Ghe crawled into position, although he noted that the Degtyaryov would more than likely silence the entire patrol, he had concerns that the grenadier could somehow find cover from the hailstorm of bullets, and deliver a nasty surprise later in the assault. He nodded at the gunner's assistant and eyed the grenadier before focusing his attention at his own targets. The heavy weapons were obvious targets of priority, but the sapper remembered one thing that the enemy seemed to have an abundance of: radio-operators and officers.

Knowing what to look for, it wasn't too hard to figure out which one was roving between the heavy weapons, being followed loosely by another rifleman lugging a large pack with an antenna sticking out. The patrol likely had one too, but again he was hoping that a good belch of fire from the young machine-gun team could silence them all.

Not taking his eyes off the two he began to unfold his spike-bayonet, and seated it firmly into the wet soil until it could support the rifle's wieght without leaning. He then took his left hand and braced it against the buttstock of his SKS, lining up his shot at the radioman first, and glancing around to note locations of the machine-gunner and other riflemen within the village. He'd have to trust the two young farm-children with a machine-gun. Although he would be a hypocrite to critisize, as he looked and often acted more like a french colonist who'd woken up and simply put on the wrong uniform that day; albeit on the short and scrawny side.

"Rappelles toi, Pas de tirs d'avertissement." He quietly reminded their guide as he made sure the burlap strips of cloth from his helmet concealed his face, and his smirk. He knew the old man wasn't going to miss, at least not intentionally.