The Golden Visit
The mud of the Blackwood Barracks was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that seemed to possess a will of its own, dragging at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne as he dragged his son, Leo, toward the administrative block. It was the winter of 1904, a season that smelled of coal smoke and damp wool, and the air hung heavy with the particulate grit of the nearby steel mill, a gray...
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