. “Do not stop firing until they’re well beyond rifle range.” 

Sergeant Manuel nodded, and then addressed the snipers. “You heard el Capitan Evarado, put these wretches to the slaughter.” 

“But sergeant,” called one of the snipers, looking up from his rifle scope. “There are women down there, unarmed, with children.” 

Evarado smiled broadly, walked over to the sniper and promptly drew his Mauser. “If the women of my country are rutting with these rebels and producing offspring, then they’re worse than the men holding the guns. Kill them, kill them all private. Do it with the Grace of God.” 

The soldier hesitated, “I don’t think God would command me t-“ 

The cold metal of Evarado’s Mauser suddenly pressed itself against the private’s forehead. “Thinking don’t do a man a great deal of good in war, you’d do well to remember that, amigo.” 

“Y-yes Sir,” the sniper stammered, and then returned to his scope. 

Evarado lit his cigar, and held it to his lips. He noticed that the rebels had stopped to look up at him; to them he must have been a strange sight, just a lone figure on the ridge, silhouetted by the sun. No doubt by his attire, they’d made him an officer of some kind, but from all the way up here he could do them little harm. His snipers however, disguised in desert brush, certainly could.

“Fire!” He snapped. 

Twenty rifles crackled, covering the ridge in a light fog. Some of the rebels, so small from their vantage point, doubled over and collapsed. Horses broke free from their carts, darting off in all directions. The women, some with children, ran off into the wilderness. Then the rifles thundered again, drowning out the screams, as they downed more of the rebel group. 

“Who taught you how to reload?” Screamed Evarado above the racket of men pulling back bolts. “You think the American Army shoots this slow?” 

Sergeant Manuel, prompted by his captain’s words, started barking threats at the snipers. This only panicked them however, and whatever discipline held in the 21st Infantry Company broke there and then. Bolts jammed, fingers fumbled, shots fell wide. 

Evarado booted one of the snipers in the chest, forcing him onto his back with the force. The man groaned some, winded, and scampered away as the el capitan picked up his rifle and looked down the scope. The face of a heavily bearded man, covered in dirt and blood, stared back at him. He was yelling, perhaps out of grief, maybe out of defiance. Evarado didn’t care, he pulled the trigger, and then the man fell down with a trail of blood jetting into the air. 

Cocking the bolt, Evarado spat out his cigar. “That’s how you shoot, you worthless donkey rutters!” He fired again, and a rebel who had the ill wisdom of firing back at the ridge dropped to the ground with a hole in his chest. “You got to stop thinking that these vermin are people, they’re not, they’re rats!” 

Before long, and the ‘battle’ was over. Evarado inspected the scene personally, and counted ten dead, five wounded. Those unfortunate five were put in chains, and hauled off back to El Presido. There he would be able to ‘debrief’ them, and discover where the rest of their brothers-in-arms were hiding. It would be a while before the rebels felt safe to move through his immediate vicinity again, and not for the first time, the capitan wished there were more men like he to get this job done.