Stryker And The Angels Of Death (Ebook) - Plot & Excerpts
His head was canted to one side, tongue fat and protruding through lips that were as blue as the dawn sky. One eye was bulging open, bright scarlet where the vessels had burst. The other drooped closed to show that life had all but gone. The soldiers were grim faced and filthy. Their boots were worn and their coats blanched pale by marching all summer long beneath a merciless sun. They paid the executed man little heed. The kin, it was said, of one of the girls they had ravished in a nameless, worthless hamlet the previous day, he had come to them in the night, armed with a thin knife and a vengeful heart. The pickets had spotted him and he had danced a piss-drenched jig for his trouble. The column was short – just thirty-eight musketeers and nineteen pikemen chattering as they trudged, while the four big geldings that carried the company’s more lofty men whinnied and whickered as they loped past the gently swaying noose. The rickety dog cart that carried a barrel of black powder, some musket balls, and several coils of match, creaked and groaned as the bony mule hauled it over the ruts.
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