The sergeant nods at your idea.
"That could work. Let's try it. Worst comes to worst, we could probably win an all out slog against that mob."
The group quickly reforms, and you wait for the battle to start. You're leading the left flank, made up of the best spearmen in the group. On the right, the sergeant's leading the other strong group, made up of axemen and three spearmen. In the center, up front a little from the flanks, are the archers and hunters, lead by Arlen. They close to bow range, and begin loosing shots into the mass of clubmen. You can faintly hear shouts of pain from the enemy forces, and can guess that the archers are on target. You can see, behind the mob, a militiaman in mail, probably the leader, watching these events carefully, and calculating. His only two options, currently, are to charge into melee, or withdraw back into the town, and fight up close. He suddenly raises his sword into the air, shouting, and the mob begins to charge forwards. The archers continue loosing arrows into the mass, and, by the time they are close, you suspect they've downed somewhere between five to ten men. You calculate that you've got somewhere between 30 seconds and a minute before they hit the archers. This is probably your last chance to make any drastic changes, before you get tangled up in the melee.