Kostic dies twice in the shower: once from a bullet, once from blood loss from a severed leg. He towels off and pulls on his robe. Over eggs he dies sixteen times in rapid succession (improvised explosive device).
“The boots or the wingtips?” asks his lover.
“The boots,” says Kostic, “field inspection. I’ll be late.”
Kostic puts on his fatigues and makes sure his stars are straight. He pulls his cap on in the mirror. He’s used to reading the motto backwards by now, Inaudita Nulla Vox, and as he turns to kiss his lover he drowns in his own blood.