The Faded Shield
The iron shrapnel did not hiss or sing as it tore through the heavy velvet curtain of the factory office, but rather with a wet, tearing sound, like the ripping of old bandages from a festering wound, a sound that seemed to resonate in the marrow of the men who stood frozen in the center of the room, their faces illuminated by the sudden, blinding flash of the explosion that had just rocked the...
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