TINY BUGLES IN A DREAM OF GIANTS“It’s a suicide run.”
They stood side-by-side in the warm shade beneath the porch stoop, gazing into the dusty sun-bathed yard and the blue-coated men saddling their horses there. The sounds of their preparation drifted to them on the still and expectant morning air: the creaking of leather riding gear, the efficient clack of rifles being examined, the low murmur of uneasy voices.
The advisor’s words hung like a mist between the two men. A suicide run. He could be so bold with his superior. Old friends could be this way with one another, beyond rules of rank and formality.
You have no idea, the captain thought, remembering his telescopic view from the hills lining the valley only several days before, disbelieving of his scouts’ reports until he’d witnesse
