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The Worst of times  

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The Worst of times Trudging through the marshy fields of southern Germany with our Bergen's and rations, Thompson M1A1 in hand. We had a line of troops down the right hand side of the field stretching for 20 yards. Enough for anyone to see us, we were laying low and staying as quiet as we could; one wrong move and we could all be exposed. We had the spotters at the front and the two snipers directly behind them; we were on high alert. We had been travelling for nearly five hours and not met a single enemy, I wanted to rest but the others were reluctant to stop. It seemed as if we had been travelling along the same stretch of land for the whole journey, tall green bushes all alike. " Two miles and we've reached the checkpoint for today soldiers" the captain silently signalled." We rest...

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