The Faded Alibi
Thorne. The voice was not German, nor was it British; it was the voice of the mud itself, a low, sucking groan that seemed to rise from the chalky earth of the Somme trench. I was Sergeant Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and I wanted only to keep my lungs from filling with the wet, grey slurry that had become my world. The shelling had begun an hour ago, a rhythmic pounding that turned the...
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