Name That Tune, Conclusion

Martill had long ago become tired of straining his voice to order the final attack. His men knew the signal flare, and boomed forth off the ridgeline and down towards the village. Martill held for a second, waiting for the vanguard to pass him. It was not that he feared fighting the first defenders – just that he found it easier and more fluid to advance towards his target after the skirmish lines were formed.

He had a man to kill, after all – and he’d walked thirty miles already today.

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