The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-17 21:59:28 -

The Pale Bridge

The mud sucked at my boots. It was a hungry kind of mud. Thick. Cold. It smelled of rot and iron. "Keep moving, Sergeant," Miller whispered. His voice was thin. A thread of sound in the gray void. I did not speak. I could not. My jaw was locked. My hands were fists. The rifle was heavy. It was an extension of my arm. An extension of my soul. We had been walking for hours. The rain was a...

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