Echoes of the Great War

The mud doesn't just stick to your boots. It seeps into your soul,

heavy and cold. We live like rats in these ditches, waiting for the

sky to fall upon us once more. Then the whistling starts.

A scream from the heavens that ends in fire and flying earth. You look at

the man beside you. He is just a boy, trembling like a

leaf. In his eyes, you see your own terror reflected back,

a mirror of the coming end. But when the earth shakes, you reach for

him. Brotherhood is our only shield. The survival instinct is a strange