Adios, Albatross. . .
A professional goon deals with his mortality in the merciless expanse of the Antarctic
Before he’d been a corpse, the man they called Albatross had been a lot of other things. A Catholic. An Austrian. An only son. A disappointment. A mistake. Whatever the Belarussian word is for the man who burns down your village. Before the end of the last big war, they had tried calling him a war criminal. He wasn’t sure that he agreed with that one, s…
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