The Golden Myth
The mud at the border checkpoint was a thick, sucking brown that clung to the boots of every man on the line. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the front, his rifle barrel steady as iron, his eyes fixed on the fleeing figure of a young man who had just dropped a satchel. Thorne did not hesitate. He fired once, the crack of the rifle snapping against the cold air, and the man fell into the ditch,...
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