The Faded Road
The mud of the Somme did not care for rank or name; it simply swallowed the broken barrel of Elias Thorne’s rifle and held it there. He stood in the grey slurry, thirty-four years old, his uniform torn to ribbons, watching the line of men behind him peel away into the treeline as the German advance crunched closer through the fog. Colonel Halloway had ordered him to hold the ridge, a command...
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