The arrow he'd nocked clatters to the ground, giving away his position. The bowstring, pulled back to its greatest tension, snaps back in his face. He growls several cuss words. He's got a spare, but he doesn't have the luxury of time to fix it. A bullet whistles past his ear. Footsteps herald Lensherr's men approaching.

Hawkeye snatches the arrow up and scurries for cover behind another stack of shipping containers, looking in his pockets for another string. Sparks fly as shots ricochet off metal.