The Golden Downtown
The mud in the Kessel Pass was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that pulled at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne as he drove his bayonet into the throat of the man crouching before him, the steel sliding home with a wet, finality that silenced the screaming and left only the gurgling of breath in the dark. Thorne pulled the weapon free, the shaft slick with blood and rain, and...
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