The Golden Scar
The rain fell in sheets of grey iron, hammering against the corrugated tin roof of the dormitory block until the sound became a physical weight, pressing down on the skulls of every soldier inside. Thomas Bradshaw lay on his cot, the damp seeping through the thin wool blanket, his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling where a water stain had formed the shape of a hand. He did not sleep. He never...
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