The Directives Read Online Free

trouble navigating his exit from his sleeping bag, almost falling out of the back of the pickup’s bed. The other recently roused watchman originally pulled his boots on the wrong feet. Bishop was reminded of the Keystone Cops, witnessing one guy stumble while the other seemed to have forgotten where he’d left his rifle.
    Bishop watched as they fluttered about, scrambling to take up positions. Given the bedlam, he guessed they didn’t get much business these days, probably spending their shifts bored to tears and playing poker.
    By the time the lead truck stopped 800 meters short of the barricade, the noble defenders of Brighton had attained their assigned positions. Two rifle barrels pointed at the approaching procession while a third man stood in the center of the highway brandishing an AR15. The garrison’s effort had been slow and unpracticed.
    “I’m not impressed,” Bishop mumbled as he prepared to move.
    With the sentries’ attention focused on the idling convoy, Bishop stood and removed his net-camouflage. In the faint, but growing light, he detected two other nearby outlines performing the same act. On cue, the three scouts moved as one, silently slipping in from behind the unaware watchmen.
    The two soldiers with Bishop made for the sandbagged fighting positions, their assignment to neutralize the guards stationed there. The Texan had to admire their skills as he hung back a few steps, watching to make sure the takedown went smoothly.
    A few moments later, both Brighton men were slowly lowering their weapons, and then their hands were raised in the air. Before Bishop had passed by their positions, the two wide-eyed watchmen were lying flat on the ground.
    Bishop’s task was to subdue the man a few steps in front of the roadblock. Cutting smoothly around the tow truck, rifle high and ready, he quietly closed on the oblivious guard. Covered by the low din of the convoy’s motors, he stepped to within a few feet of the sentry’s back.
    “Good morning,” Bishop announced, trying to keep a friendly tone.
    The man jumped, his instincts ordering his body to pivot and seek the source of the voice behind him. He found the muzzle of Bishop’s weapon two inches from his nose and inhaled sharply.
    “Drop the rifle, my friend, and you’ll get to eat breakfast. Test my trigger finger, and these hollow-points will split your head in half. I know that for a fact.”
    As Bishop anticipated, the sentry’s panicked mind couldn’t arrive at a decision. The Texan knew he’d have to ease the process along. “Drop the fucking rifle! Now!” he growled.
    The sentry, staring into the coldest pair of human eyes he’d ever seen, didn’t hesitate again. A plastic and metal clatter sounded over the background noise of the convoy’s engines as the AR15 connected with the pavement.

    “I want the prisoners secured, Sergeant Riggs,” Major Baxter’s voice rang out. “Use the zip ties to bind their hands, and prepare them for interrogation.”
    Bishop tried to keep the frown off his face, but failed. “Major, a word please.”
    “What now?” the officer blustered, clearly annoyed at Bishop’s interruption.
    “Sir, I would recommend treating the locals with respect. They aren’t insurgents or criminals – they’re just a few guys who were protecting their neighbors and families.”
    The young officer stepped in close to Bishop, his voice going low and mean. “They were manning an illegal barricade and showed clear intent to engage us. I’m not going to pour them a drink and shake their hands. We need to establish authority and control. Those are my orders.”
    Bishop’s temper swelled in his chest, every cell in his being screaming to punch the overzealous man’s face. But he suppressed it, checking his urge, allowing only a low snarl and simmering defiance. “Illegal to whom, Major? How were they to know who they were engaging? As far as these men knew, we were a roving gang of zombies intent on murdering