The Golden Circuit
October 12, 1944 The mud in the trench has turned to a slurry that sucks at our boots with every step, a viscous weight that seems to pull us down into the earth rather than letting us stand. I am writing this by the light of a single, sputtering candle, the wax pooling on the damp ground, because the cold has stolen the heat from every other source of light we possess. I want to survive...
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