19. MARTIGAN
The moon shone down on a glimmering black sea. Martigan would like to have thought of himself as Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now, rising out of the mud like a perfect guerilla warrior. The truth was, he cut a ragged figure, doing the doggie paddle against an increasingly non-compliant current, and he was s**t-tired.
“s**t,” he muttered.
It had been a stupid plan. A stupid, terrible, no-good, last-ditch Hail Mary of a shitty, no-options-left plan. He tried but he couldn’t think of any more negative adjectives or phrases to describe it.
“s**t-tacular,” he said, but it was starting to get hard to say anything at all as he swam.
The village was coming into view. Napoleon had them outnumbered. He also had actual firearms, which, when weighed against Martigan’s ghoul poki
