1781
So, this is how it ends.
He'd always wondered how it would happen. He knew it would, it was just a matter of when. He stared up at the darkening sky as he felt the life ebbing from his body. He felt weak. He hated feeling weak.
Failure.
The one thing he'd managed to avoid for so long stared him right in the face. He could hear the sounds of men fighting and dying around him, but they sounded so far away—irrelevant now. Nothing mattered. This was the end.
And he wasn't sure it had even been worth it.
The sky suddenly was obscured by the face of a man, his countenance torn between rage and grief as he bent down, his blue coat streaked with blood—his blood.
God, why did it have to be him?