excerpt from The Rockwells

We were between hell and that hard place— It was like the fourth of July, only with hot steel and giant chunks of earth raining down on us. Then the walls of dust settled. The stench of cordite and burnt flesh filled my nostrils. I was deaf from all the shell bursts and covered in dirt. The guy next to me was missing his head and the trench had collapsed on Polansky. My head was spinning. I threw up on my tunic as my hearing started to come back.

Rock was screaming at me.

“Let’s go, jackass!” and he was up and over—

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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