The Pale Banner
The mud of the Somme did not merely coat; it consumed, a thick, iron-rich slurry that sucked at Thomas Kael’s boots with the tenacity of a starving dog, pulling him down into the trench where the air tasted of cordite and wet rot. He was nineteen, a sapper with hands that trembled not from cold but from the sheer, paralytic weight of the white cloth tucked inside his tunic, a stolen banner that...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 3 مشاهدة 0 معاينة