The Iron Bridge

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2026-06-16 13:12:34 -

The Iron Bridge

The fog clung to the Franco-British border like a damp shroud, smelling of wet slate and old iron. Arthur stood in the mud, his boots sinking into the grey sludge of the valley. He was a man of few words, a veteran of a dozen forgotten skirmishes, whose hands were permanently stained with the soot of black powder. To the young volunteers of the 14th Infantry, he was a ghost in a greatcoat, a...

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