The Last Bastion
The mud of the Somme was not just earth; it was a graveyard that refused to stay closed. It swallowed boots, letters, and men with a wet, sucking sound. Captain Arthur Vance sat in a dugout that smelled of damp wool and old fear, staring at a map of a wasteland that no longer resembled any known geography. He was a man who had been broken by the machinery of war, his spirit a collection of...
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