They could drop their rounds all over the fucken place. The point doesn't take his eyes from that little fucken bridge. Here's why, 'mano. Bird calls are loud. Nothing moves across the river.
Sweat runs down the face of the point.
Hot, he thinks. Scared, he adds. Nobody in his right fucken mind wants to do this. Noise on this side of the river is muted, but hurried. The point man wipes the sweat from his eyes.