WHAT THE STRIKER SAW
“When other generals make mistakes, their armies are beaten; when I get into a hole, my men pull me out of it.”
– The Duke of Wellington, after Waterloo
Jarrod awoke in a tent. The wind rattled the canvas like an angry foe at a shirt front.
Everything hurt, six feet of exposed nerve; a dry socket the size of his body. The cold bit at his head, at his teeth. His tongue touched the inside of his cheek and found stitches.
Pain shoved through his veins when he tried to move, and f**k this place, he decided. f**k swords, and castles, and horses, and waking up feeling like this. This whole thing was a sucker’s bet from the starting gun half a year ago, the return far below the wager. He wished the world would just hurry up and kill him for his compiled transgressions al
