The Distant Nightmare
The mud is not merely wet; it is a living, sucking thing, a viscous mouth that has decided to swallow you whole, and you are fighting the ground as much as the man in front of you. You are a soldier, or at least you are wearing the uniform of one, and the fabric is soaked through with rain that has been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurs the line between the sky and...
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