What the Trenches Remember
Act I: The Mud It rained for forty-seven days straight. Arthur didn't count the days at first. He was too busy learning the geography of the mud. It wasn't the same mud he knew from the fields behind his father's farm in Kent. That mud was brown and warm and held the foot without complaint. This mud was a living thing, a gray soup that swallowed boots, swallowed men, swallowed hope with the...
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