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January 5, 2006

D: The Great War

My rifle is lost, my trenching tool is all I have left and I begin to claw my way out of the grave. Bodies are strewn like broken dolls, coated in thick layers of viscous mud that tries to suck me down. I refuse to die here, like this, surrounded by death.

Splintered trees and barbed wire jab at me incessantly, tearing into my flesh as I desperately try and dig myself free. My uniform is in tatters, my commanding officer one of the bodies at my feet, my regiment decimated by the heavy German counter-barrage. I refuse to die.

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