The Distant Metropolis
The rain had turned the mud of the Somme into a substance that resisted the boot, a heavy, sucking paste that seemed to pull at the ankle with every step Elias Thorne took, and he counted the seconds between the distant thump of the artillery and the silence that followed, finding the rhythm of the bombardment as steady as a clock ticking in an empty room, while a low, persistent hum vibrated...
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