The Faded Shield
The mud of the valley floor was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking entity that sought to swallow our boots and, by extension, our very souls. We were the Ninth Company, a ragged assemblage of men whose uniforms had long since surrendered their color to the gray drizzle that fell from the bruised sky of the north. The war had been going on for three days, a stagnant, bloody impasse where...
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