The next fifteen klicks were an eternal, surreal two hour two year crawl of noise and bowel-gripping terror. A slurry of incoming rifle fire washed across our armored hulls in repeated gusts like intermittent storm surges, punctuated by the recurring detonations of RPGs and occasional thunder of an IED you could feel from your skull down to your taint. We pushed into it like a dying man walking with his head down against a downpour so thick he’s given up trying to see as he staggers forward.
Morningwood Lore | The Acererak Run
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