The Golden Oath
The mud of the Somme does not merely soak; it consumes, pulling at the hem of your tunic and the soles of your boots with a wet, sucking hunger that feels less like earth and more like the mouth of a beast. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a quartermaster in the 4th Battalion, and you are standing in the trench with your knees bent, your back against the wet wood of the parapet, holding a...
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