761. Eleventh hour
© Bruce Goodman 10 November 2015

Word came through to Clayton Ormsby. The war would end at the eleventh hour tomorrow. He was in charge. He was a Captain in the army. No one in the field of action was higher than him.

“We’ll let it lie awhile,” he thought. “Shoot a couple more of the bastards first, and then I’ll say it’s over.”

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