Raider X

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Two things occurred to Thatcher as he stood against the wooden post with his hands tied behind him. The first was that it was much colder this early in the morning before the sun had done little more than peek over the horizon and he wondered briefly if he ought to have used the latrine before being marched out.

The second was that the eight men holding rifles twenty paces away looked a hell of a lot scarier than he would have ever dared imagine.

He supposed that was the reason for the blindfold they offered. Thatcher had turned down the officer with a smile. He still couldn’t get over the absurdity of the situation. He was about thirty seconds away from being shot by a firing squad.

Thatcher had never seen an execution before. He’d heard stories, of course, about how after being riddled with the large caliber bullets, the officer in charge would administer the final pistol shot to the heart, what the French called the coup de grace.

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