The Golden Circuit
March 14, 1943. The cold in Outpost K is not merely an absence of heat; it is a physical weight that presses against the ribs, a slow compression that makes every breath feel like a laborious negotiation with the lungs. I am Elias Thorne, Quartermaster, thirty-two years old, and my hands are too numb to steady the pencil as I write this entry, the ink freezing on the tip before it can bite into...
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