The Long and Storied Life of Jose Montoya

The Long and Storied Life of Jose Montoya 27he had thought it would be, and it made the rifle balance a little differently than he was used to. It wasthe first time since joining the army that he had been allowed to handle live ammunition. He raised ElFlaco up, took a deep breath, and released it. Through the sights, down the barrel of the rifle, he sawone of the Villistas kneeling down in the street and firing round after round towards the Americans intheir positions around the camp. Jose kept the man in the sights as he took another deep breath and letit go. He imagined a nickel balancing on the barrel of his rifle and squeezed the trigger deliberately.The Villista in his sights dropped to the ground and was still.Jose continued to hold the rifle in position, staring down the length of the barrel at the man onthe ground. He waited for time to stop. He waited for La Catrina to come. He waited for the Villistato move. He waited for the clouds to part and the sky to open and the Lord to strike him down. Whennone of those things seemed imminent, Jose realized he had also been waiting to start breathing again.A single tear came from each eye and was rapidly swallowed by the grime on his face. He gave onelittle giggle in memory of Grayley, and then worked the bolt on his rifle to chamber another round.The fighting was easy. The Americans were in dark, concealed positions, looking across clearfields of fire at an enemy that was silhouetted by flame and that did not seem to care overly much ifthey were shot or not. Jose fired round after round in the direction of the Villistas. If he had a target,he would aim. If he didn't he would choose some random target and fire anyway, both as practice andas a kind of assurance to himself that things were going okay.One after another the Villistas fell and made libation to the indifferent, thirsty desert. Theirsituation grew even more dire as the machine guns that had been retrieved from the armory reachedsuitable firing positions and began spitting and hissing a poisonous stream of bullets at the invadingMexicans. To Jose it seemed endless, the parade of Villistas who kept turning up in the firelight to beshot down like hares. Still he worked the bolt and steadied the nickel, worked the bolt and steadied thenickel.