The Pale Banner
The mud was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking entity that consumed the boots of the men of the Third Infantry as they held the ridge above the valley of St. Jude. The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, relentless curtain that blurred the world into a smear of grey and brown, turning the air into a heavy medium through which sound traveled sluggishly, muffled and distorted....
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