The Distant Nightmare
The rain had not stopped for three days, a ceaseless, gray weeping that turned the mud on the road into a thick, sucking paste that devoured the wheels of the supply truck and slowed the march of the men to a crawl that felt less like movement and more like a slow, agonizing drowning in wet earth. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat in the back of the truck, his back pressed against the rough canvas, his...
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