Barett hunkered down in the dirt, this new event changed everything, at the same time it changed nothing. His father had often said about combat, "There is no predictability when it comes to men with guns that want to kill you, that is the only predictability." He was often taught by his father that your ability to change what you were going to do, and how you did it was the sign of a good leader. It was taught to him and his Brothers that to be rigid in your plan could lead to failure or death, you had to be flexible and remember what your real objectives are, the first being not to get yourself or your men killed, Barett was trying to remember that, even though his emotions were trying to convince him to do other more rash things.
The warmth of the afternoon sun was begining to burn off the morning mist, and make his extra layers of clothes uncomfortable. Sweating was bad, sweating made your scent stronger, and if it got your cloths wet enough, you lost heat and wasted energy. A plan began to form in his mind, not the most original thought he'd ever had, but againest these common thugs it might just work. Easing himself back into the forest cover, the warm blanket of green and brown, pressing his body againest the moist dirt as he moved ever so slowly around the barn and towards the upper trail he had spotted earlier, he started to work out the details in his mind. It always amazed him how dense the dessert forests were, even though they only held small plots of land in the vastness of the rolling hills, they gripped savagely to their barren holds, hosting a wide variety of life. Moving ever so slowly and opening your senses to the surrounding view it was amazing how many things were in motion, how much of nature was in constant change, and much less static than it appeared from a distant car or motorcycle.
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Barett felt a little guilty about using Hoss as bait, it was natural that it would work out this way, but he was starting to like the man. But the practical part of his thinking knew that no matter what went down in this twisted series of mistakes, if he didn't survive himself, neither would Hoss.
Moving as quickly as possible he circled hard to the left, dropped down behind the small rise in the ridge and headed straight up the hill. He had seen that the tree line opened up some near the top of the small rise. Off to the left of this were some old growth pines, lots of dead fall and soft dirt. Plenty of cover for some shoot and run tactics if it came to that, the soft dirt would leave a trail, but cover his sound.
Stalking through the forest growth, he could hear his own heart beat pounding in his ears. Taking a moment to do some breathing exercises, he hunkered down behind a fallen log. It's branches ripped from the long trunk, suspended at odd points by other trees and rocks. To Barett it looked like some abandoned weapon of a Norse deity, as it rested haphazardly on a uncomfortable angle, pointed downward on the hill.
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