An Infinite Game

Our executioner combined the qualities of a wag and libertine, parading his sociopathy as an out-sized clown.

The bayonet attached to his rifle was exceptionally long, a sawback with a broad, flat blade. The press catch was at the nine o’clock position. This particular bayonet would be a poor weapon in close combat, but, in the field, as an instrument of summary murder, no one would question its utility.

According to the executioner, the four of us would stand front to back and in close formation. The one of us at the end of the line and inviting the initial impact and de-acceleration of the weapon would surely die. The second was, too, a strong candidate for a death certificate. The third in line would be conflicted, good odds for survival undermined by exceptions to good odds for survival. At the top of the line was Pinocchio, someone who would likely live to be human.

Each of us was instructed to draw a lot consisting of straw from a