The flickering light of a kerosene lamp cast long shadows across the Quonset hut. Rain lashed against the corrugated metal roof. Leckie sat on a cot, polishing his boots with a practiced hand. Sledge was hunched over a letter, his brow furrowed. Basilone, stripped to the waist, cleaned his rifle with meticulous care, Be anyone you want, I'm tired to continue or make any conversations, Good Luck my fellow soldiers, Tschüss!
Comments
0No comments yet.