Henry and Rocky quickly regained their senses, scrambling to their feet and drawing their weapons. Vasily, unfazed by their sudden attack, calmly raised his rifle and took aim.
The tension in the air was palpable as the two men stood poised for the next move. Henry, a seasoned Confederate sharpshooter, knew that he had only one chance to take out Vasily before the Russian could fire back. He steadied his aim, taking careful aim with his Whitworth rifle.
Vasily, however, was equally skilled with his Berdan 2 rifle. He had seen Henry's movement out of the corner of his eye and knew that the sharpshooter was about to take a shot. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
As the two bullets hurtled towards each other, time seemed to slow down. Henry and Vasily locked eyes, each determined to come out on top. Rocky watched in awe as the two shots collided mid-air, sending a shower of sparks flying in all directions.
For a moment, everything was silent. Then, a loud crack echoed through the air as the two bullets exploded, sending debris flying in all directions. Henry and Rocky were thrown off their feet once again, landing hard on the ground.
As they struggled to regain their bearings, they looked up to see Vasily standing over them, a smug grin on his face. "Nice try, boys," he said, his Russian accent thick. "But you'll have to do better than that if you want to take me down."
Henry and Rocky exchanged a look of frustration and exhaustion. They knew that they were in for a long and difficult battle if they were going to defeat Vasily hoping to catch him off guard and take him by surprise. But Vasily was too skilled for that.
Henry took a deep breath and looked down at his Whitworth rifle. It was a beautiful weapon, a masterpiece of engineering and craftsmanship. But it was also heavy and cumbersome, and he knew that he would need to be quick and precise if he was going to use it effectively against Vasily. Vasily stood over Henry and Rocky, his expression cold and unyielding. The two of them were battered and bruised, their clothes torn and stained with blood. They had been fighting for what felt like hours, but it was becoming increasingly clear that they were hopelessly outmatched.
Rocky, was the first to speak. "It's hopeless," she said, her voice shaking with exhaustion. "We can't keep fighting like this."
Henry nodded in agreement, his eyes darting nervously between Vasily and the surrounding jungle. "We need to surrender," he said, his voice barely audible.
Vasily regarded them both with a mixture of contempt and amusement. "Finally," he sneered. "I was beginning to think you'd never come to your senses."
But before the two of them could even begin to lower their weapons, there was a sudden commotion from the surrounding foliage. The sound of pounding footsteps and war whoops echoed through the jungle, and before they knew it, a group of Apaches had descended upon them.
Henry and Rocky hesitated for only a moment before turning and running, their feet pounding against the soft earth. Vasily watched them go with a sneer of disgust, raising his own weapon to fend off the attackers.
For a moment, it seemed that he might be able to hold his own against the Apaches. But as they closed in on him from all sides, he quickly realized that he was hopelessly outnumbered.
With a curse, he turned and fled into the jungle.