The Pale Door
The mud of the Somme did not freeze so much as it hardened into a grey, putrefactive paste that sucked at the boots of the men who stood in it. Sergeant Elias Thorne pressed his chest against the damp earth of the trench wall, the cold seeping through his wool tunic until it felt less like temperature and more like a physical weight pressing down on his lungs. In the inner pocket of his...
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